Flecks of Gold: Finding Joy

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.  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.  I love that idea! 

I've thought a lot about what my goals and life's theme are for this year.  (I know, it's June- I'm a bit behind as usual).  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.  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.  Though my POTS (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome) 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. 

  

Photo credit: Sean Peck. This was after a late spring snow storm.
 I think it's a beautiful depiction of blooming despite hardship.

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.  Some days, even those goals are a little too lofty for me though.  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, because I did something yesterday, I will probably won't be able to do much today!)

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 JOY.  Joy is what I have been looking for the past few years as I've tried to come to grips with my crippled life.  It's what we all seek, right?  It's the seemingly intangible holy grail.  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. 

Photo credit: Sara Young

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. 

Not long ago, after a particularly rough string of bad days, I happened upon a talk by M. Russell Ballard.  It was exactly what I needed to hear. 

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.  He worked tirelessly, day after day, dipping his pan into the river and coming up empty.  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.  The young man was just about ready to give up when he came upon an old prospector with a bulging pouch of gold.  He ask the old man how he had found so much gold. 

Photo credit: Sara Young

The prospector replied that you just need to know where to look for it.  He then picked up a rock from the young man's discarded pile and smashed it to reveal the flecks of gold within. 

"But," the young man protested, "I want to find  large nuggets of gold like you have in your pouch, not just tiny flecks!"

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.  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."

Sometimes my life feels like it has gaping holes.  I'm sad about missing out on those large nuggets of gold.  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.  I want to  vacation with my husband and family.  I want to go hiking or ride my bike around the lake like I used to.  I want to get in the car and drive myself to a store, spend an hour shopping, and drive home.  I want to make it to all my kids activities and events and help at their schools.  I want to have the energy to go to an exercise class or run around with my kids in the back yard.  I want to see my mom again and feel her hug and hear her tell me everything is going to be alright.  I want to not be light-headed every time I stand up or have anxiety about passing out every time I'm in public.  I want to be able to better serve my family and friends.

But I know that when focusing on those elusive nuggets, I am missing out on all the precious flecks of gold around me.  These are just a few of those flecks that bring me joy:

• 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.)
• I find joy in getting and giving hugs to my kids.
• 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.
• I find joy in days with blue skies and sunshine.
• I find joy from floating in the pool and staring up into a cloudy sky at sunset.

Photo credit: Sara Young (Sarah's pictures always bring me joy!)

• I find joy in watching my kids make good choices or show kindness to others.
• I find joy in family game night.
• I find joy in hanging out or joking around with my teenagers.
• I find joy in visiting with thoughtful friends.
• I find joy in the days I'm able to feel productive.
• I find joy in the times I can leave the house and return home without incident.

Oh happy day! I made it to the Tulip festival with my family last month.

• 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.)
• 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.
• 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.
• I find joy in my faith and testimony of Christ.

Photo credit: Sara Young

 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…. 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."

I testify that this statement is true.  My illness is horrible, but that does not mean that my life is horrible.  I can find joy and peace in my life, despite my circumstance.  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.  I can find joy.

Being Alright - No Matter What

I had the privilege last week of being interviewed for an amazing project called Women like ME, that focuses on connecting women through their stories, perspectives, and faith. 

One of the questions I was asked was how my experiences have helped me draw closer to Christ. 

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 (PosturalOrthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome) that have left me homebound and often bedbound. In all things, it is my faith that has helped me cope and push through.

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, “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.”

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.

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.

Source: Lds.org

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. 

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. 

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.”

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.

Faith is more than just turning to the Lord, but it’s also trusting and believing that everything will be okay—no matter what. 

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.

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.

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!

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, even though I am not physically healed, all is well.

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. 

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.  On those days when I felt of little worth to my family or the world, He has sent others to buoy me up.  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.