I am very sorry.

I know that it hurts your feelings. I know that. I know that it damages your sense of fairness. I hear your screams of frustration and anger. I understand that there is a sadness that separates you and me, and I understand that there is no easy fix for the situation. I know that there is no way for us to agree. This disagreement has festered over the years; we both feel this rift between us -- due to this topic that you and I, though we care for each other, cannot find a way to agree upon.

We disagree.

We both know how the soul-bearing, impassioned discussion will go. You will shake your head in disbelief and wonder if I even know what equality means. I will wonder how you can ask me to throw aside the moral seed that is planted so close to my heart. You will provide data, seek for me to prove my point with data, and quantify our relative positions. I will feel the sadness tugging at my chest, as you try to pull the roots of my spiritual compass out of my soul. We will reason together. We get to the point where we can discuss solutions, and come to a hypothetical agreement. But it's so hypothetical that it's not even possible. All we can work with are the building blocks that are before us -- blocks which can't come close to constructing something that will satisfy both of us equally.

You're right -- it's not fair. For one or the other of us, anyway. There's no way to make this situation fair and equal for both of us.

To you, I sound like someone from another era that needs to be enlightened. Or just plain mean-spirited. Or evil.

To me, you sound like a teenager that wants me to allow you to do something that I disagree with -- something which I worry will have a sad eternal outcome. "How can you not want me to do this? You have to okay this for me. It's totally fine, everyone thinks so. How can you be so... so... mean? Do you hate me or something?" *Runs off and slams bedroom door*

This has nothing, nothing, nothing to do with hate. This has to do with the sadness in my heart, our conflicting personal understandings of right and wrong, and your need for me to validate where you're coming from. Your emotions, at least as you have expressed them to me so far, are intense and heart-felt. Seeing you struggle makes me cry. It makes me want to hold you close. It does not make me hate you. That is your label for my emotions, not mine.

Yet, I cannot abandon my own still, small voice -- the voice that speaks just to me. It is not your internal guide; yours is different than mine. And I cannot expect you to hear what I hear, just as you cannot expect me to be able to hear what your heart whispers.

I don't want you to change, or to hear me, or to agree with me. You need to be true to yourself. You need to live and love and act according to your conscience. I love that about you, that you have found a way to be happy and clear-minded.

But I need to be true to myself, too.

While I can love you and cherish you just the way you are, I cannot change myself for you. What seems like an insignificant technicality to you may have great meaning to me. It has become so clear over the years that I have to be the way I am, and you have to be the way you are. We know that neither of us can change without losing that which is most important to each of us, respectively.

So, we disagree -- and the sadness grows.

You join the swell roaring "be on the right side of history!" Which is so very you, and just what you should be doing.

In reply, inaudible against the ocean of change, I whisper "I'm trying to be on the right side of eternity."

What does the spirit feel like to you?

I think we all feel the influence of the Holy Ghost differently. The scriptures refer to the feeling of the third member of the godhead dwelling within us as sort of a burning of the bosom. I never have felt a burning sensation.

For me, it's different. It's more than just one sensory experience; it's hard to explain. For me, the spirit influences a new sense, one that hasn't been officially identified.

Feeling the Holy Ghost is like slipping into a hot bath, scented with lavender, next to a large window that overlooks the ocean, in an exquisite mansion on a bluff. Hills rise in the distance, and fantastically tall clouds billow up above the expansive water. A cleansing breeze causes the trees below to sparkle in the gentle mellow sunligh, the effect of the storm that had just passed. All is well. I am excited about the party that will be held downstairs, when my dearest friends and family show up later that day. I feel loved. I melt into the bath and close my eyes as the steam mingled with lavender rises. In that moment, every need I could possibly have is met.

That is what the spirit of God feels like to me.

Extending gratitude through service to others...

Last spring was difficult, to say the least. My husband had to have a hernia repaired last March.

We waited and waited for him to feel better, but he couldn't fully recover. A few weeks later, he had severe abdominal pain and we went to the ER. There we discovered, much to our horror, that his appendix had ruptured and that immediate surgery was needed.

The doctor told him that if the surgery was a simple laparoscopic fix, the operation wouldn't take too long. But if a part of his bowel needed to be cut out, the surgery would be much longer. I waited for him in his room and watched as the time for the "easy" fix came and went. Hours later, they finally rolled him into his room. I feared the worst. But thankfully, my husband informed me that his bowels were still intact, and that he wouldn't need to stay in the hospital for a month.

Phew!



But then sepsis set in, and again we prayed and watched and waited. Severe sepsis has a 50% mortality rate. Those were horrifying odds for me to contend with. The worst-case scenarios were too possible, and too vivid. I knelt by my bed, overcome with fear, and plead with Heavenly Father to help my husband -- and to help me.

Oh, and did I mention I was due with my fourth child that same week?

Yeah.

About that....

The next morning he began to improve, and we were thankful. The baby started acting up while I was at my husband's bedside, wanting to make an entrance. Again, we were thankful -- that the baby had waited until after the worst of the surgery/sepsis saga was over. But we wanted my husband to be there for the birth, so we hoped our baby would wait just a few days more.

The baby DID wait -- my husband came home from the hospital, drugged and miserable and hardly able to move, but at least he was out. He didn't make it a full day before we went right back, this time, for the birth -- which was it's own saga. You can read the full story here, on my other blog.





I don't remember much about March and April of last year. There was so much going on physically between the two of us that our attention was turned in. What little attention could be spent focusing on things outside of ourselves was spent on the children. But that's it. Piles of mail and dishes accumulated on the kitchen counter, to hopefully be put away on a good day. It didn't matter. I don't care about the piles of bowls and papers. I cared about making sure my husband and my baby both made it home from the hospital safely.



And they did.

In spite of all of the difficulties we faced at this time last year, that's not what I think about a year later. What strikes me now is how incredibly blessed we were. How incredibly blessed we are! Our difficult time was temporary. We healed, and forgot the feeling of being afraid and in pain. We moved on. I know that not everyone gets to move on so easily, and maybe that's why I feel so deeply indebted to a Father that allowed us to take the easy way out.

There was peace and healing and happiness after the trial, and it was immediate. During the trial, there was comfort and family and friends to make the process bearable. And there was a shield of blessings protecting us from long-term sadness or loss -- a shield that I KNEW was there -- that I FELT, even when my mind took me to sad outcomes. The Holy Ghost let me know that it was going to be okay.

I don't know how I got so lucky to receive these immediate and not so immediate blessings. We have been blessed with health and happiness, and now is the challenge of using what the Lord has blessed us with for the good of those around us. Because I have been blessed with good health and healthy, happy children, I have energy left over. I have more to give.

The question is, how do I best serve the Lord? I'm trying to prioritize.

I figure I'm the center of a ripple. The first person I need to take care of, and help spiritually/emotionally/physically, is myself. Now that I'm doing okay, I can focus on the next ripple out -- my immediate family.





I feel good about how I'm doing as far as taking care of the spiritual/emotional/physical needs of my family. There are times when I need to take a moment to myself to make sure I'm okay, when I have to retreat a bit from my responsibilities to my family, but those moments do not come very often.



I can meet the needs of my family -- and they, in turn, have a "full charge" and can help meet the needs of the next circle out in the ripple pattern -- friends and extended family.

I feel particularly responsible for those who I have been given a stewardship over; those who I have been called to personally minister to. In that circle are the nursery children at church, and the women I visit once a month with my visiting teaching companion. I have room for improvement there. I don't make it out to see my sisters every month, and the children in the nursery don't always get the most nutritious snack or a spiritual lesson. I'm working on both of those areas. I do try to remember the sisters I have on my route, to keep them in my prayers. I care about them; how could I NOT want to pray for them? How great is it that the church is set up to ensure that everyone has someone to answer the "please say a prayer for me" call? I will happily pray for them, and I will pray to understand how I can best help them.

As for the nursery children, they are on my mind quite a bit. They are all very young right now and for the past two months, the goal has been to simply get the children used to the routine, and not cry when Mom or Dad leaves. But now, we're at a point where a little bit more substance can be added to the routine. I think it's time to start adding more spiritual references to the activities. It's time to learn how to say a prayer in class. It's time to learn how Jesus is depicted in pictures. It's time to become familiar with the children's hymns, even if they can't actually sing them yet. It's time.

The next ripple out is my responsibility to help my community. In this area I have not done well. I don't even know where to start! Being a non-type-A person doesn't help. It's not easy for me to get out there, to interact with other adults and be a normal person. I am trying to help out in the kids' school classes a little more, but I could definitely do better there. I've been so focused on taking care of the inner ripples, that I haven't developed the skill of helping people beyond my family and close friends.

But now, it's time to express my gratitude for my blessings, and extend those blessings to others as far as I can. It's time. I just need to find a way to do it that suits my non-type-A personality!

My comfort and joy.

Today my 6 year old son randomly flipped through the hymn book and started quietly singing "I am a Child of God" during a talk in sacrament meeting. He is blissfully unaware of the goings-on in the world right now. Normally I would tell him to be quiet; that it wasn't time for singing. Today I let it slide.

That was, until he started singing louder interpretations of songs he didn't know! Love that little man, and I am so thankful for him as well as his siblings. Counting my big little blessings tonight. They embody joy (among other things) on a daily basis.

On my fire wife blog, I wrote today about how my firefighter husband emotionally processes trauma. A huge part of that coping mechanism is faith in the plan of salvation. He stands at the door as people of all ages pass through to the other side of the veil. He sees this transition happen. Being grounded in his faith is certainly a blessing in his chosen career! It's a job that brings to the forefront just how precious the doctrine of eternal progression is.

Knowing that there is more to life than the events of this week comforts me, too.

LDS Church to help first responders

As the wife of a firefighter, I appreciate that the church is making a concerted effort to help the families of those who send their spouse out to help others. I can't imagine being in that situation, alone with my four young children in barely liveable conditions while my husband is on duty -- probably working more days than normal to help with the destruction and continuing emergencies.

I would be at a complete loss. And I would be alone when many others would not have to have their spouse go in to work.

"Rockaway, an area home to many first responders, was particularly hard-hit. About 450 volunteers worked to clear debris in that area, and they plan to focus future efforts on 105 homes of first responders.

President Calderwood said it was especially difficult to see first responders and their families so deeply affected by the storm. He asked one firefighter what damage his home had, and the man was too choked up to reply. He told the firefighter, “We’ll take care of it.”

I am so proud of my church family for doing this!

Tap tap tap.... this thing on?

It's almost midnight, the children are sleeping, my husband is on duty, and for some reason, this day full of an exhausting number of snack makings and diaper changes and trips up the stairs has not caused me to collapse. Not yet, anyway. I've got something on my mind, and now that I can actually hear my mind, I am listening.

You see, my life is blessed. Incredibly blessed. More blessings are crammed into one day than can be fully appreciated. To help me more deeply appreciate and remember the spiritual happenings going on about me every day, I'm starting this space. Because I will forget. I have forgotten so many answers to prayer already. Those answers deserve to be remembered.

I rarely talk about spirituality on my other blog. I just don't feel comfortable sharing these interactions with God there. I guess I feel... protective of the sanctity of my personal spiritual journey. That part of my life hangs back and is a wallflower while the other happenings of life take the stage.

I am a wallflower at church, too. I sit in the back of the chapel every Sunday. I like it back there. I can observe. I can contemplate. And my children can walk out to get drinks without disturbing half of the ward. It works for all involved, especially since I may or may not be late on occasion and it's easiest to sneak in at the back.

I may be waaaay back there, but that doesn't mean I'm not paying attention. Or, at least, trying to. You'd be surprised how many epiphanies I've had while simultaneously telling a little one to please stop peeling the crayons.

But some of those epiphanies are dear to me, and I don't want them to be forgotten. Heaven knows there are times in my life when I could use a little reminder of how blessed my life is. Very blessed -- if for no other reason than that Heavenly Father hears and answers prayers. My prayers. In a way that let's me know that he is listening to every word that I, Katie, am telling him in the middle of the night while everyone else is doing the sensible sleep thing.

Even when crap hits the fan, he is still there, listening and answering. And because of that, I am blessed. We all are.