Just up the street . . . It's going to be ok

After the greatest trial in your life, what would you say if someone told you that you were going to be ok?

Would you be relieved? Ticked off? Not believe them? Scared? Excited? Would you create in your mind what “ok” you would be ok with? Would you be willing to go wherever you felt prompted . . . or would you be too prideful to accept that “ok” didn’t look ok to you?

I remember a few promises given to me—in the months after the murder—that I will never forget. Silent promises—in my closet—on the darkest night of my life . . . that I was going to make it through all of this. I was going to be ok.

One promise came in the form a blessing—my church leader laid his hands on my head and told me that my Heavenly Father was going to watch over me. I was going to be ok.

Promises from friends and family saying they would always have my back.  I was going to be ok.

Letters written by my babies “to people of Japan” . . . as I read, I felt their truths for my own story. I was going to be ok.

Promises from strangers across the world—messages of hope that they were praying for me. I was going to be ok.

But guess what . . . some days it felt impossible to believe. No matter who the source of the promise, I always doubted that life would ever be the same. And guess what else . . . it never has been.  My definition of a traumatic event is a moment in which time freezes and you think, “My life is never going to be the same”.  Many of those make it hard to believe anyone’s promise that “Everything is going to be OK!”.

One of those promises came on a very dark week. (“Bailed out” . . . I wrote about parts of it in my first book) . . . but what I didn’t share was after a powerful talk about grace helped me remember that I wasn’t alone—during that same conference—it was announced that a new temple for my church was going to be built in my town.

That announcement—to me—less than one month after losing my spouse, was a promise that everything was going to be ok. That He was remembering how alone I felt, and He was giving me a light at the end of my black tunnel. In my mind, that promise was going to be fulfilled ASAP! But as the months turned into years the light started to fade—a timetable of unmet expectations had me wondering about His plan.

Yesterday I got the chance to be an usher inside the walls of the building that was promised. And as I sat alone in a silent stairway—during one location of my shift—I was overcome with gratitude for the light that I felt. It was so much brighter than a glimmer at the end of a tunnel. What they didn’t announce six years ago . . . was that the location for this promised light was only one block from the location of my darkest night—on the same street even.

As I reflected in that stairway I felt a love so strong I had to wipe a few tears. What once was a small glimmer of light now stands as a magnificent glowing building—

for me . . . a symbol of His love just right up the street from the pain.  

In another spot in the temple—during the open house yesterday—I could over hear a volunteer sharing a story. In the early months of construction the building had undergone some graffiti by an uninvited trespasser. As workers showed up the next day, many suggested they just paint over it. The boss finally told them the final plan, “We can’t just paint over it . . . or else it will still be there. Just because we cover it up—it doesn’t mean it is gone. We are going to have to start on this space again. It will take more time, but it will be ok.” So they redid the whole wall.

We each have parts of us that feel like graffiti—secrets and lies, false beliefs and fears. For the most part, we spend our time trying to cover them up. But that doesn’t take them away. It may take a little scrubbing for us to get rid of the pain. It may take a little reconstruction—but just like the buildings that are dedicated to help us strengthen our relationship with our Savior . . . so are these temples that hold our spirit. If all the yesterdays you spent covering up the pain aren’t making it go away, maybe it is time to get help. Don’t be afraid to talk about it—just because you cover it up . . .doesn’t mean it isn’t still there.  Friends, family, counselors . . . all promise to have your back. And even more than all of them—you have a Creator and Savior who always will.

He doesn’t always do everything on our timetable—but the little promise of light He sent long ago . . . He hasn’t forgotten. Just wait, maybe instead of a little light at the end of the tunnel—maybe He is going to take a whole mountain and make it glow . . . just right up the street from the fear. 

Are you ok with ok? When God says it is going to be ok . . . are you still going to smile if it looks different than what you had planned—you still going to believe? Are you still going to pray, even when the world has failed you? Are you going to remember that the only advise that matters . . . is His?

We cannot be blinded by fear, or feel forgotten because it hasn’t been easy. We have to figure out how to be ok . . . with ok.

I am ok. And most days I am even better. What a difference six years, seven months . . .  and one block makes.

I know He didn’t just announce—or build—that sacred building right there for me . . . but it sure has helped me feel remembered. So many people have told me they have thought of us every time they have passed THE Walgreens. I hope from now on as they drive down that street another block and see a place that is full of light . . . they remember Him. The One who doesn’t see us as separated by religion, or governments, or race. The One who created all the beauty of the earth—everything that promises light.

I know every time I drive down that street I will remember the promise that even the darkest moments . . . if you keep going down the road a little further . . . will turn to light. Don’t you give up.

He loves us. He loves us regardless of all our graffiti . . . or the graffiti we have left for others to clean up.

And . . . He promises . . .

It’s going to be ok.

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Shawn and I took a bunch of pics the other day before it was open when we were walking the grounds. Here are a few of my favorites. We are taking the kids through next week before it is dedicated next month. I will get some good pictures to ad to these.

 All welcome for the open house! Go stop by and check it out. 

The Darkest Light

Looking back it is clear we survived in a state of limbo. For almost two years, I waited for the trial— then once it was over I began to wait for Dateline to wrap up the past . . . so I could move on.

I just knew that our life would be so simple and easy once the past was all cleared from it.

We got back from Hawaii with the greatest intentions to start living OUR life. My past had finally had some loose ends tied— the hype of Dateline had worn off—and I was ready to move forward.

A new kind of reality began to settle in our home. The seemingly small—compared to a murder trail—such as blending family problems that had been so neatly swept beneath rugs, began to grow large in our newly shined eyes. We didn’t just start drowning in the pain of real realities—we began suffocating in our world.

The battle of blending our families—for the first time—was the only priority on our radar, and we were amateurs. The dark jabbing annoyances we once could easily dismiss . . . were blaring boldly in our faces. Living in limbo—waiting for the trial to end— began to seem to be a lot easier than living in real life. The issues that would arise had nowhere to hide, and for the first time Shawn and I were at war against each other. There was no defense side of the courtroom for us to team up against—the teams were split between us.

The battles we were waging were no longer from the past—we were opening up new combat scars. The fears and emotions were no longer directed to some other power . . . but against ourselves.

The “your kids/my kids” conversations were directed with much more anger and fear than they had been before. The memory of the time we had sacrificed away from each other during the trial began to become a wedge that separated us from each other. Fears of unmet expectations brewed in our hearts and kept our minds spinning.

Many nights were spent in hate—not toward the things that had actually hurt us in our lives—but for each other.

Fear was our constant companion and a dark cloud hung over our marriage. Many nights ended with bags packed and the “D” word spoken. We didn’t know how to live without the chaos keeping us afloat. Our relationship had been built upon a dream of living it together, but we didn’t know how to find each other through the fog.

Months past. Time ticked by, each new day a bright hope for life to begin—but we didn’t know how. Each step we took toward each other, we fell back a few. All the things that had kept us together now seemed to be pulling us apart. The kids—who once helped us find the joy and purpose in family—began to be the topic of most of our heated battles. Shawn’s desire to hold on to his relationship with Jordyn—as it once was—began to pose as a threat to my need to feel like I was enough. For every moment he wanted to spend with her, I desired him to want the same with each of the others . . . and me.

The pure love of hope and faith we had once found in our anchor for each other began to be replaced with a wedge of bitterness and resentment.

What was happening to the perfect world we promised each other we would give to this family? What happened to the spark that we had felt in our marriage? What happened to the protection plan we had said would never fail?

The doubts that grew inside of me turned into hallucinations on how the past would have been an easier road. Shawn started to talk about wishing he could just have his simple life back and be rid of the stress and chaos. Hate in our pain blinded us and tried to make us despise each other. 

The plan of starting our life was failing. Every other week was like a rollercoaster. Shawn would long for time with Jordyn when she was gone, and fight for it when she returned. I would fight to be seen, and for all of the children to be his number one.

The more he pushed to have his past back, the more I felt like he didn’t want the future. The more I tried to force the future, the more he missed the past. We each stood at a crossroad—and neither of us could see each other.  

Months went on and Shawn had to go out of town on a business trip. It was almost nice to have a break from the contention, and I looked forward to soaking up the few days I would have alone with my thoughts, when the kids were asleep.

As night settled on my house I reflected over the year—just one year before Shawn had gone to the same business conference.

I remembered how a few hours after he left to catch his plane my phone began to ring. Emmett’s belongings were being released from evidence and were to be dropped off at my house within the hour.

Within minutes I held Emmett’s possessions in my hands.

I spent the rest of that day buried in the past. Reading every text he had sent—the final testaments of his poor choices. His phone was filled with stories of the lies, none of which brought me any comfort in my fear of inadequacy. The fear of not being enough settled into my bones as I viewed for the first time— in his own words— his betrayal of me. 

When night came I ventured into his other belongings. His iPod was filled with pornography and nasty videos. I glanced down the list of filth for three seconds before I turned it off and burst into tears. Betrayal. Ultimate despair settled deep inside in a new way I had never felt. I wasn’t listening to others spout off facts about Emmett’s bad choices—they were glaring loudly from a screen. And just like the realities Shawn and I were now facing about our imperfect family—there was nowhere to hide. No detectives keeping me from the facts I had been missing. No locks to keep me from the evidence I held in my hand.

Chills went down my spine as I tried to snap myself out of that memory. I started to feel panicked about the truths I had learned just twelve months before. As the memory of the anniversary of that tramatic day replayed in my mind, anger filled my heart. Didn’t Shawn remember all the pain I had been through? He had been there for me in so many ways through the struggles of my past—but he was failing to be there for me now.

I wasn’t enough for anyone.

I fell onto my bed and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. I cried so hard it felt like the walls were shaking and caving in on me. Hours of the night passed and I did not move. My house was dark. Everything was quiet, and I was all alone.

Shawn was again gone for the week, only this time I wasn’t spending the evening angry at Emmett—I was filled with feelings of hate for Shawn. He was the man who wasn’t giving me all that I deserved. He was the one I was blaming for my unhappiness and moments I did not feel seen. He was the one who wasn’t meeting my perfect expectations on everything I had decided he should be.

The time I thought I was going to be able to enjoy being alone with my thoughts soon proved to be a distant dream. Being alone was the last thing I wanted—yet there I was. All I wanted to be desired as a wife and partner, but just like the year before I was full of proof that I was not.

There was a split second that night that I wanted to die—I could not feel a purpose or a reason to keep living. I wanted to be freed from the pain of the past, and the battles I was facing in reality. My sobs burned my cheeks and the temptation to give up beckoned my soul.

In fear of myself I fell to my knees on the side of my bed. I pleaded, “Heavenly Father. Guess it’s true . . . I knew I wasn’t enough. Because if I was . . . Shawn would want me . . . I would be his number one. If I was . . . Emmett wouldn’t have been all of the lies I found last year. If I was enough for anyone in this world . . . I would feel happy. They would see me. I wouldn’t have to beg for someone to see my worth, if I was worth fighting for. I thought Emmett was just blind, that maybe he didn’t want me because spiritually he couldn’t see what he had. But now I see, that it is me. Emmett didn’t want me because I am unlovable. I am not the girls he watched in those videos. I am not a supermodel or even a model of anything. I am worthless. My life isn’t going to make a difference for anyone. Shawn has said so himself . . . his life was easier without me. I don’t bring anything good into this world . . . so what am I still doing here? Everyone would be better off if I . . . just wasn’t here. Maybe all those people were right. If I would have been a better wife, Emmett wouldn’t have cheated on me.  If I was a good wife, he would still be alive and he would have been fighting for me. If I was a good wife, Shawn and I would be able to figure out how to love each other and blend this family. I just . . . I am worthless. I am garbage . . . and I am pretty sure no one will ever see me . . . because I am invisible. I can’t hide . . . but I can’t be seen. ”

It wasn’t much of a prayer, but a plea from the darkest part of my soul. Almost instantly—as I ended my pity party prayer in the quiet of my room, I felt a warmth rush over me. I could feel peace, and love, and purpose. I felt full of truth. It felt as though I could almost hear my Savior reassuring me, “Ashlee . . . I see you. And you are beautiful. I hear you . . . and feel your fears. They are real. You want to be seen—but who is it you are turning to for that approval? Them . . . or me?”

Happiness. I get so wrapped up in looking for it in everyone around me. My heart begs for others to reassure me that I am enough. I long to feel a tender embrace—reassuring me that I am ok just the way I am. I crave that unconditional eternal love . . . and I want it right now, in every form possible. I don’t want to wait. I need it when I need it and the unrealistic expectations I have for how it must come—do little to further my cause . . . because I set myself up to fail. I assume the universe will collaborate to play out my desired expectation so I can be happy. I easily forget that my unmet expectations are to help me turn to the only true source of happiness and self worth. I forget that my happiness cannot be built and founded by someone else’s approval of who I am. 

About the time the sun was rising, so was my heart. I looked out into the shadows of the morning searching for hope. Peace filled my heart and for the next three days I gave my kids all of me.

I didn’t think about the nasty videos on Emmett’s ipod; I didn’t give in to the temptations to go and open up another text on Emmett’s phone. I didn’t even stew about my need to be seen by Shawn. Every time fear tried to enter my life—I grabbed onto hope.

This time the evening Shawn flew home was Valentines Day. I was nervous to step back into our turmoil, and life that had become full of miscommunications and contention. The hope I had fought for that night on my bed—just a few days before— threatened to leave as I worried about Shawn’s return.

To my surprise, he had arranged for a babysitter so we could spend Valentines Day evening together. He told me to wear something nice and be ready to go when he arrived at home. He wouldn’t tell me where we were going—he said he had a surprise he had been planning just for me.

We didn’t talk much on the drive—and I felt anxious to see where we were going— but couldn’t help feel the fear of doubt of his love for me. Scared of repeating our pattern of crazy I began to put up a wall. My believed need to protect myself from rejection or disapproval began to multiply and I started to prepare myself for the let down of an “all about Shawn” surprise—instead of something he was really going to do just for me.  In fear of my expectations not being met, I decided to pretend I didn’t have any.

Soon we pulled into the parking lot of the temple. All the nights of fighting and fear felt like a dark cloud holding me back from seeing the expression of love my husband was trying to give me. Fear of his rejection echoed through my mind as I walked into the front doors. I tried hard to snap out of the pain of the past and live in the moment, but my protective wall was on high alert.

Soon we found ourselves sitting in the sealing room. Shawn kept looking over at me. Finally he leaned over and grabbed my arm. He whispered, “ You know this is hard for me. Coming here with you . . . and not knowing . . . I really want all the answers right now on what forever is going to look like for us . . . it is hard to let go of the whys and unknowns and see how it is all going to turn out and it is hard to not spend time dwelling on the answers . . . but today I just . . . I just want . . . I just wanted to see you.”

Before I could even respond a little lady stood up and began to speak. She said, “Before we begin . . . I am ninety years old . . . I am just a little old lady.  I just need to tell you about the people on these stacks of papers. This was my great great grandmother who lived many years ago. She had a very interesting life. She was blessed with nine children . . . but over the course of a few years . . . she lost seven of them to death. So today on Valentines Day we came here to give her the chance to be with those beautiful babies forever.” Tears were streaming down her face as she continued on, “So I know our lives are hard, and we get busy . . . and everyone of you are facing your own battles, but thank you for coming here today to help me give this sweet family this gift on Valentines Day. Family is the most important thing we will take with us when we die, it is what love is all about—being with each other forever.”

I couldn’t stop my tears. I stared at this couple—who had probably been married for more than seventy years—look into each others eyes and hold hands. I watched tears fall down this little woman’s face as she was serving a great great grandmother she had never met—giving her a gift for a day of love. The room was filled with charity: the pure love of Christ.

She wasn’t here, as I was, begging for someone to see her—she was standing in the temple with the gift to see.

I looked over to Shawn and thought about our six babies at home. I thought of losing one of them and the pain that would come through that trial—and this family had lost seven.

I thought about all the things Shawn had done right as my husband and as their new father. Memories of the mean things I had said to him, and all the times I had refused to see him filled my heart. Remorse for all the moments I had let him down played like a movie inside of me.

I silently pleaded for forgiveness from the pain I had caused him—in my fear, in my harsh words, and in my expectations of who he was supposed to be. I asked for forgiveness for all the times I had been blind—for all the times I had selfishly prayed that he could see me. Instantly my heart opened to a new hope—not that I could make my husband see me, but that I could be blessed to see him.

Forgiveness is such a lonely battle, especially when we wait around for the other person to give us the words or actions we need to help us feel whole. True forgiveness isn’t about the other person coming to make it all right—it is about turning it all over to God. Instead of reaching toward man, and almost suffocating them for their love, we have to reach up to heaven.

Forgiveness isn’t about what others can do to make it right. It is an every day choice we get to make. It is a battle we have to fight against Satan. He wants us to be miserable and believe that we are not enough. He wants us to have unrealistic expectations about who and what others should be for us so we fail to see them and the good that they DO do. So really our pride cycle that holds us back from true forgiveness and repentance is a battle we fight against Satan—not a blessing we withhold from some one else.

If I could give advice to anyone who is fighting this lonely battle of forgiveness and repentance I would say this: Pray for angels to take the lies from you. Pray for them to replace those lies with truth—truth that you are enough for God, truth that He can see you—truth that you do not need others to fulfill your expectations of them for you to be happy. Truth that there is good in others, even when they aren’t performing at your desired expectations.

That moment of fear or heartache is another chance for you to fight to see that His grace will make you whole. Another person on the earth cannot make us find our purpose. That can only come from Him. He can bring us the eternal love we are desperately trying to find in man—the unconditional love we all crave. 

Don't let man block your view of Heaven. You are enough. Don't look for that truth in anyone else but Heavenly Father and his Son. He won't leave you alone. Maybe cruel selfish people will, but not Him. 

And in the end . . . He is all that matters. He loves you. He always has, and He always will. 

So many days—in our lives here on earth—we will be reminded of the fear that we are invisible. We will be threatened with the sense of losing sight of who we are, when someone else can’t see us. 

These trials we face are meant to help us turn to Him. Don't let Satan use it against you. Give power to the truth. Truth will not only set us free from the pain of the past—it will set us free from the lies that are right in front of us.

Our journeys can feel lonely, but one truth will always remain: We are not alone. Everything we are made of is filled with truth. Everything we are, our true selves, is made up of perfect love.

Charity is the pure love of Christ. So next time I am singing the lonely lullabies of the “invisible woman” I pray I can remember to be seen—not by man, but by God.

If charity never faileth, then maybe that is the answer. For all the times I have spent crying on my bed to be seen . . . what if I would have been praying for the ability to see. Instead of pleading for my husband to come and soothe my fears and wipe my tears . . . what if I could have had empathy for his pain? What if I could have the gift to see his fears, or look into helping him through his insecurity of not being enough for me? How would those lonely nights looked differently . . . if I would have used my eyes to see instead of watching for someone to notice me?

Maybe we can’t take away each other’s pain; maybe we do not have the ability to entirely heal each other’s burdens—but what if there is more to life than worrying about what we can get from our relationships . . . and start seeing what we can give.

I am full of expectations—some for those around me, and some unrealistic ideas of who I should be. I desire to be seen. I desire to be adored, loved, and enough. I am full of expectations on what that should look like for me to be happy.

But the truth is . . . we were not given eyes to watch for imperfection—we were given the gift to see to look for those who need us. We are blessed with charity (the pure love of Christ) when we are willing to give it.

So maybe Christ didn’t just ask us to be His hands—He also needs us to be His eyes. Watch for those who are desperately seeking in the dark to be seen. Maybe your willingness to step outside of yourself will be the moment they remember they are not forgotten. Maybe that will be the day they remember the unspoken truth we have all at times forgotten—we are enough for Him, and we are enough to be an instrument in His Hands . . . to see.

Thank you to my husband Shawn for his support in writing this post. This song is for you . . . 
Both of Us

Proceed to the Route

This summer while driving to a speaking engagement in Morgan, Utah, we ran into some road construction. The detour caused us to have to ride on the other side of a widely divided highway. My phone began to panic—Siri kept yelling, “Proceed to the route! Proceed to the route!!!” as loud as I have ever heard her speak. She knew something was wrong— the route I had asked her to guide me to, was not the one I seemed to be following. To my phone, I was traveling on the wrong side of a one-way highway.

It almost scared me how persistent my GPS was that I was headed down the wrong course. It caused me to reflect upon my actions and ponder all the turns I had taken. At one point I even stopped and asked a stranger outside of a gas station if I was on the right course. It turned out I was still very far away from my destination, but had been on the right path to get there. 

I don’t know how many times in my life I have felt like I have taken a wrong turn. There have been many occasions when I have had to slow down and reflect upon the course I have taken to lead me to where I was. I have questioned some of my turns, as they have brought me to some pretty rocky roads.

But other times, no matter who has told me I was on a wrong path—I knew I was right where I was supposed to be. Life is strange, each one of ours is so very unique.

With this time of year, as one year turns into the next, I have paused to reflect on where I have been . . . but even more on where I am headed—and where I want to end up.

Exactly a year ago tomorrow I was having one of the biggest internal battles of my life. I had spent Friday night in the temple and had received the strongest prompting to start blogging about my journey. I wrestled with that feeling all weekend long. I didn't say a word to anyone about it. I was cross and snappy; I was scared and felt so alone. I was in a depression just thinking about opening up and sharing the deepest pains of my heart, and could not talk the rational side of my brain into believing this would be a good path for me.

By Monday night Shawn called me out, “Ash . . . is everything ok? You have been like somewhere else all weekend long, and I . . . just . . . how can I help you with whatever you are dealing with? Ever since we were in the temple and you were crying so hard, I  . . . you seem like something is wrong.”

I didn’t want to say a word about the powerful feeling I had received. I didn’t want to put him through anymore of me “dealing with the past”. I didn’t want to hurt him. I didn’t want to scare him off, or have this be another thing that made him feel like we could never just be a family. And even more, for the first time in our marriage, he had been the one to ask me to go to the temple for him. I thought I was going that day to help him with a struggle he was having, not to get inspiration on anything I was supposed to do. I felt very selfish. I didn't dare tell him about the decision I was wrestling with.  I dodged around the truth.

By the end of our (fake on my end) conversation he offered to give me a blessing. The blessing was powerful. The words he spoke pierced my soul. One of the very phrases that had come to my mind in the temple, was spoken by my husband into the air, “I need you to be a voice to others of my children who aren’t listening. They are hurting too.”

When the blessing was over Shawn flipped me around and hugged me. He looked into my eyes and grabbed my shoulders and said, “Ash . . . do you know what all of that meant? Please tell me you know what you are supposed to do? I have never in my life heard or given a blessing like that.” I reluctantly answered as I sobbed out loud, “Yes . . . but I don’t want to do it . . . and I don’t know how I am going to. I know exactly what I am supposed to do, but I can’t . . . I can’t. It is going to hurt more than anything I have ever done. It isn’t fair. I have been through enough humiliation . . . why me? Why?”

He grabbed my hand and said the exact words I needed to hear, “Ash . . . Whatever it is . . . if I were you, I would stop fighting . . . and just have faith—and do it! I will support you . . . heck we have been through so much. You know I am not going anywhere. Whatever is going on—I know more than I have ever known anything . . . you have to do it.”

The next day this blog was born.

When I went to push publish on the first post I paused for a few minutes. I remember praying so hard with bullheaded tears falling down my cheeks, “Heavenly Father . . . I don’t know why I am supposed to do this, I don’t understand how this is going to help anyone but me and the kids . . . but I have faith that the one person who needs this will find it. I pray that it can make a difference for them. I don’t really want to do this, I am scared to share so much humiliation and heartache . . . but I do this for THEE. I dedicate this blog to my children who will one day need to hear the stories it will hold . . . but only because Thou has asked me to. I have been carried by angels, I have seen Thy hand in my life every single day . . . I have faith that You are putting me on the right course. Please let anyone in pain, who reads these stories, find hope . . . in Thee.”  Chills covered my body. I felt so much love surround me. I knew what I had to do. I clicked publish.

If you would have told me, even weeks before that very minute, this journey would have been mine—I would have shrugged my shoulders and laughed. There has been little about this journaling mission that has been fun for me—but it has brought me so much joy. I have so powerfully felt, for the first time since Emmett died, that I am on the right course.

Yes there have been others who have tried to tell me I am doing this for a purpose different than I am—there have been many with cruel opinions about who they think I am . . . and that is ok. If there is one thing I have learned it is this: when God believes in you—or asks you to be more than you are on your own—you grab His hand and follow. You don’t wait around to see who thinks it is a good idea, or ask for the support of anyone but Him. You merely have faith that the right GPS is the one telling you to get back on the right path.

Sometimes God is whispering, “Proceed to the route.” (Sometimes He has to shout it quite loud . . . especially for me!). And sometimes He is merely sticking you on a trail He needs you to be.

Faith—as scary as it is—is what brings us to find our missions.

This blog has not just been an amazing outlet of the pain and anger from my heart—as I thought it would be when I started last January. It has saved me from myself. It has helped me remember all the truths I have known all along. It has given me an opportunity to remember the good times I had before the murder, and to look forward to the ones that lay ahead. It has been a time for me to reflect upon my relationship with God and the foundation He has been in every single day of my life.

It is strange to look back on certain days, that I once felt were as black as night, and remember all the tender mercies that have been a light to help me find my way through them. In the moment, tender mercies seem to be mere coincidences. Sometimes for me, it isn’t until I look back upon them that I truly see Heavenly Father’s hand.

So this New Year doesn’t just mark the change of one year to the next. It marks, for me, a milestone of the blessing this opportunity has been for me. Thank you, anyone who has cheered me along. (Though the first time I got a comment from a stranger I almost shut the whole thing down)—the kind words and tender stories have been a huge support to help me remember why this was the path I was supposed to take.

For all those years I felt so alone—I cannot feel so now. There is a whole world of quiet pain—each one unique. Maybe your answer will not be to share publicly how it has felt for you—but please know you are not alone. Heavenly Father is always on your side. Our older brother Jesus Christ has shared with Him every pain you feel, and every fight you have battled.

So as you reflect upon your story of the years gone by—look for the times when He was there for you. As you look to the future, pray that the course you are walking is for Him. Maybe others will tell you to “proceed to the route”, but the only trail worth traveling is the one being paved by God.

I hope 2015 is the best this world has seen. I pray there will be more love and we will be able to better serve one another. I hope we will think a little more before we speak, and we may love before we hate. I wish for peace, healing, and hope for all. 

But even more than all of this—I pray for each of us to feel of God’s love. When things are going your way, and even when you are flat on your face . . . pray to be able to see yourself how He sees you—and you will feel joy.

If you have lost your way, now is your time to “proceed to the route”. This life isn’t over until it is over. If you are standing at a crossroads, and have forgotten what trail you were trying to follow—seek the right guidance to help you proceed back to the route where you will be able to protect, and be protected.

Not all crossroads are a battle of right and wrong, but each path we follow will lead us to the next. Protect the dreams you are already living, but don’t doubt yourself when you are asked to proceed to the next trail. Each of us will have a unique route to conquer, but only you can know which trails were meant to be followed.

I feel as insignificant as I did a year ago as I pour my heart out with memories of the past, but many things have changed: I am starting to remember who I always have been, I am embracing my story, I am seeking truth, and I am finding hope every day. I still battle the temptation to doubt that I am enough. I still fight the dark fears that try to creep in and destroy everything I know to be true. Life is still hard, and I struggle in some form or another every day. But one thing is for sure— for every time I fall—I am still finding reasons to stand.




For the one year anniversary of Emmett's death Bostyn and Bailey wrote a song they called Memory Song. I was going to write about that one year anniversary tonight but felt I needed to write about this one instead. Someday I will write about this day, but for now here is Memory Song (Bostyn and Bailey)

Looking back:

First blog post Jan 2014

Deseret News article about starting the blog

Fox News article about the blog being born