"It wasn't me." A Confession.

              Alex and I were traveling to my house in Oregon from Idaho for the weekend (not one of our better ideas.) We reached the the two thirds mark about midnight and decided to keep going through the winding mountain pass to get home. (Another bad idea.)  It was still rather cold that time of year, and at a high elevation, the snow began to fall.

               If you remember or if you are just reading this now, about 7 or 8 months prior to this I had been in a scary roll-over accident while driving in bad weather. Driving in the snow terrified me.  And as the snow got thicker, my fear only grew. I stopped the music and asked Alex to say a quick prayer for protection to make through the pass.  After what seemed like hours, the snow let up, we were safe and the prayer had worked! I remember telling Alex after the worst had passed, "That wasn't me driving Al. I couldn't feel my arms, someone else did it, it wasn't me!" I don't know who took control that night, but I do remember the very distinct impression that someone else was guiding me through that treacherous territory.

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           Almost immediately after the accident this summer, heavy burdens fell upon my shoulders as the oldest of my parents children.. There was much to be done and many hard decisions to make, when all I wanted was to stay in bed all day and cry.  But really, that wasn't an option for me.

My sisters were still recovering in the hospital.  

I had to be with them.

I had to comfort them.

I had to deal with their injuries. 

I had to pick a casket for both my mom and my dad.

I had to choose flower arrangements.

I had to pick speakers, and pallbearers and prayers and musical numbers. 

I had to sign papers.

I had to talk to social workers.

I had to make a million phone calls. 

I had to decide where my parents would be buried.

I had to a find words to comfort people who were hurting just like me.

I had to buy a dress for the funeral.

I had to consider all options. 

I had to protect my sisters.

I had to keep my family together. 

I had to listen to many people tell me what they thought I should do about a lot of different things.
I had to make my own choices. 

I had to take care of myself. 

I had to make phone calls and answer emails and text messages.
I had to pay bills.
I had to finish school.

I had to decide were we would go. What we would do with the house? Would I finish school? Where? How would we pay for everything? What did we want to keep to remember them?

I had to hug a lot of strangers, meet a lot of new people, and often give comfort to others even when my own heart hurt so bad. 

I had to pack up and sell the house my parents loved and worked so long and hard for.

I had to figure out what to do with the Dogs. 

We had to leave the place were we spent most of our childhood.

We had to leave our friends, our ward, our neighborhood. 

We had to start back into real life almost like our whole world had not been ripped away that summer.
On top of it all, I had to grieve the loss of my biggest fans and what I thought my future would be.

        Through it all, people told me I was amazing, wonderful, and incredible.  Many told me I was being too strong, too brave, that I could "break down," I didn't have to be that way all the time, and I didn't have to pretend.  They called me a rock, their hero, someone they wanted to be.  They told me I made my parents were so proud, that they had raised us right. They were all so kind. I appreciated every one of those compliments, thier worries as well, but usually, I didn't know how to respond.  I would shrug my shoulders awkwardly and say something like "fake it till ya make it!" or "just taking it one day at a time." I didn't know how to tell them it wasn't me.

            I didn't know how to tell them I wasn't the strong or brave one.  I didn't know what I was doing. I wasn't courageous or putting on a show for anyone.  I wasn't the rock everyone thought or said I was, I was just standing on a Rock, clinging really, because it felt like the world around me had collapsed, and it was all I had under my feet still. I was running on borrowed strength.  I think of all I had to do, everything that was on my shoulders and remember  the similar experience I had a encountered a few years earlier driving to Oregon on a snowy night. It just wasn't me.

           As I flew to Reno the night of the accident to be with my sisters, I thought about everything that would be coming my way. I tried to anticipate all the things I would have to do, and I was needless to say, overwhelmed.  I tried to sleep but I couldn't, so instead I prayed. I prayed the entire flight.  I PLEADED with God to help me to be humble enough to give my burdens to Christ. I prayed I would have the faith to put all trust in Him, to know He really would help us through.  I prayed He would be there with us through it all.

He was.  I KNOW He was, because it wasn't me guys.

          I look back on the last 6 months, all that has occurred and all the challenges we have faced,  and it's like I never felt my arms the whole time.

You know the poem Footprints?  I used to think it was so cliche, but as I get older I realized most cliches are that way, because they are true.  I understood the metaphor, but I didn't really understand what that felt like, what it felt like to be carried because you've got nothing else to go on.

  "And he shall go forth, suffering pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind; and this that the word might be fulfilled which saith he will take upon him the pains and the sicknesses of his people.

 And he will take upon him death, that he may loose the bands of death which bind his people; and he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities."

 Alma 7:11-12

I had an opportunity to attend a session of the Church's addiction recovery program.  I was overwhelmed by the feelings of love that permeated the room, the feeling that we are all the same, none is better than the other because WE ALL NEED CHRIST.  Everyone of us needs him, in all stages of life. When we are happy, when we are hurting, it doesn't matter! We need him, but He can't do anything unless we first ask.  So I beg you to ask.  If you are struggling with loss, with sin, hurt feelings, stressful circumstances and most of all a broken heart, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE ask Him for help.  He is there to give it.  He loves you!

I don't write this so that anyone will feel sorry for me or think that I am great or wonderful because it was not a solitary effort. IT WASN'T ME! I write this because I want YOU to know that He will carry your burdens.  He will lift you up in all circumstances, He will carry you in your darkest moments. You only have to ask, and He will take the reigns (and sometimes your arms) and show you how.  He knows your unique pain, because He loves you and wanted to know all the things you would face so He could overcome those challenges and help you do the same. In Gethsemane He assured that you would never have to be alone as you suffered, that you won't have to navigate those snowy mountain passes all on your own!  And someday, as we kneel at His feet in heaven, we will confess, "It wasn't me, Lord. I made it back because it wasn't me!"

That is all :)