a blog post about nothing at all

Do you ever stop to freeze-frame your life for a second, and just think "how did I get here?" How? I moved to Provo a little over a year ago. At the time, it seemed perfect, right, beautiful, etc. I figured exciting things were in store. And they were--but God's definition of "exciting" is different than mine. Which is probably good, I mean, words are weak. That postmodern lit class I took my senior year really gets in the way of my conversating sometimes (nope, conversating is not a word). ANY. Way. I had no idea what was coming. I think if I had, I would have slammed on the brakes a little. I probably would've wimped out.

Guys, I'm a wimp. I cry a lot (which I'm trying to fix, with drugs actually, because yes it is possible for one to cry too much). I get teary when I look at certain pieces of art, or when it rains after 3 o'clock in the afternoon and the sun is hitting the sheets of rain just right as they're coming down and all of a sudden I'm a kid again. I cry when I see baby pictures of my siblings (always and forever I will do this, medication or no medication). I cry when I'm alone and the crushing weight of everything I love/haven't done/have lost falls down on me like an avalanche. Wait, did she just say she has depression?? Or... What! You mean that d-word? Yeah, depression. The past 400 days have been the equivalent of like 50 hours in the testing center. 50 hours straight. With no. Bathroom. Breaks. When I moved to Provo, everything was going great. I could see my future all nice and shiny in the distance. Word to you and your mother: if you can see your future,  #1, you have a problem right there and I think you might be an alien and #2, if it's bright and shiny, I'm sorry, but you need to put your sunglasses on.

Perspective. I didn't know what it was like to have my testimony tested until this last year. I didn't know how it felt to have my faith shaken, to the point when I didn't feel like praying anymore because I didn't think anyone was listening. I never thought I would go through that. I didn't want to get out of bed for three months straight. I had to pray for help to get up. A couple of weeks ago, a girl bore her testimony in church and it was very simple, but it struck me as the most beautiful testimony I'd ever heard. She said, "I just want to say how grateful I am for Jesus Christ, who helped me get up this morning." I knew what she meant.

I guess the reason I'm writing this is because I know there are lots of you who read this who may be experiencing something similar, or have experienced it, or will. Everyone's faith will be tested, and not just once. If Heavenly Father is truly our Father and loves us more than we can fully comprehend, then we will all be tested. That is a fact. But this, this is also true:

❝

Behold, what manner of love is this, that Christ should be arraigned and we adorned, that the curse should be laid on His head and the crown set on ours.

— Thomas Watson

I need you (whoever you are) to know that Heavenly Father does love us, and He's always there. Even--and especially--when you feel completely alone, you are not. Please don't forget that. There will be difficulties and trials and things you don't think you can handle. And maybe that's the thing, you see--you can't handle it, but with Christ you can. I don't know how to say it eloquently. I only know how to say it simply. All of this pain, okay, yes, it hurts. It hurts! There were prayers I uttered in the last year that said simply that--"It hurts. It hurts. Please help. Make it stop hurting."

The Savior heals without a scar. Trust Him to calm your storms. Please don't give up.

p.s. Yes I cried while I wrote this. What of it? I could sell Kleenex to a tree (I don't think the metaphor worked just then).