Seeking Silver Linings

Last Sunday night I felt like cutting.  It’s not something I’ve ever done before. But I had this strong sensation. Like an itch that needs to be scratched, my wrists needed to be slit. A cloud was settling in after a year and a half of stability and sunshine. I reached out to my amazing husband and also to my dad, an amazing therapist, and they helped me find the strength and coping strategies to resist the urge. Monday was okay, Tuesday was fine, and then Wednesday morning I awoke to the darkness of that cloud.  It was so deep and so dark, appearing unexpectedly.  I felt like the world would be better without me.

My husband stayed home all day caring for me and our daughter while I did everything I could to fight for my life.  Tears streamed down my face as I ran on the treadmill, attempting to find a physical release. I listened to music both invigorating and soothing to no avail.  I showered, did some work, called my dad, and used my sun lamp, trying so hard to simply have a normal day—but the deep dark cloud hovered, threatening to swallow me up.

When I called my dad he put positive thoughts into my head, speaking in first person, hoping something would stick. He distracted me by telling me all about a book he was reading. He tried to help me find simple things to look forward to—like my sweet little girl’s soccer game that night.

It had been a stormy day, both literally and figuratively, and I wondered if the game would even go on.  But the sun peeked around the clouds outside creating silver linings, and I went to cheer on my darling Purple Unicorn in her red jersey, wishing I could see the silver linings around my billowing darkness.

I’ve come to realize that sometimes when you can’t control something, all you can do is seek the silver linings. And when you can’t see them—you seek the Source of the light.

And so I prayed.

                                                  ~*~

The next day I saw my psychiatrist, desperate for answers and reasons.  She said it could have been one or more of many things including the smoke that had lingered in the air for so long, a lack of sleep, or just the plain and simple fact that I have bipolar disorder. She adjusted my medication slightly, gave me a sleeping pill to ensure that I get my rest, and gave me orders to spend more time with my husband, have someone watch my daughter one day a week, spend more time with friends, create things to look forward to, see a therapist monthly, take up a hobby, have more fun, and update her in ten days.

I was so frustrated that there wasn’t one clear reason or trigger that I could do something about. I had worked so hard to be stable for the past year and a half, and it felt like it all just came crashing down for no reason.  And still being relatively new to this illness, it’s something I’m trying to get used to.

Now, as the cloud disperses, I find myself asking Why me?

This question is often seen as downhearted, but I’ve learned that it can be quite the contrary.

Let me explain.

We all have our unique challenges and struggles, and want them to be good for something—we’re all seeking silver linings. The question of why me? nudges us toward those silver linings by prompting other questions like:

·        How can I use this experience in my life?

·        How can I now empathize with others in a way I couldn’t before?

·        What do I need to learn that I can’t learn in any other way?

·        How can I use my struggle to improve the lives of others in ways that no one else can?

·        How is my struggle making me more like my Savior, who chose to learn by His own experience how to support and comfort me?

·        How am I becoming acquainted with God?

Why me? is a plea to discover the purpose of our pains. 

So I continue to ask it with a heart willing and ready to respond to that purpose as I seek the Source of all Light who can create silver linings from any situation.

Dear Rachel

Dear Rachel,

I’ve been pondering your story in the Bible.  You’re at a time in your life where you feel absolutely certain that God has forgotten you.  You feel less blessed than all those around you, and you probably feel like God loves them more.  I wish you could feel God’s immense love for you.  But I know what it’s like to forget that love.

I certainly felt less blessed several weeks ago as I wept over the cost of what it would take for me to have a safe pregnancy and postpartum experience.  Besides the cost of medical bills and fertility treatments, I felt overwhelmed at all of the things required to quite literally preserve my sanity—weekly psychiatric and therapy visits, more expensive pregnancy-safe medication, and a nanny.  What? None of that was ever in my plan for my life. 

I felt forgotten—but the truth is I had simply forgotten His love.

Several days later, it struck me softly and suddenly. God loves me.  I had been trying to heal my broken heart with the testimony that God is perfect, so His plan for me must be, too.  But in a gentle and powerful moment, I came to understand that more than the perfect plan for me, He’s prepared the most loving plan for me.  He loves me no matter how small my family is.  He loves me no matter how blessed I am.  And then as I began to look for my blessings, I realized how many there truly are.

But here’s the thing—God doesn’t give people more blessings because He loves them more, or fewer blessings because He loves them less.  It’s easy to get caught up on the idea that perhaps He gives more to those He loves more, but it simply isn’t true because he doesn’t love some of us more.  Like an apostle of Jesus Christ has said, “No one of us is less treasured or cherished of God than another.”  It simply does not matter if others have more or fewer blessings than you.  His love for you is the same.  But that doesn’t diminish His love.  As another apostle has said, “Think of the purest, most all-consuming love you can imagine. Now multiply that love by an infinite amount—that is the measure of God’s love for you.”  Believe it.

God loves you—not because He is obligated to, but because you are you.  He is your father and His first priority is loving you.  He always has and always will—no matter what.  I’m sure His heart ached with love when you cried out in anguish to your beloved Jacob, “give me children or else I die.” 

There are those today who share your pain, pleading with God for a child, that new job, the ideal marriage, or perfect health.  And like the beautiful words that will come later in your story, And God remembered Rachel, God remembers them.  He remembered you in the sense that you were never forgotten.  I believe God always remembered you—that he retained you in His memory and remained aware of you—granting you tender mercies all along the way.  You were always on His mind, and He was always blessing you—even if at that moment, you didn’t recognize those blessings.  He was constantly shaping and preparing you to become the woman He knows you can become, and the woman He needs to accomplish great things.  Look for His love—and find its abundance. 

God always remembers you, my dear friend. Always remember His love.

Love,

            Caitlin

The Gift of Enough

As my little girl and I were cleaning up toys, she began to sing, “Clean up, clean up, everybody everywhere…”  What a little princess, huh?  Singing as she cleans.

“All right.  You’ve done enough,” I said when we finished tidying the room. 

Enough.  I thought about the word for a moment, wishing I could speak those words to myself.  It’s all right.  You’ve done enough…you are enough.  It seems like there’s always more to do or more to be.

And then I remembered these words from the Savior of the world: My grace is sufficient for thee. 

He cannot lie.  He says he makes up the difference—and so he does.

As I wiped down the kitchen counter, it dawned on me that when I said “you’ve done enough” to Abbey, I wasn’t expecting her to do more than she could.  I didn’t expect her to also take care of the dishes, laundry, or mopping.  I just wanted her to simply try to do what she could. And it thrilled me that she did it “cheerfully”.

I didn’t expect her to “run faster than she had strength,” or even do everything all at once.  So why do I expect that of myself?  Even God Himself didn’t create the earth all at once.  It took time.  And then He took time to rest.

Rest.  That’s what the Savior invites us to do.  Rest from worrying about whether or not we’re “enough” because with him, we are.  In what James E. Talmage called “one of the grandest outpourings of spiritual emotion known to man,” our Savior pleads with us:

“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.  For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” (Matt. 11:28-30)

He promises everyone that if we partner with Him, we will be enough.  No exceptions. No lost causes.  All we have to do is humbly take His yoke upon us—a spiritual yoke, hewn with faith and conversion.  A yoke that combines our efforts with His absolute perfection in a slow and steady, balanced pace.  A yoke that makes extreme and even everyday burdens easier.

He promises.

I am enough because He lives.

Abbey played with her toys—gifts from Christmastime—while I swept the floor, and I found myself so delighted at her delight.

I considered the delight of our Savior when he sees our delight at His gift to us--His gift of enough.

I smiled and joined my little girl in happiness.

Never Undone

“You can do it,” I tell my little girl as she gets dressed.  “One thing at a time,” I say as I hand her pieces of darling clothing someone thoughtfully left on our porch one day.  I’m thinking of everything I have to do today and realizing that oh so much of it is all-too-similar to what I already did yesterday and what I’ll do again tomorrow.

And the day after that.

And the day after that.

I’ll do dishes again and they’ll get undone again.  I’ll do laundry again and it’ll get undone again. Sweep—undone. Pick up stuff a hundred times—undone a hundred times.  Some days, some things never even get done in the first place, and most days, it seems like things will always be this way.  But as wiser women say, one day when there aren’t any toys to pick up, I’ll miss these days because after all, things won’t always be this way.

Except for one thing.  I will always love my daughter. 

Even if I have to change her outfit eight times today, that love will never change.

Even if I pick up her toys more than a million times today, I will still love her for more than a million years.

And even if I need to wash her hands and face two dozen times today, that love will never wash away.

So, chin up to anyone who feels the same sort of daily monotony—

Even if everything else you do today comes completely undone, take heart and just know this:

Some things--the most important ones--can never come undone.