Fifth Sunday Forum: "A Matter of the Heart"

Our son Spencer hasn't yet figured out the concept of folding arms for prayers. Not sure why. We remember that Lucy picked it up without any prodding. She just learned by watching us and we expected Spencer would be the same.
No dice.
So we've tried to teach him- tried to wrap one little arm across his body, followed by the other.
Nope.

But he does acknowledge prayer time - with his own chosen ritual: hands (or often just one hand) over his heart.

I'm sure it's his attempt to mimic our folded arms.

And while it's not exactly traditional, it is dear and instructive to us. Helps us to remember daily something that President Eyring wrote a few months ago - something we hope ultimately to teach our children:

"Prayer is a matter of the heart."

We wanted to focus on the topic of heartfelt prayer for today's Fifth Sunday Forum. What are your favorite quotes/scriptures about prayer? How do you improve your personal and/or family prayers (it's a circus with little people, isn't it?)? How do you teach your children to pray from their heart? Any thoughts are welcome!

Here are two of our favorite quotes.

(Wes) "I pray because I can't help myself. I pray because I'm helpless. I pray because the need flows out of me all the time- waking and sleeping. It doesn't change God- it changes me." — C.S. Lewis

(Lori) "I can’t remember a sermon from my mother or my father about prayer. They prayed when times were hard and when they were good. And they reported in matter-of-fact ways how kind God was, how powerful, and how close. ...I testify that our Heavenly Father answers the pleadings of faithful parents to know how to teach their children to pray." — Henry B. Eyring

An Afterthought...

Marianne's post yesterday (below) made me think of a great concept from C.S. Lewis. In The Great Divorce, an angel is explaining heaven and hell to a "ghost" and says, "[Mortals] say of some temporal suffering, 'no future bliss can make up for it,' not knowing that Heaven, once attained, will work backwards and turn even that agony into a glory." I can only imagine the "glory" that awaits those who have endured such trials as yours, Marianne!

More Meekness in Trial: Guest Marianne Anderson

"As depression engulfed the last two years of my life I am constantly amazed at the moments of peace and light that have been placed in my way. I have found the light of true faith. Not just a belief in our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, but faith that is changing my very way of being. Faith that is pulling me out of the darkest place I have ever been into the light and peace that can only come from the love and truth of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. This is my journey."

Marianne Anderson
Fighting Depression with Faith

Marianne and I worked together before she and her family moved east for schooling opportunities. A few years ago I became aware of her struggle with depression. I have been inspired by her valiant faith in the face of such a difficult trial ever since. I'm grateful she chose to share a few experiences today.

Finding a Light in the Darkness

Where do I start when it comes to discussing something that is so much a part of every aspect of my life? I suppose once I might have said it all began about 4 years ago, but hindsight, which of course is 20/20, tells me that this has been my lot for many years. But 4 years ago is when this dark shadow truly became my constant companion, not nearly an occasional visitor.

In the summer of 2006 my husband and I were eagerly awaiting the birth of our 2nd child. Yes, we were busy with Ryan’s Ph.D. studies and a very active 2 year-old, but this was still an event that we had planned for and were greatly anticipating.

Before we knew it, August 10, 2006 arrived and around mid-day our sweet little Braeden Maxwell joined our family. Relatively speaking. the birth went well and Braeden was a strong and healthy young baby. I had much to be happy for.

The dark shadow first crossed my path while I was still in the hospital. Being far from our family in Utah, Ryan naturally went home shortly after Braeden’s birth to stay the night with my 2 year-old son, Bradley. That left me then alone in a tiny room, nearly too small for my bed, with only one window behind me to view the pouring rain. Of course, at times the nursery would bring Braeden to me for nursing, but most of the time it was just me. Being one of eight children I had many with whom to share the good news, but for some reason it took all the will power I had to make those calls. Admittedly I wondered why this was becoming such a punishment, but I easily dismissed it as exhaustion from delivery and a desire to be back home. Needless to say, after the required 24 hours were over I was happy to return home.

For the next several weeks things proceeded as they often do with a newborn and a toddler at home, not to mention a grad-student husband…crazy. But again my exhaustion and weeping were just dismissed by the idea of lack of sleep, all the while my dark shadow was rolling in deeper and deeper.

By November, as best I can tell, my life consisted of lying on the couch, feeding my children, and watching my 2 year-old wile away his time in front of the TV and GameCube. Each week I would will myself to church because that is “what you do.” More and more my feelings were suppressed and replaced by a dark hollowness.

Much of that time is only a vague memory pieced together by the occasional recollection and discussion with my husband. I suppose I was too beyond feeling to realize this, but in so many ways I was merely a shell of a person. My husband has since told me that he really felt as if he’d lost me. Physically I was there, but emotionally I was so gone it was almost like I wasn’t there at all.

Sadly one of the few things I remember about that time was how little I felt for Braeden. Here was this precious little boy who I’d carried inside of me for so many months, but I couldn’t seem to truly love him. Sure, there was a basic love that I shared with mankind as a whole, but the special bond that can only be between a mother and child was nowhere to be found. I didn’t blame him or hate him…I really didn’t feel anything for him. It was as if that ability was broken inside of me.

Finally after much persistence by my sweet husband, I tearfully called my OBGYN and received a prescription for an anti-depressant. In so many ways it shamed me to do it, but by this point I could finally tell that there was something beyond my control occurring.

I didn’t realize how dark the shadow over me truly was until a few days after starting my medication. The hurt had become so intense that for sheer survival my body had shut down all feeling. Before the medication could take full effect it made me start to feel again. That was truly the darkest time in my life. I distinctly remember sitting in Relief Society on the far side of the room, just looking at my sweet baby asleep in his car seat, wishing I could crawl into a hole and go away.

The depth of the pain was so much it was like it was eating me from within. I would even say there were times I wanted to die so that the pain would just stop. Again, I just wanted to “go away,” a feeling I’ve had many times since.

Thankfully, the medication did eventually lighten the shadow. I was no longer crying every day and most of the time, simple things like showering happened on a daily basis…a big step up from before. In my periodic visits with my OB, we felt like maybe there was going to be a light at the end of the tunnel I was now calling Post-Partum Depression (PPD).

All was good until change came knocking. My husband had the opportunity to do the internship year of his Ph.D. at the Duke University Cancer Clinic. We were so excited for this chance, but this necessitated a move to Durham, NC about an hour and a half from our current residence in Greenville, NC. Again this was something we were excited for, but it created a shift in the little world I had been learning to manage and change for someone with depression is a whole different experience.

Over the years, an analogy that seems to fit my situation became clear to me. We’re all going down the road of life, but we’re not all on the same vehicle. Most people are on a sturdy bike assisted by training wheels for that much more support. Someone with depression is on a very precarious unicycle. Suddenly a pot hole appears in the road. Although somewhat tricky on a bike, the large tires and training wheels make maneuvering the hole something that causes only a minor shake. But as you can imagine, the task for the unicycle is not nearly so simple. And as was definitely the case for me, when we moved to Durham, not only did it become a shaky ride, I fell completely from the unicycle.

I was blessed that the fall was not a hard one and after a month or two I was firmly back on my unicycle and proceeding on my way. But all along there was something nagging me. My son’s first birthday came and went. Christmas passed and then New Years, but I was still on a unicycle, not a bike. The darkness was more of a light gray, instead of black, but it was still darkness. Again, I wasn’t prepared to truly look at things head on and I attributed it to the move just making my PPD a little worse.

May 10, 2008 came…graduation day! I couldn’t have been more pleased. Ryan had completed his Ph.D. with flying colors. We were moving back home to Utah to be close to family where Ryan could pursue a great job. We had even purchased our first home. I felt like we were finally beginning the rest of our life and I just knew that meant that everything would be better.

We began the 2000 mile trip across the country on a rainy Sunday-- Mother’s Day, oddly enough. We needed to get a move on our four day trip so that we could have some unpacking done before Ryan began work the following week. We were in The Blue Ridge Mountains of beautiful West Virginia when I drove around a blind corner to find the traffic at a complete stand still. There was no chance to stop in time and nowhere to really go with concrete barriers on my left and barrel cones and a steep drop-off to my right. My only option was to pull as far right as I could and hit as few cars as possible.

It was nothing short of a miracle that the wagon and extended van in front of us sustained only minor damage, but seeing as how the front wheels of our newly purchased car were now turned in facing each other, the same couldn’t be said for our car. But what was probably most damaged was my fragile emotional health. Overall I kept things together well enough to get our little family across the country, but after that is when everything came crashing down.

Slowly the shadow rolled back in. The darkness was consuming me. The couch once again became a much visited place and only the most basic of tasks were completed for the sake of my children. Despite my best efforts I began to rapidly gain weight. I tried to do the same activities that once helped me feel fulfilled and uplifted, only to find that I felt more exhausted than before.

I eventually had to come to grips with the fact that my reality had changed. What I had once hoped was just PPD and so therefore was a temporary thing, was truly my new dark companion. I had to face the fact that things were never going to be the same for me. In so many ways I was suffering a death; the loss of myself and so many hopes and dreams with it.

And where do I find myself today? In some ways not much better off than before. Many a medication was tried and with that came the rocky emotional roller coaster that comes when you mess with your mental health. Many tests were done to see if it was merely a hormonal imbalance. For nearly a year I attended a support group. Many things changed, but again what was constant was my shadow of a companion.

If I look back at the last 4 years with pessimistic temporal eyes all I can see is sorrow, darkness, and grief. But when I’m able to see my life through an eternal lens, some how the shadow is not so dark. There seem to be small rays of light illuminating the way and breaking up the darkness. Yes, the darkness is still there, but with it comes the light.

From the very beginning the Lord blessed me with Ryan. Years before the darkness was my constant companion, the Lord placed Ryan in my path. The Lord knew that Ryan was the man I needed to marry. Just by nature Ryan was a great choice, but since Ryan pursued Marriage and Family Therapy as a career choice, there was no doubt in my mind that the Lord gave him to me to lighten my darkness and when I was unable to see, to hold me hand and guide me along.

Where would I be without my 2 sweet little boys? Admittedly there are days when the antics of a 3 and 5 year-old only add to the stress and feed the depression, but on so many occasions they have been my strength. I can honestly say that they were the thing that I considered most when I was feeling suicidal. I knew that Ryan would figure out a way to manage, but children need their mother. They have been so much more than just a motivation to not harm myself. On many occasions they have directly been a source of light. How can you not be uplifted when your 3 year-old runs from the preschool door shouting, “MOMMY!” not in fear or alarm, but with pure joy that you’re there? How can you not feel loved when your kindergartener asks you to help him spell the following sentence, “Mom, you are fantastic!?” And can your heart do anything but melt when your son announces, “Mom, I think you’re my best friend!?” I could go on and on about the many ways the Lord shows me love through my children. They are definitely rays of light in the darkness.

Countless friends have come into my life when I needed them the most. Sweet April was there for me in Greenville. She was always there to listen and as odd as it sounds, she was always there to come over to dinner. During those early days doing something for others, specifically cooking for them, was so good for me. Greenville also blessed me with Megan. How blessed I felt when she moved into the very same apartment complex. She was always there to talk and she was a great exercise buddy…something I really needed.

Durham came with a great ward family that each played a special role in bringing me to probably one of the best places I’ve been since the darkness found me. And not long after we moved back to Utah, Jen bought the house next door. Although she may never be able to completely understand what my life is like she has made every effort to support me. She’s there during the good times and she’s there during my darkest hours. There is no doubt in my mind that the Lord was looking out for what I needed.

Although feeling the spirit has been particularly difficult these last few years, there are two scriptures that have given me hope during this time. The first is one that I have always loved, 2nd Nephi 2:24. It says, “But behold, all things have been done in the wisdom of him who knoweth all things.” What a comfort it is to know that the Lord is aware of my situation. It doesn’t make it go away, but it makes it a little less lonely. The other verse from 10th chapter and 13th verse of 1st Corinthians. It says, “There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.” I can’t tell you how many times I’ve told myself, in the darkness of the hour, that I can do this or the Lord wouldn’t have let this happen to me. I will need help, but the depression will not win!

There have been so many other rays of light. Some bigger like my great Depression and Bipolar support group (DBSA) and others more simple, like a kind comment after a young women’s lesson I’ve just given. But no matter the size they still add to the light.

The darkness is still my constant companion. I think I’ve come to grips with the idea that this will likely be the case my whole life, but when I couple those thoughts with the rays of light that I’ve had in the past and the many that I am and will continue to experience, I know it can be done. Because of my Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, there is a light during the darkest of nights.

I Rest Me in the Thought

in God, the Eternal Father

I'm sure we'll spend a whole year on various aspects of the First Article of Faith. Because there's so much to say and I never leave myself enough time to put even an ounce of it into a single post. And because we'd like to have some of you write on the subject as well. And you'll note that we've abandoned all structure - no more certain topics on certain weeks of the month. Just whatever, whenever. Won't that be easier?? Yes. And while we're housekeeping: we're glad for your comments on the last couple of posts! We never really thought this blog would have regular readers and so we never really thought that a comments section would be necessary - but we're so glad for the exchange! It's so refreshing!

End of tangent.

Today, on the topic of God, our Eternal Father, I've only time for two things: A song and a story.

The song (in part) - one that has been floating in my head all through this heavenly springtime; one you probably know and love, too:

This is My Father's World

Words by Malthbie Babcock

This is my Father’s world, and to my listening ears
All nature sings, and round me rings the music of the spheres.

This is my Father’s world: I rest me in the thought
Of rocks and trees, of skies and seas;
His hand the wonders wrought.


This is my Father’s world, the birds their carols raise,
The morning light, the lily white, declare their Maker’s praise.
This is my Father’s world: He shines in all that’s fair;
In the rustling grass I hear Him pass;
He speaks to me everywhere.

The story (not directly related to the song, mostly for my memory's sake, and long...are you duly inspired to continue?):

At the beginning of the month, Wes and I spent a week away from our children. Four year old Lucy had a wonderful time with her grandparents and cousins while we were gone, but since our return she has been consistently anxious. She has dreaded separation of all kinds, including primary and preschool - both of which were previously beloved.

While her feelings and behaviors seemed fairly normal to me in light of our week away, I was concerned. The crying and screaming seemed so uncharacteristic.

We talked, we asked questions, we tried to both validate and reassure, but all the while Lucy's anxiety only seemed to increase. "I don't want it to be night," she told me fretfully last Tuesday, fulling comprehending that the approaching day would bring school.

Should I even take her? I wondered. She seemed so truly distraught.

Wednesday morning came. We all piled in the car with the intention of dropping Dad off at work and Lucy off at school. We'll see how it goes, I thought.

Pulling up to the city council building, we started to wave Wes off, but before he climbed out of the car he asked, "Could we say a prayer together? To help me feel happy at work and to help Lucy feel happy at school?"

We said a prayer. Wes jumped out.  The rest of us drove off.

Several minutes down the road, I heard Lucy's concerned little voice ask from the back seat, "could we say another prayer? I'm about cry!"

So we prayed again. And then we talked. About Heavenly Father. About how much he loves us. About how he can always be with us - even though we can't see him. We talked about how he sends the Holy Ghost to help us feel better when we feel alone or sad or afraid.

I was grateful for the chance to discuss those things, but I certainly still anticipated a struggle at school. The preceding days had been so difficult.

We pulled up in the usual spot. I prepared for the usual tears. Instead, I heard Lucy unclick her seat belt. "You can stay here with Spud," she told me when I looked back.

Worried that she was being a little cavalier and that she'd melt down the moment she was out of the car, I offered: "Would you like me to walk you to the gate?"

"No," she was so sober, "You can stay."
She proceeded to open the door, but looked back at me before exiting. "Because of the prayer," she said.

I watched in disbelief as she walked to the gate with a determined stride. She looked back a few times, her face puckered and red. I wanted to run to her. But she turned and headed straight inside.

I immediately cornered another father, "Will you check on her inside? Will you come back and tell me how she's doing?" I asked.

I waited impatiently but something inside me knew: she's fine.

"Because of the prayer."

My emissary returned and flashed a thumbs up.
I started the car and drove away with tears running down me cheeks.

I was so grateful for that glimpse of my daughter's emerging faith - that glimpse of her growing confidence in Heavenly Father's care. And I realized: of all the things I hope to teach her - such faith, such confidence is paramount.

"Why" will have to wait for another day.
I want, simply, to say:

I believe in God the Eternal Father.
We live in His beautiful world.
And we are all, truly, His beloved children.

For Mother's Day

Next year, when Wes and I don't spend the first week of May cruising the Mexican Riviera, we'll have a whole week of Motherhood posts! (Because oh, what a topic!)

This year we just have one post. But it's a good one. In 2007, before her darling twins were born, my dear friend Amy Fitzgibbons wrote this. Now, as a mother of two almost two-year-olds (!) she writes:

Travail. I learned that word in high school French class. The sophomoric translation is “work”. The Lord told Eve that she would have “travail” in child bearing. Has there ever been so great an understatement?


Lori asked me to write about how motherhood has brought me closer to God. I will do my best, but anything I say will also be an understatement. Because it’s impossible to explain the small moments of inspiration that lead to great faith and hope and blessings.

It’s daunting to approach a subject that reaches everyone in such an individual way. Since I can’t speak for you-here is a little of my “travail”.

Infertilily. Clomid. IUI. IVF. Failure. IVF. Miscarriage. IVF. Twins! 29 week twins. 3 months in the NICU twins.

That is my journey to motherhood in a nutshell. But there’s so much more to it than that.

Prayers. Blessings. Whispered Revelation. Tears. More prayers. More tears. Waiting. Wondering. Anger. Depression. Chocolate. More prayers. Ice Cream. Priesthood blessings. Promises. Lots of babies born-not mine. Adoption? Not right. Money? We don’t have enough. Weight gain? Oh joy-more ice cream. Fear. Great Fear. More prayers---answered prayers. Blessed prayers. Blessed Revelation.

What is the result? I have 2 beautiful, healthy babies. A boy and a girl. They are almost 2. Two?! While pregnant you would have heard me promising things to a bulging belly such as, “I’m never going to take you for granted. I’ll never yell or be impatient. We’ll always be happy.”

HA. You can say it. I do everyday. They are TWO. I yell. I get impatient. I pray for long naps. I beg for a break. I wish them away. You do too, right? Right?

Before my husband and I got married we decided to make Alma 37:6 a theme for our family. “…by small and simple things are great things brought to pass…”

And so I try to remember that it is the small moments that make all of the travail and hard days and tears become great—godlike. That’s why we’re here. And remembering that is the only problem.

But the kids don’t seem to have forgotten. Because when you mention Jesus, don’t they seem to stare and ask with their eyes, “You know Him too?”

Yes, I know Him too. Most importantly, He knows us. Me. He knew that becoming and being a mother would be the hardest thing in the world. He knew my heart would break over and over. But He also knew that a broken heart would drive me to my knees over and over. In tears. In humility. In anger. In confusion. In hope. In faith. In tears again. And because of those prayers and these experiences, I am closer to who I need to become.

I often get comments from strangers, “you have twins? A boy and a girl? How perfect. How did you get so lucky?”

But they don’t really know. I’m not “lucky” because I have them. I’m blessed because of who gave them to me. And to whom they really belong. It wouldn’t matter if I had twins, triplets, boys, girls, or monkeys. I have happiness in motherhood because of the Savior who knows. And that’s why on my bad days I remember. I remember those past prayers. And know that if He helped me then, of course He will help me now. And I travail for one more day.