1st

    

  I like to imagine the sunflower or pumpkin seeds that I plant each spring,  They both have this hard outer shell, when you plant them and water them they begin to crack open and a tiny little sprouts that look like strings begin to find their way out of the hard shell.  These little string like things are tiny and fragile, but will eventually become this tiny plant's future roots.
    That's what was happening to me the night that I emptied my bucket only to find the only true thing that mattered.  God was in my bucket, and he had always been there, he was a permanent fixture and couldn't be taken out or put in.  He just was there, never moving, for ever present.  No matter what you decide to put in your bucket, it never gets too full or too empty for God.  My bucket had become too full, and I truly feel that we don't need things in our bucket.  Of course its great to work hard and become good at things, and learn new things.  But when you place your worth on these things they become a lie.  And light only dwells in truth.
    The darkness had become to heavy and dark that I finally let myself crack open.  It was painful, but what other choice did I have?  This is when I realized that I wasn't the only person who had been in a dark hole before.  My dad had been in a dark hole, my grandfather and his father had been in a dark hole.  I could see how scary and horrible it is in the dark, and how you are just desperate for some sort of relief or peace from the exhaustion of it all.  And only then could I understand how easy a drink or reaching for drugs or the pornography.  In that debilitating darkness, you reach for anything that might look like it will help you.  I can say that with my prior experiences I knew better than to know that alcohol was the answer.  But had I been younger or not so set in my ways, who knows?  I stopped judging others and stopped questioning why or how people even want to start drinking or start drugs.  The darkness had shown me why.  And I couldn't feel anything by empathy and compassion for anyone who struggles with darkness or addiction.    And only then could I understand how to love people.  People different than me and people who are making horrible choices.  No judgement.  Only love and a soft, "me to, I've felt that too".

   A few days later I was reading in the bible, I was wondering about my thoughts on love, and wondering what the bible had to say about it.  I turned to Matt 22.  In this chapter Jesus is being questioned by the Pharisees.  They ask him, which of all the commandments is the most important.  His answer, in verse 37 is to Love God with all your heart, soul and mind.  This is the first and great commandment.  And the second, in verse 39; thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.
   There it was.  Love.  Love God and love others.
   There is a great quote  that says  "A deep sense of love and belonging is an irreducible need of all people. We are biologically, cognitively, physically, and spiritually wired to love, to be loved, and to belong. When those needs are not met, we don't function as we were meant to. We break. We fall apart. We numb. We ache. We hurt others. We get sick."  - Brene Brown.
  When I hear this its further proof that Love is needed.  Its needed in our homes, for our own families.  But its also needed outside of our home, for those in our neighborhoods and towns.  As I was discussing this topic with my grandma, she mentioned to me that usually the ones that are hardest to love are the ones who need it most.   

Self confidence, and self worth.  Sometimes they seem like they should just be the same thing, but they are different.  Google defines these as 
Self Confidence ; a feeling of trust in one's abilities, qualities, and judgment.  
Self Worth ; the sense of one's own value or worth as a person

We may feel confident doing math, we may feel confident painting a picture.  But if you confuse these with your worth as a person and start putting them in your Worth bucket, that's when things get un-true.  
Having self worth means knowing that you are eternally whole and loved.  With nothing else, without all of your talents, gifts, physical qualities, and even education.   To know that you don't need anything in your bucket, and you are still and always have been exactly who you need to be is powerful.




Cracking the surface.

   Late summer of 2017 I knew my dad wouldn't last much longer.  He had a few troublesome weekends which landed him in jail a few times and totaled his car.  Without his car he had nothing.  The cancer was getting more serious and I was trying to prepare myself to take him in when I felt like he only had a few weeks left.
   After his car was totaled he had nothing.  Somehow he had talked one of his girlfriends from a year or so ago to help him.  I had heard that she was only with him because she was stealing his pills, so I was hesitant of her, but also thankful for her willing to help him.  At least now he wouldn't be alone all the time.  At the time August was coming to an end and I was preparing for school to start for my kids, I started wondering if I should try and make it to Southern Utah to see him.  I had not actually seen my dad in almost 18 months, and I didn't know if he would last until Thanksgiving when we would be going down for thanksgiving.
    I was talking to him on the phone one afternoon as I wandered around the garden and watched the kids playing on the lawn.  The words "we will try and make it down in the next couple of weeks" came out of my mouth and as I was saying them I was wondering if I was being honest.  But I felt inside that what I just said needed to happen.  I visited with Devin about it and we decided to plan a trip down.
    He sent me the address to the hotel of where he was staying.  We pulled into the parking lot of a hotel, and I looked for the room number.  We decided that I would go up first and make sure he sober enough to handle the kids, then I would call or text Devin and he would bring the kids in.  I was nervous for my kids to see him and meet his girlfriend.
     My dad had lots of girlfriends after the divorce.  Only a couple of them realized the trouble he was soon after they started dating, and broke it off a couple weeks later.  But a few of them tried to stay with him, for months and even a year or so.  It always ended the same, him in jail for domestic violence.  One girlfriend even had small children, he got a stay in prison when they picked him up because of the kids in the house.
   I climbed the stairs to the hotel, terrified.  I knocked on the door and I heard barking from a little dog.  The door opened and the skeleton of my dad answered the door.  he had on grey sweat pants and a t-shirt.  His hair was grey and he was unshaven.  My dad was 6'7" and had always been thin, but he was thinner than any other time I had seen him.  His skin had a grey tint to it and his clothes just hung off of him.  He smiled and gave me a hug and asked where the kids were.  I told him they ran to get a couple snacks and they would be over in a minute.  He invited me in.
   I walked into a one bedroom hotelroom.  A computer on the desk and a couple crocheted blankets on the chair and bed.  A few groceries sitting on the counters and pairs of shoes tucked under the chairs.  He told me his girlfriend had ran to get a couple groceries and should be back anytime.  He sat on the bed and told me about the pain he had been in.  I don't know where the cancer started but it was now all over his lungs, up his spine and into his neck.  Finding money to keep up with just pain medication alone had been a struggle for them.  I had been hesitant to help pay for his medication, not knowing if I could trust what he was telling me, but had called the pharmacy myself and helped pay for a couple prescriptions.  He thanked me for that.  He said that they had been living in the hotel room for about 2 weeks.  His girlfriend had been working and made just enough for the hotel.
    She walked in right then and he seemed relieved to see her.  Right when she walked in he kind of slumped down on his pillow and got quiet, obviously he was wore out from our 10 minute conversation.  I had gone into the hotel room not quite sure how to feel about her, but right away she gave me a hug and introduced herself as Pam.  She tried to catch me up on how my dad was feeling and said they were trying to get hospice coming, and the church was in touch with them.  So they didn't feel so alone.   My husband and kids eventually came in and my dad tried to sit back up and talk to the kids.
   My oldest girls just sat quietly and stared at my dad.  They were terrified and probably not knowing what to expect.  My dad tried joking with them and asking them questions, to which they just smiled shyly and nodded yes or no.   Pam was ready with a couple candies and they were happy to have a treat, she talked to them like a grandma.  I consider myself a faithful person.  I believe in God.  I pray, I go to church, I'm not perfect by any means but I try my best to be a good person.  But I look back on that day and see me walking into the hotel room with a wall around my heart.  Of course I was trying to protect myself, an adult child trying to be brave.  But I was not opening myself up to love.  Pam on the other hand was more Christ like.  She had nothing to give but kindness and love, and she gave.  Freely.
    I had walked into the motel room knowing this was probably the last time I would see him.  And I wondered if the same thoughts crossed his mind.  I was half waiting for some sort of "last speech", and half just not expecting anything.  And I was right to not expect anything, it was a pretty surface conversation.  Keeping it light and just shooting the breeze most of the time.  The most serious we got was just hearing pam talk about his diagnosis and medications.
   I remember looking at him, his frail long body, old and used up way before its time lying on the bed.  And his girlfriend sitting on the foot of the bed , their few possessions in the hotel room.  I wanted to pull out my cell phone and take a picture.  But to be respectful of the situation I just took a deep breath and told myself to remember this.  Remember this moment right now.  This last memory of my dad, and this is what it looks like.  A hotel room, a little mutt dog laying by my dad who cant even hold his head up off the pillow, and the crocheted blankets around the room - trying to make it feel like home. This is what the end looked like for him.
    How do I show this to my children?  How do I show them that a life time of not choosing light ended like this?  I wanted so badly to take a picture just to have the proof to look back on, but I didn't.
   We got up to leave about 45 minutes later, and my dad stood up with us.  He asked to hold my youngest baby who was just over a year old and as Devin tried to hand her over he couldn't support her weight.  Devin supported her as my dad just held his hands under her.  He told the girls that he loved them and told them goodbye.  They happily skipped out of the room with candy in hand.  He gave me one last hug and called me "matilda", a name that he sometimes called me when I was little.  I walked out of the hotel room and noticed a very old car in the parking lot.  Different colored doors and old tires, the car was filled with bags and boxes.  This must be where they really live, although I don't know how it would even start to make it out of the parking lot.
    Later that night I was thinking about Pam, and all the things I had heard about her.  Trying to decide in my mind if I have enough courage to love her.  When a small whisper entered my mind.  I received the message "You don't know what she has been through.  She is trying her best".  And with that message I felt maybe just a tiny sliver of God's love for Pam.  Although she was rough looking and living in her car, working just to pay for a hotel room and buy beer for the night.  She is God's daughter, regardless.  And he loves her just as much as he loves me.
    I started looking at people differently after that.  The message as hit me hard and I couldn't pass anyone on the street without remember the message of "You don't know what they have been through, They are doing their best".  And feeling God's love for them.


Sunflowers

Mid August my sunflowers start to bloom.  I plant a few different types of sunflowers, ranging in size and color.  The bohemian sunflowers that bloom in deep burnt red colors.  Sundance sunflowers have a fussy middle, full of petals.  I'm sure they have different names for the different shops that sell them, but my favorite kind is the mammoth sunflower.  They have seeds like that kind that you can buy at the gas station and eat.  Big, grey and white striped.  Sometimes we plant them close together and sometimes we just plant one here or there to add color to the garden.  We watch them poke their head out of the soil, a green little stock of green, its little leafs still inside the seed shell which is hanging on, barely.  A day or so later the shell falls off and the little sprout of leaves open up, finally facing upward!  Each day they grow, it doesn't seem like they are growing very fast until you leave for the weekend and come back a few days later to your sunflower plants a foot taller.  The stem of the plant gets bigger around in size, and more and more leaves add their way around.  The kids measure it, its as tall as their knees, now to their shoulders, now up over their heads.  Up up up it grows, and then a few weeks before it blooms a green head of tightly bound green spikes of petals shows up.  How can a huge sunflower head be contained in that little green bud?  How will it blossom into a flower bigger than both of my hands?  The whole process is amazing.  This sunflower head makes it way up from the rest of the leafs, and stands tall.  And what I love about these few weeks before it blossoms is the truly beautiful lesson I learned from watching it.  The big green bud follows the light of the sun.  At 10am, when the sun is high in the east the face of the bud is pointed in that direction.  At noon the bud is staring straight up, and it follows the sun down all afternoon long until evening when the sun falls behind the mountains in the west.  It continues to follow the sun until the first petals start to open up.  And during these days I love to say that the Giants are waking up, because that's what it reminds me of.  Big sleepy giant sunflower heads opening up, petal by petal, like yellow eyelashes, until its wide awake and staring you in the face.  Once they are almost or at full bloom their heads get too heavy to follow the sun and they slump to the side.



     About a month after visiting my dad,  Pam texted me to tell me that he was declining.  She told me to call him if I had time.  I called him later that day when the kids were at school.   He sounded so different from any other time.  I always knew that my dad's addiction was strong and their was no way he was staying sober through all of this.  Beer was as important as food or water, maybe even more so.  This day he was just talking jibberish.  Had he mixed his pain pills with alcohol? Was he taking too many pain pills?  I listened to him for a while, and tried to make sense of what he was saying.  After about 15 minutes of me listening really closely and saying Yes or No when needed, he got kind of quiet.  His voice changed, he went from taking like a maniac to a calm and normal tone.  And he just asked me, "Toni, are you still drawing?"  I answered, "No, I haven't drawn since high school. "  I felt like I was talking to a completely different person, his voice was that different.  I continued with how busy I am, and photography has filled that creative need in me."  He listened and then told me, " You need to start drawing again".  And right after he said that he went right back to his crazy talking.  But this message of you need to start drawing again pricked my heart and although he was back to talking in circles I couldn't shake the feeling in my heart that I had received some sort of message.  A message that was beyond his pills and his drinking.    I hung up the phone and pondered on it.
     I have always had a love of art.  In highschool I really loved sketching.  Something that my dad and I shared,  he also had a knack for drawing.  Sometimes when I was little he would pull out a sketch pad and a pencil and sit for hours with a cigarette in his lips, drawing.  Us kids would look stand near and watch his hands command the pencil around.  He had so much talent, if he would have committed to it he could have been great.  His once a year sketches were beautiful, so I cant imagine what would have happened if he would have put real time into it.
    A few days later I found myself in a craft supply store, in the paint isle.  I looked at the prices and realized that I would be spending about $80 just to get started.  I almost walked out empty handed a few times.  Why was I standing in the painting isle?  I've never picked up a paintbrush in my life.  A pencil yes…. but what was I doing?  The day after the phone call with my dad I had seen a picture of a painting online.  It was of a white horse, and it just captivated me.  It felt familiar to me, the paint colors and brush strokes.  So here was was in the paint isle.  I decided to just buy it.  If I was feeling so prompted to draw and paint then buy the paints and let God lead the way.
    I left the store with a bag full of brushes and acrylics.  I went home and sat down at the counter with it.  Blank paper, paint, water cup, brushes.  I had it all....  now what?  I looked around and noticed a couple pumpkins sitting on the counter next to me.  They were pumpkins from our garden and the kids and I had picked them earlier that week.  I sat a white one and an orange one in front of me and just started.  Mixing white with blues, yellows, grays, it was beautiful.  The paintbrushes gliding wet paint onto white paper, the water cup swirling, the smell of acrylics.  I sat for two hours while the kids ran around me, just sketching and painting.  My mind calm, the darkness that had been in my mind was on hold.  I had forgotten how good this feels.  Me and a sheet of paper, I had forgotten how clear my mind becomes.
    I was not disappointed with the painting I ended up with that day.  I had done it, two pumpkins.  Absolutely not professional, but not bad at all.  And more than that, the depression and anxiety that I had been living with.... it was not as overbearing, which was worth the $80 just to feel some relief.
   I decided to just draw and paint.  Who cares what I put on the paper, but just show up every day at the table with pencil and brush in hand.  And I loved every moment.  Some days the kids would join me.  The table would end up a heap of papers with unicorns and flowers, water cups filled with brushes, and spilled paint.   Other days it was just me, turn on soft music and just escape into the paint enough to find myself again.  Chickens, pigs, flowers, pumpkins, words, buildings, grass, sheds, deer, I wasn't picky about what to paint, I just sat down and painted.
     Art work was good for me.  Not just good for my mind, but I felt like I was feeding my soul.  Like I was opening a door that I had shut years ago.  I had shut it when the idea of "adult" started weighing on me.  When I felt pressured to start making decisions like "what are you going to school for?", "what are you going to be?"  Then bills start rolling in and you have to start spending your time in a more "busy" and "efficiant" way.   I obviously couldn't shut out my creative soul too much because I ended up paying my bills with my camera.  But then that turned into a job and I became too "adult" for silly things like drawing.  What I was really shutting the door on was the spirit inside of me, who God made me to be.
     I started opening up all the doors that I had shut over 10 years ago.  I bought some poetry books by Mary Oliver and read poetry in the mornings.  I have always loved poetry, but not many people do.  If most people read they are going to read the books that suck you in and hold you hostage until the last page, who has time for poetry?  I made time, because I loved feeling like myself again.
   I started treating myself like I was something precious.  Like a newborn baby, or like a precious jewel.  Going to bed early, eating vegetables and drinking water, filling my extra time with things that made me feel alive.  I said yes to silly things like cute coffee mugs to drink hot cider in, and having candles lit all afternoon.  Also, Illuminating the things in my life that made me feel less than precious.  Like less social media and unfollowing 200 people, stop dwelling on things I cant control, stop beating myself up at night if the house is a mess, or if the kids forgot to brush their teeth.  All of these lies I had told myself, or was letting myself believe had to go.
    Because God made me, and I am precious.  Removing the toxic things in life and taking care of the body and soul that belonged to me became my new life line.  Even if it meant reading poetry and buying cute coffee mugs.  When something is special to you, you take care of it.


November 2017.
    It was a sunday morning, I had been busy picking up the house and getting kids ready for church when bobby texted me again.  "you should call your dad today".  We had afternoon church so I decided to just call that morning so I wouldn't get to busy later.  He answered, he sounded about 30 years older than the last time I had talked to him.  His voice was weak and scratchy.  He asked what the kids were doing, I looked out my bedroom window at Devin and the kids collecting eggs from the chicken coop, I reported to my dad and he laughed.  His laugh, the laugh that comes from someone who has drank and smoked their whole life, the uncontrolled laugh, that also sends him into a coughing fit.  The kind of laugh that would make "normal people" a little bit uncomfortable, but I had grown used to it.    He loved hearing about the girls collecting eggs.  Before we hung up he told me "I love you, sweetheart".   I told him I loved him too and Pam got on the phone.  She told me he wasn't eating anymore, only a few grapes that she forced him to eat.  I asked if she needed money or help with anything and she said they were okay.  He was so sick that they could not stay in the car anymore, and she was still working just to be able to rent the hotel.  I told her thankyou and hung up with her.  Right as I hung up the phone it was like someone was next to me whispering, and I heard the words "tell Asa to call him".

   Since the day we found out my dad had cancer, nothing much had changed between him and my brothers relationship.  My youngest brother, Cree,  was a police officer in the same town that we had grown up in, and had gone and given my dad a few rides to doctor appointments when he was desperate.  Our middle brother, Asa,  still had not talked to him.  When we were little Asa was my dad's oldest son, and had shared some of the same interests.  Placing him in the "little buddy" spot.  As we all grew older and things got worse my dad would play mind games with Asa, telling him lies about my mom or reasons for why things were the way they were.  This left Asa pulled between two parents and confused at who to believe.  Me and Cree never feed into my dad, but with the emotional connection between Asa and him it hurt him so much more as he started to see who my dad really was.  As Asa got older he just was too hurt and sick of playing my dad's game of lies.  He stopped talking to him years before, but I kept him updated on dad's condition so he wasn't surprised when he died.

    I picked up my phone and tried to call Asa.  No answer.  I texted him and said "dad doesn't sound good, you should call him.  I bet he doesn't make it another 2 weeks".  No answer.  Asa is a grown man, and his hurt is different from my hurt.  I had done all I could to warn him.  I put the phone down and started getting ready for church.
 
    At about 5 pm that night I was laying in bed, watching a movie with the kids.  I heard my phone ring, I looked at the screen, it said "Merrill".  I got a sick feeling, and I answered the phone as I stepped out of the room.  It was Pam, she was crying.  "Toni, your dad just died.  He is gone.  I didn't know who to call, I tried calling your uncle but no one answered. "   Instantly tears just filled my eyes, I tried to stay calm and be a support while I talked to Pam, she was in the hotel room with him waiting for the ambulance to come get him.  I asked her if she was okay, and told her to just stay calm before my voice broke and I cried on the phone with her.  She told me that they had both been asleep, he had woke her up and said "Its time for me to go" right before he died.   I stayed on the line with her until someone showed up to take his body away.   And then I hung up and made a few more phone calls to let my brothers and his family know.

    That night I cried.  I cried and I cried. Which was kind of a surprise to me, I thought my dad had caused enough pain in me that I would be numb to the situation, But the tears kept coming and their was no way to try and change the subject.  I cried for him, and the way he lived his life.  I cried for me, and all of the pain that I was carrying around.  I cried for his mom, and the millions of prayers she must have screamed into the heavens just begging God to make him see clearly.  I cried for Pam, alone with him and a voice on the other end of a phone.  I cried for my mom, and how her pain was so much she couldn't even feel sad after he died.  I cried for it all and then more.  I cried for the darkness and depression that I had been living in for 9 months.  It was like the dam broke and everything inside of me fell apart.... and I cried.   The hole that I was born into ,  bad decision after bad decision that I watched him make, me scrabbling and climbing with all my might to get out of that hole.  I cried for it all.
     I turned on all the tvs, handed out all the ipads and phones to try and distract my kids from watching me as my world crashed in.  Of course it couldn't be ignored, and my kids - writers and art lovers like me, drew pictures of broken hearts and frowny faces with tears flowing from the black dot eyes.  I told them thankyou and told them lets go back to watching our movie.  I lay next to them, 5 year old Finley playing my phone.  Devin called them in one by one to help them brush their teeth and get pajamas on.  He leaned in the room and told Fin to come get ready for bed and as she jumped up and bounced off the bed she tossed my phone to the side.  I noticed what she had left on the screen, and it didn't look like a game.  I picked the phone up and there on the screen, just waiting for me was the song 'Be Still my Soul'.   None of my girls had ever opened up my LDS app, which had the hymn book with all the 300 or something church songs.  But this night, that's what was on my screen.  A message, no doubt sent from more than just a five year old angel daughter, who was only playing games.

    Devin walked in just then and I showed him what I had found.  He searched for the song on his phone and found a youtube video of David Archuleta singing it.  I cried.  Then I read through the words.  Be still my soul.  I took a deep breath in and tried to slow my heart.  The Lord is on thy side.  God?  Is he?  Is he on my side?  Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain.  All of the pain from as long as I can remember, the depression I have been living in for months and months.  All of this, surfacing now.  Leave to thy God to order and provide in every change He faithful will remain.  Can I just leave this all to God and trust that he has a plan for this mess?  Be still my soul thy best, they heavenly friend.  Breath in peace.  And remember that I am not alone.  Through thorny ways leads to a joyful end.  Trust.  Just trust him.  If I don't have enough faith then just Hope.  
Be Still my soul when dearest friends depart, And all is darkened in the vale of tears.  Then shalt thou better know His love His heart.  Who comes to soothe thy sorrow and they fears.  Be still my soul the waves and winds shall know.  HIs voice who ruled them while He dwelt below.  Be still my soul the hour is hastening on.  When we shall be forever with the Lord.  When disappointment grief and fear are gone.  Sorrow forgot love's purest joys restored.  Be still my soul when change and tears are past and blessed we shall meet at last.

Over and over I listened to its words.  I would close my eyes and just breath in the words, Be still my Soul.  I would say it to myself and try and tell it to my heart which felt as if it was shattered into a million pieces.
 
    This night I fell asleep as tears still fell from my eyes.  My face hurt and my eye lids were swollen.  I made a mental note, so this is what if feels like to cry so hard that your face hurts.  I woke up the next morning and went about getting the kids ready for school.  I was okay if I was up walking around, but right when I would sit down or look in the mirror I would start to cry.  Looking in the mirror was very interesting.  My perception had changed, and instead of seeing my outward appearance like I had done my whole life, I felt like I was seeing the real me.  The girl that was brave and trying to be strong.  My eyes were swollen and my skin yellow and blotchy,  my hair thrown up in a messy bun.  But looking in the mirror I had never seen myself more clearly.  a raw, real human.  I couldn't make eye contact with myself in the mirror without being overwhelmed with part love for the face staring back at me and part heartbreak for what that girl staring back at me has just went through.  I saw myself as a dear friend.  As the precious soul that I had learned to love.

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your won door,
in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's
welcome,

and say, sit here, Eat
You will love again the stranger
who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back
your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by
heart.
Take down the love letters from the
bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate
notes,
peel your own image from the
mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

-Derek Walcott



Angels.

 The day after my dad died I stayed home, except for the trips back and forth to school for the kids.  I learned that I not only lost my appetite when I was in deep sadness, I also feel exhausted.  It was strange in the fact that I was all alone in Idaho, while the rest of my family was scattered about Utah.  We would not be having a funeral so none of the gathering of a family was happening.  Most of his family was so far pushed away from my dad that they didn't send texts or phone calls of kind words, or expressing sympathy.   I was just alone.  Not even my own brothers were feeling the sadness I was feeling.
      My phone rang, I look at the screen, its my ministering partner.  I wonder if I am in good enough condition to even answer the phone.  I decide instead of leaving her wondering why I wont call or text her back to just answer.  "Hello" I say, she is on the other line wondering if there is a good day for me, so we can go visit our ladies.  I jump around in my mind, going over different excuses I could use.  But knowing I might be unable to get off my couch for a couple weeks I just decide to dig up courage and tell her what happened.  I clear my through and steady my voice.  "My dad died last night, I don't know if I'm up for going this week".  I cant remember how our conversation went but after she apologizes to me, she tells me "I am bringing you dinner tonight, I actually made double dinner tonight.  And as I was putting it all in the oven I was wondering why I was making way more than my family would eat".    My mind was so overwhelmed that I don't remember anything else I said, or even how our conversation ended.  But when I hung up I the overwhelming feeling that I am not alone.  And angels in heaven were whispering to angels on earth that day, for me.  Heaven was aware of me.  God was aware of me.  I was not alone.
    I peeled myself off the couch later that day and slipped on my shoes to walk out to the mailbox.  Maybe a walk across the front lawn would stop my crying for a few minutes.   I walked slow, feeling the cool November air.  Holding my sweater around me, almost as if holding myself.  I opened the mailbox and pulled out envelopes as well as a box.  Funny, I don't remember ordering anything.  I turned the box over and read my name in the center of the box, up in the Corner the name Ashley Cooper.  Ashley?
     After my husband finished college our first job offer was in a small town in Nevada called Nevada.  We drove out to look at the town before accepting the job, and we were in shock.  Coming from Logan Utah, where we had lived for 3 years, with green grass, beautiful mountains, rivers and trees.  To this small desert town in between Reno and Las Vegas, where we could have counted the amount of trees on one hand, and grass was no where to be seen.  The amount of brown dirt hills for miles and miles and miles surrounding the town nothing I had ever seen before.  I used the word "ugly" to describe the town.  And I heard my husband on the phone with his mom, telling her it was the worst town he had ever seen.  I thought there was no way we were going to accept the job, but Devin knew better.  A job offer right out of college?  How could he turn it down?  Grass or no grass we had to start somewhere.  We moved out a couple weeks later.  Ashley had moved in 6 months later, and after 6 months of feeling alone out there I almost jumped on her when I saw her at church on her first day.  We lived in Tonopah for about two and a half years together.  She was kind of like a big sister, she already had a baby and was a stay at home mom.  She taught me how to make pie and jam.  I would baby sit her little boy and felt like the cool fun aunt.  We both moved away from Tonopah the same month, and had stayed in touch through texts and occasional phone calls although we were states away from each other.
      My fingers touched her name at the top of the box, then I hugged it to me and hurried back into the house.  Once inside I ripped open the box, I was so confused.  I had sent her a baby gift once but that was about it for our gift giving, I had never received just a random package from her.  Inside was nothing special.  A tshirt that had a camera with the saying "when life gets blurry just refocus", on it.  And a note saying that she saw that shirt and thought of me, and how much she loved me.
    The timing of that gift, delivered to me not even twenty four hours after my dad died was the gift.  Again the thought that I am not alone, and Heaven is close just fell over me.
    After my sweet neighbor delivered dinner, I cried.  I cried for the service of love that my two sweet friends had followed a prompting.  They had loved me and cared for me, and I will never forget how much they saved me that day.

   The next day I needed to get a few things done, it was almost Thanksgiving and we would be leaving for Southern Utah in the next couple of days.  I needed to get the oil changed in my car so I drove to the closest Walmart hoping I could pick up some groceries while my car was in the shop.  I cried the whole time I was driving but pulled it together as I dropped my car off.  After about thirty minutes of shopping I headed back to the oil and lube center.  I got in line behind a few other customers waiting to pay for their cars.  As I stood there the smells of the mechanic shop surrounded me.  My dad had worked at a few different tire shops, and was always helping fix my uncles tractors when I was younger.  Finally I reached the register and watched as the man punched buttons on the computer in front of him.  I looked at his hands.  Hard, sandpapery skin.  Each fingernail circled with dark oil or whatever it is that gets mechanics dirty.  My dad's own hands came to mind, he had always come home with those same dirty fingernails.  I paid for my car and made it out to the car before my tears came again.
    Why was I so sad?  I hardly talked to him when he was alive, its not like I depended on him for anything.  Now that he was gone I didn't miss him, so what were these feelings?  My brothers were fine, I had even talked to his mom, my grandma and although she was sad I got the feeling that she wasn't breaking down in the oil and lube center at Walmart.  I was so confused to what I was feeling.
     Later that day I started wondering if my dad was around me.  Was he in my house? Could he see me now that he had passed away?  Did I want him around?  I wasn't sure about any of it.  I laid down on my bed, exhausted from crying tears.  exhausted from trying to hold in tears.  Just exhausted.  I closed my eyes and searched for God.  Be still I told myself.  I listened to my breathing and tried to calm my heart.  Be still.
     In my mind the words "your dad is too busy learning, he doesn't have the time and privilege of watching over you freely.  He's got work to do. "   I felt this message in my heart.  I felt calm.  I thought back over my dads life and how every choice that was presented to him, nine times out of ten he chose the wrong path.  I thought about his mentality and how he acted more like a sixteen year old than a 50 year old.  He had stopped progressing long ago, probably when he was a teenager.  He wasn't learning or growing on any intellectual or spiritual level more than 30 years.   Yes!  If Heaven and the afterlife that I believe in is real then of course he is being taught.  I tried to imagine my dad with a clear mind, free from all the toxins he had allowed in for years and years.  Free from the drugs and alchohol, free from pornography and lies he had said yes to.  I wouldn't even know who he was.  Who would that man be?  I couldn't imagine,  but I trusted that now he was progressing and for the first time in a few months I felt hope.  Not for myself but for him.
     This also brought up the idea of my dad seeing me, for the first time with a clear mind.  Could he really see me now?  Could he see me and how hard I scrambled to get out of that hole?  Could he see me being really scared but also trying to be brave?  Could he see me trying to take a different road than the one that he drug me down, although most days I felt alone?    And not only seeing me but also seeing my brothers and my mom.  If he could see us clearly could he also see the mess he created and left when he was on earth.  I imagined after he passed and entering the afterlife, giving hugs to grandpas and others that had gone before him, and then feeling the relief of no more physical pain and also the sensation of a clear mind.  And in my mind his smile turns to pain and he crumples to his knees as his memory enters his new clear mind, and everything from his life comes flooding in.  Every single thing.  All the pain that he caused, he can see it all so clearly.  And that is his hell.
     Indie bounced into the room and climbed up on the bed, she jumped over to me and snuggled close.  I held her little body and hoped I could keep her safe from the road of life ahead of her.  I looked at her cute little face as she pushed out of my embrace and jumped around the bed laughing. I heard the words "Look at that little face", only it wasn't me that said it.  My dad's voice,  I had heard my dad say those words,  was that him? Was he here with me?  I heard him.  Not out loud, but in my mind.  He had this voice that he talked to babies in, and that's the voice I heard.  I sat frozen, feeling warmth.... and then as quickly as it came it was gone.   I didn't have to wonder where he went, I knew he was coming to say Goodbye one last time, he had work to do.

 A few months after this experience, and message that I received I had clicked on a link online and was reading some passages from Russell M. Nelson's book, Whats on the other side.  I read the following paragraph:

"What a comforting thought it is to know that we are not alone in facing our challenges or dealing with our difficulties. President Ezra Taft Benson testified that “there are people over there who are pulling for us—people who have faith in us and who have great hopes for us, who are hoping and praying that we will measure up—our loved ones (parents, grandparents, brothers, sisters, and friends) who have passed on.”17 In Doctrine and Covenants 84:88, the Lord promised: “I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up." You have probably read that passage many times, as I have. Perhaps you have wondered too: Who are those angels? Because of the restored gospel’s teachings about the spirit world and eternal families, we know the answer. President Joseph F. Smith taught it clearly. He said: “When messengers are sent to minister to the inhabitants of this earth, they are not strangers, but from the ranks of our kindred [and] friends. . . . In like manner, our fathers and mothers, brothers, sisters and friends who have passed away from this earth, having been faithful, and -worthy to enjoy these rights and privileges, may have a mission given to them to visit their relatives and friends upon the earth again, bringing from the divine Presence messages of love, of warning, or reproof and instruction, to those whom they had learned to love in the flesh."

When I read the sentence that says "having been faithful, and worthy to enjoy these rights and privileges", I remembered the message of my dad having work to do and he doesn't have the privilege of being around me right now.  I had learned this for myself, God had taught me.  And here it was, the president of our church saying the same thing.  I decided to start trusting myself and these lessons that were presenting themselves.

 
 Light


    We spent Thanksgiving in Las Vegas at my sister in law's house.  The warm weather was a good break and we sat around the pool and watched the kids swim.  Cousins and a house full of people I love was a good place to be after the heavy days I had just had.  Thanksgiving dinner was wonderful, full of all the perfect food that I have grown to love since marring into my husbands family.   The day after Thanksgiving we headed out to do some Christmas shopping.  With everyone packed into a few cars we hit the road.  I was prepared to numb out my feelings in some retail therapy, but I had forgotten where I was.  Las Vegas, and surrounded by homeless.  People under bridges and sitting on benches.  Holding signs for money, or just sitting on the sidewalks with their belongings around them.  Why were there so many of them?  They were of every age and race, both men and women.  Sure I see a few in Idaho, but I crumbled at the magnitude of them in Las Vegas.  I didn't wonder how they got to the streets, I had a front row ticket to that movie already.  I didn't need to know the details, I knew enough.  It was a raw reminder of reality.  I thought of Pam, and how I had felt God's love for her.  I looked at all of these people and felt that same love.  They are God's children, and he loves them just as much as he loves me.  I looked out my window at them as we drove and I wondered about what kind of dirt had these people been born in?  Had they tried to climb out?  Or was the dirt too deep and too dark?  Had they called out for God?  Or had addiction and lies been the only thing they found when they reached out for help?  Maybe their life was not always dark, but somewhere along the way darkness whispered to them in a vulnerable moment and they listened.
     We came to a red light and we slowed to a stop.  Out my husbands window was a girl, no older than me.  She was holding a sign, asking for help.  I watched her and I knew God loved her.  She was his daughter.  I opened my wallet and pulled out a few dollars, I told my husband to give it to her.  As she reached to take our money her eyes met mine and her face fell apart in tears.  The light turned green and we were pressured to start driving again.  But her eyes haunted me.  What was she going through that made her crumble at the sight of three dollars and eye contact from a stranger?
    I wanted to go back.  I regret not going back.  I even said, "we should go back and help her".  But as I said that I looked back at our car full of kids and knew I had no idea how safe or unsafe that situation is.  But a fire had started inside of me.  The darkness.  Satan.  The Devil.  Whatever words we have come up with to describe it.  It was real.  Very real.  I don't know if you are supposed to have a testimony about the Devil, but I just gained one.  I knew he was real, and his plan was clear to me.  Find people as a seed in a hole, find them in their most vulnerable place, and debilitate them.  Stop them from progressing.  Stop them from sharing and finding light.  Stop them from growing into the person that God knows they can become.  Stop them in their tracks and just chain them down so the only place to go is backwards.
     And it wasn't even in the extreme case of homelessness, I saw evil's influence everywhere.  In the pressure of keeping up with this perfect influence of a never ending stream of pretty pictures on the internet.  Women, mothers, and daughters.... my friends and family living life with this idea of how they are supposed to look and act.  This new persona that they are trying to fit inside takes them away from who and what God made them to be.  A distraction from the climbing and struggling out of the hole in order to blossom, has now become "Oh I'm fine!"  Hardly anyone was showing me their true self, the dark and ugly along with the beautiful.  How are we going to grow into who God intends for us to be when we aren't even acknowledging the dirt we have on top of us?  When did life become shameful if we are living anything hard and uncomfortable?
    The realness of Satan scared me.  I've never been so sure of him in my whole life, and it was hard to contain something I felt so sure of and so terrified of.  I talked to my husband and my mom about my new awareness of how powerful Satan is.  But Its hard to bring up these conversations to other people.  "Hey!  How's it going?  Did you know Satan is real?  And he wants to get you?  You didn't know that?  Well I have felt him."  Yes, it makes for a super awkward conversation in which your friends make up excuses to get away from you.   But I wanted to scream it from the rooftops, like I could see a gas leak - that was poisoning whole countries, but no one wanted to talk about it.
 

     We got home from Thanksgiving and suddenly it was December.  Christmas was usually my favorite time of the year.  Every year I redecorated the whole house, set up Christmas trees in every room, hung lights around the kitchen, baked gingerbread, read Christmas books to the kids and made sure that I had beautiful pictures of it all.   This year was different.  I was different.  I had been feed too much truth, and felt too much heartbreaking Love.
    Devin brought up the tree from the basement and I helped him string lights around it.  Then instead of having my camera around my neck and getting overwhelmed about the kids not hanging the ornaments in the right place, or bad lighting for pictures,  I just sat down on the couch next to my husband.  And I didn't move for a whole hour.  I watched the kids as they dug through big Rubbermaid boxes, pulling out old ornaments from when they were babies and watching them happily hang them on the lower branches.   Be Still, I told myself.  And I let a few tears fall as I just sat still and breathed.
     My baby, Indie was about 19 months old at this time.  She was a stubborn baby and was still getting up about once a night even though she was almost two.  One night I heard her crying, I looked at the clock.... 1:46am.  I tried to close my eyes and go back to sleep but I knew better.  She would cry for more than an hour if I didn't go to her.  I found my way out of bed and still half asleep made my way into the dark hall way, touching walls to make my way in the dark of the night.  My hand found her door nob and I turned to open it.  Light seeped out of the door way into her room.  I stand stunned at the blinding light in her room.  It takes me a minute to realize whats happening when I notice her bedroom light is on.  No wonder she is awake.  I get her settled down and tucked back into bed, then turn off her light and make my way back to bed.   As I lay there trying to fall asleep again I am so confused.  Did I leave her light on?  How did her light get on?  My very tired middle of the night brain even wonders if my dad is haunting us.  I'm probably just loosing my mind and forgot to turn it off I tell myself.
    This happens 3 more times within the next 2 weeks.  Same thing everytime.  I stubble through the dark and open a door to blinding light in the middle of the night.

      I was not going to send out Christmas Cards.  Nope.  No way.  Most years I had set up a whole Christmas themed background and bribed my kids with candy to let me take just a few pictures.  It went back to my bucket full of lies and always trying to prove my worth.  If I have the cutest Christmas pictures on the cutes card then of course people will think I'm a good person!  But only if its perfect.  Well, now that I had thrown everything out of my bucket I didn't feel like going through the trouble of proving my worth, plus I was just tired.
    Weeks into December I had received lots of Christmas cards, from so many sweet people that I love.  People who loved me while we lived in Tonopah, who I grew to know and love.  And all of my sweet cousins and aunts.  A little Christmas card in the mail was like a little hug from each one of them.   I was thankful for these little 5x7 cardstock pictures in the mail with snowmen and reindeer printed on them.  It is a very loving tradition..... and after all, isn't Love the most important thing in the world.
     So I sat down at the computer two weeks away from Christmas,  Devin was out finishing up Christmas lights on the roof and the kids are playing a game. Now or never I tell myself.   If I am sending out a Christmas card then I am going to send out something meaningful.  I'm done with perfect, I'm not perfect, my kids are not perfect... we are humans, we are Children of God. Never again will I try and hide the dirt I have been given.   I had to walk away from the computer a few times because everything I was seeing just seemed …… dumb.   I sat down on the couch and  I opened up the lds app looking for a thought, a scripture.... something!

May the beautiful lights of every Christmas season remind us of Him, who is the source of all light.  -David A Bednar.

Lights?  Christmas Lights....  Light of the Savior.  I though on it for a moment.  The thoughts of the darkness of depression that I had gone through that year came to mind.  The heavy pain that I had been living in since last February.  And then I saw myself at night going to Indie's room and finding Light.  I remembered the shock and the difference from darkness to light.  Yes.... light!  I might be on to something.  I looked around my house, Christmas lights on the tree.  I looked out my window and saw a few of the neighbors Christmas lights on their house.  Light.  The word and the idea just popped out at me!  And I decided to run with it, I typed the quote on my Christmas card and got them ordered.

   I started focusing on Light.  Something that day had completely drawn my attention to it, and I wasn't going to forget it or toss it aside.  Light.  That is absolutely what I needed.  The darkness was so thick, it was almost tangible.  Depression and trauma is real, and its hard to get out once your in.  I wanted to feel light again.  I was desperate for it.
     After Christmas and the new year I was in a place of wanting to heal.  The truth is, its very grueling and demanding living with such dark feelings.  I grew to have no judgment on addicts or suicide victims.  I was never suicidal and I absolutely don't promote it, but I felt the crushing pain every day for almost a year and I can see how you would become desperate for a break from the pain.  I started wondering if I needed to get on some medication or go to therapy, if I needed help getting out of this hole then that's what I will do.
    It was interesting seeing my own addictions grow when I was in the middle of darkness.  For 6 months before my dad died I purchased more than 300 children's books.  After a few weeks of ordering books every day is when I realized that this is not my normal behavior.  But the books kept coming, almost every day we would have a few show up at the doorstep.  My kids would answer the door and pick them up and say to their friends "my mom goes kuku over books".  I would unwrap the books and later that night snuggle the kids close to me as we would read it together.  My mom used to read to us, she would take us to the city library and we would haul home a bag full of books then we would sit on the couch and she would read them all too us.   Children's books felt safe.  They were sweet stories and had colorful pictures.  I knew that what I was doing might be related to my past, but at the time I was in such pain and ordering the books made me feel happier.... so I just kept doing it.
    I only share this example of my book buying addiction to tell you that sometimes before you know it your handling things much more different than you would expect of yourself.  Of course 300 books was not life changing for me but  I learned to not judge anyone who addicted because that pain is real.

And still I was searching for light.

D&C 93:2 - I am the true light that lighteth every man that cometh into the world.
D&C 50:24 - That which is of God is light; and he that receiveth light and continueth in God, receiveth more light and that light growth brighter and brighter until the perfect day.
John 8:12 - Then Spake Jesus again unto them, saying, I am the light of the world;  he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life.
3 Nephi 18:24 - Hold up your light, that it may shine unto the world.  Behold I am the light which ye shall hold up.
 
I would go to the temple and read every scripture on light that I could find.  I wrote them out and tapped them to my bathroom mirror.  Everywhere I looked I was finding the word Light.
   One Saturday morning in January I was in the temple when I read 1Nephi 17:13 - "And I will also be your light in the wilderness; and I will prepare the way before you, if it so be that ye shall keep my commandments; wherefore, inasmuch as ye shall keep my commandments ye shall be led towards the promised land; and ye shall know that it is by me that ye are led."
  It was one of those hard mornings when you feel yourself getting better but its just not happening as fast as you thing it should.  I shut the book of Mormon and got ready to leave the temple.  I was feeling angry.  With what or who?  I don't know, just everything.  The whole pile of dirt that had been placed on me.  I was mad at it.  I was mad at my dad, now that I believed he had a clear mind and could understand what he had done I was holding him at a higher standard.  While he was alive he was always in such a cloud that I never expected much from him.  It was very much like if he had a medical diagnosis of mental illness and that's how I treated him and about what I expected from him.  So now, nevermind that he is dead, now that he has a clear mind I let myself unleash a life time of pain and it turned into anger pointed right at him.  I hope he was in his own Hell.  I hope he experienced and re experienced over and over the horrible things he did to his family.  
   I stomped out to my car and made it out of the parking lot before hot heavy tears came.  The morning was cold and grey.  Clouds filled the sky with no sign of leaving.  I was so mad at him.  IF he only would have chosen differently things could be so much different.  And now he is dead, game over, no more chances.   A heavy warm feeling sat with me in the car ride home and I knew I wasn't alone.  I even looked to the passenger seat in my car a few times, not knowing who was there, but knowing someone was. Warm, and loving and helping me feel less alone.   I sat in the company of an angel until I reached my exit for home when the words "FORGIVE. like Jesus did" flashed into my vision.  It kind of felt like a dream but then I realized I was looking at a billboard.  Was that billboard new?  I have drove this road hundreds of times and I have never noticed that one before. Forgive?  Until this moment I hadn't realized I was so angry with him.  And then light, touching my face.  I saw it first out of the corner of my eye and then felt it on my skin.  I turned and looked out my window, the thick grey clouds were still very thick and filled the whole sky above me.  But one tiny little opening, like a deep sliver opened up right above the sun just enough to shine right onto me.   Light!  There it was.... not just the sun peeking through clouds but the Light of Christ.  God was aware of me.  God was with me, I wasn't alone and I wasn't trying to climb out of this huge pile of dirt alone either.   I felt loved and this time happy tears fell from my eyes.   
   The next morning as we rushed all the kids into church and sat down just as the opening song was beginning.  I hurry and opened my book and sang these words..Hymn #113

Our Savior's love
Shines like the sun with perfect light,
As from above
It breaks thru clouds of strife.
Lighting our way,
It leads us back into his sight,
Where we may stay
To share eternal life.

Full Song Lyrics: http://www.lyrster.com/lyrics/our-saviors-love-lyrics-mormon-tabernacle-choir.html#ixzz554FEbVmc

Read more at http://www.lyrster.com/lyrics/our-saviors-love-lyrics-mormon-tabernacle-choir.html#xBOV8pWCqzAGrm2Z.99

Our Savior's love Shines like the sun with Perfect light,

As from above

It breaks thru clouds of strife.

Lighting our way,

It leads us back into his sight,

Where we may stay

To share eternal life.

In the first line my attention was drawn right when I saw the word "light", then as it went 

on talking about breaking through clouds I couldn't not notice the similarity to the experience I had the morning before.  Was it all just a coincidence?  I wanted to tell myself it was, but the feelings I had during it all told me different.  I was being guided.  And there is no way I could ignore Light now, even if I wanted to.

    Winter and spring of this year consisted of me trying desperately to climb completely out of my trauma and depression.  That was my main goal.  I wanted to be healthy and happy again, I didn't know if it was possible to be back to my normal self but I wanted to try for it.  For about six months during this time my 5 year old daughter, Finley started telling me that she loved me multiple times a day.  We are a very loving family, and the kids hear me say I love you at least once a day.  Devin loves on them too with lots of snuggles and kind words.  But she was saying it more times than is normal, or at least enough times that I started noticing it was a lot.  And it wasn't casual either, she would stop and grab my face or hug around my waste and look me in the eye and say "I love you moma" at least 8 -10 times a day.  Some days it was a couple times an hour.  The first month or so I would just say "love you too sweetie" and kind of pat her back then go back to my task.  But as I noticed how frequently she was saying it I began to appreciate it more and more.  And then I started thinking of it as a message from heaven.  God knew that during this time I would need to hear "I love you" almost hourly.  I did too.  I had been through enough that I had learned to not just brush off these sweet little things that seem to show up when needed, so I considered it straight from my Heavenly father each time I heard her sweet but focused little "I love you", of course I knew it was from her too.  And I absolutely started to pause what I was doing and take the moment to look her in the eye and tell it right back to her.  

   I've had a book on my shelf for almost 15 years now.  When I was a junior in high school I remember being with a few of my friends and asking our English teacher what the best book he had ever read was.  His answer just planted itself in my mind, and stayed there.  I think once I graduated and moved out I found the book at a thrift store and bought it, took it home but never read it.  I gave it back to the thrift store a couple years later. Only to see it sitting on a shelf somewhere a few years later and buy it again,  always remembering that I should read it but never actually sitting down to read it.  This book just followed me around from apartment to apartment, house to house.  Each time I would start cleaning out closets I would give it back to a thrift store only to buy another copy a few months later.
In March my husband and I were getting ready to take a 6 hour flight.... without kids. We had celebrated our 10 year anniversary the August before but too much was going on at the time.  So we booked a trip that would happen in March instead.   I had not read a whole Chapter book for years, just because my children are young.  So for weeks I thought about what book I wanted to take on the airplane with me and read uninterrupted.  I borrowed a few books from my mom and grandma, but as we loaded all of our bags in the car and started to pull out of our driveway to go to the airport the book that I had been dragging around with me for years and years came to mind.  So I told my husband to wait just a moment while I run into grab one more thing.  I picked the book up off the shelf and we left to catch our flight.
 It had been 5 months since my dad passed away.  And I felt like I had finally climbed my way out of the dirt.  Of course I was still dirty from the journey, my spirit was tired and sore.  But I felt like I had made my way to the surface.  I thing a good word to describe how I was feeling was Raw.  
I googled the word "raw", there was a definition for raw when used to describe emotions.  It was defined as, Strong, undisguised and intense.
That's how I felt.  I was good to go about my daily, weekly, monthly tasks.  But inside my heart was heavy.  I felt like I imagined my soul like it was in a recovery room.  Or like you might feel once you leave the hospital after a stay in the icu.  Scared to move, worried about ripping an incision that needs to heal, but also feeling like you should be able to do normal life again.
When the airplane took off I pulled out this book.  Finally, after years and years I opened it up.  
Only a couple chapters in I found this couple paragraphs in a book, in the book the main character comes upon a woman crying at a grave in the desert.  She tells the woman that she is sorry and that she must have loved this person very much.
The woman answered, "No, I wish I could say that I had, but I did not.  I did not even like him."
The main character asks her why she is at his grave.
The woman answers, "because no one else is.  He was shallow and unkind, but no one should be buried without somebody to know his passing and to care."
The main character asks her, then why do you cry?
And this is the woman's answer, " He had a chance to be brave and to seek the truth, to honor and defend it.  He had time in which he could have faced fear and overcome it; to know himself without deceit, excuse, or self pity; to bear pain without bitterness.  He had days in which to laugh, to see beauty, to fill his heart with gratitude.  He could have been kind and brave and generous.  Above all, there were people he could have loved and learned to forgive.  He is gone, and the dry surface is already smoothing over in the wind.  Now all of his chances are finished.  Of course I weep for him."

All of the raw feelings I was holding, all of the confusing sadness that I hadn't expected.  This was it.  

All of the tears I was still blinking back, and all the pain I was still feeling.  This was them.  I'm not crying because I miss him, or because I don't know how I will go on with out him.  I hardly talked to him. I cry because of the tragedy of a wasted life.  His heart beating for almost 60 years.  Him breathing in and out, waking up each morning, seeing the sun in the sky and watching it set behind the mountains every day for 58 years.  He had a healthy body, a family, talent, any so many opportunities.... and yet.... darkness. 
  
If I had read these words any other time in my life I would have just breezed past these pages and never thought twice of them.  But now, I am the woman at the grave.  And I cry as the wind smooth's over the grave until its barely visible, and no one even remembers.

Then the book goes on to say - The ultimate tragedy was not to die, but to have had life and let it slip through your hands, day by day, unused, until in the end it was gone, and you had learned nothing, given nothing, left no portion of grace or love in any soul.  What would you leave behind greater than you had found or been given by fate?  Whom had you loved, beyond the child of you own flesh, which any woman loves?  What had you ever forgiven greater than the small things which come easily?  What truth did you ever know with a white-hot passion of the soul, let alone defend?

  
At the end of my dads life there was no funeral, there were not lines of people in a church waiting to tell me how great he was and sorry for my loss.  His grave was already being smoothed over by the wind even before he died.  And that's why I cried and that's why I fell into the darkness.  The tragedy of a wasted life, when God had such great plans for him. 

Late August my Garden is full.  Pumpkins are ready to be picked and the sunflowers are standing tall and wide awake, staring at me with their big grown eye.  I wander around, shooing chickens out of the tomatoes and watching the kids chase a frog.  The flower boxes are crammed with flowers, each one reaching for the sky.  The apple trees limbs are heavy with fruit, begging us to come pick.  My girls ask if they can pick some flowers and I hand them the gardening sheers.  They come back with hand fulls of daisies and coneflowers.     I look around me at the sea of green leaves, and I am thankful those seeds didn't stay a seed.   I am also thankful I didn't stay in that dark hole.   It took me months to find the answer to finding my way out.  Light.  Just like the sun is needed for seeds to grow, I also needed light.  The light of the Son, Jesus Christ. 

I think back to the year of 2017, the darkest year of my life.  The year God put me in my own personal hole and covered me up with dirt and whispered "Grow!".  I came out of that year a completely different person than the seed that I used to be.  One day in July of that year I was out in the garden with my children.  It had been a beautiful morning and afternoon, blue skys, warm sun.   I looked out in the west, where the sun would set that evening and I noticed dark grey storm clouds.  Within an hour they were bigger and greyer, the wind was picking up and they were moving right at us.  The kids ran around screaming at the flashing light and loud sounds of thunder and lighting.   I stood in the garden, watching it come closer,  a little bit of rain started to drop  and the wind picked up, my kids took their chasing and silly screams closer to the house.  They were yelling for me to come in with them, but I couldn't move.  I stood my ground, eyes on the storm.  My hair was blowing around me and the sunflower leaves were being tossed in the wind, but something about the storm had my attention.  It had been a perfect, beautiful day, A couple hours ago there were no clouds in sight.  And now the sky was angry.  It was flashing lightening and hollering.... and I couldn't look away.   The rain was falling more steadily now, and the kids were already onto a new game inside of the house.  I forced myself to walk inside, but even then I watched it out the back door.

   I've thought back to that day a few times and I could never understand what it was about the storm that captivated me.  Until now, I can almost see it clearly.  That storm came at a time when I felt alone in my own storm.  I was searching everywhere for something real, something hard that I could relate with but all I could see around me was people hiding behind masks of perfection.  These grey clouds rolled in I saw it as something real.  Something I could relate to, something that wasn't painted up and perfectly clean.  It was instead roaring with pain and throwing fits of lightning, dark and heavy until it cried hard and heavy tears.  She sky was not ashamed of the storm, it didn't try to hide it, it was instead sharing it.  And my kids as most kids saw it as scary.  They hunched their shoulders and got wide eyes each time lightening would flash.  Scared kids during a thunder storm are a lot like us.  Adults running and hiding from anything hard or scary.  Something that looks challenging and maybe even a little dark.   That summer day, I was in my own dark and scary and the reason I couldn't draw my eyes away was because I saw what my kids couldn't.  Beauty.  Beauty in the hard.  Beauty in the scary, beauty in the real, and even beauty in the dark.