I don't have much to blog about these days. I feel very stuck in a rut. I'll be honest...
I do work...yes, but it is only part time. I wake up in the mornings (I force myself to get out of bed. Sometimes between 8 and 9, sometimes between 10-11...) and I exercise, I clean, waste time online, read, organize...and it all feels so pointless. It seems everyone has hibernated for the winter and I feel so alone. I've been working on Peter's nursery and slowly getting up the motivation for a few other projects, but all in all, I have the winter blues (combined with grief combined with pregnancy hormones...look out). I don't know if I'm depressed, but I'm empty.
I've decided that instead of sharing my emptiness with you, I'd let the next few weeks be weeks of sharing from YOU, my readers. The people I love and the people who have upheld me over the past 8 months. The people who I cry over and pray for. (Yes, I'm crying right now). I share these emails with you (with the permission of the authors) for a few reasons I guess:
1) In the hopes that we can see that we are all connected. That we all suffer in some form or fashion in this life. That we rejoice together. That we cry together. That reaching out and loving another, even a stranger, is one of the most beautiful things to be experienced in this short life.
2) In the hopes that something will be learned and something gained by all who read.
I do NOT share these emails with you because I think I have done or am something wonderful. These emails were sparked because of my incredible daughter. Because of her life and her light. Because of suffering. Because of sharing. Not because of me.
So as I carry on day by day, one day closer to Lucy, one day closer to Peter...I hope you will enjoy the stories and thoughts shared with me by fellow human beings. Fellow mothers and fathers who struggle and laugh and live life right alongside all of us.
How can I ever thank you?
This is one of the first emails I received after Lucy returned to our Heavenly home. Although I have been given permission to share it, I worry that it is almost too sacred to share. Please let me know if you think I am casting pearls before swine. I have thought it over and feel ok about sharing it. Beautiful doesn't even begin to describe it:
We have never met. I am from Armenia and I am the first convert to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints from that country. I was born and raised in a Communist country where religion was prohibited and it was classified as an 'opium for masses'. I was only two years old when my parents were blessed with a birth of another child, my brother. He was born with a physical disability, he is missing his left arm. Back then in Soviet Union, it was considered a shameful abnormality and the doctors were recommending my mother to abandon the 'defective' child and move on with her life. She did not. She brought him home and my sister and I were happy to finally have a brother although with a missing arm. We promised to love him
and protect him from the mocking of the crowd when he grew up. A year later, my mother gave a birth to another boy. He was a healthy and beautiful child. My parents were so happy.
Someone advised my parents to christen all of their children so that 'God will watch over them'. Secretly from the authorities, my parents first took their boys to the Armenian Church to have them christened. The boys got baptized and little gold crosses on gold chains were hang around their necks. They brought them home and my mom began dinner preparation as many friends and family were invited to join us in celebration of boys' baptism. Caught up in her cooking, cleaning, setting up the table, and feeding us my mom didn't noticed how my little one-year-old brother (the 'normal one') went to the bathroom and found an insect poison bar unwrapped it and chewed it. We found him on the bathroom floor with his eyes rolled up and in convulsions.45 years have passed since that day I still remember my mother's scream and her running down the street with a suffocating child in her arms bare foot in the snow crying for help. There was nothing that the doctors could do to save my little brother's life.
At his funeral my mother threw herself on his little coffin and wanted to be buried together with him because she blamed herself for his death. When a priest stepped to bless the grave she pushed him away and threw his cross away saying that she no longer believed in his church and in God. A week after the funeral my mother found out that she was pregnant with another child. Then the only way to prevent or interrupt the pregnancy in Soviet Union was an abortion. And, my mom was thinking about doing an abortion. She was convinced that she couldn't give a birth to healthy child if she was 'dead inside'. Luckily, my father, who crashed just as much as my mom, was able to beg her to keep the child and nine month later another boy was born. Everybody was happy for my mom hoping that the birth of another child would heal my mother's broken heart and spirit. The
healing came 29 years later.
It was the year of 1991 when I first met the humanitarian missionaries in my country. I had never been allowed to travel outside of the 'iron curtain' and had never heard of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I was extremely touched by their example of unconditional love and deep faith in God. I couldn't comprehend why would these people leave their homes,families, their wealthy country and come to a place of complete economic disaster, spiritual emptiness, the 'kingdom of darkness'. They were not allowed to proselyte and it was up to us, the people of the country, to ask them to teach us the Gospel. And I did. For the first time in my life I saw the Bible and the Book of Mormon. I asked if I could borrow the books and
read them. They kindly let me take the books home. Next day I was back at their door asking them to teach me. And, they did. Because it wasn't a proselyte mission their were not allowed to bring into the country any church literature or even pictures of their churches and temples. After my last lesson was over I came home with a burning desire to share my testimony with my family. And, the first thing I told my parents and my brothers and sister was that I had a greatest news for them all, I said, 'Do you know that death does not exist? Do you know that we are going to live forever as family and even our little brother lives now and he will join us when we pass through the veil of mortality! Isn't that awesome?' They looked at me and, like Mom says, there was that strange light around me in that room as if I was some kind saint standing there with such conviction and faith that they didn't dare to object but turned to me asked to share the things I learned from these wonderful strange Americans who left their beautiful country and crossed the ocean to teach us about God. I asked my mom's permission to invite the missionaries to our home and teach the family the things that they taught me. My mom said that she once believed the priests but after my brother's death she lost her faith, because if God truly exists how could he take he son away and punish her so cruelly. All that came to my mind that moment, was 'Mom, my brother was a Child of God and I am too, so are you. Do you understand what that means? Mom, Gods don't die and God's children don't die either. He sends them to you for you to experience the gift of motherhood and parenthood and then he calls his kids back home under His wing. Mom, please listen to those Americans and you will understand what I am talking about.' With tears in her eyes my mom walked away.
Two weeks later on a Sunday morning my mom called me and asked to see me. I rushed to her house worried that something happened. She opened the doors and hugged me crying. She shared her 'strange' dream that she had that night. In her dream as she said, 'I was in a beautiful cathedral which was all white inside. I was dressed in a white gown like a wedding gown. Your father was dressed in white and had a funny hat on. Him and I were kneeling at the altar as if we were getting married for the first time ever. It was strange because I was at the age when my child died and all of my children were the same age with me, except the baby (my deceased brother). He was still a beautiful and health toddler holding my hand tight and I could sense his flesh, his sweet breath, his heart beat. My dear, I was in heaven. It was so vivid and so real. The man in the white suite said that we were in our home. He just said to me 'welcome home, my child.. you will suffer no more.. ' I asked my mom what did she think of that dream. And she just asked me to call the missionaries and see if they could possibly teach her too. Few month later my mother was baptized in Armenia and became one of the strongest members of the Church in Armenia and she still is. She lives in Provo now together with my dad.
It's been three years since I haven't gone to Church. I have been cheated on business deals by my business partners on numerous occasions. They were 'strong members of the Church and temple recommend holders'. And I trusted them. I lost my faith in people and in the church that they represent. But then John Evensen shared Lucy's story with me and I cried my tears out for her and thanked Lucy for reminding me of who I am, a child of God, and begged my Heavenly Father for his forgiveness for the hardening of my heart, for not trusting His love and His power and relying on my own judgment. I am back to where I belong to, in my Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Thank you, Lucy's Mom, for giving birth to Lucy and for your testimony and for your example of unconditional love towards our Heavenly Father, as we all are His children and we are to go where He wants us to go to live in light and enlighten the lives of others.
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