Monday, August 30, 2010

Time for Stillness

In my Sophomore year of college, while I was away on a study abroad, I came across a phrase that surprised me and made me a little incredulous.  It was in the home of a family with many well-trained children, wherein the gospel was taught and lived.  The phrase was "Exhaustion is not a prerequisite for exaltation."

"But surely it is!" I thought.  "We must wear ourselves out in doing good and dedicate all to building the kingdom of heaven.  We must cross the finish line huffing and puffing, having never let up in our efforts for a moment."  The phrase stayed with me and I continued to ponder on it, coming as it did from a source that seemed to know more than I did.

Today I read in C.S. Lewis's collection of the writings of George MacDonald: "Work is not always required of a man.  There is such a thing as a sacred idleness, the cultivation of which is now fearfully neglected."

I like both phrasings of this idea.  It is an idea that I gained a testimony of but have had a very hard time putting into practice.  There is time for work.  There is time for play.  There must be also time for stillness.

Exhaustion does not lead to exaltation any more than late nights lead to good choices.  George MacDonald said "No one can deny the power of the wearied body to paralyze the soul. . .The cessation of labor affords but the necessary occasion [for sleep]; makes it possible, as it were, for the occupant of an outlying station in the wilderness to return to his Father's house for fresh supplies. . . The child-soul goes home at night, and returns in the morning to the labors of the school."

I believe in the necessity of sleep, too, for soul renewal, and more, I know of the need for a time of quiet in the day.  Carving out a place in the fast flow of my life for daily, studied stillness has not happened lately, and I have suffered for it. Even Sundays seem to stream by with a rapid succession of responsibilities, rather than restful relief.

So, I am gratefully, greatly enjoying my time for stillness this morning.  Dorothea and Isaac are at "Creation Corner," the Mother's Day Out program put on by a local church, and I have had a blissful morning of reading, praying, pondering, and being still.  I feel like I have found the shore, and can begin to get to my feet after being hurled down the rapids for months on end.  I have left many blessings behind, passed by because I did not pause to slow down and take them, I'm afraid.  I am very sorry for it, and earnestly desire to do better.

At the beginning of this year I reminded myself that receiving daily revelation from the Lord, and doing it, is as important as it was for the nurses in the NICU who cared for Isaac to take daily note of the changes/additions the doctor made on his rounds, and do them.  If they had listened to him and done what he asked only occasionally, Isaac would not have made progress, and could well have been gravely impacted, even killed by the lack of vigilance.  Yet I feel I have gone months without making time to listen well and do.  Likely my failure to do so contributed to months of depression.  If I had continued to listen and obey, even though life was hectic (for the Lord never asks more than we can do), rather than excusing myself, doubtless I'd have been happier, and not so much of a burden to others.  I have much, much to learn.  Will I learn it?  Will I do it?  I will commit myself today, again, and pray for forgiveness.  I will be still and listen.  I will go and do.  I believe it is not too late to try again.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Changing my mind


What is it like for me to experience depression?  It is an interesting change from "normal," and multifaceted.  The most notable change for me, and the most incessant, isn't something that I had thought of as a symptom of depression at all.  It is a slowness of brain--as though the simple tasks of daily life become as difficult to sort through as a (insert name of a difficult, over my head) math problem, and require as much focus and time.  Where I would normally shift seamlessly from laundry to cleaning to food prep to errands to email, etc., calculating unconsciously what needed doing next, and what little tasks to fit in along the way (bring the can of beans upstairs with the load of laundry, and double check on library books between trips to the car), instead I get "hung" and feel like I wander aimlessly, my mind working but never coming together.  I do things like pack the car for St. Louis and forget the overnight bag full of clothes, struggle hopelessly between decisions about minor (and major) things, and feel overwhelmed simply by walking into an untidy room.  It is like my brain is a computer and the RAM is maxed and has resorted to the page file and is therefore taking 1000 times longer than normal.  It is frustrating and embarrassing, and I have no idea what to do about it.  If the mental malady were translated into a physical one, I would say I go at about the same pace as a person with a broken arm and leg, trying to navigate without the use of either.

Another issue which I didn't know to ascribe to depression, and has brought a lot of sorrow is my incredible irritability/shortness of temper.  Sometimes I feel like I am possessed by a demon, and can well understand how people might interpret mental illness in those terms.  I feel in a moment like I am (with effort) keeping my emotions and stress in check, and the next moment I am screaming and slamming doors and shouting at my poor children the worst possible interpretation of whatever circumstance has just laid itself before me.  It is unnerving and horrible to be that person.  One part of me collapses in shame as the door closes behind me and another is still fuming with anger.  I want to run back and apologize, but know I am as likely to spew more poison in that moment as to offer a healing balm.  I do a lot of apologizing when I am back in control of myself, and my children are miraculously patient.  Their feelings are hurt, but their love is deep.  Carol frequently reminds me that I need love and I can always get more from her, because she has plenty and it will never run out.  Ethan apologizes himself for whatever part he had in setting me off (I remind him my feelings are my responsibility and he is guiltless for my outburst.)  Dorothea needs constant reassurances that I love her, in time and attention.  Tonight after scripture time, I tried to explain something about being sick in my heart and in my brain, and how hard it is for me lately because something is wrong inside me, and not because of them.  They prayed for my brain to get better.

Another symptom that I didn't know was associated with depression is my emotional aversion to things that are a normal, necessary part of life.  In contemplating a simple task, like cleaning a room or making dinner, the thing seems so utterly uninteresting, so deeply boring and emotionally repulsive that getting myself to do it is like walking into a fire hose.  With the emotional draw of others to join me in the task (like when the children were home for the summer) I feel I can tackle it.  Otherwise, it feels so emotionally draining that I seldom work up the energy to make myself do it, and look instead for something that, for whatever reason, is less aversive.

The part of depression that I did recognize as such is my feeling that I am looking at the world through dark glasses.  Often, my interpretations are distinctly negative, yet seem utterly real.  I feel overwhelmed by the pain and burden and difficulty of life (though really, my life is wonderful!)  Thoughts of death and escape crowd in and feel utterly desirable.  Why live?  My children would certainly fair better with a mother who doesn't lose her temper irrationally and can't get anything done or even pull her life together.  I am not contributing anything of worth, and who knows if or when it will get better?  I can't face another day, another trip to St. Louis, another disappointment or setback or to-do list that I will never get to the bottom of.  "I need help!!!" then seems to echo through my brain with an urgency that almost stops my breath.  I want to sink down and die.  It is like in labor--a sure sign of transition (at least among non-medicated women, I don't remember it when I had an epidural) is the overwhelming feeling of "I can't do this!!!"  Then the midwife knows the birth is very soon at hand, and comforts and coaches the mother through the last few minutes.  Only I know it won't be only a few minutes more.  When I come to that crisis, though, I find a way to cope, and then it does get better.  Eating usually helps, and sleep.

Another aspect of my experience is increased anxiety.  More than just a constantly negative view of the world is a sensation of . . . anxiety.  I don't know a better word for it.  When something difficult happens, especially, or some upset that I hadn't foreseen, I feel my heart beat fast and it feels difficult to breathe.   My mind starts racing about the problem and the "likely" consequences that will come from it (all unpleasant), or goes into "deer in the headlights" mode and I can't think cohesively at all.  There is a feeling of impending doom, that all is for naught, and that (again) I need to escape or pass the responsibility on to someone else.  It is very unpleasant.  Considering the high stress year I have had and continue to have, it is not surprising, I suppose.  Sadly, though, I think if I was all well mentally, a lot of my perceived stress would not exist, and those things that make me anxious and feel oppressive would be only little bumps in the road.  It feels like a (oh, what is the word for a process that fuels itself?)

So, that is the gist of my current experience.  Forgive the frankness, if it troubles.  The very positive side of it all is that I don't consider any of it to be "me" any more than I would consider the symptoms of a physical disease to be "me."  It is an experience I am passing through, but not part of my identity. It affects me and my life and those around me, true, but I am ultimately in control.  I can take what steps need to be taken to ameliorate and heal it.  When I feel anxious, I can consult with Sam about his take on the situation, or employ thoughts from other, more positive areas of my brain.  When I am feeling utterly dark and dejected, I can reach out to my Saviour, who is my companion on this journey through life, and feel His knowledge of me and my pain, and then move on from the pain.  When I lose my temper I can apologize, and explain as best I can that I know what I have done is wrong, and offer an example of repentance and hope for forgiveness.  I haven't yet figured out how to overcome the slowness of thought, or aversion to my homemaking tasks other than to hire a maid or some other help to make up the difference as best as possible.  But, I hope that with good self-care (good sleep, eating and exercise, particularly, which I have been doing pretty well) the issues that my brain is trying to solve subconsciously will get resolved, and I will have full use of my faculties once more.

Two positive experiences, now, about changing my mind:
When I went to St. Louis a couple of weeks ago, and upon removal of the casts it was found that Isaac had a severe rash, so they couldn't recast, I was immediately thrown into an acutely anxious state.  My well-laid and comprehended plan that would end in Isaac's cure was derailed.  I saw the purpose of weeks and weeks of arduous trips unravel before my eyes.  He was being sent home with out casts!  His feet would regress.  It had all been for naught!  All the sacrifices and arrangements and discomforts were for nothing.  I didn't know what to do and could scarcely breathe as I got back into the car with a bloody-legged baby, wounds wrapped tentatively in stockinette and being every moment exacerbated by Isaac's clawing at the horribly itchy flesh.  We had a visit to The Magic House and a five hour drive ahead of us.  Could I make it through?  I doubted.  But I did, and as we drove, partially from self-preservation, I think, I decided to change my mind.  "Lord," I thought to myself, "you have done this for a good reason.  Everything has a reason, and can be for good.  Help me see Thy view, and what good can and will come." (I have since changed my mind about the thought that God "did" this, and that He "did" it because it was for the best.  I think it was probably a simple consequence of the telestiality of the world, and our fallen, infirm bodies.  While I do believe that everything can work together for our good, I am not sure that it does so because God arranges things to be in the best possible state.  But it was a helpful thought to have as a crutch in the moment!)  I then proceeded to take deep breaths and imagine every good thing that could possibly come.  Isaac's birthday would be that week, and it was like a birthday present for him to have some freedom from the casts!  It was possible that a miracle would occur and those bloody, raw, pathetic legs would heal in less than a week, and that his feet wouldn't regress and that he would still be able to use the surgery date in a week, but after a much needed break from the casts!  Good was still possible, and I imagined it all up.  I thought with gratitude about the fact that Isaac would be able to bathe every day (which he had really missed).  I hoped and anticipated and was able to dispel the gloom and anxiety to such an extent that I had peace on the drive home.  It was wonderful!

Another experience occurred today when Isaac was seen for the first time at the St. Louis Children's Hospital.  We transfered to that hospital because the anesthesiologist at Shriners was unwilling to do anesthesia on a baby who'd had a diaphragmatic hernia.  There are many frequent complications with DH that can also complicate anesthesia.  Shriners is an orthopedic hospital and not prepared to treat heart or lung issues, which are common with DH babies.  Isaac, however, is very uncommon in his healthiness and has not had any recurrent issues with anything that would complicate anesthesia.  I'd asked the anesthesiologist to look over Isaac's record and reconsider, but the records had not yet come, and I didn't know whether he would agree with me or not.  So, we went to SLCH with the understanding that as a full service hospital, there would be fewer hang ups about anesthesia, and we could continue on with treatment there in the mean time.  I loved Shriners, though, and hoped to transfer back once the anesthesia question was decided.  This morning when I pulled up to the SLCH, which is huge and seemed utterly impersonal and institutional compared to Shriners, my heart sank.  Shriners is smaller and humbler, but full of love and kindess and specialized in exactly what Isaac needed.  SLCH is expansive, with hundreds of people coming and going and  orthopedics was one little clinic of a hundred, in a back hall.  I longed for Shriners, and thought I would certainly go back if at all possible.  Once we were in a room, though, the nurse practitioner, Kristina, (who has been unbelievably wonderful) told me that they could not hold the OR appointments for Isaac at SLCH if I intended to go back to Shriners, and that if I did intend to go back, they would simply not cast Isaac today, and wait until they could get him in at Shriners, once they had found a workable OR date there.  And that was, of course, if the anesthesiologist decided he would be willing to do anesthesia there at all.  I asked for a moment to make the decision, and called Sam--someone of sound mind.  We talked about it and felt like the best course was to go forward at SLCH.  Still, after hanging up, I felt sad.  Shriner's was so dear, and it was quite likely that between possible future complications and such, Isaac wouldn't finish his treatment any earlier for having begun again earlier at SLCH than he would if he waited for Shriners.  I felt at a loss.  I didn't want to lose the purpose of the trip to St. Louis again, but I had to consider it a sunk cost.  I prayed for help and felt 1) It was perfectly fine to do what I felt like I wanted to do; 2) I could change my mind about how I felt. I already knew, from consultation with several of sound mind, that SLCH was a good place for Isaac to get treatment.  I realized that if I considered the situation with gratitude instead of comparison, I, too, could be very happy to have Isaac at SLCH.  From my point of view of several months ago, of knowing that Isaac needed specialized help and being utterly unable to get it for him, of knowing who the best doctor in the country was for the problem, but thinking him to be totally out of reach, this possibility, of taking Isaac to the best doctor in the country, and at one of the top ten hospitals in the country, would have resulted in utter, bewildering gratitude.  Now, I had taken a stepping stone (Shriners) to get here, but here we were.  Likely, if I'd tried originally to get into SLCH, I would have had as long a wait as I would have for Arkansas Children's Hospital (2.5 months), but I got into Shriners so quickly, and started treatment, and then as one already under the doctor's care, we got into SLCH immediately.  Instead of feeling like my hand was forced by the anesthesiologist, and resentful and troubled, I could change my mind and feel grateful, and happy and confident in Isaac's treatment going forward as safely as possible.  I did change my mind, and now I am only filled with happiness about the whole matter.  Hurrah!



Monday, August 23, 2010

A thing of beauty. . .

Last night I stayed up a little too late to watch a beautiful movie, called "Bright Star" about John Keats and Fanny Brawne, a young woman who befriended and loved him and became his muse.  In one scene, Keats tried to explain poetry to her, but has a difficult time capturing the essence of it.  Poetry, he says, is a luxuriation for the senses as much as it is a means of communicating a thought.  I liked that.  I also liked that he was honorable in his behavior towards Fanny.  He knew he could not marry her, as he had no living at all, so he was guarded in the affection he gave physically, though unbounded in words.  I wondered if his honor lent to the strength of his vision of truth and beauty.  Can the Spirit better inspire a man in artistic ways if he is pure?

I thought of that questions as I rode my bike this morning, through the clouded dawn.  I took a camera with me, and captured some of what I saw.  Nature is certainly a muse for me.  In it, I believe, many of the mysteries of God are revealed, for those who care to see, and appreciate and understand.  I think somehow we know this, without knowing that we know, in the same way that we universally know beauty and respond to truth.  When an analogy is drawn from nature, it bears weight, somehow, and we accept it.

Perhaps I need to draw more from the creations of God--to consider and learn from them.  A plant will not bear fruit if it is not properly nourished, is a lesson I should take.  Also that a bulb must have a rest period in the winter to be ready to grow again.  I wrote a poem once when I was feeling dead inside:

The winter is bleak, Lord,
let me have a peek
of what is waiting underground
gathering strength
to bloom again in Spring.

I sensed that my period of depression (this was many years ago) was part of my growing process.  It was uncomfortable and not the bright, happy time I wished for, but it was, somehow, a preparation for that time.  We must know dark to know light, and I did emerge from the darkness and felt that my understandings were deepened and my sensibilities heightened because of that time of contrast.

Another winter, I watched as an ice storm overcame the trees of our area, and they were bent to the ground with the burden of the ice.  Some, not flexible or strong enough, broke and the trees or limbs died.  Others bore the load with painful patience, and though it took weeks, the ice did melt, and they stood tall again.  That was a bent-down winter for me, too, and I was far from my tallest and best.  I felt discouraged and disappointed with myself, until I saw those trees and realized the Lord did not expect me to function as I would in an ideal situation any more than he did those trees.  My task at the moment was not to be a pinnacle of perfection, but simply to bear the load in patience, so as not to break.  I did, and gained much of strength, patience and faith.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Rainbow Me

My freshmen year of college I dated a boy who was deeply attractive to me.  He was intense, hugely intelligent, handsome and deeply emotional.  I loved him.  Unfortunately, I also knew it wouldn’t work out between us.  His intensity compounded my own, so that we tended to collude towards extremes.  Either things were powerfully wonderful or desperately painful.  There was little in between, and the emotional swings exhausted me.  I told him I loved him.  It was true.  I told him it wouldn’t work out between us.  Also true.  He saw these two sentiments as being mutually exclusive, though, and asserted that in fact, I was a two faced, untrustworthy wench.  His accusations stung, and I didn’t know how to explain the possibility of what he considered an impossibility.

That year in comparative literature we were reading Anna Karenina, and as I was pondering my sanity, my ability to be or feel two things at once, the professor began his lectures on the depth and breadth of characters in Anna Karenina being a reflection of the depth and breadth of our own multifaceted selves.  The revelation was a new one for me—this ability as a person to be many persons, to have many loves, and desires and perspectives which, in fact, are conflicting and yet are all true and part of us.  I sobbed my way through his lecture, relieved beyond expression that I was, instead of insane, simply a normal human being. 

My own facets continue to surface, and to also elude me.  Understanding how I am feeling—my emotional, mental, spiritual reaction to an event or situation—is often  the work of weeks or months or years.  Similarly, my understanding of the multifaceted world has been the work of years, and is yet a work in progress.   There is constant adjustment, and consideration.  Writing has great power in its ability to help me unearth what is hidden behind my pain, or joy, anger or peace.  There are layers, and layers, and all of it is me.

Some part of me that tends toward depression also leads me to compassion and humility, as I consider my own faults, and see them in others.  Another  part of me threatens emotional breakdown because I my heart is tender and hurt at the pain and sorrow I see also around me, yet the same me can be harsh and critical of others because I see darkly and negatively.  I am patient and impatient.  I am a perfectionist and careless.  I am thoughtful and forgetful. 

The more I see all these facets working together, the more patience I tend to have with myself.  I have recognized my complexity and therefore no longer judge myself in terms of black and white.  True, I have not volunteered at the kids school, or been full of fun, creative mothering, or furthered my food storage or done a thousand other things I “should” be doing.  But I don’t beat myself up about it.  In the last two years, as I have felt my life is on hold, I have had patience, understanding that in unseen ways, my work has gone on, in unseen areas, there is part of me that is struggling more than an onlooker could understand, and it is simply asking too much to do what is obvious, as well as what is invisible. 

It is more beautiful, after all, to be made of rainbow, and only light of many colors is complete.

Coping Mechanisms

We’ve just left Margaret at the airport, fed and hugged, and with a drowsified baby, to make her way home.  It has been a gift to have her.  The love that drew her and James to come and visit is like a miracle to me.  It is, to me another reason to believe that things will be okay, that life will continue on, and though there may be pain , joy will follow.

I’ve been conversing with James and Margaret this weekend about our different world views, about their worry that my propensity (necessity) to see good in the midst of pain, and to look forward unfailingly to the brightness and goodness that will come, despite the darkness of what is now, is deluded, and fails to take into account the reality of that evil, and pain and darkness.  I think they see masochism in my assertions that I can be grateful for the experiences that hurt me, and blindness in my belief that there is nothing so bad that good cannot come of it.

It has been a bit distressing to me to hear what they have to say.  Not because I don’t believe in the reality of evil, but because I believe in it so much, and feel its darkness so much that it threatens to consume me if I don’t also believe that it can be overcome. 

In the book “The Secret Life of Bees” is a character who seems to feel evil similarly to me.  She is mentally/emotionally troubled (perhaps I am, too?) and feels so keenly the reality of the suffering and sorrow and darkness of the world that she is constantly on the brink of being overwhelmed by it.  Her sisters, with whom she lives, don’t tell her the news, when it is bad, because her mourning is so intense that it upsets the order of the house.  She loves deeply, and takes exceptional joy in the beauty of the world, but it is not enough to keep her from suffering for every sufferer. 

At one point, one of their dear friends is beaten and thrown in jail.  The news is supposed to be kept from her, but she finds out somehow.  It is too much.  The connection is too close, and the pain too real.  She writes a note to her sisters telling them she loves them, and that the world is simply too much for her, and she drowns herself. 

I understand how she feels.  I don’t understand myself fully, to know if the poignancy of my feelings is due to mental imbalance or spiritual sensitivity (or both?) but I feel the evil, the pain, the wrongness of this fallen world so much that sometimes it threatens to overwhelm me.  Escape seems like the only option, because the darkness and sadness is more than I know how to deal with. As I have written before, while never suicidal, per se, I have fantasized about death as a way to escape the darkness of the world often.  I look forward to it, especially when I am in a state I would describe as “depressed.” 

It is my understanding of and belief in the atonement that has saved me.  It is the understanding that all can be made right.  That my dear children, whose tender feelings I have hurt, and whose minds I have doubtless warped in my imperfections can be made whole that makes it okay to go on, and not leave them in an attempt to save them from any more of the pain I would cause.  The atonement allows me to look on evil, and darkness, sorrow and sin and horror and pain and everything that is inherently part of this world, and not give up.  Because I have to believe that nothing in this world—none of that bad things that happen by the billions every day cannot be healed.  I have to believe that God, our father who loves us would not put us in a situation where we will be irreparably damaged, hurt, and such, without giving us a way also to be healed, and made whole and happy.  If I thought evil would win in the end, and was inescapable as well as unavoidable, I think I would rather just cease to exist. But I believe through the atonement we can escape (or overcome) the unavoidable pain--we can be made whole, again.  


Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Temple, Carnal, Natural, Fallen, Godly, Whaaa?

I'm not sure I understand about bodies yet.

Mostly, mine seems like a ball and chain.  I have to eat, I have to sleep, I have weird hormonal fluctuations that I have no (little?) control over and which make me feel like a wicked witch.  It doesn't seem fair to be "punished" every month by feeling down, dark, grumpy and miserable to such an extent that light and Spirit are hard to detect.  It doesn't seem fair to have the very vehicle which allows me to bear children also be the vehicle which leads me to crash and burn because I did have children (i.e., get postpartum depression).

Our bodies are "the temple of God," in that they house our Spirits, and can house the Spirit of God, and so are a holy place.  But our bodies are also fallen, mortal, carnal, natural and make us enemies to God.  And it isn't as though we've been handed a slum and told to clean it up into a beautiful, clean place.  The "slum" aspects never go away.  We are stuck with hormones, hunger, carnal temptations, exhaustion and mental issues for life.  That is why Adam and Eve couldn't eat the Fruit of the tree of Life, because if they were stuck in their fallen bodies forever, there would be no hope for them.  Right? So how can we overcome them?  What are we supposed to do with these carnal creations that clothe our Spirits?

Getting a body is a big deal.  It allows us to be more like God, but also makes us his enemy.  It's like we've been handed a sword that is too heavy and which will one day be very useful when we are valiant warriors, but in the mean time, we keep slicing ourselves and every one around us to pieces.  No fun.

Mosiah 3:19 says  "For the natural man is an enemy to God, and has been from the fall of Adam, and will be, forever and ever, unless he yields to the enticings of the Holy Spirit, and putteth off the natural man and becometh a saint through the atonement of Christ the Lord, and becometh as a child, submissive, meek, humble, patient, full of love, willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon him, even as a child doth submit to his father."


How do we put off the natural man?  Is the "natural man" the hormones that make the world appear dark in my eyes, and the exhaustion that makes me a zombie and the mental instability that makes me think my kids might be better off without me?  Isn't the "natural man" the human condition, the fallen, mortal state that we are in?  How can that be put off?  


Perhaps that is not the natural man.  Perhaps, the "natural man" is an attitude, a perspective that is typically generated by the frustrations and pains of our mortal bodies.  Perhaps it is the impatient, faithless, "this is impossible, therefore God must not know what he is doing" attitude that sometimes comes in the wake of a particularly difficult time with this mortal body and fallen world.  Those feelings are certainly the opposite of "submissive, meek, humble, patient, full of love, willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon him, even as a child doth submit to his father."  


In the temple on Saturday, I was reminded that we fell and left the garden and entered this life to gain knowledge.  If part of the point of this life, and a necessary step to becoming like Heavenly Father is knowing light and darkness, health and sickness, pleasure, pain, good evil, etc., a fallen body is certainly the way to go.  There is not much darker than depression, or more painful than being angry and hurting the feelings of your sweet child.  Sicknesses of the heart or mind or body are all part of this life, and boy do we learn about their reality as we live through them.  Pain, darkness, sorrow, sickness, evil, then, are all part of God's plan for us, for this life.  We can be angry and hateful and loose faith over it, or we can recognize that it is only a moment, and yet has the power to lead us to Godhood.  Can depression make me more like God?  It seems like a stretch, when I have a hard time thinking, seeing, believing positively, or feeling the Spirit for months on end, or when I feel like I live in a black hole.  Yet, "all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good."  I have certainly come to know darkness.


Can I believe it?  Can it really be so?  Can all the suffering be for good?  Can I willingly submit and say "thank you?"  Apparently so, if I can put off the "natural man."  And that is done through the atonement.  How is that?  Is it a matter of repentance?  Repenting for being impatient, faithless, ungrateful, grumpy, witchy, etc.  But repenting kind of gets one back on neutral ground, it isn't the same as progress.  
 . . . .


It has been a day since when I last wrote, and I've been stewing on this question.  Several thoughts came to mind:


The Atonement not only allows us to repent, it heals our hearts.  Because of the atonement, we can be healed from the grief, suffering, frustration, etc. that is part of our fallen state in this fallen world.  Christ experienced everything we experience.  God doesn't ask us to go through anything without knowing Christ will go through it with us.  Christ knows perfectly how it is to be depressed, hormonal, impatient, angry (hurting a little child's feelings surely hurts him more than it hurts me.)  Knowing that, and knowing what love He has for me, I think, allows me to be more submissive.  He isn't asking anything he didn't do himself.  He can make it all right.  And he wouldn't put me (and himself) through pain gratuitously.  There must be a loving reason for it.  Knowing of the atonement is humbling (not only did he suffer what I'm suffering, he suffers what I do to others, and what everyone suffers and causes others to suffer.  And I think I've got it rough?) Knowing God's love and his nature and understanding the atonement allow me to have patience, and be willing to take what He gives me, because He has a much clearer perspective than I do (especially when I'm hungry/tired), and I can trust Him.  Like I would trust a loving father (which he is) and like I wish my kids would trust me (when I deserve it.)  More than all that, I could even be grateful for the troubles of this body, now, because one day I will understand what He does and will be grateful, so why not start now.


A couple of years ago, Ethan had a teacher who was great .  One night he prayed "Heavenly Father, thank you for a teacher who gives us consequences so we can learn to do the right." I was amazed that he was grateful for the unpleasantness, because he saw that it was a means to an end.


This next thought might not seem on topic, but it will get there.  
We (Sam and I) have had two opportunities to help other families in a substantial way.  There has been a pattern each time, and according to my observations the pattern holds true elsewhere, too.  First, upon receiving the help, the people we are serving are grateful.  There are good feelings, joy in each other and the shared experience of a Zion-like community.  Everything is wonderful. But slowly, the gratitude is replaced by expectation.  Our gifts are taken it for granted, and those receiving them begin to view us as the dominating/empowered force and themselves as less empowered.  We begin to be divided, and our relationships grow distant.  Moods continue to change until the recipients feel we aren't doing enough, and grow resentful.  Commitments they made made in conjunction with receiving our help are ignored, recipients view themselves not as agents but as victims, and their resentment grows to animosity and anger.  


The pattern has always saddened me.  It is like watching the situation descend from a Celestial to a Telestial state.  I've always wondered what happened and how much I was to blame.  My intentions are always the same--to help!  But I become the bad-guy in the minds of those I am trying to reach out to.  It hurts and worries me.  I've always sworn to myself that I would never, given a receiving relationship, grow resentful.  I would always, always be grateful.  


However, as I was thinking about this issue, I realized that I have already, and am frequently failing to keep that promise to myself.  The Lord is the great giver.  He gives us a million good things, and while I may be grateful for each gift at first,I am quick to take it for granted and then to resent God for not giving more, or making my life easier than it is, or whatever.


A recent example was on the trip to St. Louis last week.  I had Isaac, Dora and Carol in the car with me, and I'd planned on letting the girls watch Book of Mormon Stories on the DVD player while Isaac napped.  Only the DVD player wouldn't work, so the girls continued playing and Isaac had a hard time napping. We stopped and I worked on it some more, and then we said a prayer for help, but to no avail.  I was quickly filled with frustration and anger.  "Why, God?!" I thought.  "It would be soooo easy for you to just make this darn thing work and let me have a little peace and quiet."  I really felt like "curs[ing] God."   I decided to tell scripture stories to the girls, and asked for requests.  Dora asked for Job.  By the time I was done telling it, I felt pretty humbled.  Job did not curse God and die.  He was the epitome of being "submissive, meek, humble, patient, full of love, willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon him, even as a child doth submit to his father."  


When we were in the midst of providing for one set of people, there was a time in which I saw gratitude had dwindled to nothing, and everyone was stuck in an attitude of resentment and distraction.  I grew worried/frustrated and removed access to the great distractor for everyone in the house, hoping to better the situation.  It was non-essential, and access could be had elsewhere with a little effort, but the back lash that ensued from its removal was violent.  The venom in the reproaches and curses that were hurled at me were staggering.  I was ostracized, ignored, lectured, sworn at and verbally abused.  It was amazing to me, particularly in  light of the broader situation.


And yet, there I was, doing the same thing to God, because the DVD player didn't work.  I can imagine what he must have seen in the situation: "Julia, I have kept your son alive, I helped you identify his current problem when no one else could, I miraculously led you to the best doctor in the country to treat the problem, I provided an easy mode of transportation (complete with AC and 70mph), and a comforting/supportive place to stay when you arrive.  I inspired your family to send two children, rather than one, on this particular trip, so they can occupy each other happily, and don't even need the DVD player.  I have prepared all things for you and blessed you in abundance, and you curse me for the DVD player not working?"  Yeah, it seems pretty amazingly myopic and pathetic.  After telling the story of Job, I pointed out to the girls that sometimes the Lord doesn't do what we would like him to do, (including not making the DVD player work) and sometimes life is hard, but we can always have faith in Him, and know that He loves us and we can trust Him.  I was reminded it as I told it, and they agreed thoroughly.
. . . .
Another day, and still this train of thought has not concluded.  I must get to my point:


Perhaps my problems with my body are myopic.  Perhaps in my frustration and determination that the situation is hopeless and horrible, I am failing to consider the broader perspective, and particularly the blessings that come with this body.  Surely the Lord knows what He is about.  Let me be grateful:
With a body, I can learn (and do) good and evil.
With a body, I can bear children
with a body, I can be more powerful than Satan
with a body, I can practice essential spiritual principles like discipline and patience
with a body, I can enjoy and experience the beauty of the world
with a body,  my spirit can grow strong (if a body is sometimes like a ball and chain, my spirit has lots of opportunities to exercise!)
with a body, I can become more like my Father in heaven
with a body, I can fulfill the measure of my creation 


Sam pointed out to me that my thoughts about the impossibility of overcoming a fallen body reminded him of his feelings as a boy about learning to ride a bike.  The only way to ride was to balance, but he couldn't do it! His parents kept pushing him forward, which was frightening and seemed cruel, because he couldn't even balance while he was holding still yet!  He didn't understand that the ability to balance can only be mastered by moving forward, and it is only in the forward motion that the impossible task of balancing is made possible.  


Perhaps the impossible task of overcoming the natural man, and dealing with this fallen body is made possible by simply continuing to move forward, to focus on the distant goal instead of the pedals and the bumps and the ground rushing by.  The atonement is necessary for the forward progress, as is gratitude, and God is will give us pushes.  We can either thank him for it or curse him for it.  


Well, this was a rather convoluted post.  Here is what I know:
I can trust God absolutely.  Even if I don't understand, or something seems backwards, I can move forward with trust.  (The times when it was so hard, helping others, created a bond of trust with Him that I sometimes forget but is nevertheless tried and true.)


There is a reason for my body, and I can thank him for it instead of being miserable.


I need to go pick the kids up from school now.  I'm already late!