I have to admit, I was one proud mother at that point. Megan is a great kid and I love her dearly. In that moment she impressed me so much. She does not express a lot of emotion about Trent's passing and I don't always know what is in her head but I now know a little more about what is in her heart.
Brad spoke about Gratitude and all of the blessings his family received after Linda's passing. He talked about the gratitude he felt for those people who cried with him over the death of his spouse and the fear that he had for Charlie's future. He then talked about the miracles they had experienced in regards to Charlie's healing. He expressed his gratitude for the growth that he had gone through as well. He was quite emotional as were many in the congregation.
My topic was 'Thanks Be To God'. Since mine is the only talk I have in digital form I will include it.
In the Guide to the Scriptures under Thanks Be to God, it
reads:
Gratitude for blessings received from God. Expressing
gratitude is pleasing to God, and true worship includes thanking him. We should
give thanks to the Lord for all things.
When we were asked to speak and given our topics the first
thing that came to my mind was the story of the 10 Lepers which is found in
Luke 17:12-19.
12 And as he entered into a certain village, there met
him ten men that were lepers,
which stood afar off:
14 And when he
saw them, he said unto them, Go shew yourselves unto the priests. And
it came to pass, that, as they went, they were cleansed.
15 And one of them, when he saw
that he was healed, turned back, and with a loud voice glorified God,
16 And fell down
on his face at his feet, giving him thanks: and
he was a Samaritan.
When I read that passage the phrase that really stuck out to
me was in verse 15. (read again) We should thank God with a loud voice. This doesn’t mean that we are supposed to
loudly proclaim our thanks, but we should let our actions speak loudly of what
we believe and our gratitude to our Father in Heaven. This is done through service and living the
gospel every day.
When we first moved back to Brigham City after Trent was diagnosed, we decided to get a dog for the kids to distract them from their new reality. Shortly after getting the dog, I lost him. I don't know how, but he got out and ran away. I packed up the kids in the bike trailer and went looking for him. I recognized this as a teaching moment and pulled over to the side of the road and asked Mallory what she thought we should do. We decided to say a pray for help in finding Scout. As soon as our prayer was finished we turned the corner and there in the middle of the road stood our dog. I was so excited and told Mallory that our prayer had been answered! We got Scout on a leash and started for home. Mallory then reminded me that we should thank Heavenly Father for His help. Here I was, being so proud of myself for teaching about prayer yet I was the one being taught about gratitude and thanking our Heavenly Father for all of our blessings, big and small.
Recently I have heard the question posed, “What if you woke
up today with only what you thanked God for yesterday?” I can assure you my list should be a lot
longer than it is. There are many things
on that list; family, warm homes, health, talents, being able to provide for
our families, a living prophet, the fullness of the gospel, temple
ordinances. The list could go on and
on. But the things that resonate most
with me are the Atonement and the Plan of Salvation or the Plan of Happiness.
Neal A Maxwell spoke of the Plan of Happiness in an article
in the Ensign in 1982. He said, “Of
course, this grand plan and design for our happiness is not something which
exists merely to strike awe in us or to evoke gasps of gladness. It does not
exist apart from us either, but completely involves us—painfully at times and
happily at other times—but relentlessly always.
Our response to the realities of the plan should not be
resignation or shoulder-shrugging fatalism—but reverential acceptance!" Acceptance is a step in our growth that eventually will bring us to thankfulness.
"Therefore, our faith in and thanksgiving for Heavenly
Father, so far as this mortal experience is concerned, consists—not simply of a
faith and gladness that he exists—but also includes faith and thanksgiving for
his tutoring of us to aid our acquisition of needed attributes and experiences
while we are in mortality. We trust not only the Designer but also his design
of life itself—including our portion thereof!” (Neal A Maxwell)
Our family is one that knows well what a gift the Plan of
Happiness is. As Elder Maxwell said, it
is not always the ‘happiness’ part that we experience, in fact we are meant to
experience some pain, but eventually, eternally, we will enjoy the fullness of
the Plan of Happiness.
Russell M Nelson said, “God is the same yesterday, today,
and forever, but we are not. Each day, ours is the challenge to access the
power of the Atonement so that we can truly change, become more Christlike, and
qualify for the gift of exaltation and live eternally with God, Jesus Christ,
and our families.33 For
these powers, privileges, and gospel gifts, thanks be to God!”
The following is a favorite story of mine that teaches about
the Atonement:
In
that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in a room. There were
no distinguishing features in this room save the one wall covered with small
index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by
author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from
floor to ceiling and seemingly endlessly in either direction, had very
different headings. As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my
attention was one that read "Girls I Have Liked". I opened it and
began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I
recognized the names written on each one.
And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match.
A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching.
A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I Have Betrayed".
The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. "Books I Have Read", "Lies I Have Told", "Comfort I Have Given", "Jokes I Have Laughed At". Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I've Yelled at My Brothers." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in My Anger", "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents". I never ceased to be surprised by the contents. Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped.
I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my 20 years to write each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.
When I pulled out the file marked "Songs I Have Listened To", I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of music, but more by the vast amount of time I knew that file represented.
When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts", I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded.
An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: "No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!" In an insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it.
Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh. And then I saw it. The title --- "People I Have Shared the Gospel With". The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand.
And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that the hurt started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key.
But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him. No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one?
Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me.
Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card.
"No!" I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was "No, no," as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine.
It was written with His blood.
He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished."
I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written.
And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match.
A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching.
A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I Have Betrayed".
The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. "Books I Have Read", "Lies I Have Told", "Comfort I Have Given", "Jokes I Have Laughed At". Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I've Yelled at My Brothers." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in My Anger", "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents". I never ceased to be surprised by the contents. Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped.
I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my 20 years to write each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.
When I pulled out the file marked "Songs I Have Listened To", I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of music, but more by the vast amount of time I knew that file represented.
When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts", I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded.
An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: "No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!" In an insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it.
Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh. And then I saw it. The title --- "People I Have Shared the Gospel With". The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand.
And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that the hurt started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key.
But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him. No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one?
Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me.
Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card.
"No!" I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was "No, no," as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine.
It was written with His blood.
He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished."
I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written.
In
the past few years I have learned a great deal about the Atonement and all that
it encompasses. How grateful I am for a
Savior who has descended below it all to experience all that we might
experience to be able to succor us in our times of need. My testimony has grown exponentially of a
loving Father who knows us each individually and loves us infinitely.
While
we were fighting for Trent’s life our needs were overwhelming as were our
blessings. We saw miracle after miracle
and received many answers to prayers.
Although we did not receive the miracle of healing that we so desired,
we were blessed with the miracle of faith.
Even until Trent’s very last breath, we all believed that he could be
healed if it was the will of the Lord.
One of the hardest and most calming things I have ever done was to offer
our last family prayer to our Heavenly Father and express to Him our complete
and total submission to His will. When
the end came my very first thought was that of gratitude that Trent was no
longer in pain. And so for that, thanks be to God for the blessing of death, to release us from our pains.
Recently
at a fireside I spoke with Chris Williams, who was the speaker, about our
similar trials. During our conversation
he said, “I look at it as an opportunity for a blessing I didn't want.” That was a little bit difficult for me to
swallow but I am working on it.
·
Receive this blessing from the hand of
the Lord, with a thankful heart:D&C 62:7; That is a constant pursuit for me. I think that being grateful requires us to always look for the good in every situation and trust that God has a perfect plan for each of us.
I am grateful for so many blessings in my life. I have been lucky enough to have the gospel as a central part of my entire life. I have always lived in a home with worthy priesthood holders. I am sealed to a wonderful man who is waiting for me to join him. I am also married to an amazing man who has blessed my life in countless ways. Brad saved me and showed me there is till happiness for me when I thought I could never be fully happy again. We have nine awesome kids who challenge us and heal us every day. I have a strong testimony of the Plan of Happiness and the infinite blessing of the Atonement. Thanks be to God for sending His Son to redeem us. I am blessed beyond what I deserve. I know that Heavenly Father is involved in
the details in my life and He is deserving of my thanks in all things.
So, let us be filled with an attitude of thanksgiving in our
journey homeward, and thanks be to God in all things.
Of course I bawled while giving the talk but it felt like cleansing tears. The rest of the day I felt this energy that I couldn't quite explain. My spiritual high was short lived however. As you know, Monday always follows Sunday. *sigh*
Monday I took Megan and Zach for a routine eye exam. I took them back to the eye doctor they had seen when we lived in Providence before. I was surprised to learn that Megan's eyes were almost perfect! She has been wearing glasses since she was 2 1/2 and has been through patching, bifocals, and vision therapy. One of our goals through her treatment was to get her left eye strong enough so that if anything ever happened to her right eye, she would be okay. Well today was that day. During the exam the doctor became concerned by what he saw and asked his assistant to get a picture of Megan's eye. It would show the same thing he sees when he dilates her eyes but then we could all see what he sees. He then compared that picture to some he had taken seven and eight years prior. The new photo revealed a mass right around her optic nerve. He said it was not particularly dangerous looking but was concerned that it was something new and had not shown up in previous pictures. Well, I have been in this situation many times before and I began asking all the question I knew to ask. Unfortunately he was not giving any straight answers, partially I think, because he did not have any. I also think he was trying not to scare me because he knew Trent and knows our history. He immediately began flipping through his medical journals but did not come up with anything. He texted the pictures to a Neuro Opthamalogist in Ogden and asked for his opinion. This doctor was not able to give any solid answers either but offered to see Megan and do more extensive testing. Ugh.
As we left he office my stomach was in knots. I didn't say much to Megan because I didn't want her to be concerned but I think she can read me like a book. I have to admit, my mind went immediately to cancer. How could I tell her she had cancer? What if she had to do chemo? How sick would she be? What about her gorgeous hair? What if she died? If it isn't cancer, what if she lost her eyesight? I called Brad and tried to keep it together while I told him about the visit. I failed. The tears came and panic set in but just for a little bit. My stoic face came back and I determined that I could do this too. It felt so much like the person I had to be for the three years of Trent's treatment. Always the strong one, putting on the brave face so that everyone else would be okay.
After that first day I didn't express any anxieties of mine to Brad. His way of supporting me was to not bring it up at all...talk about the elephant in the room! It kind of made me feel as though it was 'out of sight, out of mind' for him but I know that wasn't the case. Friday finally came and Megan and I drove to Ogden for the appointment. I was not particularly nervous and I don't think Megan was either. The appointment went well but we still have no definite answers. This doctor thinks it may be Myelinated NFL but it is not common for it to show up at this age. He is going to do some more research but he said "it looks very benign." Great. I will take benign. So now we wait for more answers with a little less weight on our shoulders.
Megan and I went out to lunch and did some Christmas shopping after that. We chose a restaurant that Trent loved, Goodwood. We talked a lot about Trent and the things we miss and remember. We had a great time. She is really a fun person and we laughed a lot. I have missed that Megan. Lately she has struggled a bit with our new reality but she puts on a brave face most of the time. It was so nice to see the real Megan come out and let loose just a little. We were able to talk very openly about a lot of things and it was a very bonding time, for me at least. I hope she feels the same way.
