I could have been...

Most of you don't know this, and some who did know may have forgotten. But I have not forgotten. 

I could have been a new mom again this week. 

8 months ago I learned that I was pregnant. I was so excited! Literally bursting. You should never take a pregnancy test at 2 am. Especially if you plan on keeping the secret from your husband until the semester ends. In three weeks. I did successfully keep the secret, just barely. I waited until he had settled down after getting home from his last final. Then I put my youngest in a shirt that said "big sister" and sent her into the kitchen where he was sitting. Such a sweet moment when the reality of the message finally dawned on him. Unlike last time this was not a surprise for us. We were ready and very much wanting to add to our family.

The timing was perfect. I crocheted a mini stocking for the baby to show our families on Christmas Day. They started spreading the good news, though I don't know how far it went. 

The next day on our family outing I started having cramps and bleeding. Nothing more than I normally felt during my period, but a little worrisome because it had never happened while I was pregnant. This was Friday night. By Monday morning it hadn't stopped so I made an ultrasound appointment, not knowing what to expect. 

All our friends were away for Christmas, so my husband drove around with the girls and I went in alone. 

And I came out alone.

The ultrasound showed that my uterus was empty. The tiny part of me that would have grown into my third baby was already gone. I felt like I should have noticed, should have felt something when it happened. But I didn't. And then it was over. I was just empty.

It's difficult to describe how I felt afterwards. I cried, but not much. It was like my ability to feel anything significant was gone. Everything was watered down. I felt a little sad, a little angry, a little helpless, a little confused. I was frustrated because I thought I should be feeling more. Maybe I thought that feeling immense pain would bring me closure. But I never did. Ever since I have been annoyed by that. Like because I didn't feel as much physical or emotional pain as I thought I should, my experience wasn't valid. The one good thing that should have come out of this experience was that I could empathize with my many friends who have and will experience a miscarriage. Can I really empathize if I didn't feel the pain?

I think maybe I worried that I would forget.

But I have not forgotten. This week I might have been a new mother again. Instead I am still waiting. Still waiting and wondering and hoping that the right time will be not far distant. But even when that time comes, I will not forget this time.

There are no signs in the wilderness... Or are there?

It’s been a long time since I had the courage to write anything. That’s a story of its own, but when I stopped, I was already writing this post in my head, and I have thought about it often. Lets see if it still makes any sense. 

Not quite a year ago my husband and I were excited for the annual family campout organized for our ward here in Provo. Not that we would actually consider taking our toddlers to spend the night in a tent. We just like to go up for dinner and hang out with our friends until we are tired of chasing the kids away from the fire or the water or the cookies. Ok, mostly we just show up at the campsite, try to convince our kids to please eat something, and then run around frantically trying to keep them safe. So it’s really fun… for the kids. For us I guess its mostly just a change of scenery. And a chance to make sure we are all going to sleep really well tonight. Yet every year when it gets announced, we get excited for it all over again. But I digress. 

Last year when time came, our family was pretty stressed out financially, which also caused emotional and spiritual stress. We were looking forward to a break, even if it was just a few hours. There wasn’t much gas in our car, but surely enough to get us there and back. It might have been 30 miles round trip. I volunteered to cook in my crockpot some of the chicken that was provided. We loaded our girls into the car, I put the crockpot on some towels at my feet, and we set off, excited for a little adventure. 

I had looked up directions to the campsite and they were not hard to follow. We were promised that someone would go up early and leave clear signs along the way. I knew what the map said, but I had never been to this place. We started up the mountain confident that we knew as much as we could about where we were going. There was a sign for another group at the bottom of the mountain, but we weren’t worried. We knew we were on the right path so far. Surely the signs for our group would be there further up the road. We made the last turn our instructions indicated, and quickly the paved road ended. Our ’95 Buick Century wasn’t going to last long driving on all these rocks, but surely the campsite couldn’t be that far now. 

After about 15 minutes of unpaved road we were pretty frustrated. We kept our eyes sharp for any indication of a turn off that might be our destination. We were sliding all over the place and it was really frightening. There were cars coming from behind to pass us, not very safely to put it nicely. My husband started doubting that I knew what I was talking about (since I was the only one who had seen the directions) and that was not helping my waning confidence. 

Another 10 minutes. There were no signs for our group anywhere. And this particular 15 mile trip from home was not as efficient for our gas tank as we had been counting on. At this point we travelled forward out of desperation, thinking that it would somehow be better to run out of gas among friends rather than on the side of a dangerous road in the dark. Five more minutes and we saw a sign for the other group that said “Ya casi!” That’s Spanish for “you’re almost there.” At that point we were beyond frustrated. Certain now that we must have been led astray, we passed the place where the Spanish group was having their camp out and decided to turn around and hope that by some miracle we could make it home. 

Just as were were about to turn around, we saw Larry by his truck and we knew we were in the right place. But even at the campsite, there were still no signs. We were more than half an hour late, and only the third car to make it to the site. A few minutes later more of our friends started to show up. We had a good meal, connected with old and new friends, and let ourselves relax just a little while chasing toddlers and trying to forget for the moment that we had little hope of completing the journey home with the small amount of gas left in our tank. After all the stress, we still felt like being there was worth it. Even if we had to leave before it was time for s’mores. 

Nobody had gas with them, but when the time came to start our journey home, a friend offered to drive behind us until the road was paved. He also gave us money for gas, not even knowing our somewhat desperate financial circumstances. We made it up the rocky dirt road to the pavement, and then started back down the steep mountain. We prayed the whole way that our breaks wouldn’t be damaged, and that we would have enough gas to make it to the nearest station. Luckily our girls were sound asleep in the backseat. We made it to the gas station, and home safely. 

Are you still with me? There are more life lessons than I can count in this experience, but I’m going to focus on how this so obviously related to me then, and even now. 

In The Book of Mormon a prophet named Lehi led his family away from their home to a Promised Land which has been prepared for them by God. They traveled through the wilderness with directions given by God, but obviously there were no signs. They didn’t really know where they were going. They had no way of knowing how much further it was. They only knew that God had promised them a new home, better than anything they could imagine. Their only hope of getting there was to trust that He would lead them there. 

I am in the wilderness right now. I am so in the wilderness. In fact, for the purpose of this analogy lets just say that I will spend my entire mortal existence in the wilderness. I’m sorry if that sounds depressing. Bear with me. 

Sometimes I am painfully aware of my being in the wilderness. I look around and I can’t see anyone else. There are no signs. All these doubts start flooding in. What am I doing? Where am I going? Does anyone know I’m here? Did I miss a turn? I’ve been going on like this for a really long time. I’m really not feeling this part of the adventure. Hey, what’s that shiny thing over there? Maybe its for me. I think I’ll go check it out. And then I get even more frustrated when I find out that shiny thing is a mirage. I’m still in the wilderness, not feeling any closer to the promised land than I did before. So I keep going forward because I’m still in the wilderness. I have no other choice. This perspective does not make me happy.

Sometimes I have the humility to open my eyes and be amazed at how my Heavenly Father is guiding me through the wilderness. I am not alone. It can safely be assumed that we are all struggling with hard things at any given time. We are meant to lift and be lifted by one another. My path through the wilderness is not the same as yours, but where our paths meet we have an opportunity to support one another. There are wonders and miracles in the wilderness, leading us to the promised land. If I look for them, I can see them. I am filled with gratitude and joy. I have the strength to keep going. 

There are a few directions that we all have to follow in order to get there, but we aren’t going to see any signs with a giant arrow pointing “this way to Eternal Life!” Sometimes I really wish those signs existed, but that would defeat the purpose. I am in this wilderness to let my faith grow. I am learning to let my hope in what God has promised be enough to keep me moving forward no matter what. 

I am learning. The process is ongoing. There are more days than I like to admit that the thought crosses my mind it might be easier to just sit down where I am and refuse to move forward. But I have seen enough miracles in my life to carry me through those moments until I start to see more miracles. I have to keep moving forward. I have to trust that eventually the directions I have will get me to my promised land. 

And it’s going to be WAY better than a ward camp out.