tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17473458599722958542024-02-18T20:56:12.204-07:00Mommy Can't DanceMommy Can't Dance is a blog about a chronically ill mom seeking to help her kids and others while finding fulfillment and happiness when living and momming from bed.MommyCan'tDancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17488243118978285681noreply@blogger.comBlogger16125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1747345859972295854.post-58414577949042533412022-09-03T22:57:00.005-06:002022-09-04T20:26:58.608-06:00The Parable of Fire and Glass<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;">Today I am thinking about my life as blown glass.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA6bchpf4owOP2b7-jhNe8ubJ_TqB4HIezE_nwkORItU83jkh5iLuVQsbwTBcFP-acEjf7m_aEk1rsm3v5v2ROY3V-LGNajpQZu_VdzkqeUorH26kp2ANfOUrdLEq5XqTQt5GtaMWI05OPV45IkBg-fGvmpXj6YBMNYCyPS4K2YwFRfOF9-mnV07qjRA/s3264/IMG_2891.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA6bchpf4owOP2b7-jhNe8ubJ_TqB4HIezE_nwkORItU83jkh5iLuVQsbwTBcFP-acEjf7m_aEk1rsm3v5v2ROY3V-LGNajpQZu_VdzkqeUorH26kp2ANfOUrdLEq5XqTQt5GtaMWI05OPV45IkBg-fGvmpXj6YBMNYCyPS4K2YwFRfOF9-mnV07qjRA/s320/IMG_2891.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p style="margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt;">Several years ago, I visted</span><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> the Chihuly Glass Museum in Seattle. </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">If you've never experienced the enchantment and whimsy of blown glass, I would highly recommend a trip to this Suessical world.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4AddvHPRUg6QUm1F6HI2mRdmwz1rwSy65BXfstPwkIMsd8zjQHTdorYxcoI8lA8BfMh5y14hEUaodPvC-aKYChCYNXUwBMRcRCFcT6E4_jqlHJW6Ab4rYHnGCiKFNWnJIxnXI5GxqTawyc5T2V4hFPW4rSctX0FuKKzgWnr5itKZ9I3ya8sp4edjdeg/s3264/IMG_2983.JPG" style="font-size: 11pt; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4AddvHPRUg6QUm1F6HI2mRdmwz1rwSy65BXfstPwkIMsd8zjQHTdorYxcoI8lA8BfMh5y14hEUaodPvC-aKYChCYNXUwBMRcRCFcT6E4_jqlHJW6Ab4rYHnGCiKFNWnJIxnXI5GxqTawyc5T2V4hFPW4rSctX0FuKKzgWnr5itKZ9I3ya8sp4edjdeg/s320/IMG_2983.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhefFbPQaa7M77xX9dVbcQE2_Nq5_g63llIOBZxnbZFzJnoXAMkkFBJow50zrP4AedvnEQY-cc4Rm8LhAUQemgf7NPN2LPW73npJmKxWLQywDYXAKmhOX8yTRywZQZQNWvh6JJfjolzewRHRyHTLUXu8Ia_e8nUxSOnpsULx47xKgdOvJsVog20R_2TtA/s3264/IMG_2882.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhefFbPQaa7M77xX9dVbcQE2_Nq5_g63llIOBZxnbZFzJnoXAMkkFBJow50zrP4AedvnEQY-cc4Rm8LhAUQemgf7NPN2LPW73npJmKxWLQywDYXAKmhOX8yTRywZQZQNWvh6JJfjolzewRHRyHTLUXu8Ia_e8nUxSOnpsULx47xKgdOvJsVog20R_2TtA/s320/IMG_2882.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p style="margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt;">Years
later, my family and I had the further opportunity to visit a glass blowing studio in
Maui where I was, once again, drawn in by
the artistry and allure of blown glass. This studio, in particular, aimed to capture the beauty, majesty, and motion of the ocean. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOXrXVOf_v9qONtuB_B_lqiAW8KIojPVzISo-GJMppNJQJMWEA7zZHTkiYHp1s9b_ZWfeXCHWNKbih0drfkJyGNKxErXnJqhZmogIZl5Cf5UjMQiUUSn7NaMv6hCFePJqQK5FZ89BjrKpZSFuowGbsJ3lP2UCE_AoRYh6PtskSS9f_0XcK-n9LERPrLg/s1550/whale.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1550" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOXrXVOf_v9qONtuB_B_lqiAW8KIojPVzISo-GJMppNJQJMWEA7zZHTkiYHp1s9b_ZWfeXCHWNKbih0drfkJyGNKxErXnJqhZmogIZl5Cf5UjMQiUUSn7NaMv6hCFePJqQK5FZ89BjrKpZSFuowGbsJ3lP2UCE_AoRYh6PtskSS9f_0XcK-n9LERPrLg/s320/whale.jpg" width="206" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfyzvYEazbye_6g9xO9Ca6UtIbmGhvOotI6f0ExbGWhbGTiVitpz6ThIj14N-UKJj7pcRvBAsvbQxqOwobyhftkUfsrMgp6Ue4YyUXvRpt_1oOS6HDnFIQU5KK__IwyoghTlSepxjwWj-hrTGx8hNcFnZRch7IfEjP1t7EzsTs05dc6lVz2jZ1uXt5fQ/s800/makaiwhale3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="533" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfyzvYEazbye_6g9xO9Ca6UtIbmGhvOotI6f0ExbGWhbGTiVitpz6ThIj14N-UKJj7pcRvBAsvbQxqOwobyhftkUfsrMgp6Ue4YyUXvRpt_1oOS6HDnFIQU5KK__IwyoghTlSepxjwWj-hrTGx8hNcFnZRch7IfEjP1t7EzsTs05dc6lVz2jZ1uXt5fQ/s320/makaiwhale3.jpg" width="213" /></a></div></div><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Pictures courtesy Makai Glass</span></div><p style="margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; text-align: left;"> </span></p><p style="margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; text-align: left;">As
much as I loved the final pieces (and I did!), I was absolutely fascinated by the process
that went in to making the glass. It felt like a carefully choreographed dance
as artisans skillfully moved around each other with incredible precision,
knowing each step and tool they needed at just the right moments... knowing their end goal from the very beginning. </span></p><p style="margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMDVoSflbz6t-Whz6gnyJPrR0LYxHl4jX8NFMbFJq3dI08dPiDbARvj307e1JvqyIXKNVy9FAIegO_jb89W6LQHdKnLWQpjYul3wBr4xQFquUScjuSa0f8ZgAF5aupeCJRG6IhRC9rB1V_2qfxwnEsTcrPNxmKc_AGLSdGwyNzEso4o5OwpJGrToI_Zw/s533/makai_turtle.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="504" data-original-width="533" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMDVoSflbz6t-Whz6gnyJPrR0LYxHl4jX8NFMbFJq3dI08dPiDbARvj307e1JvqyIXKNVy9FAIegO_jb89W6LQHdKnLWQpjYul3wBr4xQFquUScjuSa0f8ZgAF5aupeCJRG6IhRC9rB1V_2qfxwnEsTcrPNxmKc_AGLSdGwyNzEso4o5OwpJGrToI_Zw/s320/makai_turtle.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></div><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Image courtesy of Makai glass</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="margin: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; text-align: left;">The glass
makers would start with a very small amount of material (a sandy-type
substance), rolled on the end of a large pipe, and then stuck it in a blazing hot
furnace (2500 degrees!). </span></p><p style="margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD7XaALgXCvwKJ2ryHqLfhPQLuVL1PSQvIznCltlhx5wUO2uRZcgI2qga-vkfr0kWCSPDdZr8gPP07mJDV_yEZlmgDarusvY59lgl2B0RDZPYsAY2xeDW1D9oc0_Xzrp_YOYEez9R6DwrXvT5FRBtgHDEOoYpIVOUmctabzAKVYlcPGtxLFj1wruL7_Q/s1000/makaisand.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="1000" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD7XaALgXCvwKJ2ryHqLfhPQLuVL1PSQvIznCltlhx5wUO2uRZcgI2qga-vkfr0kWCSPDdZr8gPP07mJDV_yEZlmgDarusvY59lgl2B0RDZPYsAY2xeDW1D9oc0_Xzrp_YOYEez9R6DwrXvT5FRBtgHDEOoYpIVOUmctabzAKVYlcPGtxLFj1wruL7_Q/s320/makaisand.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibu75QZ1i0nhoS8zTjDjt1nVm5VpIpVCj-J7lu9y9oU3G_7-GvugKYFk4juiARHomJ0XPUTY0zdmyIgZ5oI4Z6-BJU1zcYS2lv7q2bmxFjbUeYGeCVtBqTqU-3sj7iKildYwAK8HMJx_URiBjKqJnVAshZ0FEkCVuqvWpYBX__D0QmIrPwe1q6oLZajQ/s750/makaifurnace3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="558" data-original-width="750" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibu75QZ1i0nhoS8zTjDjt1nVm5VpIpVCj-J7lu9y9oU3G_7-GvugKYFk4juiARHomJ0XPUTY0zdmyIgZ5oI4Z6-BJU1zcYS2lv7q2bmxFjbUeYGeCVtBqTqU-3sj7iKildYwAK8HMJx_URiBjKqJnVAshZ0FEkCVuqvWpYBX__D0QmIrPwe1q6oLZajQ/s320/makaifurnace3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTjZJliVWoGh1ws8a0XDbkN-n2nNg8VnkvXWQ6fI3swvXke7M1a6BnYmZIDrUQOEXYiSOVFVZdvStAuWJfzGw7bp6zQiSrpKqB88LfRoTvpcU2DUUleaEJ7uEGyxZ0sAVS29yXIt2E1oi_cG0NZCijydLpfeNKrzfwpzUhInJYi0x5G9Q16A-SxtbPwQ/s1000/makaifurnace1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="1000" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTjZJliVWoGh1ws8a0XDbkN-n2nNg8VnkvXWQ6fI3swvXke7M1a6BnYmZIDrUQOEXYiSOVFVZdvStAuWJfzGw7bp6zQiSrpKqB88LfRoTvpcU2DUUleaEJ7uEGyxZ0sAVS29yXIt2E1oi_cG0NZCijydLpfeNKrzfwpzUhInJYi0x5G9Q16A-SxtbPwQ/w320-h213/makaifurnace1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Images courtesy of Makai Glass</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt;">Once the glowing, neon-orange orb was pulled out, the glass smith immediately began to blow, roll, bend, twist, and mold it. Just as some semblance of shape would take form, the maker would shove the piece back in the
furnace, then, once again, pull out the fiery ball and continue to blow,
pull, and bend-- trying to shape it a little more. This process repeated over and over again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMqfb7Pu2jATPENllHN1kVsuNdExjmE2IhJHnWzlxWHHcUT-XvQqes8jAHjeKcTT7aTH6PyhhJD3QpCmoHDjB-63nf4BPNOcgYv4moyr9NBCRytfKz6vZOK8MiXOGAuyi8IMNGQ5iG-DooL2i5kdc7RTTamXWbWTx0ImjYPkXu-mI0phPrM4syq4hHZg/s4032/IMG_5114.JPG" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.6667px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMqfb7Pu2jATPENllHN1kVsuNdExjmE2IhJHnWzlxWHHcUT-XvQqes8jAHjeKcTT7aTH6PyhhJD3QpCmoHDjB-63nf4BPNOcgYv4moyr9NBCRytfKz6vZOK8MiXOGAuyi8IMNGQ5iG-DooL2i5kdc7RTTamXWbWTx0ImjYPkXu-mI0phPrM4syq4hHZg/s320/IMG_5114.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><p style="margin: 0in; text-align: left;"></p><p style="margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJAmQmouTH6-vMdnr48GXduAOLYs2_s4MAXBJnDnEH86nbyDTqfDsQ2M-eIxvxW8jN7NuakJ0A8D3ZEBx815a_PmQ3BqCqGHdiKHtT0H4_66jNkNV85uTHc3LO13trEayhUAzBxW0oVQwF2YDGBnsz4hVFBBKyrqp3Jb3iBSHIT9TDBjzb1teVYcKMTg/s1000/makai1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="1000" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJAmQmouTH6-vMdnr48GXduAOLYs2_s4MAXBJnDnEH86nbyDTqfDsQ2M-eIxvxW8jN7NuakJ0A8D3ZEBx815a_PmQ3BqCqGHdiKHtT0H4_66jNkNV85uTHc3LO13trEayhUAzBxW0oVQwF2YDGBnsz4hVFBBKyrqp3Jb3iBSHIT9TDBjzb1teVYcKMTg/s320/makai1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: x-small;">Image courtesy of Makai Glass</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcaUd-fFOewC3jMYDixOSQx4_QFnhCRrZwDS0UkdpuxedglQsQiLFKyu9Gr9yjYoQn7E1JRKHhFLioEvgHpg8fqIuFT23hjJQA6YKjxo7q6OHO_2Gc3EutBNS1UWtEr4nS9M2rM4uAywxd_-m9WTIPmjPKLKCZKDaeYS0cJaI9fBFPDTHAkgrEEVYFUQ/s1000/makai3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="1000" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcaUd-fFOewC3jMYDixOSQx4_QFnhCRrZwDS0UkdpuxedglQsQiLFKyu9Gr9yjYoQn7E1JRKHhFLioEvgHpg8fqIuFT23hjJQA6YKjxo7q6OHO_2Gc3EutBNS1UWtEr4nS9M2rM4uAywxd_-m9WTIPmjPKLKCZKDaeYS0cJaI9fBFPDTHAkgrEEVYFUQ/s320/makai3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p style="margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Image courtesy of Makai Glass</span></p><p style="margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0in; text-align: left;"></p>
<p style="margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt;">We
saw several iterations of shape and size as the glass blowers continued these
same steps. Though the
artisan had a plan and exact end-goal in mind, it was impossible for a bystander to tell throughout the process what the end shape or color would be.
There were several times when I thought, they were near done and assumed that
the piece would be a small, orange globe or bowl, when in fact, there was more
work yet to be done. We were surprised when, in the end, the final piece turned out to be a large, multi-hued blue vase. It was
amazing to see something that started as grains of sand, fired and blown into
something so majestic and beautiful.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0in; text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIKQfhu2WYRIGAHX5GsI8m8kGjcduDozrlNoL6_zc5KEetmA58sfzCrUspNCcmAPIKbDIj3bYxxeFHvmUFX3Y2C7MTLgOZTk5EPFOnc8KYi06LYXgrqPNQ7ib0_9-1ujB_m8c6Vt3Cvs87qxGrjGIMeMJ4i4E1N2OwpDX_vPU6jSrK9HfxB00JtnOzdg/s2027/IMG_4482.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2027" data-original-width="1242" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIKQfhu2WYRIGAHX5GsI8m8kGjcduDozrlNoL6_zc5KEetmA58sfzCrUspNCcmAPIKbDIj3bYxxeFHvmUFX3Y2C7MTLgOZTk5EPFOnc8KYi06LYXgrqPNQ7ib0_9-1ujB_m8c6Vt3Cvs87qxGrjGIMeMJ4i4E1N2OwpDX_vPU6jSrK9HfxB00JtnOzdg/s320/IMG_4482.jpg" width="196" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As we left the studio with a glass piece in hand, I thought about how the scene I had just witnessed was a literal representation of the refiner's fire.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div></div></div><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="color: #0b5394; font-size: 11pt; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt;"><b>How, too, are we like raw
material in the hands of a master artisan--</b></span> </div></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><h3 style="margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt;"><b>repeatedly thrust into a furnace of
tribulation, only to be pulled out and</b></span></span></h3></div></div></div><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="color: #0b5394; font-size: 11pt; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt;"><b>further</b></span> <span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt;"><b>poked, prodded, and molded into
something beautiful and new.</b></span></div></span><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO2q_6VTYXdZhJHdH2ZscfshmHsTPaXhDXKjDvx6_stMIGmpfRxCOhtj8ftv01Nz92KYDHJL9NGZ8BLCl8OmrUx43UIToG-JoAx0s4BMmZFfKkd9Rpubl4l5oS_q1bsN7v1UDxyGiz_tbJPDz0GNhZLgbf8otJdvrfmg0weO99mmMkYDYcWpcsH-UASQ/s800/makai_vase.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="533" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO2q_6VTYXdZhJHdH2ZscfshmHsTPaXhDXKjDvx6_stMIGmpfRxCOhtj8ftv01Nz92KYDHJL9NGZ8BLCl8OmrUx43UIToG-JoAx0s4BMmZFfKkd9Rpubl4l5oS_q1bsN7v1UDxyGiz_tbJPDz0GNhZLgbf8otJdvrfmg0weO99mmMkYDYcWpcsH-UASQ/s320/makai_vase.jpg" width="213" /></a> </p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Image courtesy of Makai Glass</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p style="margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt;">How often do we long for our troubles to be over? How often
do we beg to be left as a lopsided bowl rather than turned into a beautiful vase,
capable of holding so much more? How often do we forget that the Master has a
plan for our lives and knows exactly what it takes to shape and mold us into
the final creation he envisions?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">I
know this, and, yet, I still find myself crying (begging! pleading!) for reprieve from the fire. Why does it have to be so hot? Why does it
have to be so painful? Why do I have to go through it again and again</span><i style="font-size: 11pt;">?</i></p>
<p style="margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt;">Some days it's hard to keep the faith. Some days the fire burns too hot. </span><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;">Some days it's hard to trust the plan and trust the Maker</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">. But what blessings are in store for me as I yield to the
Master's hands and let him shape me into something more?</span></p></div></div></div><p></p>MommyCan'tDancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17488243118978285681noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1747345859972295854.post-39803981438622145342019-08-13T20:48:00.002-06:002019-08-13T21:09:03.479-06:00Living Life in Limbo<br />
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I’ve been living in limbo for almost four years now….<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Four years ago I was in the process of
expanding my business, planning a vacation for my family, teaching fitness
classes, and working towards various personal, family, and professional
goals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, one fateful day in October,
I collapsed on said family vacation and all the pieces of my life were
instantly suspended in space and time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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It kind of sounds like a movie plot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe it could be, except the most exciting
parts seem to have already happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Limbo,
where I sit today, isn’t very exciting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I can imagine the void of my life where all my hopes and dreams are
floating in some viscous liquid that’s holding everything in suspended motion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d like to rescue those dreams, but they are
just too far away and my head is hammering and my limbs are made of lead and
I’m just too stinking tired to move. <o:p></o:p><br />
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It’s raining and thundering outside right now and my mood is
matching.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I used to love a good summer
rainstorm, but now it just means that the barometric pressure is low and my
<a href="https://mystory.mommycantdance.com/p/what-is-pots.html" target="_blank">P.O.T.S./ Dysautonomia</a> is flaring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
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Today I was supposed to be going on vacation with my
family—well, actually we were supposed to leave yesterday, but I was too worn
out after a doctor appointment, packing, and little sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So we decided to wait until today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Postponing plans is always a toss-up—is the
crudiness I feel today going to be better or worse tomorrow?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I lost the toss up; it’s definitely
worse today, so no traveling is happening in the near future.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m hoping tomorrow will be better, but, if
not, I’ll send my family on without me—as I have for so many trips the last few
years.<o:p></o:p><br />
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We made plans for this trip over a year ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s only a few hours away, but I haven’t
travelled that far by car in the last four years, so it was probably a bit of a
stretch to think I could do it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of
course, a year ago when we planned it I thought “surely I will have improved
enough by then to go.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
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Ha!<o:p></o:p></div>
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What is that saying?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“You make plans and God laughs.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I have definitely learned that my plans are not always His plans, and I believe
God has a sense of humor, but I don’t think he’s laughing at me right now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m pretty sure He’s crying with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
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Living in limbo is so hard!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I feel like I’ve put parts of my life on hold until an unknown time in hopes that I <i>might </i>someday feel better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span>
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">H</span>ow
can I make plans if I don’t know how I’m going to feel a year from now, a week
from now, or even a day from now?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Honestly, things can change within minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How can I set goals if I have no idea if I’ll
have the capacity to achieve them?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
grand ambitions on a good day generally just glare back at me with a menacing laugh
on my bad days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span>
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At the same time though, how can I NOT make plans?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I don’t make plans, I don’t have anything
to look forward to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without goals I have
nothing to strive for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But having
aspirations can also so easily lead to heartache when plans
fail.</div>
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Yet, I have to keep hoping and searching for something that
helps me feel better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> F</span>ortunately/unfortunately, I subscribe too earnestly to the concept of
Hope sometimes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have one good day and
all of a sudden I find myself making plans for future days that I expect to
feel good-- only to realize that my medication didn’t help as much as I
thought, my CSF fluid is leaking again, or that something so unchangeable as
the weather can control my ability to function.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><span style="color: #b45f06;">Sometimes I wonder if I am going to live the rest of my life
in limbo— never being able to fully plan, do, or be what I want….</span></b><o:p></o:p></div>
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*****</div>
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I’m sorry.... This post has taken a much more dismal look at my
life than I intended.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, before I drown
in misery (think Alice in Wonderland engulfed in her sea of tears), I’ll stop
myself now and try to end my ramblings on a <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">more positive note (because sometimes
I have to remind myself of the good things too).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span>
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<span style="background: white; color: #212225;">I was re-reading this <a href="https://www.churchofjesuschrist.org/study/general-conference/2019/04/55mckay?lang=eng" target="_blank">talk by Elder Kyle McKay</a> this week, and I love his thoughts on the immediate goodness of God that
comes while we are waiting in limbo for the bigger blessings we desire. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He says:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #212225;">“[God’s]
time, and frequently His timing, is different from ours…. But my message today
is that, even while we are patiently waiting upon the Lord, there are certain
blessings that come to us immediately.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #212225;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #212225;">"The
immediate goodness of God comes to all who call upon Him with real intent and
full purpose of heart. This includes those who cry out in earnest desperation,
when deliverance seems so distant and suffering seems prolonged, even
intensified....<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #212225;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #212225;">"God
also gives immediate hope for eventual deliverance. No matter what, no
matter where, in Christ and through Christ there is always hope smiling
brightly before us.</span><sup><span style="background: white; border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;"> </span></sup><span style="background: white; color: #212225;"> Immediately before us.”</span><br />
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I can testify of the immediate goodness of God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> It's the rainbow that comes during the storm. It doesn't make the storm go away, but it certainly makes it more bearable. </span><br />
<br />
Sometimes that immediate goodness comes in
the form of:</div>
<ul>
<li>An inspired message from a friend</li>
<li>My husband giving me a hug or making me laugh </li>
<li>A note left on my pillow from my tender-hearted
son (and Puppy Puppy)</li>
</ul>
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<ul>
<li>The ability to finally fall asleep after
enduring hours of a migraine</li>
<li>Getting an appointment with a knowledgeable
doctor</li>
<li>Being able to leave the house after days of
cabin fever</li>
<li>Having the energy and ability to help or serve
someone else</li>
<li>A quiet feeling of comfort and peace</li>
</ul>
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Despite the bleakness that living in limbo can yield, and
though I can’t always readily feel it or see it, I know that “there is hope
smiling brightly before me.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I lay
here in limbo waiting for the miracle that will heal my body, I can still reach
for and feel God’s grace in my life as he sends me the tender mercies and
immediate blessings I need.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p><br />
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<b>Post Script:</b> I wrote this post over a week ago and I’m happy
to report that I was able to see some of that immediate goodness soon after! I really debated going, but I did, indeed, make it on our family vacation!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I may have only left the hotel a handful of times and had a few rough
days there (and have definitely had some down days recovering afterwards), but I kept my
expectations low, and am just grateful for the time I was able to spend
with my family. <o:p></o:p><br />
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<br />MommyCan'tDancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17488243118978285681noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1747345859972295854.post-60443900860603269942018-11-11T16:03:00.001-07:002018-11-11T16:04:57.481-07:00Learning to Love My Broken Body<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 11pt;">Years ago, long
before my current 3-year exile in bed with POTS (</span><a href="http://mystory.mommycantdance.com/p/what-is-pots.html" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt;" target="_blank">Postural OrthostaticTachycardia Syndrome</a><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 11pt;">), I was casually chatting with some friends. I don’t
remember our exact thread of conversation, but something spurred me to blurt
out "I hate my body!"</span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 11pt;">The
statement came out with such force and vehemence that I startled myself as well
my friends, who looked at me with shock and concern and perhaps that "I
think she's lost a few loose screws" look.</span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0FWlArsGwPSnIBapY4l3ipi_tJQmk9-V60s8p5q9JYhBSAxZCn8rohOHHRmVSqgP-5jR3EjDEm-h4iyLy_lyUOpBjlBNQpAjLxqt0CxLdU8HtFtoilhDAZFogCldHvBaFvrNqEhpVI_fh/s1600/brokenbody.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0FWlArsGwPSnIBapY4l3ipi_tJQmk9-V60s8p5q9JYhBSAxZCn8rohOHHRmVSqgP-5jR3EjDEm-h4iyLy_lyUOpBjlBNQpAjLxqt0CxLdU8HtFtoilhDAZFogCldHvBaFvrNqEhpVI_fh/s320/brokenbody.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
My comment of
self-loathing wasn't referring to my body image, my short stocky legs, my
desire for a flatter stomach, or anything like that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was talking about the feelings of utter
betrayal I felt for my body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the time
I was dealing with severe endometriosis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Not only was I coping with horrible pain, but I was also struggling with
infertility as a result.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyone who has
gone through that, knows what a deep, dark hole it can create.</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
Growing up I had
been taught that my body was a temple- a gift from God and something I needed
to respect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had listened and
obeyed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I graduated from college with a
degree in health education.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I exercised
regularly, ate well, and avoided alcohol, drugs, and other harmful substances.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had done my part to respect and take care
of my body, yet where was the reciprocity that should have insisted that my
body take care of me in return?</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
I truly felt
forsaken by this body of mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
strongly worded opinion that day revealed the feelings of anger and loss that
were brewing underneath what looked, by all outward appearances, to be a
perfectly healthy body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
Though I'm a bit ashamed at my frequent lack
of faith at the time, I am happy to report that after years of struggling with
that painful disease, we witnessed a miracle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Our beautiful twins arrived to complete our family, and I was able to
have a hysterectomy to rid myself of the endometriosis and pain that
had been plaguing me for so long.</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6RhhzPjOHA2ftZjksUCgR-a3ZVuks6qoC2jlI6FNeqTADIAXOtYhBwRK0JsBAH_36ZxCFGqpVitZr6IzV7R237yta1_N7jRXZIYdfGyMwSZONemo1STeQfleWJLhTXCONcrxqrNVmCTgv/s1600/newbabies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1196" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6RhhzPjOHA2ftZjksUCgR-a3ZVuks6qoC2jlI6FNeqTADIAXOtYhBwRK0JsBAH_36ZxCFGqpVitZr6IzV7R237yta1_N7jRXZIYdfGyMwSZONemo1STeQfleWJLhTXCONcrxqrNVmCTgv/s320/newbabies.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
Only a few years
went by, however, before I started to experience regular bouts of pervasive
pain that sent me to bed for days or weeks at a time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once again, I felt the sting of betrayal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What was going on and why was my body not
cooperating?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though we suspected
autoimmune issues, I had a hard time finding answers and treatments.</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
It was in the midst
of dealing with these sporadic flares that I was asked to speak on health to a
group of women from my church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was
nothing new-- as a health educator and fitness instructor I had given many such
presentations before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead of turning
to my standard spiel on the topic, however, I felt compelled to take this
presentation in a slightly different direction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Though I still incorporated some of the typical information on fitness
and nutrition, I also wanted to focus on the mental and spiritual aspect of
caring for our bodies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I spent extra
time doing research and scouring conference talks for ideas and quotes I could
use in my talk.</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
Here are a couple of
the poignant quotes that really stuck out to me.</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin-left: .75in; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<ul style="direction: ltr; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .375in; margin-top: 0in; unicode-bidi: embed;" type="disc">
<li style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 11.0pt;">“Our spirit and our body are
combined in such a way that our body becomes an instrument of our mind and
the foundation of our character."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>- Elder Boyd K. Packer</span></li>
</ul>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin-left: .375in; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<ul style="direction: ltr; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .375in; margin-top: 0in; unicode-bidi: embed;" type="disc">
<li style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 11.0pt;">"Our physical bodies are
a blessing from God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We received
them for the purposes of fulfilling Heavenly Father’s work….. The body is
the means by which we can attain our divine potential." -Elder
Joseph W. Sitati</span></li>
</ul>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9X5aOEYhK_bd1C3jSGaoDZBz-VBmPkFTjAQ3lcpg6evjpnI2W-VS6rChtaQ1f7CqOULmA2rRISzqfr1fXlDrxlqsZpwZw0HXWupX9g0fT-VbRsBD4X3Mq5B6y4xpMRGO4C8YW3g6mQESi/s1600/cutejjs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="793" data-original-width="684" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9X5aOEYhK_bd1C3jSGaoDZBz-VBmPkFTjAQ3lcpg6evjpnI2W-VS6rChtaQ1f7CqOULmA2rRISzqfr1fXlDrxlqsZpwZw0HXWupX9g0fT-VbRsBD4X3Mq5B6y4xpMRGO4C8YW3g6mQESi/s320/cutejjs.jpg" width="276" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My cutie patootie twins!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">As I pondered the
role of our bodies, my mindset began to shift.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">I was reminded of an experience I had not long after my mom</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">passed away.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">My twins were young toddlers at the time-- still so also easily excited
by the simple thrills of life.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">On this
particular evening they were playing and squealing with that full-of-joy,
contagious laughter that can't help but tug at your heart strings.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">As I sat on their bedroom floor, grinning at
their excitement, I had the sudden impression that my mom was there with us,
and I could sense how badly she wanted to give them a hug.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj42XV_CBcCfPOQzjD1Y59oYz7ak93I9pYkfOrfMf-uUeb3fO6toCXMsWPpovkTMpbBwqMGGU6mkzMg4iudM_gsG2LnjL6lbjm7xannqdJgF71jJaI4M0LMTPnaalc2B5I_I3S9W6cniKhJ/s1600/gmasue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj42XV_CBcCfPOQzjD1Y59oYz7ak93I9pYkfOrfMf-uUeb3fO6toCXMsWPpovkTMpbBwqMGGU6mkzMg4iudM_gsG2LnjL6lbjm7xannqdJgF71jJaI4M0LMTPnaalc2B5I_I3S9W6cniKhJ/s320/gmasue.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love this picture of my mom and son. <br />
She was such a kissy grandma!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">As I thought of this
experience, I felt immediately humbled.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">My body didn't always have the stamina I needed to do everything I
wanted to do, but there were still a lot of things I </span><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic;">could</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> do that I took for granted-- hugging and snuggling my
sweet babies being at the top of my list!</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
It was the very week
after I gave this talk that my health took an even more dramatic turn for the
worse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My body collapsed on family
vacation, and I have been mostly homebound and often bed bound ever since.</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
I've thought about
this lesson a lot the last three years as my previously fit muscles have turned
to flab with disuse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My body has
betrayed me over and over again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has
failed to function at the most inopportune times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has denied me the time upright that I need
to physically care for my house and family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It has refused to see me through so many of my kids' concerts and
recitals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have run the full gamete of
emotions-- loss, sadness, anger, humility… and even gratitude-- not for this
trial, necessarily (I'm not that pious, unfortunately), but for the things I CAN
still do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjKvdOx06JWRjKxMuaNP1Wz0wFoWOIrX_jWVb-VaFIDC55WqwMMlyOHoIANJwRGODc_GkNxjtZgGXyeWRw5sTiieNf_ERnlci9-ArBR-lzSb5N1S2Q-fVpYm0W6D98VtH0c-LxoMcYTCen/s1600/katiejamespumpkinpatch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjKvdOx06JWRjKxMuaNP1Wz0wFoWOIrX_jWVb-VaFIDC55WqwMMlyOHoIANJwRGODc_GkNxjtZgGXyeWRw5sTiieNf_ERnlci9-ArBR-lzSb5N1S2Q-fVpYm0W6D98VtH0c-LxoMcYTCen/s320/katiejamespumpkinpatch.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's always a huge win when I feel good enough to leave the house.<br />
Happy day to have made it to the pumpkin patch with my kiddos this year!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<ul style="direction: ltr; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .375in; margin-top: 0in; unicode-bidi: embed;" type="disc">
<li style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 11.0pt;">I can work on my computer.</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 11.0pt;">I can write this blog
post.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 11.0pt;">I can listen to and advise my
kids.</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 11pt;">I can see and feel the warmth of the sun.</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 11pt;">I can read good books.</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 11pt;">I can care for my own basic needs (most days).</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 11.0pt;">I can hear inspirational
talks and beautiful music and welcome their power on my soul.</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 11.0pt;">I can empathize and share my love and appreciation for others.</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 11.0pt;">At times, I can sit and chat
with friends or play games with my family.</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Though I now share a lot in
common with the physical prowess of my 95-year-old grandpa, I can still,
on good days, even scale a flight of stairs.</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 11.0pt;">And, as previously noted, this broken
body of mine can give and receive hugs with those I love.</span></li>
</ul>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrheIiRdOO5s7w3TWt-6EBaeYVVsLIs_beSn_evIQ0Wae9o0TplWqtd4eCTeB3Dg1HuLPwmrZ8cUUu_ZIZ1wKYFlKaZF25NrP5s-itiWfSawRTgCoyHFL4Z67ZP6tcuVxIYkS256BOJjBt/s1600/IMG_8957+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1050" data-original-width="1600" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrheIiRdOO5s7w3TWt-6EBaeYVVsLIs_beSn_evIQ0Wae9o0TplWqtd4eCTeB3Dg1HuLPwmrZ8cUUu_ZIZ1wKYFlKaZF25NrP5s-itiWfSawRTgCoyHFL4Z67ZP6tcuVxIYkS256BOJjBt/s320/IMG_8957+-+Copy.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I made it outside with my ear plugs to watch the fireworks on the 4th with my fam.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">I know that God is
well aware of my situation.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">If my body
is an instrument for Heavenly Father's work, as Elder Sitati declared, then I
have to believe that, even in my broken state, God still has a purpose for me and
a means for me to fulfill that work.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Though I may not be able to be the physically active mom, wife, sibling,
friend, kind stranger, etc that I idealistically WANT to be, I can still be the
person I NEED to be for myself and those around me as I actively seek direction
and listen to that still small guiding voice.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
Yes, I still have
times of mourning, anger, and discontentment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I'm not even sure, at this point, that I can honestly say that I love my
body-- but I am working on it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I do
have a newfound respect and appreciation for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know that as I continue to creatively seek
to help others in the ways I am able and focus on all the things I CAN do and
everything I have to be grateful for, I will learn to love this broken body. </div>
<br />MommyCan'tDancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17488243118978285681noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1747345859972295854.post-85065113746071258232018-06-03T17:49:00.001-06:002018-06-03T17:49:50.527-06:00Flecks of Gold: Finding Joy<br />
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
I noticed a trend in
New Year's resolutions this year-- rather than just setting goals, I saw many
people also deciding on themes for the year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>One of my friend's posted that her theme was to "Strive." Rather
than feeling like she had to achieve a set number of goals, she wanted to
simply work on "striving" to be better and improve in many areas of
her life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love that idea!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
I've thought a lot
about what my goals and life's theme are for this year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I know, it's June- I'm a bit behind
as usual).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Goal setting is especially
hard for me right now-- not because I don't have goals or ambitions (recovering
overachiever here!), but because my body has so many physical limitations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's honestly pretty soul-crushing to put my
hopes into something that may never come to fruition or easily slip from my
grasp due to circumstances out my control.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Though my POTS (<a href="http://mystory.mommycantdance.com/p/what-is-pots.html" target="_blank">Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome</a>) symptoms have
improved a bit over the last few years, there are still many days I can't get
out of bed, and a good 3-6 days a week that I am rendered useless when my
chronic headaches turn into debilitating migraines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVuDqqpYnhLmXj0Kf7-n859VfORnpK_ZObzu3pi4QcZ6GVXMStqmIMH9o3eOt83KUAT5Sj0kO2osu0I7_67wSM-pNwM4QlYCMFAcAXjxCQihErQbOBok8zTuQ9CnJm_XzhAJpPzeKA0tpq/s1600/cherry+blossom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVuDqqpYnhLmXj0Kf7-n859VfORnpK_ZObzu3pi4QcZ6GVXMStqmIMH9o3eOt83KUAT5Sj0kO2osu0I7_67wSM-pNwM4QlYCMFAcAXjxCQihErQbOBok8zTuQ9CnJm_XzhAJpPzeKA0tpq/s320/cherry+blossom.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit: Sean Peck. This was after a late spring snow storm.<br /> I think it's a beautiful depiction of blooming despite hardship.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">My daily goals are
usually pretty simple-- make it through my inbox of work emails and projects,
get some very "light" exercise in when possible, enjoy dinner with my
family, read to and sing songs with my kids before bedtime.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Some days, even those goals are a little too
lofty for me though.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">But it's really the
failed plans like, "attend my daughter's concert" or "make it to
my twins' school program" that are especially hard to swallow. For some
reason, after 2.5 years of dealing with the repercussions of this chronic
illness, it's still hard for me to grasp the concept that just because I felt
good enough to do something yesterday, doesn't mean I will be able to do it
again today (in fact, </span><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic;">because</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> I did
something yesterday, I will probably </span><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic;">won't</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">
be able to do much today!)</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
But as I've thought
about goals and themes, the word that keeps chasing me down and poking me in
the ribs (or sometimes just taunting me) is <span style="font-weight: bold;">JOY</span>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Joy is what I have been looking for the past
few years as I've tried to come to grips with my crippled life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's what we all seek, right?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's the seemingly intangible holy
grail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'm not just talking about the
thrill you get on a roller coaster ride, but that deep down warm, happy,
content feeling in your heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrRrk6yrZOTmTUY0jxgnj8b6Pc1jhOuk35mlrj2y-mjQzpKOMnIUv9CNceeop5_CbNn2KIsgn-fHabgKDrlG3fS9Ks6BHzFevP_XTbKcOpUMmrspHK2EoVmoQNRfYSJmGsPOjkQ15qQMKw/s1600/sunflowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1080" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrRrk6yrZOTmTUY0jxgnj8b6Pc1jhOuk35mlrj2y-mjQzpKOMnIUv9CNceeop5_CbNn2KIsgn-fHabgKDrlG3fS9Ks6BHzFevP_XTbKcOpUMmrspHK2EoVmoQNRfYSJmGsPOjkQ15qQMKw/s320/sunflowers.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit: Sara Young</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">This chronic illness
journey has given me a lot of and ups and downs… and downs and ups and downs
and downs. It's hard not to get depressed or lose hope when you feel so cruddy
all the time. It can be hard to feel happiness and joy when there's sludge running
through your veins and an ice pick chipping away at your brain.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
Not long ago, after
a particularly rough string of bad days, I happened upon a <a href="https://www.lds.org/general-conference/2011/04/finding-joy-through-loving-service?lang=eng" target="_blank">talk by M. Russell Ballard</a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was exactly what I needed to
hear. </div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
He told the story of
a young man who sold all his possessions and left his home in Boston in 1849 in
search of gold in California.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He worked
tirelessly, day after day, dipping his pan into the river and coming up empty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After many fruitless days he became
discouraged and distraught. He had spent all his money, put in so much time and
effort, and was seeing no reward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
young man was just about ready to give up when he came upon an old prospector
with a bulging pouch of gold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He ask the
old man how he had found so much gold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggFAERD9OhNL6ppM2ajeHZuQpy35bPhRb7aPqMDiEFe10UzCPSwFnNRZWOsiC46I8kEJJBTieVBCmsJh6vcB5Pi_jTmWxEM1qt2zbhCjBFVxsFRjkPFLg8jLqutQ_6-o5RnjRKU_1HvYZ3/s1600/horse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1080" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggFAERD9OhNL6ppM2ajeHZuQpy35bPhRb7aPqMDiEFe10UzCPSwFnNRZWOsiC46I8kEJJBTieVBCmsJh6vcB5Pi_jTmWxEM1qt2zbhCjBFVxsFRjkPFLg8jLqutQ_6-o5RnjRKU_1HvYZ3/s320/horse.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit: Sara Young</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">The prospector
replied that you just need to know where to look for it.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">He then picked up a rock from the young man's
discarded pile and smashed it to reveal the flecks of gold within.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
"But," the
young man protested, "I want to find<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>large nuggets of gold like you have in your pouch, not just tiny
flecks!"</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
The old prospector
took the bulging pouch from his waist and opened it so the boy could see that
it did not hold large nuggets, but thousands of tiny flecks of gold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said, "It seems to me that you have
been so busy searching for nuggets of gold that, you have been missing out on
all the precious flecks along the way."</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcy5oWEfmCk0km0LcMfJcD2lAh3Cm2ub9fm49WPWGiTNNnS8GoHlSxWKeEFT3LF2Ovfe3CqWh_IyH5YzADCj92ATHo4uAZ2Tz6oaYzTr3fBtUw3xl781Vkue9t6OI8BMb1Q8bggEALuvy3/s1600/gold+nugget.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcy5oWEfmCk0km0LcMfJcD2lAh3Cm2ub9fm49WPWGiTNNnS8GoHlSxWKeEFT3LF2Ovfe3CqWh_IyH5YzADCj92ATHo4uAZ2Tz6oaYzTr3fBtUw3xl781Vkue9t6OI8BMb1Q8bggEALuvy3/s320/gold+nugget.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">Sometimes my life
feels like it has gaping holes.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">I'm sad
about missing out on those large nuggets of gold.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">I am incredibly wanderlust- I love to travel
and have adventures, but anymore I just feel confined in my home and
claustrophobic from cabin fever.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">I want
to</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">vacation with my husband and
family.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">I want to go hiking or ride my
bike around the lake like I used to.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">I
want to get in the car and drive myself to a store, spend an hour shopping, and
drive home.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">I want to make it to all my
kids activities and events and help at their schools.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">I want to have the energy to go to an
exercise class or run around with my kids in the back yard.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">I want to see my mom again and feel her hug
and hear her tell me everything is going to be alright.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">I want to not be light-headed every time I
stand up or have anxiety about passing out every time I'm in public.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">I want to be able to better serve my family
and friends.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
But I know that when
focusing on those elusive nuggets, I am missing out on all the precious flecks
of gold around me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These are just a few
of those flecks that bring me joy:</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<ul style="direction: ltr; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .375in; margin-top: 0in; unicode-bidi: embed;" type="disc">
<li style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt;">I find joy in being a rock
star in my own home. (I love when my twins shout "Mom!" and run
to hug me every time I emerge from my room.)</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt;">I find joy in getting and
giving hugs to my kids.</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt;">I find joy in reading stories
to my kids and our nightly bedtime ritual when everyone piles on my bed
and we sing songs and say prayer together.</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt;">I find joy in days with blue
skies and sunshine.</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt;">I find joy from floating in
the pool and staring up into a cloudy sky at sunset.</span></li>
</ul>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW5ZSs-SkhMKFpSSinjHZPKf_cahT3Dwi2M7fIk3ZWRWXmiucRQNotxLy-E9kXEt5A1zsCGXCiERLXY0QHUrK5jicPVH-xvysK1nRetMvB135NVKqywyHRA3ABLTMknws-A1m9nx9JxxxW/s1600/sunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="612" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW5ZSs-SkhMKFpSSinjHZPKf_cahT3Dwi2M7fIk3ZWRWXmiucRQNotxLy-E9kXEt5A1zsCGXCiERLXY0QHUrK5jicPVH-xvysK1nRetMvB135NVKqywyHRA3ABLTMknws-A1m9nx9JxxxW/s320/sunset.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit: Sara Young (Sarah's pictures always bring me joy!)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<ul style="direction: ltr; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .375in; margin-top: 0in; unicode-bidi: embed;" type="disc">
<li style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt;">I find joy in watching my
kids make good choices or show kindness to others.</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt;">I find joy in family game
night.</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt;">I find joy in hanging out or
joking around with my teenagers.</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt;">I find joy in visiting with
thoughtful friends.</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt;">I find joy in the days I'm
able to feel productive.</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt;">I find joy in the times I can
leave the house and return home without incident.</span></li>
</ul>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihR8maY3t3tkQofF_J-R5OtfABXxtlxtcDqzyfecOBUN-tQJw8YO6PQDIgeq9zizpGqjjXvw1NG-UrPJJfEgfpiWzhrTsoGUdxak7LCJiWmdjJpb8cko5yzW18BKh7d_8UAgjw7_d4AKqb/s1600/tulipfestival.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihR8maY3t3tkQofF_J-R5OtfABXxtlxtcDqzyfecOBUN-tQJw8YO6PQDIgeq9zizpGqjjXvw1NG-UrPJJfEgfpiWzhrTsoGUdxak7LCJiWmdjJpb8cko5yzW18BKh7d_8UAgjw7_d4AKqb/s320/tulipfestival.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh happy day! I made it to the Tulip festival with my family last month.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<ul style="direction: ltr; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .375in; margin-top: 0in; unicode-bidi: embed;" type="disc">
<li style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt;">I find joy in the matching
little electric scooters that my daughter and I got to cruise around the
neighborhood. (I can't go often or for long, but it gives me a sense of
freedom I haven't had for a long time.)</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt;">I find joy in my amazing
husband-- how much he does to make our family and house run, for
comforting me constantly, and for making me laugh every day.</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt;">I find joy in the small acts
of service I'm able to do or when I can occasionally feeling like I have
helped someone else.</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt;">I find joy in my faith and
testimony of Christ.</span></li>
</ul>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZBKuRl5vqGmydoQEPD0S0od9ye4UrhMgVkpXGbbkk1W4EAOTg7auISGslonjoY6oZdlyvTdCqBhnXQG7tgbsvzYvdaCcY9DkjCyHWGviOZqiL__XUi7V1uZI3Mvjpj4ameOj637-Sb4q9/s1600/temple.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="718" data-original-width="1080" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZBKuRl5vqGmydoQEPD0S0od9ye4UrhMgVkpXGbbkk1W4EAOTg7auISGslonjoY6oZdlyvTdCqBhnXQG7tgbsvzYvdaCcY9DkjCyHWGviOZqiL__XUi7V1uZI3Mvjpj4ameOj637-Sb4q9/s320/temple.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit: Sara Young</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">Russell M. Nelson
said, "When the focus of our lives is on Jesus Christ and His gospel, we
can feel joy regardless of what is happening—or not happening—in our lives…. </span><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 11pt;">We can feel joy even while having a bad
day, a bad week, or even a bad year! The
joy we feel has little to do with the circumstances of our lives and everything
to do with the focus of our lives."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
I testify that this
statement is true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My illness is
horrible, but that does not mean that my life is horrible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can find joy and peace in my life, despite
my circumstance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I may not be happy
every single day, but I can choose to rely on my Savior, have hope, and
appreciate the small miracles, amazing people, and tender mercies He places in
my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can find joy.</div>
<br />MommyCan'tDancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17488243118978285681noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1747345859972295854.post-29058545839438602812017-07-16T23:03:00.002-06:002017-10-22T20:42:02.849-06:00You Lift Me and I'll Lift Thee<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Thee lift me and I'll lift thee, and we'll ascend together." I have found
a lot of truth in this Quaker proverb the past few years as I have dealt with
the crippling effects of POTS (<a href="http://mystory.mommycantdance.com/p/what-is-pots.html" target="_blank">Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome</a>) and
autoimmune disease, yet have been lifted by countless friends and neighbors.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
One of the things that has been
especially <a href="http://mystory.mommycantdance.com/2016/09/i-can-do-hard-things-accepting.html" target="_blank">hard about my illness</a> is all the things I miss out on, especially
with my kids and family. It is hard to
stand by and watch life happen without me.
Just a few months ago my husband took our kids to visit his dad over
spring break. He sent me pictures of
them all playing happily at the beach. I
was glad to see them having a good time, but it still hurt my heart to not be
there making those memories with them.</div>
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</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg7hI1mavLJ31vNliOhhiDM_Eci-e2kNTUtu3IExsxcSvnzdU7NrtmulfMqbF1uKrgvbZmyoe3VYSR8KphBnbT0dG4-WQYjdLk0zyPlC05FmgZVWKIfhRFYe7cb2UZy8H26LbWVnffSlu2/s1600/IMG_2515.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg7hI1mavLJ31vNliOhhiDM_Eci-e2kNTUtu3IExsxcSvnzdU7NrtmulfMqbF1uKrgvbZmyoe3VYSR8KphBnbT0dG4-WQYjdLk0zyPlC05FmgZVWKIfhRFYe7cb2UZy8H26LbWVnffSlu2/s320/IMG_2515.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
A sweet friend of mine, knowing
that I was home alone for the week, asked if she could come visit me. It was a great visit and truly helped to lift
my spirits. What amazed me even more
about this act of kindness is that my friend is currently battling cancer. In fact, it was her last “good” day before
her next round of nauseating, life-sucking chemo—and she chose to spend her
precious time with me! Oh, how much that
meant to me!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
As I have spent the last couple of
years fairly <a href="http://mystory.mommycantdance.com/2016/05/" target="_blank">homebound and bed ridden</a>, I have been consistently impressed by
the number of amazing people there are in this world that are so giving of
their time, talents, and selves. I’m
amazed at the level of generosity and thoughtfulness of others. One of the many things that my time in bed
has made more infinitely clear is how much we need each other. <span style="color: #783f04;"><b>We
weren’t put on this earth to live a solitary life, but to serve and to be
served. </b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Everyone
has struggles and heart ache. Everyone experiences
loss-- whether it be death of a loved one, poor health, struggling
relationships, loss of job, home, or financial security, or something else
entirely. We don’t all have the same
problems (thank Heavens!), but that doesn’t mean we can’t show compassion and
empathy for others, no matter what they are going through.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
A
comment I frequently hear from others is, “Well you’re stuck in bed, so I have
no right to complain about my problems.”
Not true! We all have
difficulties we are struggling with, and we can all use support. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<o:p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3YfVx5mDrAhGBf7CcMosEgkDdhAWSVAUL9IBRIEpyL1pRk7diz3oxzFEFv4iNOqwUOBVK1wyp6rYDbX9nWXeGs5YMLhmpfG5i5yGMoll4AslunfmW5bHUMI9_1N-pSGY5UtVzxRuSg5XA/s1600/IMG_1450.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1149" data-original-width="1600" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3YfVx5mDrAhGBf7CcMosEgkDdhAWSVAUL9IBRIEpyL1pRk7diz3oxzFEFv4iNOqwUOBVK1wyp6rYDbX9nWXeGs5YMLhmpfG5i5yGMoll4AslunfmW5bHUMI9_1N-pSGY5UtVzxRuSg5XA/s320/IMG_1450.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo cred: <a href="https://www.stephanieannportraits.com/" target="_blank">Stephanie Ann Portraits</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
This
life is not a competition to see whose problems are the most difficult. Just like one person’s good fortune in no way
diminishes another’s blessings, one person’s trials, does not make another’s
less hard or frustrating for them. And
just because someone’s problems may seem minor to one, does not mean that they
aren’t a big deal to the person experiencing them. (I have to often remind myself of this when it
comes to my kids and the struggles they are dealing with that may seem
inconsequential to me). <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Linda
K. Burton said, “We are here to help, lift, and rejoice with each other as we
try to become our very best selves…. There is so much more happiness to be had
when we can rejoice in another’s successes and not just in our own. <span style="color: #783f04;"><b>When
we seek to ‘complete’ rather than ‘compete,’ it is so much easier to cheer each
other on</b>.</span>”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Being the beneficiary of so much compassion
has caused me to reflect on my own deeds.
When I was healthier and able to do more, did I? Was I as aware of those around me that were
in need of lifting? And now that I am
less capable of physically helping others, are there still things I can do to
be of service? Since I have been sick, I
feel like I have become more keenly aware of others sorrows and needs, yet I
often feel so powerless to help.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<h4>
<b>So, how can I help others when I can
barely help myself?</b></h4>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Many
have shown me that I don’t always have to physically do something in order to help. Sometimes a note, a text, or a quick visit
has had the greatest impact in buoying my spirits. Just knowing that someone else cares can make
a world of difference. <b> </b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRTwf9_JhS_Zl3oHLhVMOaE9P82Uml4PyJ6iy8PZX8Ub5iUqERX1WijXolK4pF4r-wDwpRDRNNP0rmKHdh1C94qp8SACf3yCptGq2qlLNZdjagTUhooUvE6Av1Jq65b37-1wNeeDjX38uo/s1600/FullSizeRender+%25283%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1171" data-original-width="1600" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRTwf9_JhS_Zl3oHLhVMOaE9P82Uml4PyJ6iy8PZX8Ub5iUqERX1WijXolK4pF4r-wDwpRDRNNP0rmKHdh1C94qp8SACf3yCptGq2qlLNZdjagTUhooUvE6Av1Jq65b37-1wNeeDjX38uo/s320/FullSizeRender+%25283%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Meals,
treats, and gifts are certainly a happy surprise (and I have been so amazed at
the generosity of others), but I’ve also learned that <b><span style="color: #783f04;">it’s more important to do something than to do nothing</span></b>. When you’re not able to send a meal, at least
send at text. When you don’t have a gift
to give, write a card.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
There
have been so many times that I’ve had a rough day and gotten an encouraging
text or note from a friend. I’m
especially impressed with those friends that have been consistent. Even being surrounded by people, trials can
be extremely lonely. It means so much to
know that you haven’t been forgotten.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Knowing
what a difference it has made for me, I have tried more earnestly to listen to
that still small voice. If there is
someone on my mind, it is probably for a reason. Even if I don’t have a great piece of
inspiration to provide, I can still reach out to say, “Thinking of you today. Hope you are doing well!” <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I
have also become much more emotive with my friends and loved ones. I commonly tell my friends how much I love
and appreciate them. Previously I may
have worried about sounding too corny or cheesy. I don’t care about that now. Everyone deserves to hear how incredible they
are.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #783f04;"><b>Words can be a powerful tool for good!</b> </span> In an effort to highlight the good deeds of
others, thank those that have been great examples to me, and put forth more
positivity into the world, I started doing a “Hero of the Week” post every week
(or so) on my Facebook page. I have
loved openly sharing my appreciation for others in my life and hopefully lifting
them as well.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Another
form of service that I have come to rely heavily on is prayer. <b> <span style="color: #783f04;">I
may not be able to physically help others, but I can always, ALWAYS pray for
them. </span> <o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrgda_BSJjsnlMQEc6bW0XugLstrQuX2u6mCy8SiUflJMjy0kwkBZKxIT9LrsM9tsqQhspmYiR04KLpeJ-xg4IB8ahLsgeX_KhdVcZLFKKog8A_Fo-nq9ojlfLofJ8Uwhc_BsMCcBClzvW/s1600/FullSizeRender+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1393" data-original-width="1600" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrgda_BSJjsnlMQEc6bW0XugLstrQuX2u6mCy8SiUflJMjy0kwkBZKxIT9LrsM9tsqQhspmYiR04KLpeJ-xg4IB8ahLsgeX_KhdVcZLFKKog8A_Fo-nq9ojlfLofJ8Uwhc_BsMCcBClzvW/s320/FullSizeRender+%25282%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Though
I have learned it anew, I first realized this lesson several years ago. My twins were born premature. Those two babies completely rocked our world
(in both the good and bad sense). After
coming home from the NICU they quickly became colicky and would cry for hours
on end. Within a couple months both also
developed RSV (a respiratory infection).
They were miserable and so were we.
I remember wondering how two tiny human beings could be such an
incredible blessing and such a trial at the same time. The feedings, diaper changing, fruitless
attempts at calming, and sleepless delirium became our new norm. We went into survival mode, with little time
to even shower or clean house. We could
barely care for ourselves and our kids, let alone help anyone else. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
At
this same time, in fact just a few weeks before the twins were born, my mom,
who lived 200 miles away, was diagnosed with breast cancer and started the
rigorous treatments of chemo, surgery, and radiation. It was heartbreaking for both my mom and I to
watch each other struggle from afar and be able to do very little to help the
other. I longed to be in Idaho helping
my mom and she longed to be in Utah holding the twins and helping me. It was at this time that I truly realized the
power of prayer for others—and that no matter what my own abilities are (or are
not) to help someone else, I can always pray for them. If I couldn’t be there with my mom, I could at
least pray for angels to attend her, and I know she did the same for me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4GwZj7lxMkya20-KSYa482d9VNRV7aPuFfFZOF2movJ9GVriN6Rj2tjRYRlW1ZFqKNmzlx26PArSEsttu7lyaj4R1d3tNiw0Rnmitb46KSJpKxpODPIpaE4ZThDkUzdape_lpttADXgog/s1600/LiftMe+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1576" data-original-width="1600" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4GwZj7lxMkya20-KSYa482d9VNRV7aPuFfFZOF2movJ9GVriN6Rj2tjRYRlW1ZFqKNmzlx26PArSEsttu7lyaj4R1d3tNiw0Rnmitb46KSJpKxpODPIpaE4ZThDkUzdape_lpttADXgog/s320/LiftMe+copy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I
could fill pages and pages with names of people that have helped me and my
family the last several years (and I doubt I could ever do an adequate job sharing
my gratitude, but if you are one of those people—Thank you! Thank you! Thank
you!). The charity, kindness, and
generosity of others has set a beautiful example to me of how to pay it
forward. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
No
matter our circumstances in life, we can recognize those around us that are
struggling and work to achieve the proverb, <b><span style="color: #783f04;">“Thee lift me, and I’ll lift thee,
and we’ll ascend together.”</span></b><o:p></o:p></div>
MommyCan'tDancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17488243118978285681noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1747345859972295854.post-20864713116183307682017-06-24T01:14:00.002-06:002017-10-22T20:46:16.733-06:00Why My Illness Defines Me<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">As a subscriber to various chronic
illness forums, I often hear the phrase, “My illness does
not define me.” I have pondered on that
statement and asked myself the same question.
Does my autoimmune disease or POTS (<a href="http://mystory.mommycantdance.com/p/what-is-pots.html" target="_blank">Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome</a><span id="goog_1914762515"></span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/"></a><span id="goog_1914762516"></span>) define me? </span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">When I look at my life today, I can’t
seem to separate myself from my illness.
I am still me, but I can’t deny the effect of my limitations or the experiences
caused by my disorders. Certainly there
are moments in my timeline that only exist because of my sickness. In fact, most of my experiences these days are
defined (or confined, rather) by my illness.</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGKAUDCL_7tpNUiJDnzOVPHFQMUAOGxNQjCZEyLIu9PlcKm2zcAzJ097lyc8EiBzSvqEOUIpXO-V7_QgVAzQCSrUbzz2aJlVuFpvN2EPwfItL_PSih3z_Htf51EMnKJ1HPXhgpgqEWnGGX/s1600/defineme+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="Does My Illness Define Me" border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGKAUDCL_7tpNUiJDnzOVPHFQMUAOGxNQjCZEyLIu9PlcKm2zcAzJ097lyc8EiBzSvqEOUIpXO-V7_QgVAzQCSrUbzz2aJlVuFpvN2EPwfItL_PSih3z_Htf51EMnKJ1HPXhgpgqEWnGGX/s320/defineme+copy.jpg" title="Why My Illness Defines Me; Mystory.mommycantdance.com" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Many of these events and the memories they have produced have not been wholly positive. </span>For example: </span></span></div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-indent: -0.25in;">Every time I go
out in public in my wheelchair wearing knee-high compression socks, dark
sunglasses, and noise-cancelling headphones and feeling awkward and conspicuous. </span></span></span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-indent: -0.25in;">That embarrassing
time that my wheelchair hit a bump, tipped over, and I found myself prostrate
on the asphalt in a crowded venue and unable to get up. </span></span></span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-indent: -0.25in;">That time that I
had a decent day and thought I was doing well enough to attend a friend’s
party, only to become a public spectacle when I passed out on her couch.</span></span></span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-indent: -0.25in;">Or that time that
a stranger patted me on the head and told me I was a “pretty girl”-- as if he
were speaking to a child or someone mentally handicapped just because I was in
a wheelchair. (I’m sure he had the best
intentions…)</span></span></span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-indent: -0.25in;">Or those multiple
times before my diagnosis when various health care providers accused me of
being drunk (I’ve never had a drink in my life), on drugs, or needing a psych
consult because they couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. And that one doctor, in particular, that got
up in my face while having a cataplectic, adrenaline-dump, pseudo-seizure attack
in the ER, and started yelling at me that he knew I was “faking it.”</span></span></span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; text-indent: -0.25in;">Or the many, MANY
times that I have missed out on my kids’ recitals, performances, games,
graduations or family activities and vacations because I was too sick to attend….
Those are the hardest.</span></span></span></li>
</ul>
<div style="text-indent: -24px;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-indent: -24px;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">These experiences have all been
defined by my illness. But what about me,
myself? Am I defined by my illness? </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLYlppUJdz-h0Xk11-PVF0c0Vq7vg_WBO2YWmF-wddTnqN2G0PxzXqe_aJTBunFSTuOU_h-7rQXwtmvLe12OoPnEHdCzmRRM3lQvTDbCn9gUhE2R5likGfBtYIzGP3Tq8QaRhh_gfGic1a/s1600/BreneBrown_Quote+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLYlppUJdz-h0Xk11-PVF0c0Vq7vg_WBO2YWmF-wddTnqN2G0PxzXqe_aJTBunFSTuOU_h-7rQXwtmvLe12OoPnEHdCzmRRM3lQvTDbCn9gUhE2R5likGfBtYIzGP3Tq8QaRhh_gfGic1a/s320/BreneBrown_Quote+copy.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I recently saw a quote by Brené Brown that helped
clarify this question for me. She said, “The
irony is that we attempt to disown our difficult stories to appear more whole
or more acceptable, but our wholeness—even our wholeheartedness—actually
depends on the integration of ALL our experiences, including the fails.”</span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Having POTS has definitely changed my life and changed me with it.
It has made parts of my life
harder. It has provided unsavory
experiences (as aforementioned) that I never want to endure again, and some
that seem to be stuck, like Groundhog’s Day, on repeat (like waking up feeling disoriented,
sick, and drugged every single day).</span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">But it is not all bad.
Having chronic illness has also refined me.</span></span></span><br />
</span></span>
<br />
<ul><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">
<li><b>Having a chronic
illness, and all the experiences that come with it, has made me more
compassionate and more empathetic towards others</b>. I understand what it’s like to not feel
whole, and my heart aches for others that are struggling. </li>
</span></span></span></span></span></ul>
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<ul><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><b>Having a chronic
illness has increased my gratitude</b>. I have such an
appreciation for the little things in life that I used to take for
granted. I am grateful for good days and
precious time spent with my kids, family, and friends. I relish the
moments I get to snuggle my kids and celebrate when I feel good enough to leave
the house (and return home again without major incident). </span></span></span></li>
</span></span></span></span></ul>
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<ul><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><b>Having a chronic
illness has humbled me</b>. It’s a difficult thing to
not be self-sufficient all the time.
It’s hard to rely so much on others and to accept help when needed. (I’m still often stubborn.) It has helped me realize that we are all in
this together—to lift and help each other, which has also increased my desire
to help and serve others in the ways that I can. </span></span></span></li>
</span></span></span></ul>
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<ul><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><b>Having a chronic
illness has allowed/forced me to be</b> <b>creative</b>. Being a busy-body that has had to spend so
much time in bed has forced me to figure out things I can do from bed to feel
productive (like write a blog) and search for ways to still feel useful in helping
my family and others when I can’t physically do as much. </span></span></span></li>
</span></span></span></ul>
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<ul><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><b>Having a chronic
illness has taught me that</b> <b>I can’t take myself too
seriously</b>. For example, when I
couldn’t physically walk from one room to another, I had to laugh when my
husband had to drag me around on a blanket (mostly so I wouldn’t cry). I also don’t worry about wearing make-up, doing my
hair, or looking nice most days because what little energy I have I prefer to
put towards time with my kids, or working, or trying to exercise to help myself
improve. </span></span></span></li>
</span></span></span></ul>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuQ7uE5oQVqn4c3RfhwZ5ZCmn97fRAZTyv89qtsmsF3KKHCKVj2Pjh_wpkZM1QjhhIdBIr_FoPxyIapk3H2GyfS9clufRKPmkQSeJrJ3y4eNPNvIO9FFYMM_tQ_TqDA-AVgAGUYwAHlFg5/s1600/TulipFestival.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuQ7uE5oQVqn4c3RfhwZ5ZCmn97fRAZTyv89qtsmsF3KKHCKVj2Pjh_wpkZM1QjhhIdBIr_FoPxyIapk3H2GyfS9clufRKPmkQSeJrJ3y4eNPNvIO9FFYMM_tQ_TqDA-AVgAGUYwAHlFg5/s320/TulipFestival.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(I'm gonna admit it... I feel super vulnerable posting this picture <br />
because I still struggle with the image of myself in a wheelchair. <br />
Something I'm still working on...)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></span></span><br />
<ul><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><b>Having a chronic
illness has forced me to</b> <b>de-stress</b>. Pre-POTS I was always a mover and shaker—as
well as big ball of stress. Patience has
never been my virtue and sitting still was not a thing I could abide well. Although I had health issues well before my
“great POTS crash of 2015,” I didn’t allow myself the time to rest and recover
as I needed. I pushed through until my
body finally gave out and I couldn’t push anymore. Learning to let go of all that stress I
carried around was HARD. But I now see
that a lot of the things I used to worry about, <a href="http://mystory.mommycantdance.com/2017/01/" target="_blank">don’t really matter</a>. And, in many ways, I am a happier person for
that.</span></span></span></li>
</span></span></span></ul>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></span></span>
<ul><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><b>Last but not
least,having a chronic illness has increased my
<a href="http://mystory.mommycantdance.com/2017/04/" target="_blank">faith</a></b> I have always had a strong
testimony, but through my experiences, I’ve had to rely even more on my
Heavenly Father and my Savior, and I have seen their influence in my life each
and every day.</span></span></span></li>
</span></span></span></ul>
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</span></span></span></div>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">So back to my original question—does my illness define me? While I am certainly more than just a girl
with POTS (or a “pretty girl” in a wheelchair), chronic illness has certainly played
its role in making me who I am today —or at least clarified the parts of me that
needed a stronger definition. So my
answer to that question would have to be a resounding yes. It DOES define me. For better and for worse, my illness is part
of me, perhaps just one part, but it has defined my experiences and my life,
which in turn, have refined and defined me. </span></span></span><br />
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MommyCan'tDancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17488243118978285681noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1747345859972295854.post-75736341156471505352017-05-14T00:08:00.001-06:002017-10-22T20:46:54.693-06:00Why I Choose to Love Mother's Day (from a Perfectly Imperfect Mom)<div class="MsoNormal">
Mother’s Day evokes a lot of mixed emotions for me, as I
know it does for many others. <o:p></o:p><br />
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As a child, I loved Mother’s Day. I loved the opportunity to show my mom how
much I adored her. This was usually accomplished
with a rudimentary card plastered with hearts, homemade coupons for hugs, kisses,
and extra chores, and a bouquet of dandelions from the lawn and lilacs that
were cut off our lilac bushes in the back yard. <o:p></o:p></div>
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As a teenager, however, I discovered that my mom hated
Mother’s Day. I couldn’t imagine
why! Besides the sneezing fits and
watering eyes from her allergies to the weeds and flowers we gave her, didn’t
she appreciate the gifts, songs, and outpouring of affection she got from her
kids? It wasn’t until I was a mom myself
that I understood the negative association that many women have with Mother’s
Day.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Instead of basking in the glory of being a mom, grandma,
aunt, sister, or woman, Mother’s Day has, for many, turned into a day of guilt
and an examination of shattered expectations.
At church and on social media we hear about idyllic mothers who have sacrificed
everything for their kids—raising the bar for moms everywhere to live up to and
adding to that never-ceasing mom-guilt we all carry around.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Additionally, rather than a day for respite, Mother’s Day is
oftentimes only accentuated by the mundane motherly tasks that don’t exactly
fill our hearts with joy. Whether it be getting
up with crying kids, cleaning up toys, making dinner, or wiping those dirty
bottoms, it sometimes makes it hard to cherish everything it means to be a mom.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Having lost my own mother a few years ago, Mother’s Day has
also become one more poignant reminder of the gaping hole in my life and my
heart— that my own personal cheerleader is no longer a phone call away to buoy
me up and tell me that everything is going to be alright.<o:p></o:p><br />
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Being a mom is hard and sometimes it doesn’t always feel like there
is a lot to celebrate.<o:p></o:p></div>
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However, my perspective has changed a lot in the last couple
of years since becoming home bound and often bed bound with POTS (<a href="http://mystory.mommycantdance.com/p/what-is-pots.html" target="_blank">Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome</a>) and autoimmune issues. You would think the fact that I can now do
LESS as a mom would make the ever-present mom guilt even worse—and in some
respects it has. There are certainly
days that the “dark side” works hard on me to admit defeat amidst my crumbling
losses. But the lessons I have learned
about letting go and celebrating the little things in life has also been
liberating and provided clarity about my role as a mom. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Being a <a href="http://mystory.mommycantdance.com/p/childrens-book-mommy-cant-dance.html" target="_blank">chronically ill mom</a>, I’ve had to drastically lower
my expectations of myself (which has been incredibly hard for an over achiever
and previously aspiring wonder-woman). I’ve
had to learn to let go of a lot of things that I want to do and be. I’ve learned that many of the things I used to
feel mom-guilt about don’t really matter that much. I’ve learned to cherish the moments I have
with my kids, and appreciate the days I am able to spend time with and help
them (even if it is just wiping a dirty bottom).<o:p></o:p></div>
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As President Monson has reminded us, “If you are still in
the process of raising children, be aware that the piles and piles of laundry
will disappear all too soon and that you will, to your surprise, miss them
profoundly.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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So with all this in mind, I have decided to change the way I
view Mother’s Day. I have decided to
make it a day of thanksgiving rather than a day of comparisons and shattered
expectations. I have decided that I want
to relish the time that my kids are still young enough to give me hugs and kisses,
make homemade cards, and pick dandelions from the lawn. I have decided to embrace Mother’s Day as a
day to rejoice in my sacred calling as a mother and appreciate the sweet
spirits that God has given me stewardship over.<o:p></o:p><br />
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I know that I am far from the perfect mom. I recognize that, even in my condition, there
is still a lot I can do to improve. I
also understand that there are a lot of things out of my control that I can do
nothing about, so I shouldn’t worry about them (sometimes easier said than done). <o:p></o:p></div>
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M. Russell Ballard said, "There is
no one perfect way to be a good mother. Each
situation is unique. Each mother has
different challenges, different skills and abilities, and certainly different
children. The choice is different and
unique for each mother and each family. Many
are able to be “full-time moms,” at least during the most formative years of
their children’s lives, and many others would like to be. Some may have to work part-or full-time; some
may work at home; some may divide their lives into periods of home and family
and work. What matters is that a mother
loves her children deeply and, in keeping with the devotion she has for God and
her husband, prioritizes them above all else."<o:p></o:p></div>
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In case you missed it the first time: <b>“There is no one perfect way to be a good mother!”</b> While there are certainly plenty of wrong ways
(most of which would land child protective services at your door), there is not
just one right way to mother. What is
right for one family may not be right for another. What is right for one child, may not be right
for another. Thus, there is no point in
comparing! <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj2WdOvXsTxTm7nFv5uH0AdcHDD6cRr9tFwBOoL0j8TBaGYitbKz9qpxaIZztpfQhKQfNuULrbWOMB-G85qkmsKYObZyYnJp6b7TUF_bq0Qzshhu_dyrKrI6gemm5Y7Q6QH2JLPR1AQqcx/s1600/IMG_7467.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj2WdOvXsTxTm7nFv5uH0AdcHDD6cRr9tFwBOoL0j8TBaGYitbKz9qpxaIZztpfQhKQfNuULrbWOMB-G85qkmsKYObZyYnJp6b7TUF_bq0Qzshhu_dyrKrI6gemm5Y7Q6QH2JLPR1AQqcx/s320/IMG_7467.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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Heavenly Father gave MY children to ME, so He must have the
confidence that I am the right mother for them and their needs--despite my
faults and my short comings, and for me, specifically, despite the fact that I
am mothering from bed most days. I am
the mom that was divinely selected for my kids and they were divinely selected
for me, and that is worth celebrating! <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
So on this Mother’s Day, I choose to appreciate this day for
what it is—with no reliance on unrealistic expectations of myself or anyone
else to make me happy. I choose to be
happy because I am a perfectly imperfect mom who recognizes my faults, strives to
improve, tries to let go of the things I can’t control, appreciates the tender,
happy, and not so happy moments I share with my family, and loves the heck out
of my kids. </div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
MommyCan'tDancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17488243118978285681noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1747345859972295854.post-50561466472381213592017-04-14T22:03:00.001-06:002017-10-22T21:01:14.499-06:00Being Alright - No Matter What<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;">I had the privilege last week of being interviewed for an
amazing project called <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/759075010940894/" target="_blank">Women like ME</a>, that focuses on connecting women through
their stories, perspectives, and faith. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #783f04; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">One of the questions I was asked was how my experiences have
helped me draw closer to Christ. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #783f04; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">As Easter weekend draws near, I have
appreciated the opportunity to reflect on this further. The last decade-plus has
felt like one trial after another in dealing with endometrioris, infertility,
the death of my mother, and now autoimmune issues and POTS (<a href="http://mystory.mommycantdance.com/p/what-is-pots.html" target="_blank">PosturalOrthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome</a>) that have left me homebound and often
bedbound. In all things, it is my faith that has helped me cope and push
through.</span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #783f04;"><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Being sick in bed is an incredibly lonely place to be—even
surrounded by loving and supportive friends and family. One of my sweet friends,
Mickelle, currently going through chemo, was able to pen the thoughts much
better than I could’ve. She said, “</span><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I am lonely because this is my trial-- something
I have to experience and do all by myself. I can’t, no matter how much I
want to, pass off part of this to others.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;">Although others can sympathize and empathize and do their
best to support me, no one around me knows exactly what I’m going through or
has experienced exactly what I have experienced in the same way I have
experienced it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;">Yet, I have come to the same conclusion as my friend—“there IS
one person who understands” …the Savior.
He is the only one that knows exactly what I am feeling and there are
many times that He is the only one that can help. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvyW5gzBau_PFmRLunAJ7jT2Yni28FmuQoZ95ohFfW-hnbRhsSVIUjRZMQU4GGRKgBfWVOJfOPGXr1YTWDXlVnWCqHJhQsP5ymFVDzlxauIxkRjHKNmqsvtmVDd7c6o6stISdGeqRXIkbX/s400/mary-magdalene-tomb-1104114-print.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Source: Lds.org</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvyW5gzBau_PFmRLunAJ7jT2Yni28FmuQoZ95ohFfW-hnbRhsSVIUjRZMQU4GGRKgBfWVOJfOPGXr1YTWDXlVnWCqHJhQsP5ymFVDzlxauIxkRjHKNmqsvtmVDd7c6o6stISdGeqRXIkbX/s1600/mary-magdalene-tomb-1104114-print.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #783f04;"></span></a></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;">It’s been 18 long months since my initial POTS collapse that
turned my life completely upside down. For the first four months I could barely
make it out of bed. I often couldn’t even walk the few feet from my bed to my
bathroom without collapsing. It took so much effort to talk or listen or even
think! My brain was so clouded and foggy all the time. Yet there were so many
things left hanging on the line in my life—so much we had to figure out and so
many important decisions that had to be made.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;">How do I care for my kids and family? How do I fulfill my
church, school, and home responsibilities? What treatment options do I pursue? And
one of the most pressing was, as a business owner, how do I continue to run my
business? Not only do we rely on my income, but I had legally binding contracts
and obligations to fulfill. It wasn’t something I could simply walk away from.
I was so wracked with the stress of this weighing on me and my muddled mind. My
usually creative and logical brain tried to run through various scenarios, yet
it was so difficult to see through the muddy mess. There didn’t seem to be an
obvious, simple solution; every potential path only presented more immediate
work and stress—two things I simply couldn’t handle. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;">In the midst of this frustration and despair, my dear friend
Marci (no stranger to trials, having fought cancer multiple times) came to
visit. She looked me straight in the eye
and said, “Katie, Jesus is really, really smart. He knows exactly what you need
to do.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;">This was exactly what I needed to hear! Sure I had been
praying my heart out for help and answers, but had I been trusting that the
answers would come? I was so caught up
in my own anxiety and fear, I was forgetting to exercise my faith. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #b45f06;">Faith is
more than just turning to the Lord, but it’s also trusting and believing that
everything will be okay—no matter what. </span><span style="color: #783f04;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;">A few years earlier, when my mom was diagnosed with terminal
leukemia, I struggled to come to grips with the fact that she was dying. One
evening a group of young women came to visit her to cheer her up. As she sat out on the porch on that warm
summer eve, she bore her testimony to these ladies that she knew that she was
dying, but she knew that everything would be okay, no matter what. She knew because of her faith in the gospel
and Jesus Christ. As she said the words,
the spirit also bore witness to me of this same principle. As hard as it was to
watch my mom pass away (and still hard to not have her here), I knew that everything
would be okay. It would be okay because
of Jesus Christ. He overcame death, and
sin, and sadness, and loss, and grief, and pain so that we can also. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDp4D854x1O4N-_9PF0jtnyYAb70drOIHhA5BG5Y_ChydT6ApEjjnnBYiIPLlW15iP99zLbUKGbmCVpD-0Cv3x82jjYjlSJ4di6B5Zr5qXFpVT3o2y7ukw5lfyoBmQORz4A0w-6-34gKdg/s1600/IMG_2836+%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDp4D854x1O4N-_9PF0jtnyYAb70drOIHhA5BG5Y_ChydT6ApEjjnnBYiIPLlW15iP99zLbUKGbmCVpD-0Cv3x82jjYjlSJ4di6B5Zr5qXFpVT3o2y7ukw5lfyoBmQORz4A0w-6-34gKdg/s400/IMG_2836+%25281%2529.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;">My faith had been strengthened then through the experience
with my mom, yet here I was in another crisis and already forgetting this
lesson. My friend’s poignant words that day reminded me of what it really means to
have faith. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;">There is no question too complex for Him to answer, no mystery
too great for Him to solve, and no disease too wide-spread that He can’t heal
it. Sometimes we have to take a step into the darkness before we can see the
light. Even though I can’t always see where I am going, someone else can, and I can receive direction from Him if I so seek it. What sweet reassurance that
brings!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;">Of course, my undying hope was then (and still continues to
be!) that I would be healed. But knowing
that Christ has the power to heal us, does not always mean that we will be
healed, or at least not in the way we may want. It wasn’t the case with my mom,
and unfortunately hasn’t yet been the case with me either. However, <b>even though I am not physically healed, all
is well.<o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhizfwqutHJ8ttTwUjxH0_bmUU_Y15baS3W_3o7Kwi4oJH1_VTRBK1kVBhMlnz-LA1hZvzogtXwk7QRnXwDUyYlMrxhDU2FFM2n9jXIr1pNqnsp6fSXfwHnpTkpT-wruSj477lcYgEGaroc/s1600/342-Easter-Campaign-PrinceofPeace-lvl1_1-1326895-latter-day-saints.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #783f04;"><img border="0" height="323" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhizfwqutHJ8ttTwUjxH0_bmUU_Y15baS3W_3o7Kwi4oJH1_VTRBK1kVBhMlnz-LA1hZvzogtXwk7QRnXwDUyYlMrxhDU2FFM2n9jXIr1pNqnsp6fSXfwHnpTkpT-wruSj477lcYgEGaroc/s400/342-Easter-Campaign-PrinceofPeace-lvl1_1-1326895-latter-day-saints.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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o:spid="_x0000_i1025" type="#_x0000_t75" alt="The Savior" style='width:357pt;
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #783f04;">Now, 18 months later, I’m still dealing with this chronic
illness, but it’s easier to look back and see how, even though I’m not fully healed,
I have been blessed and received answers to prayers in so many ways. Although
my life has been pared down dramatically, what remains at the core is still
fulfilling. I have been sustained and upheld in the ways that I have needed
most. My brain can function again (for at least a part of most days). I am
miraculously still able to run my business. I am spending quality time with my
family and able to hug, snuggle, and comfort my kids. I am finding little ways to serve and lift others. I am
certainly more grateful and appreciative of the good days and tender mercies my
life has offered. And my faith has grown
ten-fold. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #783f04; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #783f04; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">So at this Easter time, I’d like to bear my testimony of my
Savior. At those moments that have been fraught with cold and darkness, He has
shown me warmth and light.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #783f04; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #783f04; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">On those days
when I felt of little worth to my family or the world, He has sent others to
buoy me up.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #783f04; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #783f04; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">On those nights when I have
cried out in exhaustion after hours of tremors running through my body, He has
stilled them and stilled my soul. I am so grateful for a testimony of the
gospel, for my Savior, Jesus Christ, and for the knowledge that everything will
be alright—no matter what. </span></div>
MommyCan'tDancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17488243118978285681noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1747345859972295854.post-408923648585942562017-02-26T20:21:00.002-07:002017-10-22T21:02:31.765-06:00Mountains to Climb<div class="MsoNormal">
A Facebook memory popped up this week with a picture of me
smiling, hiking down a mountain with a pack on my back. This was me 7 years ago, embarking on a
four-day hike down the Grand Canyon. My
first thought as I looked at the picture, as with many of my previous memories,
was envy of my former self—a longing for days gone by when I could wear a pack
and hike a mountain. These days, with my
autoimmune issues and POTS (<a href="http://mystory.mommycantdance.com/p/what-is-pots.html" target="_blank">Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome</a>) just climbing a set of stairs about does
me in (stairs are my nemesis!). <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqEUu7fm7zVp_k75CIT8PAxRybmZ8sxEbnKEzcIhmYfBKalDvPDWSLBzIL0zgn78VToKidSIQrdmnKcjxYUL7c29gnR-qlDanu7bStzeRrKX9qzWLJsYOCeyBOFO1lMX9jaooeePHMpae8/s1600/grandcanyon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqEUu7fm7zVp_k75CIT8PAxRybmZ8sxEbnKEzcIhmYfBKalDvPDWSLBzIL0zgn78VToKidSIQrdmnKcjxYUL7c29gnR-qlDanu7bStzeRrKX9qzWLJsYOCeyBOFO1lMX9jaooeePHMpae8/s320/grandcanyon.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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However, there's much more to this picture than meets the eye. I had no idea of the grueling ordeal that was soon to come in the days after this picture was taken. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I have always had a love for history—there’s a lot of
lessons to be learned and parallels that can be made by examining the past, and this
particular story is no exception. This Grand Canyon trip ranks among the toughest physical challenges I’ve had. I’ve alluded to it a few times in other <a href="http://mystory.mommycantdance.com/2016/09/i-can-do-hard-things-accepting.html" target="_blank">posts</a>,
and although I could summarize in much less detail, I think it’s a story worth
re-telling to the full effect, so here it goes:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<h2>
Hiking the Grand Canyon</h2>
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To set the stage, let me just say that I have never been
super outdoorsy—Yes, I loved to ride my bike on the groomed trails around the
lake, or go for day hikes in the mountains, but camping (and going multiple
days in the dirt without showering) has never had much appeal to me. So agreeing to go on a four-day back-packing
trip through the Grand Canyon was kind of a stretch out of my comfort zone. Also, I had just had a third laparoscopic
surgery a couple months earlier (trying to cauterize my painful endometriosis,
once again). So going into this trip, I hadn’t been
able train as much as I would’ve liked post-surgery and probably wasn’t as
prepared as I should have been.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXcF7kcmQRROgfiGu6sS9tQArjOy9tXyArBhNS5hJGh6rexQuAOVFXfi-7foM4uDcs2mbwCBLDqK2vOw9Ug7K4BWsZXJcXXBl0DX4x8MhE1oERkrqiXp4q_W9mQYXrSdz3IDz2SormaUKC/s1600/grandcanyon2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXcF7kcmQRROgfiGu6sS9tQArjOy9tXyArBhNS5hJGh6rexQuAOVFXfi-7foM4uDcs2mbwCBLDqK2vOw9Ug7K4BWsZXJcXXBl0DX4x8MhE1oERkrqiXp4q_W9mQYXrSdz3IDz2SormaUKC/s320/grandcanyon2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Things started out fine, but a few miles in to our descent I stepped on a
baseball-sized rock that rolled underneath me.
My ankle went one way and my knee went the other. Surprisingly, my ankle was fine, but my knee
was tweaked a bit. I rested for a few
minutes to “shake it off” before continuing on.
In all honesty, it seemed pretty minor and had I not hiked another 5
miles at a very steep decline with a 40-pound pack on my back, I probably
would’ve been fine. But by the time I
reach the bottom I was cringing with each step.
(A trip to the doctor after arriving home confirmed a pretty bad knee
ligament sprain). </div>
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Day two at the bottom of the Grand Canyon was beautiful. Although it had been cold and snowy at the
top of the canyon, it was 65 degrees and blue skies at the bottom. Our party took a day hike out to a waterfall,
but I opted to stay close to camp and let my knee rest. With the beautiful weather, I enjoyed the day
and thought, “I can totally do this camping thing.”</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN2kNIaUdf-RwZ7V0i_IOvQlO_ZZKUcE1VT8kYmy9OtuW8PUbv0fnsLArJSCv3wmwLkC6kF_hpwIX2e29Nm2sJ_6oa2KFGcipeMFlXcF7iMQ6-FXt7pYRxU_O48PCFsiFBwXzCluSB0Q57/s1600/grandcanyon9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN2kNIaUdf-RwZ7V0i_IOvQlO_ZZKUcE1VT8kYmy9OtuW8PUbv0fnsLArJSCv3wmwLkC6kF_hpwIX2e29Nm2sJ_6oa2KFGcipeMFlXcF7iMQ6-FXt7pYRxU_O48PCFsiFBwXzCluSB0Q57/s320/grandcanyon9.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
My dad returned from the waterfall hike not feeling well and
shortly after started vomiting—whether a stomach flu or severe dehydration we
weren’t sure, but he continued to get sicker, weaker, and more dehydrated
throughout evening. I was worried. He’d had a heart attack several years earlier;
I was terrified that all the exertion and the sickness would bring on similar
problems. He was still sick when night
fell and had to stay close to the bathrooms (amazingly, and thankfully, there
are flush toilets at the bottom of the Grand Canyon), but they were not very
near to our camp. I was worried about letting
him stay there by himself. What if he
had a heart attack and no one was around? Not that my limited CPR skills would be much
good if needed, but, nonetheless, I sat on the cold ground outside the bathroom
with my dad for the better part of the night.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By day three our beautiful weather had disappeared, and a
cold wet drizzle descended upon us. Although we were supposed to be starting
our hike out that day, our group decided it was best to wait one more day and
let dad rest and recover. We sought out
some park rangers and asked if there were any other options to get dad out of
the Canyon—mule, helicopter, etc. We
were told that unless he actually did have a heart attack, in which case the
cost to be air-lifted out would be an astronomical amount that we’d be paying
off the rest of our lives, the only way out was to hike. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidksvG3mRNifnqGM-8t-hXqYoBr3FWc5hHbhlstbtqlzLIm2n9brgJVpJ1XaJXP8HP_21HLPCFJV7mN80SMdyIcB4jRBBBETwrd0iRXCqfq5IhruJciPR0Jkbqul0ACqR8uJYZ05IJj72S/s1600/grandcanyon10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidksvG3mRNifnqGM-8t-hXqYoBr3FWc5hHbhlstbtqlzLIm2n9brgJVpJ1XaJXP8HP_21HLPCFJV7mN80SMdyIcB4jRBBBETwrd0iRXCqfq5IhruJciPR0Jkbqul0ACqR8uJYZ05IJj72S/s320/grandcanyon10.jpg" width="320" /></a>I was dead tired after my night of no sleep. I went back to my tent to take a nap. When I woke up, I was completely soaked! The tent had leaked. Not only were my sleeping bag and pack wet,
but my shoes had filled with water too.
I burst into tears! I was so
tired and cold. My knee still throbbed,
and now everything I owned was soaked through and there was little chance of
being warm or dry for at least few more days.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That evening the park rangers sought us out to tell us that
a huge storm was heading in and they wanted everyone out of the camp as soon as
possible. Due to the steepness of the
trail, we had planned to take a longer, somewhat less steep, trail out of the
canyon and to split that hike up into two days.
However, with the storm, we decided that it’d be best to make the
two-day trip all in one day, leaving the following morning.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The rain continued to worsen throughout the night. We had to double up like sardines in the
remaining “less wet” tents and, needless to say, it was another long sleepless night. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Morning finally came and we packed up our muddy tents in the
rain, put on our sopping gear, and started our trudge up the mountain. The trails had turned into little streams,
with the water carving them down into a V shape with steep sides. We had to hike with our feet awkwardly
sloshing and slipping at odd angles through the mud on either side of the
V-shaped trail. You can imagine how
great that was on my sprained knee. At
times we had to wade through calf deep streams that had completely washed over
the trail. Sometimes my foot would sink
so far into the mud, I had to physically use my hands to help pull my leg up
out of the mud. More than once, my foot emerged,
but my boot stayed firmly rooted in the sludge.
(I won’t even go into detail about the blisters and lost toe nails from
that day…)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsfoH0naq4mpvN4noQpzenMh_WOI_09hq9a3Fc1dlahWtsRgWvD1QK3fIm58nNco1FSA-h6Mgf9V5Ddi6evDS_j3gr7aCJatXzaPOJwcT7nrRdeaMbSYbMXXAeQvhOpp3iiq2bAsjT4EUn/s1600/grandcanyon3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsfoH0naq4mpvN4noQpzenMh_WOI_09hq9a3Fc1dlahWtsRgWvD1QK3fIm58nNco1FSA-h6Mgf9V5Ddi6evDS_j3gr7aCJatXzaPOJwcT7nrRdeaMbSYbMXXAeQvhOpp3iiq2bAsjT4EUn/s320/grandcanyon3.jpg" width="240" /></a>About half way up, we stopped to eat soggy granola bars for
lunch. After resting for those 15
minutes, I tried to walk again, but my injured knee had locked up. It refused to go any further and every step on
the muddy trail was torture. I burst
into tears once again. How the (insert
expletives) was I going to get up this mountain? I was so tired, so wet and muddy and cold, and
my knee hurt so bad! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After letting myself cry for a few minutes with my husband standing by
trying to be reassure me, but with little he could actually do to help (he’d
already taken much of the weight from my pack for me), I finally had to pull it
together and remind myself that <b>there
was no way out except to hike</b> (trudge, trod, slog). So I finally took a deep breath, told myself,
“I can do this,” turned on my iPod, and started back up the trail.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not much further up the rains turned to heavy snow and ice—a
blizzard. As everything we owned and
wore was already soaking wet, we pretty much turned to ice as well. The mud mixed with slush and patches of slick
ice. As we hit the last few miles with endless
steep, icy switchbacks, I tried to keep my eyes on the prize. “I just have to make it to that next bend,
then I can take a little break.” And at
the next bend, I’d look to the next bend and repeat the same thing. Most of the time when I looked up, I couldn’t
see the top—just more endless rows of switchbacks. How much further did this mountain go?! Would it ever end!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At one point my iPod shuffled to the Matchbox 20 song, “Let’s
See How Far We’ve Come.” I stood at a
bend in a switchback. While I couldn’t
see how far I had left to go, I looked down the mountain and could see how far
I’d come—miles of trail unwound below me.
Wow! Had we really come all that
way? I took courage and strength in that
sight while my own personal sound track was playing. Instead of focusing on what we had left, I kept
repeating over and over again, “See how far we’ve come!” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj76dSYtwL8bAkUvffTpgjPumMmtDVGlix6hKj5jxLQcN8EGVrH4uSE5gMP4icPgsC9OcCLNgf8UviuiRJunrHnByMwYMO8WqZ8fQwqPcbnq_ogBVPjjwng0fGH_dQRHh0CPGpTtteneZcE/s1600/grandcanyon4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj76dSYtwL8bAkUvffTpgjPumMmtDVGlix6hKj5jxLQcN8EGVrH4uSE5gMP4icPgsC9OcCLNgf8UviuiRJunrHnByMwYMO8WqZ8fQwqPcbnq_ogBVPjjwng0fGH_dQRHh0CPGpTtteneZcE/s320/grandcanyon4.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As we hiked I thought a lot about the pioneers. I suddenly had a much greater empathy for them. This was just a four-day trek. I couldn’t imagine the feats they had been
through over weeks/months. Additionally,
I knew that I had a restaurant and a hotel room waiting for me at the top of
the mountain with a juicy burger and a warm shower. The pioneers had arrived to an empty valley
where they still had to build their own homes and grow their food. If they could do that, I could certainly do
this!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As long as this blog post is now becoming, it is not nearly
as long as that 10-hour hike up the canyon.
But, as I’m sure you’ve guessed, I did eventually make it out alive (and, in case you are wondering, so did my dad, who later confessed to me that he was, indeed, having chest pain
for most of the trip. Thank heavens
nothing major happened!). <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2>
<b>Lessons Learned</b></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For the sake of brevity (oops, sorry, too late for that!),
I’ll just point out a just few of the lessons I’ve been reflecting on as I’ve
revisited my Grand Canyon memories. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h4 style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<b>1 1. <span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></b><!--[endif]--><b>Rose Colored Glasses<o:p></o:p></b></h4>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So back to the present day, as I mentioned, when my Grand
Canyon Facebook photo popped up, my initial thoughts were of envy with the
reminder that I once had the ability to hike, walk, climb, run, etc—something
that I can no longer do (at least not without constant fear of passing out). Yet in reality, that was a harrowing
experience and not a challenge that I would ever like to face again. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisULrL2fzIiWYhofgPG7gXS154ucWBODy1ODpG2Un06L20b2SH7mfYdap54HHSz5dhj1rQGwnUgKg11EWS0GLUY-BH2SXp4u-ck78a8VeLXyQWtQKD5BdrVT9GIOLV2d5GJsooEOIRuTlj/s1600/grandcanyon6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisULrL2fzIiWYhofgPG7gXS154ucWBODy1ODpG2Un06L20b2SH7mfYdap54HHSz5dhj1rQGwnUgKg11EWS0GLUY-BH2SXp4u-ck78a8VeLXyQWtQKD5BdrVT9GIOLV2d5GJsooEOIRuTlj/s320/grandcanyon6.jpg" width="240" /></a>Sometimes when looking at the past, I find myself looking
through rose colored glasses. Because
I’m still grieving for all the things I can’t do now, I often only see the
“grass is greener” things from my past.
I forget about the struggles I dealt with then. At the time of this hike I had actually been
dealing with a lot of other trials. I
have already mentioned my multiple surgeries for the crippling endometriosis I
dealt with. I had also been struggling
from years of infertility and failed treatments, and some intermittent depression
as a result as well. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My life in the past
wasn’t as perfect as I sometimes remember.
Yes, I had more physical abilities than I do now, but I also have some
things now that I didn’t have then (perspective, stronger faith, deeper
friendships, greater awareness of others, time to write really long blog posts…). </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="color: #783f04;">I can
learn from the past, but it doesn’t do me any good to dwell on the things I
can’t bring back or change. I have to keep moving forward.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<h4>
<b style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">2. </span><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></b><b style="text-indent: -0.25in;">If They Can Do It…</b></h4>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I thought a lot about the early pioneers on my hike, I
similarly gain strength today by knowing that “others have done it.” Maybe they don’t have the same problems I have,
but since my illness, I have become so much more aware of the trials that those
around me have. I am in awe of the
strength I see in my friends that are battling cancer, other health problems,
financial struggles, or loss of loved ones.
Their fortitude and courage in the problems they face help me in mine… <b><span style="color: #783f04;">if they can do <i>that</i>, then surely I can do <i>this</i>! </span></b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<h4 style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<b> 3. I am Stronger Than I Think I Am<o:p></o:p></b></h4>
<div class="MsoNormal">
From that hike, I found strength in myself that I didn’t
know was there. It was one of the
hardest things I had done, and I survived.
It was a testament that I really could do hard things. Additionally, in remembering the dozens of
silent prayers I sent up with each step of my journey, I would be foolish to
not recognize that it wasn’t just my own strength I was relying on, but the
strength of the Lord to help me through that ordeal as well.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #783f04;">Doing hard things is
not just about physical strength, but mental and spiritual stamina as well. </span></b> One of my favorite talks of the same title, “<a href="https://www.lds.org/general-conference/2012/04/mountains-to-climb?lang=eng">Mountains
to Climb</a>,” by Henry B. Eyring, reminds us that “If we have faith in Jesus
Christ, the hardest as well as the easiest times in life can be a
blessing. In all conditions, we can
choose the right with the guidance of the Spirit. We have the gospel of Jesus Christ to shape
and guide our lives if we choose it… We can live with perfect hope and a feeling
of peace… The Savior has promised angels on our left and on our right to bear
us up. And He always keeps His word.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have felt those angels, both heavenly and earthly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtwFC_M-59PQWQJOplIyDz-9bcRXHbW9ZBaQ6lxTetSv7J4ghVDId1S-0iNuUxGScMqAmtJRbc0VgPwnJ4DDtdBE2fmK-X9Ma_itd5cow0oS-1NDkLSieFne4ewzA620Rs9piYyWKSes9K/s1600/grandcanyon11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtwFC_M-59PQWQJOplIyDz-9bcRXHbW9ZBaQ6lxTetSv7J4ghVDId1S-0iNuUxGScMqAmtJRbc0VgPwnJ4DDtdBE2fmK-X9Ma_itd5cow0oS-1NDkLSieFne4ewzA620Rs9piYyWKSes9K/s320/grandcanyon11.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<h4 style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<b>4 4. <span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></b><!--[endif]--><b>Let’s See How Far We’ve Come<o:p></o:p></b></h4>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Today I still climb mountains—my mountains are just
different. My mountains are making it
through a painful and lousy day/week/month while trying to hold on to a
positive outlook and not lose hope or faith.
There are days where I break down and cry, “How the (many expletives) am
I going to make it through this?” But
just like on the trail of the Grand Canyon, I realize that I don’t have many options. <span style="color: #783f04;">I <b>can
sit down and wallow in the mud, or I can keep trudging, keep trying, keep
seeking out something that is going to help as I continue to work on my faith
and endurance</b></span>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And some days, I can only look as far as the next bend and
tell myself “I just have to make it through today!” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Although I can’t see the top of the mountain or the end of
this journey, <b><span style="color: #783f04;">I can look back at the
path I’ve come and gain strength and hope from seeing the trail I’ve traveled.</span></b> It’s been a rocky road, but I’ve come a long
way. Although there have been a lot of
ups and downs, I <i>have</i> seen improvement since my first diagnosis (when I
couldn’t even walk from my bed to the bathroom without collapsing, and I
certainly wouldn’t have had the cognitive ability to write this ever-increasing
lengthy post). I have also made progress
on the road to acceptance and emotional healing. Although there may not be a true summit and
complete physical healing for my condition in this lifetime, I can keep
climbing, have faith, and try to take heart in the plateaus and vistas along
the way.<b><o:p></o:p></b></div>
MommyCan'tDancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17488243118978285681noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1747345859972295854.post-44191754103240068052017-01-01T21:05:00.000-07:002017-10-22T21:04:10.184-06:00My Hallmark Movie: What Matters Most<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-left: 0; margin-top: 0pt;">
What do you do when you are stuck in bed for the better part
of 15 months? Watch an awful lot of lot
of Hallmark movies, of course. While they are certainly predictable and perhaps a little too saccharine at
times, they are low intensity, don’t require much thought, and upbeat—all things that work well for me right now. Having seen dozens of these
movies the last year, I’ve discovered they all follow the same pattern. </div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-left: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
It goes like this:</div>
<ul style="direction: ltr; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0pt; margin-top: 0in; unicode-bidi: embed;" type="disc">
<li style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Life is going well</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 11.0pt;">A sudden change turns
everything upside down</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Main character slowly starts to
adjust and find happiness again</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Another dramatic plot twist
occurs that generally requires the main character to make a tough
decision, reflecting on the deep, heartfelt lessons she has learned over
the course of the show and what really matters most in life, and oftentimes choose between her old life and
new</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0; margin-top: 0pt; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 11.0pt;">A
decision is made and the best possible outcome emerges. Everyone lives happily ever after.</span></li>
</ul>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-left: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
One common subplot of the Hallmark movie is the dream
sequence. The main character wakes up to
find that her life has totally changed—for better or worse. At the end of the movie, she awakens, once
again, to realize the “new life” was somehow just a dream and she is able to
go back to her old life with a new found perspective to enrich and improve
her life.</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-left: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
****</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-left: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
About a month ago I attended my son’s Eagle Court of
Honor. He has been working diligently on
getting his Eagle Scout award for the last 5 years, including earning numerous
merit badges and culminating in a 40+ hour service project that involved his
family, neighbors, and community. I was
so proud of his accomplishment and so eager to attend his Court of Honor. Yet, I showed up and was immediately
overwhelmed by the light, noise, and chaos around me. I started to crash and ended up passed out on the couch in the foyer.
(Fortunately, I was able to make it back in just long enough to see him
be given his award, before my husband promptly wheeled me out and back home.)</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-left: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
I came home upset and discouraged, once again, at my
limitations. The thought occurred to me,
“Why can’t my life be like a Hallmark movie?
Why can’t I just wake up and have my old life back!? (And, of course,
still remember all those great heartfelt lessons I’ve learned from the past
year.)”</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-left: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
Totally plausible, right?</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-left: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
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Fast forward a couple weeks.
I had a good day! I was able to
go sit in the temple for a few minutes.
(For anyone not familiar, the LDS temple is a house of worship where
sacred ordinances are performed and instruction received. Everything in the temple is light, white, and
bright. People speak and act in reverent
tones, and feelings of calm and peace prevail).
I had been unable to go to the temple for over a year, and while I
couldn’t participate in any ordinances, I was so pleased to just go bask in the
peaceful atmosphere for a few minutes. </div>
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With my POTS (<a href="http://mystory.mommycantdance.com/p/what-is-pots.html" target="_blank">Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome</a>), my tachycardia and excess adrenaline always make me feel somewhat frantic when I am sitting or standing. And while those symptoms were still present,
there was certainly a layer of calmness there that I have been craving.</div>
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As I sat in the celestial room, I reflected on my life
circumstances and found myself caught up in silent prayer. The thought came clearly to my mind that <span style="color: #783f04; font-weight: bold;">I have everything that matters most</span>. Yes, I dearly miss our family
adventures—traveling, exploring, hiking, and biking. Yes, I miss being able to go out with friends
and throw or attend parties. Yes, I miss
wearing the nice clothes and jewelry hanging in my closet (yoga pants and
t-shirts are my staple now). Yes, I miss
shopping the aisles of Target, Kohls, and Hobby Lobby looking for those great
deals that give me a temporary high.
Yes, I miss helping at my kids’ school, going to their programs, and
even cooking and cleaning for them. Yes, I miss having the independence to
go where I want when I want and not having to leave the house in a wheelchair or live in constant dread of passing out in public. But, in the
eternal scheme of things are those the things that really matter?</div>
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My family’s basic needs and wants are met. I have an incredible, loving, and
compassionate husband. I have four amazingly sweet
and healthy children. I have family,
neighbors, and friends that I love and that love me in return. I have faith in Jesus Christ and His
gospel. I have everything that matters
most.</div>
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****</div>
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Fast forward one more time to this past week. On Christmas Eve I wasn’t feeling well (chalked it up to typical POTS stuff, plus straying from my restrictive
diet). However, by Tuesday my symptoms
had escalated greatly. I was in more pain than I have ever been (including
labor). A trip to the doctor and, later,
the ER proved fruitless as, after blood work and scans, no apparent problems
could be identified. For most of the
week I have been curled up in bed with my pain level hovering at a 9/10. It has been excruciating and unbearable. I haven’t been able to eat, and even drinking
water sparked intense pain that nothing could touch. I sobbed from the pain, but also the terror
that this might be my new reality. </div>
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Miraculously, this weekend, the doctor’s office called to
report that the initial screening that showed no infection was a false
negative, and I did, in fact, have an infection. (Hallelujah for an answer!). After a heavily dosed antibiotic shot, I am
extremely grateful to already be feeling some relief. Although I’m not totally out of the woods,
and still have further scans and tests next week, I am so grateful for any relief and pray that the intense level of pain does not return (and appreciate
any additional prayers on that front as well!) </div>
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In some ways, I guess my life is a little like a Hallmark movie-- a sudden life change last year, working to find happiness again with my new conditions, even a dramatic plot twist this week.... Perhaps this past week is similar to the
dream sequence (I hope I’m now fully awake from the nightmare and that it’s not
a tell-tale sign of things to come). It
has certainly given me more room for reflection on what I am grateful for. Although I am not a stranger to chronic pain, it has given me more compassion for others
that live with constant levels of such high pain. My typical POTS symptoms, though awful, seem
like a walk in the park after the last week I’ve had. I have seen proof of the saying, “Things can
always be worse,” and regained perspective and gratitude for the seemingly
lesser problems I have. As I move
forward facing the sometimes bitterness of reality, I cling to the sweet reminder I was given that I have everything that matters most.</div>
MommyCan'tDancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17488243118978285681noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1747345859972295854.post-16314785835842740922016-11-13T15:30:00.004-07:002022-09-04T20:32:40.448-06:00Strengthening Marriage: Being the Kind of Spouse I want to Have<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I
was recently asked to write a talk about marriage. <span style="color: #222222;"> I’ve appreciated the opportunity to take a
closer look at things I can do to improve my relationship with my husband,
despite my current state of health. </span><b style="color: #222222;">The following is geared towards everyone that seeks to improve their marriage relationship.</b><span style="color: #222222;"> </span></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
<h2 style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="color: #b45f06;">Maintaining a Strong and Healthy Relationship with Your Spouse</span></b></h2>
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<o:p> </o:p> </div>
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Henry B. Eyring has said, “<b>There is no more important commitment in time or in
eternity than marriage."</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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And
yet, life sometimes gets in the way. I
know there have been many times in my life where after dealing with work, kids,
school, extracurricular activities, house, laundry, church responsibilities,
and more, that my poor husband is the last person to receive my attention. Currently, with my illness, my time of feeling
“good” is so limited, I have to be so picky about what my priorities are and how I spend my time, as I
can only do so much in a day. </div>
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So amidst
our chaotic lives, how can we make marriage a priority and how can we
strengthen and maintain a good relationship with our spouse?<o:p></o:p></div>
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A
piece of advice often given to those who are single is to be the kind of person
you want to marry. This advice shouldn't
end once we've found our companion, however. </div>
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<span style="color: #b45f06;"><b>We should strive to be the kind of spouse we want to have.</b> </span></h3>
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The golden rule most certainly applies to
marriage.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So
what is the kind of spouse we all want to have? I have thought about this a lot the past week,
and have come up with a rather long, yet I'm sure not all-inclusive, list of
things I seek or treasure in my spouse.
Thus, I know these are the things I need to work on for myself, as well,
in order to improve my marriage.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]-->1.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]--><b>I want to be a
spouse that is kind. </b> Why is it
that we are often kinder to strangers than we are to our own family whom we
love?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]-->2.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]--><b>I want to be
someone who takes time for and listens to my spouse.</b> We need to go on dates, share the exciting and
mundane details of our days and, with the age of electronic devices in full
force, put down our phones and have quality conversations and connections with
no self-inflicted distractions. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]-->3.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]--><b>I want to be a
spouse that shows empathy and seeks to understand.</b> We may not always have the same opinion or
point of view, and that’s okay. But we
shouldn’t discount our spouse’s point of view because it isn’t the same as
ours. As Stephen Covey has counseled, “Seek
first to understand, then to be understood.”
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]-->4.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]--><b>I want to be
someone who is quick to recognize my spouse's accomplishments and show
gratitude for his actions.</b> So many
of the mundane daily tasks in our lives may start to seem commonplace—but don't
let them go unnoticed! Show gratitude
often. I'm amazed at how much more
willing I am to cheerfully serve my family when I know they recognize and
appreciate my efforts. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Additionally, if we
can focus on the positive things each other is doing, it helps us to avoid
dwelling on the things they <i>aren't</i> doing or we wish they would do--
which only leads to negative feelings and frustration.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Linda Burton said,
"The nature of male and female spirits is such that they complete each
other. We are here to help, lift, and
rejoice with each other as we try to become our very best selves. Barbara B. Smith wisely taught, ‘There is
so much more of happiness to be had when we can rejoice in another’s successes
and not just in our own.’ When we seek
to “complete” rather than “compete,” it is so much easier to cheer each other
on!”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]-->5.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Along these same
lines, <b>I want to be someone who apologizes
and also forgives.</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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Linda Burton posed a question that helps put this
principle in perspective. She asked,
"When was the last time I chose to be happy rather than demanding to be
‘right’?"<o:p></o:p></div>
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Steven Snow said, “Unnecessary pride can dissolve
family relationships, break up marriages, and destroy friendships. It is
especially important to remember humility when you feel contention rising in
your home. Think of all the heartache you can avoid by humbling yourself to
say, “I’m sorry”; “That was inconsiderate of me”; “What would you like to do?”;
“I just wasn’t thinking”; or “I’m very proud of you.” If these little phrases
were humbly used, there would be less contention and more peace in our homes.<o:p></o:p></div>
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</span><!--[endif]--><b>I want to be
someone who thinks often about the needs of my spouse and how I can help.</b> While I may not be able to physically help
him with every trial, sadness, or stressor in his life, I can always, always pray
for him.<o:p></o:p></div>
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</span><!--[endif]--><b>I want to be
someone that is happy and strives to make my spouse and others happy. <o:p></o:p></b></div>
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Gordon B. Hinckley
said, "Life is to be enjoyed, not just endured." I also love Russel M. Nelson’s recent talk where
he said “we can feel joy regardless of what is happening—or not happening—in
our lives.” We can be happy, even if
life is not going the way we planned.
That is certainly a lesson we have learned in our family this past year,
and I am so grateful for my husband who helps me smile and laugh every day. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="color: #b45f06;">Take care of yourself so you can take care of your spouse.</span></h3>
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In
addition to concentrating on these areas of improvement, there are two other principles
of focus that I feel are important for a strong marriage. The first is to <b>take care of yourself.</b> I
know this sounds counter-intuitive when talking about marriage, but I would assert
that if your basic needs are taken care of, it will be easier for you to take
care of the needs of others.<span style="color: red;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Barbara
Smith said, "The state of our health affects every facet of our life—our feeling
of personal well-being, our approach to work, our social interactions—even our
service to the Lord.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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One of the bumpiest times in my marriage was after our twins were
born. They were preemies and slow to eat--
you'd just finish feeding and changing them both when it was about time to
start over. They were colicky and screamed for hours every night. They got RSV (a respiratory infection) early on which had lingering
effects for almost a year after. And it
seemed like they never, ever, EVER slept at the same time or for more than an
hour or two at a time. Thus, we also
rarely slept and merely coexisted in a state of constant exhaustion. Needless to say, the frazzled ends of our
patience tended to ignite much faster than should have— not because we didn’t
care about each other, but simply because our basic needs (particularly that of
sleep) were not being met.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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There
is a well-known health theory called <i>Maslow's
Hierarchy of Needs</i>. Imagine a pyramid
with five tiers or levels. The bottom
level is your most basic physiological needs-- such as food, water, and
sleep. The second tier is safety, then
friendship and belonging, esteem and respect, and at the very top is
self-actualization, or feelings of fulfillment-- something we all want to
achieve.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The
premise of the theory is that it is hard to reach a higher level of the pyramid
until the needs on the lower levels have been met. For example, if you were hungry enough, I
imagine you would be willing to risk your safety (in the second tier) in order
to obtain food. Similarly, how much
harder is it to give or receive kindness, patience, love and compassion when
you are hungry, tired, and stressed?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Jeffrey
Holland has said, "Fatigue is the common enemy of us all--so slow down,
rest up, replenish, and refill."<o:p></o:p></div>
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If
we take the time to take care for ourselves through rest, a healthy diet,
exercise, and mindfulness, it will enable us to better attend to our
marriage. We can also help our spouses
do the same-- which may mean giving them time to exercise or encouraging them
to refresh by getting out of the house to spend time with friends, focus on
hobby, or walk the aisles of Target alone without any needy children.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="color: #b45f06;">Trust in the Lord</span></h3>
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Of
course, despite our best efforts, we can’t fully eliminate stress or exhaustion
in our lives. But Todd D. Christofferson
has assured us that, “Much that is good, much that is essential--even sometimes
all that is necessary for now--can be achieved in less than ideal
circumstances.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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So
that is where my final words of advice come into play: “Trust in the Lord with all
thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall
direct they paths.” (Proverbs 3:5-6)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Trust in the Lord" height="232" src="http://media.salemwebnetwork.com/cms/CROSSCARDS/15159-trust-in-the-lord-tulips.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Source: http://www.crosscards.com/cards/scripture-cards/trust-in-the-lord-tulips.html</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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We
are told that we can do all things through Christ. Moroni 7:33 says, "If ye will have faith
in me ye shall have power to do whatsoever thing is expedient in me." <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Marriage is ordained of God. He wants us to be successful, and He has
promised to help. Pray for and with your
spouse. Rely on your Savior as you
strive to strengthen your relationship with each other. In so doing, we can follow the proverb <b>“Thee lift
me and I’ll lift thee, and we’ll ascend together.”</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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MommyCan'tDancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17488243118978285681noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1747345859972295854.post-71196304664120386552016-10-09T21:35:00.000-06:002017-10-22T21:07:29.520-06:00Happy (?) Anniversary: A year with POTS<div class="MsoNormal">
This week marks the one-year anniversary of being crippled
by POTS (<a href="http://mystory.mommycantdance.com/p/what-is-pots.html" target="_blank">Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome</a>). Although I’ve suffered from health problems
for much of my life, everything changed dramatically last year after I <a href="http://mystory.mommycantdance.com/p/childrens-book-mommy-cant-dance.html" target="_blank">passed out in Disneyland </a>and never fully recovered. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">The day before my life changed!</span></div>
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In most connotations, the term “anniversary” is thought of
as a happy occasion. Wedding dates, years
at work, or even time dedicated to a cause are all reasons to celebrate. Even the anniversary of my mother’s death,
which was an extremely heartbreaking occasion, we have used as an opportunity
to celebrate and remember my sweet mom.
We order a cake from her favorite bakery, look at pictures of her, and
reminisce about fond memories. Although
I miss her so much, it’s been renewing to use that anniversary to celebrate her
life, rather than mourn her death.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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As my one-year anniversary with POTS has been approaching, I
have had a sense of increased anxiety and dread. The meaning of <i>chronic</i> illness has set in more deeply. I have moved through the stages of grief, once again, as the profound realization of the long-term <a href="http://mystory.mommycantdance.com/2016/09/i-can-do-hard-things-accepting.html" target="_blank">loss of my life as was</a> (and as planned for the future) has settled on me. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I have thought a lot about the last year that I have spent in
bed. This is not an accomplishment I
wish to celebrate. However, I cannot
look back over the past year without also recognizing the tender mercies that
have been shown to me and my family. And
so, in this anniversary week, I choose to push down the waves of despair and,
instead, focus on and celebrate all the good that has come into my life or been
accentuated this past year. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><b>1.</b><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"><b> </b>
</span><!--[endif]--><b>God has a
plan for me.</b> This concept has been made
known to me multiple times in my life and has become evident again this year. Ten years ago we lived in another state,
hundreds of miles away from any of our family.
We loved it there, yet after a few years, and with no forethought of
leaving, I had a distinct prompting that we needed to move closer to home. Although I was not at all happy about the
idea, we followed the impression and moved our small family back to Utah. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Over the past decade I have seen numerous examples of why we needed to be
here—most of which have included being close to family and meeting people that
have influenced our lives for the better. Additionally, this move and associated events
have put us in a situation that has better prepared us for this year’s changes.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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Just months after our big move, my husband admitted that he was not happy
with his new job. I was also not
happy. Earlier that same year I had started
my own curriculum company, but was working at it part time as the kids were
napping or asleep at night. It was
gaining a lot of traction, and I just didn’t have the time I needed to commit
to work and to the kids. However, we
were both dedicated to the fact that we didn’t want to send our kids to daycare
if we could help it. With a lot of
thought and prayer, we took a huge leap of faith. Even though my business was not yet in a
position to support us financially at that time, Kelly quit his job and made a
career change to become a realtor so that he had more flexibility to be home
with the kids as needed. I started
working full time, expanded my business, and even hired on others to help.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It
was a struggle, and there were many times that we wondered what in the world we
were doing. Over the years I have often questioned
my decision to give up being a full time, stay-at-home mom. However, I have always felt that we were on
the path we needed to be. <o:p></o:p></div>
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This past year has been incredibly
hard figuring out my priorities and how to continue to juggle spending the time
with my kids and managing my business with my limited time, energy, and
abilities. In addition to having some
great people pick up the slack for me at work, I have been blessed to be able
to work a bit from bed. The bigger miracle,
however, is that Kelly is home to help with the kids. While I can spend a few hours a day on my
computer, I am certainly not able drive my kids to school and activities, make
their meals, or do a lot of the day to day care they require. <o:p></o:p></div>
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What a tender mercy, and how
obvious the hand of the Lord in our lives! He knew what our predicament would be at this
time and prompted us to make the changes years ago that would make life sustainable
today. I can’t imagine what we would
have done this last year if Kelly wasn’t available to take care of me and the
kids! I’m grateful for the constant
reminder that the Lord has a plan for us (even if we don’t always know what it
is!).<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Chillin' in bed with my cute kiddo!</span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><b>2.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></b><!--[endif]--><b>I have AMAZING people in my life. </b>I could write pages and pages about this
and provide so many specific examples of the HUNDREDS of kindnesses that have
been shown to us by others. Referring
back to blessing #1, we have felt guided to each home and neighborhood we have
lived in. It has become quite obvious to me all
the amazing people we have met and the associations and friendships
we have made. I have been in
awe over and over again by the out-pouring of love and support from my sweet
neighbors, friends, and family. Being
sick in bed is a lonely place to be. Yet
I can’t believe how many people have stepped in to bring meals, cards, treats,
flowers, words of encouragement, etc, etc, etc. It’s amazing how even a text of from a friend just checking in can
buoy my spirits. Although I have always
striven to befriend and serve others, my small contributions seem unworthy of
what we have received in return. I know
this is not a typical scenario for many people in similar conditions, and I am
beyond grateful for the good hearts of so many incredible people that I am lucky
enough to call friends!<b><o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><b>3.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></b><!--[endif]--><b>Swimming.
</b>As we met with my doctor repeatedly last winter, he reiterated the
need to exercise and the benefits of swimming (horizontal positioning with
lessened effects of my enemy, gravity). At the time, however, there was no way I could
make it to a swimming pool, actually swim, and make it home again—it was just
out of the question. So we started
discussing putting in our own pool.
Despite my initial hesitancies, having a pool has been a source of joy in
my life. Although I’m not able to swim
with my kids often (due to the commotion and my lack of robust processing
skills), I’m grateful that it has brought fun family time to our house all
summer, especially where I could not get out to take my kids on exciting summer
adventures.<b><o:p></o:p></b></div>
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The pool has been great for me physically. When I first started swimming I would swim a
lap, float for a few minutes, swim a lap, float. Now, on good days, I can swim for 30 minutes
straight (not fast or hard, by any means, but still a great accomplishment). Any amount of muscle tone is great to help
increase my circulation, and I have noticed the positive effects. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Additionally, the pool has brought as much emotional strength as
physical. My happy place used to be
riding my bike around a nearby lake, getting the exercise endorphins, and
taking in the vistas of the reflective water with a gorgeous mountain backdrop.
It was hard to give that up. But I now have a new happy place! Floating in our salt water pool, gazing up at
the beautiful evening or night sky with no distractions has truly brought a
sense of zen into my life. Although I’m currently
going through withdrawals now that we have closed the pool up for the winter, this has
been a huge blessing in my life.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]-->4.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]--><b>Renewed Hobbies.</b> I have always been a go-getter and a person
that needs to feel productive. One of
the hardest things about my illness has been my inability to get up and do
things. However, being stuck in bed has also
brought about new (or renewed) opportunities.
I have picked up some old hobbies that I haven’t had time to focus on
for a while, such as writing (for myself, not just for work), crocheting, and
listening to audiobooks. I shouldn’t
mention the hours I also spend on less productive phone apps such as Netflix, Facebook,
or Candy Crush, but I am, nonetheless, grateful for these forms of mindless entertainment
and distraction when my body and brain aren’t capable of much else. Additionally, Facebook at least gives me a
glimpse into the outside world and keeps me in touch with all the amazing
people I never get to see anymore. So
while I’d rather be out of bed doing other things, I’m grateful for these hobbies
and distractions that have kept me sane this past year.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]-->5.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]--><b>My
husband is incredible!</b> I can’t
create a list of blessings without including my amazing husband. Although he was previously used to doing more
home-based tasks than a lot of men I know, he has had to take on so much more
the last year—including all of child chauffeuring, cooking, housework, laundry,
bedtime routines, and much, much more. Not
only is he taking care of the house and kids, but he’s had the extra burden of
caring for me as well. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Mr. Amazing putting kids to bed.</span></div>
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I
think back to what a naïve college student I was when we got engaged and
married. I knew Kelly was a good man and
that I loved him, but I had no idea how incredible he really was. Once again, the Lord was watching out for me then
and now! I’m grateful for my
extraordinary husband and his tireless work to help me and our family without
complaint.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Obviously my life is not perfect, we don’t often have all
our ducks in a row, and there’s a lot of things I still regret missing out on. However, despite the dread I have been
feeling about the anniversary of my illness, there is still a lot about my life
that I can celebrate! And despite the long length
of this post, this is just a small part of a much larger list of
blessings. Just writing this all down has,
indeed, filled my heart and changed my views as I’ve taken a closer look at everything
that is going RIGHT in my imperfect life.
I have an awful lot to be thankful for!
Happy Anniversary! <o:p></o:p></div>
MommyCan'tDancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17488243118978285681noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1747345859972295854.post-79629473992363406412016-09-11T23:07:00.000-06:002017-10-22T21:08:08.334-06:00I Can Do Hard Things (Accepting the Adventures I'll Never Have)<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4mJSaSOuplqXDcfS7FfnAo7N9gkiiN5ZdhyphenhyphenFsjUNyIRtvEEopEUFuoMAazI7EG9b2hSxcKp8pytg5KA0rU-OTzc7cQBA56mZQWzoDezsFIqSI4bCF7r7iepRk7Ml23KNEoPkVfigG-dwb/s1600/twins_woods.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4mJSaSOuplqXDcfS7FfnAo7N9gkiiN5ZdhyphenhyphenFsjUNyIRtvEEopEUFuoMAazI7EG9b2hSxcKp8pytg5KA0rU-OTzc7cQBA56mZQWzoDezsFIqSI4bCF7r7iepRk7Ml23KNEoPkVfigG-dwb/s200/twins_woods.JPG" width="146" /></a></div>
I have been feeling awfully nostalgic lately. I somehow feel homesick, even though I am
home and surrounded by my family. I
think it is a mixture of a few things: 1) My youngest kids (twins) started kindergarten
last month—reminding me how fast time is going by. 2) Those darn Facebook memories keep popping
up in my feed to remind me of “better” days that were not all that long ago. (Although, I really do love seeing the
Facebook memories, especially because my twins as toddlers were so stinking
cute.) 3) I am coming up on my year
anniversary of being homebound and often bed bound with <b><span style="color: #ed7d31; mso-themecolor: accent2;">POTS (<a href="http://mystory.mommycantdance.com/p/what-is-pots.html" target="_blank">Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome</a>)</span></b><span style="color: #ed7d31; mso-themecolor: accent2;">. </span><br />
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<span style="color: #ed7d31; mso-themecolor: accent2;"><br /></span></div>
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When I got sick last year, I never imagined that a year
later I wouldn’t be back to my old self.
Even though I knew what the prognosis was, I was sure that I would be
the one to defy the odds and see a miraculous cure (note: over a 7 year Mayo Clinic study, only 18% of POTS patients recovered). Yet, here I am, a year later and not a whole
lot better--I have seen improvement, but
still very disabled. </div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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I feel like everyone is in the fast lane of life—my kids
keep getting older and bigger without my consent. Yet, I am stuck in the slow
lane, also getting older (and bigger, as weight gain is an unfortunate side
effect of taking steroid medications and being fairly sedentary). It seems that I am going at snail’s pace with my
hands tied behind my back just trying to keep up.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />
The days are long, but the months fly by.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I know when looking back at the past there is a certain
element of seeing through rose-colored glasses —I mostly remember the fun times and happy
moments. The years of infertility followed by postpartum depression, sleepless nights being up
with colicky babies, and the countless mom fails of my past seem to have dimmed
and blurred a bit. It somehow doesn’t keep me
from looking back and longing for what once was. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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Just a few weeks ago one of my aforementioned Facebook memories
popped up reminding me that six years ago I ran the Hood to Coast 200-mile
relay race. I remember it being so hard,
but feeling such a rush of accomplishment.
In all honestly, I never really enjoyed running, and I probably wouldn’t
do the race again whether I was healthy or not.
But the point is, I was physically ABLE to do it. I could push myself physically, even though
it was hard. I miss that!</div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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That same year I pushed myself to do a lot of things I had
never done before. For example, I went
on a four day back-packing trip to the floor of the Grand Canyon and back out. Other than childbirth, this was one of the
most physically taxing things I’ve ever done (which has a lot to do with a
sprained knee, a rainstorm turned blizzard, and a 12 hour hike the last day up steep,
muddy/icy trails in said blizzard—great story for another time!). But I was still able to push through and do
it! </div>
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That year has been officially dubbed our “Year of Adventure.” We worked hard, played hard, and accomplished
a lot of goals. My husband and I went to
Hawaii and body boarded, rode bikes down the volcano, snorkeled with sea
turtles, zip-lined over the rainforest, and hiked O’heo Gulch past the seven
sacred pools and through a bamboo forest to reach the amazing waterfall at the top. (It really was as magical as it sounds!) We took our kids to Disneyland. We went hiking and went on weekly family bike
rides around a nearby lake.<br />
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I’m saddened to think that there is a very real possibility
that I may never be able to do these things again. The many future adventures I’ve dreamed of
may never come to fruition—and after almost a year, I am just now beginning to
grasp that reality.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I can still remember vividly one of the family bike rides we
went on a few years ago. My daughter was
probably 6 or 7 at the time and on her little purple one-speed bike. It was several miles around the lake trail we
were on and by the half-way point she was more than ready to give up. Well, at that point you really don’t have
much of an option. Whether you go
forward or go back, you have to keep riding because that’s the only way to get
back home. I went slow with her and we
took a lot of breaks. I’d say to her, “Repeat
after me: I am strong. I can do hard
things.” She would look back and
say. “I can’t do it.” So I would repeat myself again until she finally
repeated me as well, and we eventually made it around the lake and back home.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><span style="color: #ed7d31; mso-themecolor: accent2;">“I can do hard things”</span></b>
has been a family and personal motto for many years now. As a former fitness instructor, “I can do
hard things” often meant pushing my body to its limit and then going
beyond. Any exercise enthusiast knows
the only way to become strong is to break down your muscle and let it
rebuild. When you feel the weakest is
often when you are making the greatest gains.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Although the five words have stayed the same, this personal mantra has
taken on a very different meaning in the past year. “I can do hard things” in the past has
generally meant pushing myself physically.
But the game has changed and I can no longer test my physical limits. (There IS no pushing through anymore; attempting to do so just means kissing the floor after I’ve collapsed because my body ceases to cooperate.) Forget the adventures, I can no longer even do most of the mundane
things I used to do, like go to the grocery story, pick up my kids from school,
deep clean my bathroom (okay, I don’t miss that one!).<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><span style="color: #ed7d31; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Right now, “doing
hard things” means NOT doing hard things</span></b><span style="color: #ed7d31; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">.<b> It means letting go of all the things I <i>want</i> to do, and being content with the things
I <i>can</i> do. </b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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As I look back on all my fun memories from the past, I feel homesick
for what <i>was</i> as I am still coming to grips with the reality of what <i>is</i>. I have to admit that my life isn’t all bad
now-- I recognize that I have a many things to be grateful for. It’s just different, and sometimes accepting “different”
is hard. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">Some days I feel closer to acceptance than
others. Some days I echo the words of my
daughter and say “I can’t do it.” But
then I pick myself up off the floor (literally), and remind myself that
emotional and spiritual strength builds the same way as physical; when you feel
at your weakest is often when you are making the greatest gains. </span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">So although I am not always successful in my
daily battle with POTS and with life, I know I can accept and even be happy in
my circumstances because... I know I can do hard things. </span><br />
<br />MommyCan'tDancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17488243118978285681noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1747345859972295854.post-67453953803310035252016-07-28T20:50:00.001-06:002017-10-22T21:09:30.187-06:00Burns and Beliefs: Lessons My Kids Learn from My Illness<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
In Utah the 24th of
July is a state holiday-- Pioneer Day. A
day to remember and celebrate our ancestors and pioneers that crossed the
plains to settle the Salt Lake Valley.
In terms of celebration, it's really just another Fourth of July--
parades, BBQs fireworks-- the whole shebang.
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
Prior to my illness
(autoimmune disorder and <a href="http://mystory.mommycantdance.com/p/what-is-pots.html" target="_blank">POTS</a>), my husband and I loved to entertain. Our house was often the central location for
celebrations, parties, and last minute BBQ's.
But, it's hard to try and coordinate anything these days, as I never
know if I'm going to feel good or not.
And, even if I do feel good, I can't both prep for a party AND attend
the party. Even if I just attended, I would still have only have about a 30-60 minute limit, until my body tells me it's
done. This has obviously put a damper on
our social life. And, while that is
definitely something that I miss, it is certainly not my biggest problem.</div>
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<br /></div>
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This most recent
Pioneer Day (just earlier this week) I was faced again with the crippling
reality of the things I DO miss the most.
We opted not to host any parties, just our own small family. My husband pulled the propane fire pit into
the driveway so we could roast marshmallows.
We followed that up with some small fireworks, including sparklers.</div>
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<br /></div>
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My kids, especially
my five year old twins, were loving the sparklers. They were getting especially creative in
their ninja fighting stances while wielding the flaming sticks. We had given them all the safety tips, and
they were doing a great job.
Unfortunately, they were in their jammies and bare feet because their
parents (mom fail!) didn't have the foresight to have them put on shoes.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
I'm sure you can see
where this is going….Long story short, part of a sparkler fell and my cute boy,
Jack, ended up with a third degree burn on the bottom of his foot. (I'm now wondering why I have not previously
questioned the sanity of taking a short
stick burning at 1000° with sparks flying everywhere and handing it to a young
child…)</div>
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My poor boy started
screaming and shrieking like I have never heard before. It was awful!
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
Now, one of
characteristics of my condition is that I overproduce adrenaline. Noise, light, movement, and stress all contribute to
my over-stimulation and adrenaline surges.
Even without provocation sometimes, my adrenaline will shoot up. When it hits a certain level it actually puts
me in a seizure-like state. I collapse
to the ground and start shaking and jerking uncontrollably and become unable to
talk or communicate -- often for anywhere from 20 minutes to two hours. At one point these massive episodes were
happening 6-8 times a day. Fortunately
now, with medication and a lot of life modifications (i.e. I never go anywhere or do anything), it's down to a few times
a week. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
Well, I was already
hitting my limit for the evening when the accident happened. As you can imagine, I quickly hit
overload. I'm usually the calm one in an
emergency, but I turned into a mess. I
couldn't do anything. I couldn’t run to
my son. I couldn't help him. I had to rely on my husband to scoop him up
and rush him inside, grab some ice, collect his wallet, help move everything
out of the driveway so he could back the car out of the garage and take Jack to
the hospital. The whole while Jack was
screaming like a banshee. And, I was
helpless.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
Not only helpless,
but a liability. My husband could see I
was about to crash. He was worried for
me, but had to leave. He yelled to our teenage
son, Andrew, to help me into the house.
I stumbled inside in a daze and somehow made it to my room before
crashing. It was devastating. Not only could I not go to the hospital with
my son, but I had just left the rest of my kids, who had also viewed this
traumatic scene, to fend for themselves.
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
I could hear James
(Jack's twin) upset in the other room. I
couldn't help Jack, and now I also couldn't comfort James or my other children
either. The overflow of stress and emotions
did not help my physical situation. I
was so angry-- angry at myself for not making my kids put shoes on, angry
at my illness, and angry, once again, that I couldn’t be the mom that I wanted
to be-- that my kids needed me to be. </div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
In the past year, I
have grieved a lot over my situation. I
will feel like I finally hit a point of acceptance of my circumstances-- where
I am able to appreciate all the many blessings I do have and feel happiness and
joy again. But, then something comes
along to regurgitate those feelings of saddness, anger, and inadequacy and I
have to fight my way back to peace.</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
It's been a few days
since this incident and I've fortunately been able to regain some
perspective. (It helps that my son is
doing well and healing nicely). I've had
a lot of time this last year to reflect on my inadequacies as a mother and
wife. This most recent incident has
brought those thoughts to my mind again.
Here are some of the questions I've asked myself and some of my
conclusions:</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<ol style="direction: ltr; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.375in; margin-top: 0in; unicode-bidi: embed;" type="1">
<li style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; vertical-align: middle;" value="1"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><b>Before I was sick, did I
always feel like the best mom? Was
I always the mom I wanted to be? </b>
When I look back through my rose colored glasses at my pre-sick
self, of course I think I was a better mom then. But, if I'm totally honest with myself,
the answer is no. I'm not sure that
there is any mom in this world, sick or not, that doesn't feel some kind
of inadequacy. For some reason
being a mom comes with a load of love and a load of mom-guilt. I may not be the </span><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic;">same</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> mom that I was before, but
perhaps there are other ways that I have improved. I know that I certainly cherish the time
I have with my kids more. I try to
take time to listen to them, snuggle with them, sing them songs, and give
them hugs-- because those are the things I can do right now.</span></li>
</ol>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<ol style="direction: ltr; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.375in; margin-top: 0in; unicode-bidi: embed;" type="1">
<li style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; vertical-align: middle;" value="2"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> <b>What will my kids learn to
appreciate?</b> It's so easy to take
things for granted when everything remains the same. You often don't appreciate something
until it's lost. I think I have an
interesting perspective because I am a mom that became ill in my
mid-thirties, but I also grew up with a mom who became chronically ill in
her mid-thirties. So, I can see
both sides. I know what it is like
to have a chronically ill mom. I
remember times when I resented my mom's illness. I was upset when she didn't come to my
vocal competition or a dance performance.
However, I also remember the things that she did attend, and I
remember how much more it meant to me that she was there. I knew it was hard on her and a
sacrifice for her. While I am sure
there will be things my kids resent because of my limitations, I hope that
somehow this can also help my kids gain a better appreciation for life,
for the things we CAN do, and for the sacrifice of others.</span></li>
</ol>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin-left: .375in; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<ol style="direction: ltr; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.375in; margin-top: 0in; unicode-bidi: embed;" type="1">
<li style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; vertical-align: middle;" value="3"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><b>What are my kids learning
from this?</b> As parents we don't want
our kids to ever have to face hardships or trials. And yet, it is those hardships and
trials that mold us into the people we are. In addition to my current illness, I
have suffered from trials such as endometriosis, infertility, post-partum
depression and the loss of my mother.
While, I wouldn't choose to go through any of those experiences
again if I had the choice, the lessons I have learned from each of them
have been invaluable. I have
learned compassion for others that may be suffering similarly. I have received service and kindness
from others that has made me want to serve and show kindness in
return. I have learned to rely on
my Savior in times when there is no one else that can help.</span></li>
</ol>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin-left: .375in; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
So, as I lay shaking
in my room a few nights ago with Jack in the hospital and my other children in
distress, I later learned that my oldest son had stepped up to the plate. He took James onto his lap and comforted
him. They said a prayer together
that Jack would be okay. And, he stayed
by James's side until I had recovered from my episode and Jack had returned
from the hospital. </div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
Despite not being a
fan of life's teaching methods sometimes, I'm grateful that my kids are
learning about compassion, patience, sacrifice, and many other good qualities
that will serve them well in this life. </div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
I may still choose
to be upset about my limitations at times, and I may not like the extra stress
it puts on my family and kids, but I have to equally acknowledge that the
greatest trials bring about the greatest growth. So, not only will I learn and grow from my
current trials, but I am hopeful that my kids will too.</div>
MommyCan'tDancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17488243118978285681noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1747345859972295854.post-46129113978875164272016-06-20T22:41:00.000-06:002017-10-22T21:10:12.785-06:00Guest Post: Jessica's Story (a mom with POTS)The following is a guest post by Jessica, a fellow "mommy who can't dance" that I met online through a <a href="http://mystory.mommycantdance.com/p/what-is-pots.html" target="_blank">POTS</a> facebook forum. Reading her story, I see so many parallels to my own. Wondering what was wrong with me and why couldn't just push through, especially when I am used to doing hard things. Going from an active life to learning to accept imposed limitations. Focusing in on what is most important in life-- family. <br />
<br />
Not to give away the ending, but I just love what she wrote: <b><span style="color: #e69138;">"POTS didn’t ruin my life, but it definitely changed it, and not
only for the worst.... Without it we may not have the reverence and gratitude we have now for good days or
the gentle grace we have for bad ones."</span><span style="color: #b45f06;"> </span></b><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><o:p></o:p></b></div>
<br />
Words of wisdom, in deed! Without further ado, here is <b>Jessica's Story </b>in her own words:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lucky for me, there’s a darling little chocolate shop
next-door to my favorite children’s consignment shop. Even luckier: it was a
few days after Valentine’s, and the shop had a surplus of heart-shaped delights
on sale! My 14 month old daughter, not-quite three year old son, and I popped
in for a treat after searching the bins for second-hand shoes while my four
year old was at preschool. I bought us a few truffles and found a table in the
loft. We sat to watch the Seattle drizzle fall from our cozy perch. I wanted to
enjoy the moment, but instead I was feeling weird again. I was a little
nauseated; my head felt funny- like I might faint. The next morning I took a
pregnancy test (though we were good about our birth control) just to see if
that might be it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Weeks of feeling this way turned into months. I could barely
get through the days caring for my three very small children. My limbs were
always heavy, and the slightest exertion left me totally out of breath and
dizzy. I tried to take naps but could barely come-to once I had to get up. I
was constantly short with my children and then apologizing: “I’m so sorry I
wasn’t patient with you. Will you please forgive me? Mommy just isn’t feeling
well…” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I would cry most nights. I constantly wondered, “Is this
just how it feels to have three kids? Do all moms feel this way, but I just
can’t take it? Maybe I just need to work harder at being a ‘good mom’...” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One night, my little girl was sick. She woke up crying, and
I knew she needed a new dose of Tylenol. I ran downstairs to get it, and after
I had drawn up the medicine I fainted into a chair. I could feel that I was
going to go down. Once I was down, I roused quickly and called to my husband. I
felt strange and sick for a few days. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Another night around that time, I got up to help a kid, and
by the time I had kissed away the bad dream and laid back down, I could feel my
heart slamming in my chest. By that point, I was pretty used to that sensation,
but I noticed that my heart beat was alarmingly uneven. SLAM, SLAM, SLAM,
pause… SLAM, SLAM… pause, SLAM, pause… SLAM, SLAM, SLAM. “Honey!” I said. My
sleepy husband said, “What? Are you OK?” “Feel my heart.” “Woah,” he said.
“It’s stopping!” “Yeah…” We were both worried. The doctor was too. “See,” she
said. “This isn’t just you having a hard time with three kids. Something is
wrong.”</div>
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #e69138;">…..</span></h2>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
It was a beautiful May day. The endocrinologist’s 15th floor
office waiting room looked out over my beloved city. I was nervous to meet the
new doctor, but excited to maybe get some help. As had become normal for me, I
felt awful: light-headed, exhausted, pain in all my joints, especially in my
neck and shoulders. I would often hug the walls when I walked anywhere.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember my first round of orthostatic tests. The doctor
had me lie still on my back on the exam table for about ten minutes. When he
returned, he took my blood pressure and pulse. Then he had me slowly stand up
while he took my BP and pulse again. “I’m feeling really dizzy,” I said. “OK. I
won’t let you fall,” he answered. “Huh,” he said after a minute. “Your heart
just did a very strange thing. Your pulse went up over 50 beats a minute when
you stood up. That is not supposed to happen….This could be POTS, and you don’t
want that.” I was at least relieved to
know that there was a real diagnosis for all the misery I’d endured for 6
months<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know now, three years later, that he was right. I don’t
want POTS--and that is what I have. There is not currently a cure for POTS (<a href="http://www.dysautonomiainternational.com/">Postural Orthostatic
Tachycardia Syndrome</a>), and little is known about it. My doctor helped me
get started on a treatment plan, and eventually, we brought in a neurologist
who also helps manage POTS. But, “manage” is all we can do for now.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #e69138;">…..</span></h2>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My life before POTS feels like a dream now. In my younger
days, I was a professional ballet dancer. I know what it’s like to have a body
that can perform to the extreme levels of physical ability. When I had my babies, I did drug-free,
vaginal births. I was the fun mom, always having guests, big parties, and epic
outings. With POTS, I was struggling just to get basic housework and errands
done. I needed help with everything. I hired help for cleaning and cooking. I
used grocery delivery services. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I went from constantly having plans and seeing friends to
being a hermit. Family members helped with childcare when they could. My kids
started having way more screen time and, even as young as they were, soon
understood how to spot whether or not mommy was having a “bad POTS day.” It was
most difficult on my oldest son because he could remember what things were like
before, and he was afraid I would die. Thankfully, POTS will not kill me, and
he eventually believed us! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was a very high-functioning person before POTS came along,
so <b>the fall was long and hard. I was forced to endure a crash course in
accepting help and, even more difficult, still loving and valuing myself.</b> That
therapist I had reluctantly began seeing became one of the best parts of my
treatment plan, and I HIGHLY recommend that anyone dealing with chronic illness
make counseling a part of her new life. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was difficult for me to talk with people about my
illness; I didn’t want to become a burden, and I didn’t want to be
marginalized. I was afraid people would begin counting me out without asking.
But, I had to be honest. I backed out of my responsibilities one by one and
left many casual friendships to rust. I couldn’t be everyone’s go-to girl any
more. I learned to really love my relationships that were truly equal and
restorative. <b>I lost so much, but there were gains too.</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Saying “no,” just about killed me at first, but I learned to
accept my new state of affairs and used the word more and more often. <b>The value
of “no” is all the “yes” it can free up!</b> By saying “No” to my desire to keep up
on my housework and people-pleasing, I was able to keep saying “yes” to my
children. People would often ask, “Why don’t you just get a nanny?” If I had
been bed-ridden all the time, I might have had to do that. I may yet need to do
it in the future. But, I had enough health in me to still be MOM. I let other
people do the things that just anyone could do, so that I could be there for my
kids. I couldn’t take them on outings, even just down the street to the
playground, but I could cuddle, listen, read, draw, play cars, mold play-dough,
and do anything else seated! It was very painful and clunky, but eventually we
all (me, my husband, my friends, my church) adjusted. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT9KlB1YwStZYVBJY3zyMzsJUjUzME0y2TpfsLUXrWLnxlH-SE03DwEpC515ovDjOsY2QvMFGNSfgeV31sKd-aNnPhB16wBH_F1d-D6xW_EPUBf7REHLuO7gykmFUUErMqgiE4R4Nn05wC/s1600/jessica_ribera_pic2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT9KlB1YwStZYVBJY3zyMzsJUjUzME0y2TpfsLUXrWLnxlH-SE03DwEpC515ovDjOsY2QvMFGNSfgeV31sKd-aNnPhB16wBH_F1d-D6xW_EPUBf7REHLuO7gykmFUUErMqgiE4R4Nn05wC/s320/jessica_ribera_pic2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #e69138;">…..</span></h2>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p>We were on the last stretch of winding road on our way to
our annual church camping trip. I was thinking of baby names. Being pregnant
again sounded like a crazy, crazy idea. It had been about 18 months since my
diagnosis, and things were finally feeling stable. Not great, but stable. “I
just can’t shake this feeling of wanting a fourth kid,” I finally blurted to my
husband. “Oh. Wow.” he said. Yeah, I knew what he meant! We had always wanted 4
kids, but POTS just made it feel impossible.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After that weekend of camping, talking with my dearest
friends and family, we decided to talk to some doctors. They all said, “sounds
hard, but not dangerous.” That was all we needed. About 11 months later, Bran
was born. From the end of my third trimester until he was 8 months old, I was
basically symptom-free! The break from POTS was amazing, and the baby is even
more so. There are so many of my dreams that have had to die; I was so glad we
were able to still say “yes” to that dream of one more baby to love.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When the POTS symptoms began to return, I was surprised by
how hard it hit me. But, at least this time I had some training under my belt
in adjusting, grieving, and accepting. Throughout my life, writing has been a
great solace and continues to be so now. <b>POTS didn’t ruin my life, but it
definitely changed it, not only for the worst.</b> I may have never realized how
much I truly love writing, and <b>we may not have the reverence and gratitude we
have now for good days or the gentle grace we have for bad ones. </b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I keep a blog at <a href="http://www.jeskybera.com/"><span style="color: #1155cc;">jeskybera.com</span></a>. Here are some more articles I’ve
written to help those who may also be suffering from upheaval, particularly
those dealing with chronic illness. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
More of my story:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.jeskybera.com/jeskybera/2013/09/hello-im-jessica-i-am-sick-person.html"><span style="color: #1155cc;">I Am A Sick Person</span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.jeskybera.com/jeskybera/2014/11/one-of-my-favorite-things-to-do-in-new.html"><span style="color: #1155cc;">The Beginning</span></a> (More about the decision to have
Bran)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.jeskybera.com/jeskybera/2016/4/9/a-trip-to-the-tulip-fields-of-traffic"><span style="color: #1155cc;">Dealing with POTS Now </span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Coping with chronic illness: (articles by Jessica)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.jeskybera.com/jeskybera/2014/05/youve-changed.html"><span style="color: #1155cc;">You’ve Changed</span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.jeskybera.com/jeskybera/2014/06/coping-chronicles-take-retreat.html"><span style="color: #1155cc;">Take a Retreat</span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.jeskybera.com/jeskybera/2014/05/coping-chronicles-self-care.html"><span style="color: #1155cc;">Self-Care</span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.jeskybera.com/jeskybera/2015/03/coping-chronicles-kids-and-chronic.html"><span style="color: #1155cc;">Kids and Chronic Illness</span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.jeskybera.com/jeskybera/2015/05/coping-chronicles-when-my-emotions-and.html"><span style="color: #1155cc;">When Emotions And Kids Collide</span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />MommyCan'tDancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17488243118978285681noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1747345859972295854.post-40754172461126109932016-05-27T15:26:00.001-06:002017-10-22T21:10:53.558-06:00Why Mommy Can't Dance<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Spanish-style music was playing in the background. It was unusually hot for October, but I could
feel a slight breeze on my cheek. The
nerves in my limbs were twitching like they wanted to get up and run yet felt
like they were being held down by cement. My eyes were closed, but I could see lights
dancing and swirling like waves of fireworks in my head. I vaguely heard a man
walk by and comment in my direction, “I guess you <i>can</i> have too much fun.” </div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This was me—sprawled out on a table in the wine garden at
Disney’s California Adventure Park. It
was the nearest place I could get to after exiting a ride with my kids and sensing
I was going to collapse. It felt like I
was in a dream. I had no perception of time or the fact that I had been non-responsive
for over two hours. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The paramedics that huddled around me were prodding me and asking
me questions, but they seemed so far away and I was just too tired to answer. Too tired to open my eyes. Too tired to move my leg that had fallen
asleep some time ago. In the back of my
head I could hear a frantic voice whispering, “Something is very wrong!” But at that moment I was just too tired to
even care.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Little did I know that this incident was the beginning of an
illness turned disability that would change my life. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Postural Orthostatic
Tachycardia Syndrome (POTS)<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So what was this mystery illness? <a href="http://mystory.mommycantdance.com/p/what-is-pots.html" target="_blank">Postural OrthostaticTachycardia Syndrome</a>, also known as POTS.
As my doctor explained, upon standing my heart rate increases much more
than is normal. While this is a defining
characteristic of my condition, it is not just my heart rate that is altered. POTS is a dysautonomic disorder. It affects the autonomic nervous system, which
controls our bodily functions that we don't usually have to think about, like
heart rate, circulation, blood pressure, breathing, digestion, temperature,
hormone production, etc. POTS can be triggered
suddenly by a trauma or viral infection, as it was in my case. (I’d had a sore
throat for a week and been under a lot of stress from work as we embarked on
our family vacation.)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
While many of my symptoms are present all
the time, they are amplified when I'm sitting up and even worse when
standing. Because of poor circulation and
low blood volume my brain suffers from not enough blood and oxygen. My symptoms
include brain fog, dizziness, migraines, chest pain, nausea and other gastric
issues, temperature control problems, and extreme fatigue and lethargy. I get overstimulated quickly-- movement, light,
and especially noise really affect me.
Additionally, my body overproduces adrenaline, causing intense tremors
and muscle spasms. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Overnight I went from being a relatively healthy,
active person to someone who could barely get out of bed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Chronic Illness Affects
the Whole Family<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have always been a go-getter and an overachiever-- from
dancing 4-6 hours a day and attaining valedictorian in high school to an
adulthood of teaching group fitness classes, owning and operating a small business,
and being a wife and a mother of four.
To lose my mobility and functionality was devastating.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This condition was not just life-altering for me, it
affected my whole family. I could no
longer take my kids out for the adventures we loved, like going to the children’s
museum or hiking in the mountains. I couldn’t
go to important events like music concerts, dance recitals, or preschool
programs. And the day-to-day limitations
were even harder to accept. I could no
longer make dinner, help kids with homework, or get them ready for school or
bed. I oftentimes could not even get
myself out of bed without collapsing. (My husband has found me on the bathroom
floor more times than I care to admit.)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was battling to come to grips with my new reality. But I
was not the only one. My kids were also
struggling to comprehend why I couldn’t do what I used to do. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Our family has a tradition of taking turns sharing good news
and bad news each night at dinner. The
nights that I could make it to the dinner table, I noticed a trend in the news
my kids shared. My four-year-old twins
started repeating the same news night after night. “My good news is that I love mommy. My bad news is that I miss mommy.” Even my 10-year-old daughter would say, “My
good news is that mom was able to come out for dinner. My bad news is that mom is still sick.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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I have vivid memories of a meltdown my daughter and I had
one evening as she was preparing for her dance recital. She came into my room so I could do her hair,
yet I couldn’t even sit up on the edge of my bed long enough to do it—let alone
make it to the recital.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Over the holidays, one of my twins rushed into my room so
excited for me to come see the Christmas tree he had helped decorate in the basement. After five minutes of him tugging on my arm begging
me to come, and me trying to explain why I couldn’t simply get up and walk down
the stairs, we both ended up in tears. <o:p></o:p></div>
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These are just a few of many examples.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Mommy Can’t Dance<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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As a mom, it is no fun to feel physically awful, but it is
worse to know that your kids are suffering too.
I hated that my illness was affecting my children. I needed a way to help them understand that
my illness and inability to do things for them or with them in no way affected
my love for them. Additionally, any
chronic illness brings with it feelings of helplessness for the patient and the
loved ones. I wanted my kids to find
ways that they could feel helpful and loved.
Thus, the book <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Mommy-Cant-Dance-Katie-Carone/dp/1530092418/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1464564607&sr=8-1&keywords=mommy+can%27t+dance" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: #b45f06;">Mommy Can’t Dance</span></b></a></i>
was born. <o:p></o:p></div>
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While this book is near and dear to my heart, I recognize
that I am not the only mom struggling with chronic illness. I hope this book can help other mothers and
children that are similarly struggling.<o:p></o:p><br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Mommy-Cant-Dance-Katie-Carone/dp/1530092418/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1464564607&sr=8-1&keywords=mommy+can%27t+dance" target="_blank"><img alt="Mommy Can't Dance" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/41SW2BpXANL.jpg" /></a></div>
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Available at:</div>
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AMAZON US: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Mommy-Cant-Dance-Katie-Carone/dp/1530092418/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1464564607&sr=8-1&keywords=mommy+can%27t+dance" target="_blank">http://www.amazon.com/Mommy-Cant-Dance-Katie-Carone/dp/1530092418/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1464564607&sr=8-1&keywords=mommy+can%27t+dance</a></div>
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AMAZON UK : <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Mommy-Cant-Dance-Katie-Carone/dp/1530092418/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1464633232&sr=8-1&keywords=Mommy+Can%27t+Dance+by+Katie+Carone">https://www.amazon.co.uk/Mommy-Cant-Dance-Katie-Carone/dp/1530092418/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1464633232&sr=8-1&keywords=Mommy+Can%27t+Dance+by+Katie+Carone</a></div>
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CreateSpace Store: <a href="https://www.createspace.com/6077809" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt;">https://www.createspace.com/6077809</a></div>
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<b>Support Dysautonomia
International<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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In an effort to further the advocacy and research on POTS,
the illustrator and I are donating all proceeds of the book <i>Mommy Can’t Dance</i> to Dysautonomia
International a 501(c)(3) non-profit founded by patients, caregivers,
physicians and researchers dedicated to assisting people living with various
forms of dysautonomia. </div>
<span style="background: white; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><a href="http://www.dysautonomiainternational.org/">http://www.dysautonomiainternational.org/</a></span>
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<b>Happy Endings?</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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While I wish I could write
a fairytale ending to my personal story, that is simply not the case. I have found a few medications that have
helped, and I continue to pursue additional treatment options through trial and
error. Like many others who suffer with chronic
illness, I understand that this may be a lifelong condition. However, I refuse to give up or give in, and I
hope to someday report that mommy can dance again. <o:p></o:p></div>
MommyCan'tDancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17488243118978285681noreply@blogger.com5