Skinny

I became an addict when I was 15. But it wasn’t to drugs or alcohol or pornography, or any of the “usual” addictions that prey on so many. 

Nope. I was addicted to running. 

Weird, right? Running?! Most people don’t even like running! Let alone become addicted to it. But I did.

It was the summer before my junior year of high school. To relieve some stress from feeling some anxiety about things I couldn’t control in my life, I sought relief from working out. 

And I never once thought, “Man, I think I should have an eating disorder.” I never even thought, “Ugh. I am so fat and I need to lose weight.”

I simply thought after every work out, “MAN! That felt GOOD!” And I started craving that feeling of self-discipline and overwhelming release that I experienced during every single run or gym session. I started craving that feeling of total control. 

In a matter of months I became obsessed. OB. SESSED. My whole day would be planned around when I could make it to the gym or go for a jog. And if I couldn’t fit in “enough” miles in my day, my whole day would be ruined.

Oddly enough, I never proactively decided to start being weird about everything I ate. No, it was all a very sub-conscious process. I would just forget to eat sometimes. And then I started to notice how good it felt to feel light. And how much more in control I felt when I devoutly controlled one of the most difficult things there is for any human being to control: my appetite. 

Soon I strictly regulated every single bite that went into my mouth. Every. Single. Bite.

Sometimes I would chew food and then spit it out. Sometimes I would pretend to eat and hurry and throw it away when my date left the table. Sometimes I would tell people I already ate when in reality, the last time I had eaten anything, was five days ago.

I kept a log of my calories every day-both consumed and expended. After several months, the average I ate on a daily basis was about 400 calories. And I would run for three or four hours each day. Sometimes until I passed out. 

I weighed myself multiple times a day and watched the number on the scale drop lower and lower and lower.

But despite all my efforts to maintain my strict diet and exercise regiment, I looked in the mirror every day and realized something horrific: even though I was working out so much and eating so little, I was getting fatter. 

Yes-that phenomenon where an overly thin person looks into the mirror and sees an overweight person is a thing. The human brain is powerful, y'all. 

Every day I became distraught when I saw my reflection. I looked disgusting. Repulsive. Undesirable in every way. My efforts to be in control were not working! 

Like I mentioned, losing weight was not my original motive. Gaining control was. But losing weight was the most visible way of gauging that control. So any ounce gained, or any shred of non-existent cellulite that I somehow saw in the mirror, was my mortal enemy. 

Any bite of food that was not planned on meant that I was a failure. I dreaded birthday parties and dates and all social events with food involved. I became terrified to gain weight. Literally, terrified. 

If I failed to follow my ridiculous routine, I punished myself for days. I put grocery bags under my clothes to sweat more. I would work out triple the amount as the day before. I fasted for up to a week. I had nightmares of eating food. I would wake up in tears because I had a slice of pizza in a dream.

After almost a year of the anorexia, I started developing habits of bulimia. Monday through Friday I was anorexic. And then the weekends came, and I binged and purged. My first binge experience? A whole banana. Yes, at the time, that was considered a binge. But the binges grew bigger, and the purges more dangerous. Yet I still looked in the mirror and saw a big, fat girl who was nothing but a stupid, out of control failure. 

No matter what I did or how desperately I did it, I was spiraling out of control. And the scariest part was, I physically couldn’t stop. To this day I sometimes experience side effects of my actions from years ago. My body and brain rewired to adapt to my toxic habits.

What I didn’t realize was that my eating habits (or lack therof) and my exercise regiment were actually controlling me.

My parents noticed it first. My mom tried to ground me from the gym because she was completely freaked out by my compulsive behaviors. Both she and my dad suggested counseling countless times. I scoffed at that idea. I didn’t have a problem. I did not need to go to counseling. 

One day, after I got home from school, my dad came into my bedroom and broke down in tears, pleading me to see a counselor. So, I finally agreed to go. 

In the midst of trying to overcome this immense problem that had literally overrun my life, my mom heard about a 12-step addiction recovery program through our church that was for addicts of any sort. She thought it would be a good idea for me to check it out.

I was not interested. First of all, probably all of the people there were addicts because they made terrible choices. They chose to put things in their body that were harmful. They chose to be sick and perverse. 

Those addicts were a bunch of sinners. And I knew I was a sinner, too because duh - I'm a human. But MY addiction did not start out through dumb decisions. MY addiction started out through HEALTHY habits.  

MY addiction was not the same as theirs. I was not the same as them. I did not CHOOSE this. THEY, on the other hand, CONSCIOUSLY chose to do something stupid. THEIR fault, I thought. It wasn’t fair that I had to go to the same thing when I had done nothing wrong. 

But after some persuading from my mom, I reluctantly agreed to attend this “AA” equivalent.

We met in an LDS church on a Sunday night. It was a dark night in January, and maybe a dozen people showed up to the meeting. It was held in a small Sunday school room. I was the only girl present. 

I sat in the circle bored and indifferent while the facilitator went over some information. Soon it became time for the “sharing circle” where each person could take a couple minutes to explain how they were personally doing in their journey of recovery. You could offer words of encouragement, give a brief update, or explain your feelings about one of the official 12 steps. You weren't supposed be too graphic about your addiction because the point of sharing wasn’t to focus on the addiction, but the process of beating it. 

The sharing started on the opposite side from where I sat. I would be the last to share. And I had NO idea what to say. You could "pass,” so I decided that would be my strategy. 

Some of the guys talked about how their marriages were failing-or had already failed. Some had been in and out of jail. Some had lost contact with their children. I am certain that every single one of them was suffering from extreme self-loathing, hopelessness, and despair. 

And as I heard each of their stories, my heart softened. In fact, it grew more tender with each account that I felt like it was going to burst. 

I realized in that sharing circle, in a room full of “sinners”, who were complete strangers to me, that God loves us so much more than we are capable of understanding. 

I literally think He was in the room. I LITERALLY do. I have never been so overcome with a feeling so potent, so powerful, and so perfect as I was at that moment. I felt this flood of emotion that was stirred up by something unearthly, something exquisitely divine. I felt this feeling of, “THESE are my children. ALL of them. EVERY single one of them. And I LOVE THEM. I love them. And I love you, Kristen. SO, SO, SO MUCH.”

By the time it was my turn to share, I was SOBBING. When I opened my mouth to say, “Pass”, instead I said through WATERFALLS of tears, “I know I don’t know any of you. But I admire that you’re here. I think you’re really brave. I think you’re really humble. I think you’re really strong - way stronger than you think you are right now. And I love you for that. And I don’t know if you believe in Him or not, but I want you to know that God loves you for that even more than I do.”

I don’t know if they understood any of it, or if they thought I was having a very emotional and bizarre episode of drug withdrawals, but that is what I said. No amount of overly expensive waterproof mascara could have survived that moment. 

And as God’s love literally [LITERALLY] permeated that room full of “sinners”, I realized what a sinner I was too. And not because I was obsessed with being 95 pounds, but because I desperately needed God to help me beat something that was impossible for me to beat on my own. And because I had judged others for struggling with life when I was struggling, too. 

Addiction is one of the most painful things any human can endure. And it is difficult - almost impossible - to shake. Professional help, typically on a number of levels, is CRITICAL. Having a healthy, stable network of positive people who are supportive of you is CRUCIAL. And believing that you matter, that you are of infinite worth to the Creator of the universe - well, that helps too.

Addiction cannot be prayed away or healed overnight. And once you have that addiction, it will always be a struggle for the rest of your life. 

I still find myself obsessing over what I eat or how much I exercise. Sometimes I still think about that tootsie roll that I had at the doctor’s office five days ago. 

I’m not kidding. The struggle is real.

But God is real, too. And He doesn’t just dwell in churches. He attends Addiction Recovery Programs. I have no doubt He was in attendance that lonely, dark January night in Rexburg, Idaho - out of all the places in the world He could have been.

Addiction can be overcome. IF you have the right resources and IF you have a good support system. Like I said, you cannot pray any addiction away. That is ludicrous to think and unhelpful to believe. God knows you need professional help. Go get it. But it is nice to have the Big Man Upstairs on call for some added strength and support. Just my take.  

Struggling with any addiction does not diminish your worth one bit. Addiction just makes it harder for you to see your value. And maybe other people don’t see your value either because they are not looking at you properly. They are looking at the monster that has overtaken your life. But that monster is NOT you. 

I know someone who sees you EXACTLY as you are, and EXACTLY as you can be. And He’s ready to tell you how great, and how beautiful, and how brave you are. Not to mention how capable you are at overcoming hard things, with all the right tools in hand of course.

I know God loves us. I promise you His love for us is unmatched by anything else. And it doesn’t matter what state you’re in or how much of a sinner you are. He ALWAYS, ALWAYS, ALWAYS loves you.

Whether you’re on Step 1 or Step 12, or you haven’t even taken the first step at all. He just loves you. 

God loves alcoholics, He loves drug addicts. He loves porn addicts. He loves people who have never tasted the agony of addiction, but who have their own struggles.

He loves obsessive-compulsive runners with anorexia and bulimia.

And He even loves weenie dogs. Obviously. 

Folding Laundry

This is not meant to be a "woe is me" type of post.

It is meant to be a "woe is all of us" type of post. I don't want to exclude anybody. But hopefully it's not as gloomy as it sounds.

Bear with me.

So the past few days I've had a pile of clean laundry sitting in the laundry basket just waiting to be folded. I kept telling myself, and my husband, that I'd get to it later. Or tomorrow. Or next year.

And the thing is, I've had time to do it. Too much time. WAY too much time.

But it's too hard. To fold laundry, I mean. It's so much easier just to stare at it and ignore it and be completely in denial about the laundry that is growing more wrinkly by the second.

Sometimes life is EXCRUCIATING. We lose loved ones. We suffer from health problems. We experience painful relationships. We might be the victim of abuse, loneliness, trauma, or injustice.

Yes, life is HARD. It hurts. It throbs. It stings. And sometimes it is not fair. Sometimes it is not fun. Sometimes it is indescribably painful.

But sometimes life is a different kind of hurt. Sometimes life is a dull, constant ache that is both monotonous and discouraging. It is not just the external hardships we are given that are so hard to overcome, but the very internal ones we are faced with that can be exquisitely difficult.

Sometimes folding laundry makes you want to weep.

Before you roll your eyes at what seems to be nothing but self-pity over such a ridiculous chore, please know I am well aware there are people who are starving, and homeless, and living in dangerous, unsanitary, and tragic circumstances. People who would KILL to be folding laundry right now.

But no matter how much you compare your pathetic obstacle to other people with much bigger, tougher, scarier ones, depression, and all other emotional challenges, are still hard to be grateful for.

I believe that some of the toughest trials people encounter are the ones from within. Conquering irrational fears, overcoming poor self-esteem, coping with anxiety, and just simply getting out of bed in the morning when you are feeling down in the dumps can be some of life's most frustrating challenges.

And when you know you've got that laundry to fold but you just can't bring yourself to do it, it suddenly becomes a very heavy thing on your shoulders. Yes, something as silly as clean clothes can weigh you down to the point of despair.

But wait a minute! Shouldn't you be grateful for that mountain of laundry?! Because some people have no clothes. And here you are complaining about what you are so privileged to have. And how about the fact that you have two hands to fold laundry!?! Some people don't! Some people can't even do that! So stop being selfish! And for crying out loud, be more grateful!

Who has heard that before? And whenever people tell you that, what they fail to realize is you've already told yourself that a zillion times. You've already made yourself feel like a pathetic loser who is nothing but selfish and ungrateful because you are not a victim of the Holocaust. You are not living on the streets with no shoes and nothing to eat. You are not dying of a painful disease. You are not watching your family get murdered or being forced out of your country. You are not being kidnapped or beaten or tortured.

You just don't feel like folding your stupid laundry. Or putting on pants. Or going to that party. Especially because to go to that party, you definitely need to put on those pants.

But the only pants you fit into are sitting in the laundry basket, all wrinkled. Nice going.

Oh well. Now you have an excuse not to go. Because who wants to party when all you feel is worthless?

Worthless. And tired. And hopeless. And down.

But how dare you feel that way, when everyone else on this planet has it so much harder than you?! How can you even allow yourself to feel this way? You are fine. Why are you not being grateful?

Don't get me wrong. I am a HUGE believer in gratitude. My momma taught me to not only use good manners, but to be positive. And appreciative. In ALL things.

But being sad doesn't mean you are ungrateful. Some of the most depressed people I know are the most grateful. And the most aware of their infinite amount of blessings.

But their blessings do not cancel out their suffering. Their blessings do not automatically alleviate their astronomical load of laundry. So quit judging people for feeling the weight of their own, very personal load that you might not even have any idea they are carrying.

Still, it is always a great reminder to consider your blessings. EVERY DAY consider your blessings! I'm exceptionally grateful for a husband who doesn't even mind those no-laundry-got-done days. And who enriches my life in every aspect. I am so lucky! I'm also very grateful for a weenie dog who doesn't care at all about laundry. He's pretty accepting.

And I'm so very grateful for a God who somehow has the time to listen to me talk about "laundry" whenever it is something that I get to struggle with.

My prayers often go something like this:

"Dear Heavenly Father, I know you have waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay bigger things to worry about, but I really need to talk to you."

And then I talk. And with war, and world tragedies, and everyone else's prayers, and Donald Trump running for US president, my laundry is the LAST thing on God's list of things to worry about.

But He worries about it anyway because God loves us enough to care about our laundry. I'll never know how He has the time to do it, but He does. Because you and I are important to Him. Even when we don't feel like it one teeny bit.

And I realize not everyone believes in God. And many people view His role in their lives very differently than I do. I'm not telling you what to believe or how to believe it, but I don't know how people go through life without having Him in it. I don't.

I don't mean that unkind or judgmental. I just mean that life is hard! And I personally NEED that strength and peace and humility that comes from having a relationship with God.

And whenever I personally am facing overwhelming amounts of laundry to do and life is tough and my efforts never seem to be enough, it helps me to know that someone with a PERFECT love loves me no matter how lousy I feel or how much I am struggling.

Let me also add that praying does NOT take away your load of laundry. Nope. Whenever people give the advice: "Just pray about it", I don't think they understand God or how He works.

Because you cannot pray away depression or anxiety or anguish or loneliness or any kind of suffering. You can't! That's ridiculous!

Prayer is not a remedy to remove suffering, or even to heal it. But it is a remedy to endure your suffering with the support and love of someone who knows you are so much more capable of doing hard things than you are currently giving yourself credit for.

So here is my message to you. It is not one of self-pity, but rather a very deep and sincere effort to be self-motivated even when that feels impossible.

Quit beating yourself up. Quit comparing yourself to everybody else. Because YOU are important to the most powerful being in the universe, whether you want to believe that or not.

He cares about MY laundry. And he cares about YOURS.

And that seems hard to believe. But next time you're convinced that you're worthless and your problems are nothing but a trivial overreaction on your part and everyone else who lives and has ever lived has it five billion times worse than you, so you shouldn't complain or even acknowledge your hurt because it's just you being a baby-

I dare you-I DOUBLE DOG DARE you to talk to Him about it.

Because YOU are important to Him. And you are not defined by how well you do your laundry. Or if you even do it at all.

So next time you muster up the courage to fold a pair of socks that actually matches, instead of beating yourself up for not doing the 14 other loads that are waiting to be done, just be satisfied with your efforts.

And keep folding.

Got Depression? Got Anxiety? Got a Weenie Dog?

Mental illness. It’s taboo. It’s embarrassing. It’s awkward. It’s an excuse. It’s pathetic. It’s not even real.

Or so some say.

No one ever wants to talk about it. Sorry. (Not sorry.) I’m going to talk about it anyway.

 As someone who struggles with both depression and anxiety I can personally attest that, YES-it can be embarrassing. It CAN be awkward. But it is NOT an excuse. It is NOT pathetic. And it is just as real as cancer, or diabetes, or breaking your bones.

And it can hurt just as bad.

Just because you don’t see the wounds someone feels doesn’t mean they aren’t feeling them. If your friend broke their back, you would probably wince at the thought of their pain. Even when someone has a headache, you instantly feel for them and quickly dig in your purse to find them some Excedrin to relieve the discomfort they are experiencing.

And while I think that our society has come a long way with understanding various mental illnesses that people endure, I still think that many individuals often lack empathy and compassion for these hard-to-see trials.

Heaven forbid people take medication or-dare I say it?! Go to counseling. Because it’s all in your head! It’s just you having a bad attitude. You should just exercise more. Stop sleeping in. Quit worrying about things you can’t control. Pray more. Be less selfish. Do more things for other people and quit feeling sorry for yourself.

We’ve all heard that before. Maybe even said it somebody we didn’t seek to understand.

But seriously folks, there is nothing selfish about struggling with any sort of mental illness. And it also does not mean you are a negative person. In fact, some of the sweetest and happiest people I know have some of the saddest and most poignant, personal struggles of anyone I know.

Funny how happiness does not always come when things are easy. In fact easiness has nothing to do with happiness.

But admitting there are challenges, finding attainable solutions, having a solid network of people who love you, praying your heart out to God, and getting a weenie dog are the keys to combatting some of life’s toughest obstacles. Even if your hurdles are not visible to anybody else.

If you struggle with any type of mental illness just know that you are NOT alone. It’s cliché, and it’s sometimes annoying to hear that. Because trust me. I get it. Sometimes you feel SO alone. But you don’t have to feel that way.

One of the greatest decisions I ever made in my life-and I’m not kidding at all when I say this-was buying a dachshund-mix puppy from a Craigslist ad.

And you can chuckle or even roll your eyes at that. But that Craigslist puppy has saved my life in more ways than one.

Around the time I decided to find a dog I had heard of people getting companion animals, or therapy pets. I heard they really helped fill those voids that depression, anxiety, and loads of other struggles can create.

So my Craigslist search began. And every day after school and work, I would come home and look at zillions of dogs. But when I saw a black and brown puppy with ginormous paws (that he never grew into by the way), I had to meet him in real life. And as soon as I met him I told his owners I would be right back. I hit up the Wells Fargo ATM and picked that puppy up.

And thank goodness I did.

And even though he has eaten some of my favorite pairs of shoes that I still mourn over, that dog has been the best Lexapro or counseling I’ve ever had.

He made the loneliest time in my life much sweeter than I ever thought it could be. He is the best listener I’ve ever vented to. He gets me out of my bed every morning because he knows we both need the exercise and the sunshine. And he is always happy to see me. He is the most loyal friend and the snuggliest roommate. And even when he is obnoxious I can’t really hold it against him. Because he has the guiltiest conscience of anyone I know and he shows it in those pretty, brown eyes of his.

In fact, I literally think Ernie has anxiety too. Maybe he needs a therapy hamster. (Or something along those lines.)

But seriously, if you are an animal person and you deal with depression or anxiety or your marriage is sad or you face unemployment or you have any health problems whatsoever, then for heaven sakes, get a dog! And I hear that weenie dog mixes work the best. Just sayin’.

If you’re not an animal person, then no wonder you are depressed.

Just kidding. But become one. It will change your life.

It’s cheesy, I know. But in every prayer I pray to Heavenly Father, I thank Him for Ernie. And sometimes during our bedtime prayers Ernie is reverent. And sometimes he is not. But always he is sweet. And I have needed him so much more than I ever realized.

And while praying and trying to serve others is a great remedy for not getting sucked into your own hard things, God understands that medication, counseling, family, good friends, and weenie dogs are the most effective remedies for facing the trials He gives us.

So please. Hang in there. You are NOT alone. Especially if you have a 17-pound weenie dog who somehow manages to take up more than half your bed every single night.

Yep, definitely not alone.

And thank heavens for that.

How God Loves Us

I am not even going to try and pretend that I understand everything there is to know about the Gospel. I am not an expert in any way. But in the past year, thanks to the people in my life, I have grown to learn, on a deeper level, how God works in our lives.

In fact particularly in the last year, I have come to personally understand how the Atonement of Jesus Christ functions in my own life.

It is my belief that Jesus Christ atoned for everyone’s sins. Through this most significant act, we can repent and become more like God through the trials and experiences we each face. The word "repent" is synonymous with change, or progress. Often, repentance has such a negative, fire and brimstone context that we forget what a blessing it is to be able to improve ourselves. SUCH a blessing! Being able to repent is not doom and gloom. It is a gift that we should utilize on the daily. 

Understanding why Christ atoned for us enables us to come unto Him and truly make positive changes in our lives. So, why did He do so? Because He loves us! Because of Him, we can become who we are more meant to be. Who we truly are.

Not only does His Atonement cover our sins, but it covers our pains, our weaknesses, our sorrows. It covers our shortcomings, our heartaches, and life’s many, many disappointments we all have to endure. The Atonement is how we are able to heal. Not only can we turn away from sin and improve that aspect of our lives, but we can find comfort and peace in the Lord in all aspects of our lives.

But how in the world are we supposed to seek healing and comfort through someone that is not physically beside us?

Allow me to let you in on a little secret that life keeps teaching me over and over and over: We often experience the Atonement of Jesus Christ through each other.

You probably already knew that. But if you’re anything like me, sometimes you need the same lesson a zillion times in a row to finally start getting it.

I feel the need to share the story of one of my all-time favorite people. I’ve written blogs about him before. He’s kind of a big deal in my life. If you’ve met me long enough to have a conversation longer than a greeting, then you’ve heard of the infamous Thomas Nash. Also known as T-Man. Or Mr. T. Or T-Rex.

Let me tell you why Thomas is, and always will be, one of the most important people in my life.

Thomas taught me about the Atonement every time I was with him. He allowed me to see how it works. He allowed me to experience it in my own life. 

Thomas was born with cerebral palsy and hydrocephalus. In a nutshell, he has some disabilities, but mostly just abilities. His receptive language is phenomenal-he understands everything that is said around him and to him. But he can’t verbally communicate like most of us do. Instead he uses sign language, and some fantastic facial expressions. He also happens to have the greatest sense of humor. That kid is hilarious. 

Thomas doesn’t have the full use of his legs. He can’t walk without support. He uses a wheelchair. He has a feeding tube to supplement his nutrition. And he is a lot smaller than typical kids his age. However, he is extremely capable, smart, thoughtful, tender, kind, and downright incredible. He is one in a million. I am convinced that he is God’s favorite. If you met him for just five minutes, you'd agree. 

Obviously, despite his strengths and abilities, Thomas has some very visible struggles in his life.

I was blessed beyond measure to be his assistant for awhile. And no matter where life takes me, being Thomas’ assistant will always be the best job I’ve ever had. Hands down. No contest.

I miss him every day.

One of the most humbling things about working with Thomas was having the privilege of helping him do things that are easy for most of us to do. The key was to not to do too much for him so he could grow and develop the way he needed to. I always tried to allow him to do as much as he could independently without getting in his way. Instead of overcoming his hard things for him, I helped him conquer them simply by loving the heck out of him.

For instance, when I first started working with T-Man, he hated his walker. Hated it.

So, we worked on it. I encouraged him to use his walker like his life depended on it. I was the loudest, most obnoxious paraprofessional you’ve ever seen. I did anything to get him to cruise through the hallway. I used puppets. I made up songs. I told jokes. I raced him like a crazy lady. (He always won.) I even brought my wiener dog to school one day so Thomas could hold his leash and walk the dog. Spoiler alert: Thomas dragged his feet and Ernie, the overgrown weenie dog, dragged Thomas through the school hallways while Thomas belly laughed the entire time. If you thought weenie dogs weren't strong and robust, you thought wrong. 

But the strategy that consistently worked best of all was when I had one of his classmates walk alongside him. Because Thomas loves people. He loves his friends. And who wants to face a hard thing alone, when you have awesome friends who are willing to face it right with you?

Soon he was walking 10 minutes a day. 15. 20. 25.

He got up to 45 and counting.

His favorite classmate who helped him more than anybody? A girl his age who also had cerebral palsy.

Fancy that. Two kids who feel the same pains that most of us can’t relate to, cheering each other on in their bright, green walkers. They were easily the highlight of my day, every day. 

And on the exceptionally hard days when Thomas was tired or hurting or just not in the mood (which we can all relate to in some way or another), I wanted so bad-SO BAD-to overcome his obstacles for him.

But I couldn’t. I could only help. And support. And encourage. And love. And occasionally, or not so occasionally, get all teary in the teacher's lounge because I'm one of those people who feels all the feels way too much. Don't judge me. I love people and I won't apologize for that. And holy cow, I HATED when Thomas hurt.

But how amazing it was to watch him get stronger in response to his hurt.  

It was truly a surreal experience every day being able to watch someone progress so much. Sure, they might have seemed like small successes to most people. But to me, Thomas achieved victory after victory after victory. And being a part of that process was the most rewarding thing. Don't get me wrong-I give him ALL the credit. I was just there in the background to offer him strength and support. 

Experiencing the Atonement in that way was new for me. I was experiencing the process of healing through the healer’s eyes. I watched Thomas do incredibly hard things every day. And I loved him through it. I never took his obstacles away-sometimes I was even the one who placed them in his path! I gave him his walker to use. I had him do many other difficult activities. And I had high expectations because I knew he could handle it. And through it all, I sustained him. I enabled him. I held him up-very literally. I loved him to pieces. I mean, how could you not? I'm not bragging or anything. It was a PRIVILEGE to serve this boy. A privilege I still do not deserve. 

Now for the plot twist.

During the second year of working with Thomas, I was thrown some major curveballs in my life.

One of those curveballs was getting divorced.

From the time I contemplated the divorce as an option to the time it was final, and even beyond, I found relief in my work with T-Man. He gave me something else to focus on. He gave me somewhere to exert all my energy. 

I was able to go to work every day and focus on someone else’s challenges. I was unable to relieve my own stress, but being able to help Thomas face his burdens head on gave me strength. And courage. And faith.

I owe that kid so much for inspiring me to do hard things with a good attitude. It was difficult to carry a load that was not visible to others. I showed no outward signs of struggling or pain. But I had never been in more pain than I was at that moment. And I could tell countless experiences of how Thomas cheered me up during one of my very lowest points in life. But I want to share one example in particular.

It actually happened after I stopped working with T. I had barely moved to Salt Lake from Idaho. I was new in town, unemployed, lonely and very, very down.

I missed my job. I missed my parents. I missed a lot of dear friends. And I had never felt more lost before. I was depressed. I was scared. I was dealing with medical issues and financial decisions. And my load felt so heavy.

One night, after a particularly gloomy and discouraging day, I had a dream that I couldn’t walk. For whatever reason in this dream my legs just didn’t work. I was weak and paralyzed and unable to move freely. And even in my sleep I remember feeling this dark and awful overwhelming feeling of literal despair and exhaustion from exerting all my efforts to just take a few steps.

But, after an agonizing struggle, someone came rushing to my rescue. It was Thomas. He was walking perfectly. And soon he was leading me by the hand, with a big smile on his face, as he told me over and over and over that I could do hard things.

Maybe it sounds crazy. And maybe to you, that’s just a weird dream.

For me it was a tender mercy. A turning point. A sweet reminder that in spite of my desire to help other people feel loved, I needed (and still need) someone to cheer me on, too.

Sometimes we experience the Atonement by being the healer for others. We get to cheer on our friends; we get to pray for people we love; we get to offer support to others, whether it be physical, emotional, spiritual, or financial. Providing relief and helping others is critical to becoming more like the Savior. As opportunities arise to help others heal, I hope we all gratefully and willingly take them. 

But sometimes we have the very sacred and significant opportunity to be able to experience healing through the very special people in our lives that God allows us to get to know. We get to be cheered on; we get to be prayed for. Sometimes we are the one who needs support in a variety of ways. And allowing people to help us heal is just as important in becoming like Christ. It teaches us humility and compassion and reminds us that none of us are above needing a little divine intervention in our lives. It allows us to get to know Him. It helps us come to know that WE matter to him no matter how inadequate we feel or how much we are struggling. 

How grateful I am for the Atonement. How grateful I am for the Savior. And for the people I am so, so beyond lucky to have in my life who exemplify Him so beautifully.

God is the most powerful being in the universe, and yet for OUR benefit, He often accomplishes his work through US. He could do it all himself, much better and more efficiently than we can. But that isn't the point. Instead, He works through me and He works through you.

And he most definitely works through Thomas Nash. Trust me. 

Lessons From My Momma

When I grow up, I want to be my mom. If you know my mom, then you probably want to be her too.

There are a million reasons why I am beyond lucky to have the mom that I do. But I just feel a need to share a handful of those reasons. And I’m probably going to need two boxes of Kleenexes during this process.

When my mom was a little girl she made the decision to attend church every Sunday. No big deal, right? I mean, a lot of kids go to church. Except starting at about seven years old, nobody in her family went anymore. So she went to church all by herself. And she always said a prayer every Sunday morning that there would be somebody else in the congregation who was also alone so she would have someone to sit by.

She said she always had someone to sit by. Every. Single. Time.

And I think she has missed church maybe five times in her whole life. Maybe.

On Monday nights, Mormons have this tradition called Family Home Evening. It doesn’t technically have to be on Monday. But the LDS Church strongly suggests picking a night a week to set aside for quality family time where you can pray together, learn together, and have a good time.

Every Monday night, my mom had family home evening with her dolls and stuffed animals.

If that doesn’t make you get a little teary, then you probably have no soul. It’s Kleenex number five for me.

Growing up, when dropping me off at various events or parties, my mom would give me this advice: “Sit by the person who’s sitting alone.”

And even though as a little girl, she might’ve felt alone in her beliefs, she has countless times since then, been the person providing the relief, comfort, and companionship that someone else is so desperately praying for.

She has, many times over, been the answer to someone’s prayers. I’ve watched my mom inspire so many people. I’ve watched her serve over and over and over. She is always sewing someone a blanket or taking someone a meal. And if you’ve ever had my mom’s rolls then you know that is reason enough to want to be like her when you grow up.  

Because man, are they good.

And man. Is she good.

I envy her goodness.

I’ve never known someone with a purer heart or a more sweet, sensitive spirit.

She is a rescuer. She loves deeply and completely. With her whole soul.

One of my sweetest memories of my mom was during one of the most challenging times of my life.

I was married at the time and after months of deliberation due to the way things were going in my marriage, I called my mom one morning in tears and said, “Mom. I think I need to come home.”

When I think about her response even now, I still get choked up. She simply replied, “I’ll be right over.”

And she was literally right over.

We spent that day packing and crying. And saying a lot of prayers.

And I spent the next several months living with my sweet parents who took care of me in every way. And they even accommodated a very obnoxious wiener dog, who is still very grateful by the way for the royal treatment.

Just like she did for me then, my mom has the ability to turn something so difficult into something so sweet. And coming from someone who has faced countless challenges in her own personal life, I admire her ability to be so positive and faithful.

In fact, one of the biggest things I most admire about my mom is her faith in Jesus Christ and in His Gospel.

I am the baby in my family, so as a little girl when my siblings were all at school, I had some great one-on-one time with my momma. She stayed home to be a full-time mom. Which by the way people, is waaaay more than 40 hours a week. And there is no such thing as overtime or lunch breaks.

Anyway, one of the sweetest memories I have from those preschool days is playing this silly game with her that we made up.

It went like this:

I would say, “Mommy. I don’t like you.”

And she would pretend to cry. Only her acting made me giggle. And then I’d quickly say, “Mommy. I don’t like you. I love you.”

And we’d hug and laugh. And after that happened a bunch of times she would tell me she loved me too. And then she would ask me, “But Kristen Jan, who loves you more than me?”

And without any hesitation I always pointed up because the only person who could possibly love me more than my momma was God.

And Mom, I just have to say that I know you have a zillion fans. I know that anyone who knows you adores and respects you infinitely.

But Mom. Nobody. NOBODY loves you more than me. Besides Dad. And the Big Man Upstairs.

And for the record, I thank Him every day that I belong to you.

Thanks for putting up with me.

Happy Mother’s Day to all you moms out there. Dog moms included.