Cherish Chaos

There is a particular couple I have known in Arizona for years. I was friends with them prior to my ex-boyfriend’s attempt at taking my life. And they were the only two (who live in Arizona) who knew my then boyfriend and stuck by my side and supported me. Everyone else left, didn’t seem to care, or blatantly took his side. Let’s call them David and Sara. David and Sara have both made efforts to stay in touch with me since moving away and are very special to me. David is an army combat veteran. He has had, and continues to have, numerous challenges that come with experiencing war firsthand. Physical, mental, and emotional pain, often too insurmountable to face by himself. Sara, his wife, has supported him through it all. Often making sacrifices of her own to make sure he is taken care of. They are both amazing individuals who I look up to. Recently, Sara reached out to me and shared that this time of year is particularly difficult for them. They were struggling. It was the anniversary of David’s aunt’s passing whom he was close to all his life, coupled with the usual “holiday” gloominess that accompanies people who suffer in this way. I got on a video chat with them both and afterwards had the undeniable prompting to write them the following letter accompanied by a book.

David and Sara,

Now, before you say, think, or do anything: I want you to at least read this letter in its entirety. After, you have the freedom to do whatever you please. You can throw this letter and the book away, you can put them somewhere and never look at them again, or you can read them both. I want you to know that whatever you choose will not affect our friendship. I will always love and respect you both no matter what. It is because of that love and respect I am sending you this book and its accompanying letter.

Recently, we had a lengthy video chat and you both commented on how well it appeared I was doing (physically, mentally, and emotionally) in comparison to where you both know I have been previously. You both remarked on the change you could physically see in my countenance. You expressed your happiness for me, and I greatly appreciate and love that you both have cared and continue to care enough for me that way. I want you both (David especially) to know that your hard work and the changes you have strived to make have not gone unnoticed on my end either and am so very proud of the both of you and how far you have come and encourage you to keep going. I will support you both in this journey no matter what. KEEP TRYING!

Now, I could not consider myself a good friend if I did not share this with you. Because I only want the best for you, it would be outright selfish of me, to not give you my ‘why’ behind the change. The reason behind my happiness. And the source of all the many blessings I have received these last few years. I could not allow myself to sit idly by and watch two people I care so much for, go on with life and not, at the very least, share what I have learned.

I don’t know if I have ever shared this with you guys, but the night Rich almost killed me, I was saved. Not by any person passing by, not by me pleading “don’t do this”, and Rich didn’t just change his mind. No, when Rich came to the ICU to confess what he had done, he told me the only reason I was still alive was “because God told him to stop”.

Why?

I don’t know the answer to that question yet. I am still trying to figure that one out. But with that new truth, I started looking for God again. If He thought I was important enough to intervene and save my life, then I at least owed it to Him to find Him. And I did. In this book. I am not kidding when I say that this book LITERALLY changed my life around. I stopped caring about the past. I stopped participating in activities that were harmful. As I said in our conversation a while back, I haven’t done anything, not even had a sip of alcohol, in over six years. I haven’t even missed it or wanted it. At all. All my emotional pain, anxiety, depression, and even anger, were swallowed up in this book. I can tell you exactly why. This book contains truths about Christ and our Heavenly Father that cannot be found anywhere else. It truly is a remarkable piece of literature. It is a literal account of ancient people who lived right here, in the Americas, who got to see and meet the resurrected Christ. It’s beautiful! And it is life changing. I never want to go back! I hold these truths closest to my heart.

So, I invite you to read it. I don’t care if it takes you 10 years. It took me a LONG time to actually sit and read it cover to cover, but once I did, that was when I noticed my life changing. I started to see light in my life again. And the blessings started coming. It was like God had been waiting patiently for me to come to Him and had all these things, GOOD THINGS, ready to give me.

I am not asking you to be baptized, meet with missionaries, or even go to church. I am simply asking that you give this book a chance. And by doing so, give you both a chance to experience what I did. Pure, unfeigned, genuine joy. I promise you that is what you will find here.

As I said before, the choice is yours. I mean it when I say that whatever choice you make will not affect our friendship. I will love, care, and support you both no matter what. I promise not to be weird when you talk to me 😉 and I certainly will not pressure you both into doing anything that makes you uncomfortable. I do hope to hear from you soon. I am always available to talk…about anything. No judgment, only love here. And if you have ANY questions, about ANYTHING, I hope you won’t be afraid to ask me. Nothing is too small, too stupid, or not worth my time. It will always be important to me. You are worth my time.

Miss and love you both always,

Sammi

Next, is a single mom who I think highly of. Let’s call her Stephanie. Stephanie, I met while attending and working at my college in Phoenix. She has always found reasons to reach out and tell me she loves me and misses me. She has also had her fair share of challenges in this life. Divorced from an abusive husband, she has a daughter who is a recovering alcoholic that has attempted to take her own life on more than one occasion. She has recently lost a brother who meant the world to her. These wounds cut deep because she loves those around her wholeheartedly, especially her children and her brother. Somehow, she remains positive and continues to press on and spread love to those around her. After seeing her admire a wreath I had made and shared online, she asked if I would make her a Mickey one for commission. She and her daughters are avid Disney fans. I told her I would make her wreath, but that I wouldn’t accept payment. She deserved this tiny bit of happiness a Mickey shaped wreath could potentially bring her and her girls. It was after the wreath was assembled that I again knew I needed to write yet another letter and send another book.  

Stephanie,

I have thought of a way you could potentially “pay me back” for the wreath. And I am so sorry it has taken me so long to send it to you! I knew that I wanted to send it with this letter and this book and wanted to make sure I had the right words before doing anything! To be honest, you being my friend over the years and caring for me is payment enough. BUT if you wanted to do something for me, you could read this letter, and then read the book. That would be more than enough for me.

I have been greatly blessed in recent years: I was able to marry my sweetheart, bring a sweet spirit into this world and raise her as my daughter. I have a beautiful home with my loving family. I have people surrounding me who love and support me daily. I have food to eat, water to drink, and want for nothing materialistically or otherwise, and I have something else. Something that I value more than anything I have just mentioned.

I have this book. And the truths that it contains. This book is what LITERALLY changed my life and not only helped me see the good but is the source of many blessings over the years. I don’t doubt for a second, that this book and the gospel it teaches is what inevitably brought me to my Savior. I have never known Him as I do now. Nor our Father in Heaven. I can honestly say that I now have the best relationship with them both, more than I ever have in my life.

I know you love Jesus. I know you love God. But I want to ask you to consider that love and the love I have for you and give this book a chance. I could no longer sit idly by and not share with you what I have learned about Jesus and our Father. They are real. They love you and I with an eternal, perfect love that no one on earth can comprehend. And you will feel that love as you read this book. That is a promise!

I don’t care if it takes you a week, a year, or even 10 years to read it. It took me a long time to read it cover to cover, but once I did, that’s when I noticed my life changing, when I noticed ME changing. It was as if God had been patiently waiting to share with me His light. And His light will never dim, Stephanie. It is everywhere because it is within us if we let Him into our hearts.

I am not asking you to be baptized, meet with missionaries, or even go to church. I am simply asking that you give this book a chance. And by doing so, give yourself the chance to experience what I did. Pure, unfeigned, genuine joy. That is what you will find here.

The choice is yours. I promise you that whatever choice you make will not affect our friendship. I will always see you as the beautiful person you are, inside and out. I will always love, care, support, and respect you in anything. And I certainly will not pressure you into doing anything that makes you uncomfortable.  I hope to hear from you soon! I want to make sure you received your package okay and got my letter. 😊 If you have ANY questions, about ANYTHING, I hope you won’t be afraid to ask me (or my dad for that matter 😉) because nothing is too small, too stupid, or not worth our time. It will always be important to us; you are worth our time.

Miss and love you always,

Sammi

I am not sharing this for praise or to place myself on a pedestal. I am sharing this as a means of keeping myself accountable. Too often in the past I have ignored the gentle (or in this case the less gentle) nudges from the Spirit of our Heavenly Father. I have made it a goal of mine to act, and quickly, and do what I feel I need to do. I can no longer pray for opportunities to be an instrument in God’s hands and then ignore the chances I have been given, by Him, to do just that. God works in mysterious ways, right? Not really. He knows our hearts, minds, and situations. He is aware of each and every one of His children and their circumstances right now. He also knows exactly what each individual is in need of. But he needs our help. He needs us to step up and act in His place to attend to the needs of others. To be the answer to their prayers. Don’t question His methods, His reasonings, or His judgement. For it is all perfect. All that is required of us is trust in Him and miracles will happen. I’ve seen it happen when earthly angels have acted and been the answer to my prayers or those of my loved ones.

I do not know if any “miracle” will come from my letters. What I do know is that I can feel good knowing that I acted on it. Even the Redwoods started as the tiniest of seeds. So, who knows, maybe I will receive an answer to my letter. I would hope I get to see the “fruit of my labors” in this life. Regardless, I will choose to act on faith and let the miracle worker, master healer, and master physician do His work.

**If you are curious to know what book I shared with my dear friends, please reach out, I would be delighted to share and send one to you!**

Thanks for stopping by. Know that you are loved.

A couple years ago I attended a therapy session that was far different than any session I had been to previously. My therapist brought me into a room that held all the components for sandbox therapy. His instructions were that I choose a sandbox from the many different sizes and shapes present. Then, he pointed to shelves and shelves of tiny figurines. Hundreds of them. He explained to me that I was to take my time, look at each individual figure, and pick what I felt needed to be included. He told me not to think about it. Just do. After I had my figurines, I was to arrange them in the sandbox. He then sat silently in the back corner of the room and left me to carry out his instructions.

I did. I picked a sandbox, a heart shape broken in two, then slowly made my way around the shelves, picking up figurines I felt were significant. I held on to them, even taking some to the sandbox, placing them, and returning to the shelves for more. I moved about slowly, not allowing myself to think, just feel, and acting accordingly.

After I had finished gathering my figurines, I returned to my sandbox. There, I found two sides to a broken heart. On the left, I had meticulously placed figures such as a mother holding her children, a couple getting married, a temple, scriptures, tiny rocks with the words, eternity, hope, and faith on them, figurines that brought me resounding joy and peace. On the right side, however, I found just the opposite. I found pill bottles, alcohol, a “party” girl, a man in a jail jumpsuit, a coffin, and the grim reaper. But the most significant figure of all, the only figurine I did not place on either side, was placed on the table, in the very center of the two sandboxes. The figure was an individual sitting, back to the right side of the heart, knees pulled tightly to their chest, arms wrapped around their legs. The head was buried in their arms. And coming around from behind the figure were many hands, grabbing and pulling the individual from the back.

“Tell me about that” said my therapist pointing to the figure in the center after some discussion about what was in each sandbox. “Why did you put this one here?”

I told him I did not know. At first glance, I had no clue. I took time to think about it. I then made the only connection that made sense. “Because that’s me”. I said.

“Explain to me how that is you”

“Because my heart is broken” I say through tears. “I feel broken”

“Go on…” a gentle nudge from the therapist.

I explained to him that everything I had placed on the left side was what I desired in my life at that moment. More than anything, I wanted the peace that each figurine brought. I wanted to attend the temple, get married, read the scriptures, and feel the hope and faith written on the rocks. I further explained that I had a past, represented by tiny figures on the right side of the heart that continue to have a hold on me. At that mention, I motioned to the hands gripping the figure in the center. I told him that it hurt to even know that they were there and that most days, the right side, my past, is all I feel. All I see.

Then, my therapist said something profound.

“Look up”

I looked at him then, assuming he was telling me to look up from my hands that were currently fidgeting with each other, something I did when I was uncomfortable. But when he saw that his statement was lost on me, he pointed to the figure on the table.

“Notice where the head is?”

It dawned on me. The depiction was clear. I was there, between two lives, a past, and where I wanted to be. One dimming the other, metaphorically grabbing me and holding me. And there I sat, head bowed, knees to my chest. Allowing it to consume me.

“You are already facing the right direction; all you need to do is look up”

I have thought about this therapy session a lot in recent months. So far, this year has plagued many with the spread of a worldwide pandemic, bringing physical and financial devastation and it continues to wreak havoc on healthcare and economic systems. Confusion spreads as healthcare officials and political figures try to decide what the best plan of action should be. As infection rates rise pulling death rates with it, many argue about treatment and prevention. We have experienced the panic brought on by natural disasters such as earthquakes, fires and floods. We have seen hate and injustice on a large scale. Innocent people being attacked for the color of their skin. And more innocent people being attacked as a result of the violence that follows. Riots that lead to looting of stores, damaged property, and in some cases, physical harm to others. The physical and verbal attacks continue as each side fights to be heard.

We are bombarded with all of this by simply turning on the TV or unlocking our phones. Headlines on every news channel and paper cover the damages done by nature and that of mankind. Numbers and statistics spew out on the page or screen with dire messages of death and destruction. Social media has become a cancer, scrolling only to ever find hate and anger, with those that are “friends” at odds with one another. This leaves some feeling fear and dread. And for others, anxiety and depression sink in leaving people feeling helpless and drained of hope.

Please, look up.

As we are relentlessly attacked from behind by the woes of today, please remember that many are already facing towards that which brings joy. We need only to lift our heads and embrace it. Allow its warmth into our souls and feel the peace it brings. Lifting our heads and acknowledging its presence does not mean the other side does not exist. However, it does mean that a stillness can be found in times of unrest. Tranquility can be felt as the surrounding world, loud and boisterous, spreads its poison. Happiness can be tasted through the bitterness and love can be embraced through animosity.

“We can feel joy even while having a bad day, a bad week, or even a bad year! My dear brothers and sisters, the joy we feel has little to do with the circumstances of our lives and everything to do with the focus of our lives. When the focus of our lives is on God’s plan of salvation…and Jesus Christ and His gospel, we can feel joy regardless of what is happening—or not happening—in our lives. Joy comes from and because of Him. He is the source of all joy.”  – President Russell M. Nelson

Again, how is this possible?

By focusing on Him, even our Savior, Jesus Christ.

As we keep our focus on Him, through valiant scripture and gospel study, prayer and fasting, church attendance (in homes or with others), and even our daily thoughts, His light will fill our heart and minds. As a result of this focus, we will naturally strive to be better disciples by following His example. Love one another as Jesus taught: “love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them who despitefully use you and persecute you”. Sympathize with your fellow man. Listen to them that disagree and respond with love. Teach as He taught. Love as He loves. In turn, His light will radiate forth into the world around us. As they say, darkness is merely the absence of light. In retrospect, darkness is the absence of Christ. It is our responsibility to invite Christ’s light back in and keep it with us.

“And if your eye be single to my glory, your whole bodies shall be filled with light, and there shall be no darkness in you; and that body which is filled with light comprehendeth all things.” -Doctrine and Covenants 88:67

Look up and find Him who loves you eternally. Look up and find His forgiveness. Look up and find His mercy. Look up and find Him smiling over you. Look up and find Him waiting, arms stretched out to envelop you in His love. Look up and find Him. Look up and be at peace. Look up and feel joy.

Thanks for stopping by, know that you are loved.

Confession time: I haven’t blogged in some time. But not because time, social or work conflicts or ‘life got in the way’. Because I got in the way. Me. Every January through March I struggle. I struggle because it is the anniversary of some traumas in my life. One in January that I will shed light on another day, another post. And the other mentioned previously. I am hindered by PTSD. Along with that, comes panic attacks, crippling depression, mood swings, you name it. And I try to do it alone. Every. Single. Time. I have improved over the years at seeking help and support from those close to me. I feel that even acknowledging the fact that I have these obstacles is a win. It allows for people to check up on me. But here is something I have noticed this year that I haven’t before. I come out of my funk right around Easter time. Right when the weather starts to get consistently warm, blossoms on trees, flowers in the ground, and it is quite refreshing. This year I had some thoughts that I wanted to share with you. Some ‘ah-ha’ moments if you will. I don’t think this was coincidence that I have these hurdles leading up to the celebration of a Resurrected Savior.

I would like to take the opportunity to bear testimony and express my gratitude for my Savior. He lives. He loves you. I am grateful for the knowledge the restored gospel provides. It not only testifies of Christ, his Atonement and his Resurrection, but expounds on those same truths. Yes, Christ suffered for our sins, he made it possible for us to be forgiven through repentance of those sins, but he also took upon himself all our infirmities of mortal life. For me, that means all the pain I have endured, both physical and emotional, the sadness, heartache, PTSD, depression, and anxiety.  He felt the terror that nightmares bring late at night followed by paranoia that keeps me awake. He endured all this in addition to feeling the heart wrenching guilt and sorrow that sin has brought into my life. All of this, for me. It wasn’t some blanket expression of each of those mentioned feelings. He didn’t work his way down an emotional checklist: “I am now going to feel what sadness feels like”. This approach wouldn’t work because we all experience these things differently. Individually. That means he felt my sadness. My grief. My pain. My sin.

Why? Because I knew him. I knew him before I came to this earth. We probably spent time walking together, discussing serious topics like life, love, and the plan of happiness, with the occasional goofing off, but we knew each other, intimately. I admired my older brother and we loved each other dearly. So, this year, right before Easter, I have spent time reflecting on my Savior and pondering the event in Gethsemane.  My Savior, experiencing what I had been struggling with, enduring then, exactly what I was feeling now. He probably thought about me. When it came to be my turn for him to undergo what I have. I wonder if he received strength from remembering me specifically and telling himself “I’m doing this for Sammi.” “This is what Sammi is going to go through.” “I am doing this for Sammi.” And it’s not just me. He did that for all of us. No wonder he started to bleed from every pore, repeating the process for every single person that has ever existed. And not even for glory for himself.

He did it because he wants to see me again. It is that important to him that I return to live with him. Because he probably misses me. And it probably broke his heart when I didn’t care to be a member of his fold, choices that I made driving me farther from him. It probably hurt him to complete his Atonement only for me to push it aside, not caring, or accepting his gift. But the joy, the joy he feels at my return is greater than any previous agony.

As if that wasn’t enough, he was then taken, beaten, spit on, humiliated publicly, and at no consequence of wrongdoing. Then, they crucified him. While on the cross is when he felt the very last thing, poignant and crucial: my Savior, who had literally walked with God present his entire life, at the very end, hanging on the cross, felt his Father in Heaven leave him. That is when a beaten and battered Savior cried “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”.

Why did the Father leave His Only Begotten? Because it was imperative that Christ experience everything that I would experience. I have felt alone. Whether it be by my own choices, or am in the dark, foreboding clutches of depression, I know what it feels like to be far removed from God’s presence. To me, this fact is the most heartbreaking of all. That Christ, a perfect and worthy son, felt utterly and hopelessly alone.

And then he died. And three days later he was resurrected, triumphant. He went to battle against sin, against adversity, and every trial of a physical and spiritual nature, including death, and he WON. I would like to think that I watched these events before coming to Earth and rejoiced when, seeing after everything had been completed, he rose victorious. I knew that from that point forward that evil couldn’t win unless I let it. I won’t let Satan win. Not anymore. Because I have Christ on my side. Because He was successful, so I will be. Over sin, over pain, over all mortal strife. And that’s what I discovered this Easter. Which is the most significant thing that could have ever happened, and it didn’t even occur during my lifetime. I love Him. With all my heart. And am eternally grateful. Even if that is the only thing I ever know, at the end of the day, that’s enough.  

Thanks for stopping by.

Know you are loved.

“O God, the Eternal Father, we ask thee in the name of thy Son, Jesus Christ, to bless and sanctify this bread to the souls of all those who partake of it; that they may eat in remembrance of the body of thy Son, and witness unto thee, O God, the Eternal Father, that they are willing to take upon them the name of thy Son, and always remember him, and keep his commandments which he hath given them that they may always have his Spirit to be with them. Amen”

Moroni 4:3

“O God, the Eternal Father, we ask thee, in the name of thy Son, Jesus Christ, to bless and sanctify this [water] to the souls of all those who drink of it, that they may do it in remembrance of the blood of thy Son, which was shed for them; that they may witness unto thee, O God, the Eternal Father, that they do always remember him, that they may have his Spirit to be with them. Amen”

Moroni 5:2

These two scriptures once represented a time of the week I dreaded. The sacrament. I would often find myself grateful that I had 9 o’clock church when I first started coming back into activity. I used the “running late” scenario to purposely come about 10 minutes after the sacrament had started so that I wouldn’t have to pass that sacrament tray to the next person without partaking, or shamefully waive off that eager deacon holding it out to me. Then, the second I heard the member of the bishopric conducting the meeting announcing the program, I would slip into the chapel next to my family and sigh, relieved the torture was over. I enjoyed being spiritually edified in the meeting following the sacrament and participated in the classes afterward. But the sacrament, ugh, I knew I wasn’t worthy. I had made a covenant with my Father when I was baptized to take on the name of Christ and follow His example by obeying His commandments. I hadn’t kept my end of the bargain for years. And for a long time, the sacrament really bothered me. Guilt mostly. I told myself that one day I would begin the repentance process and eventually allow myself to be in attendance for that sacred ordinance.

“And now behold, this is the commandment which I give unto you, that ye shall not suffer any one knowingly to partake of my flesh and blood unworthily, when ye shall minister it. For whoso eateth and drinketh my flesh and blood unworthily eateth and drinketh damnation to his soul; therefore if ye know that a man is unworthy to eat and drink of my flesh and blood ye shall forbid him”

3 Nephi 18:28-29

These are words spoken by the resurrected Savior when he visited the Americas before ascending to heaven to be with His Father. While there, he administered the sacrament to the people just as he did with his apostles before being crucified in what is known as The Last Supper. I was aware of this account and knew that I fell into the category of an unworthy soul, but I saw the “do not partake” and raised it to “don’t even bother showing up”. What I didn’t consider was the scripture immediately following the two-verse warning.

“Nevertheless, ye shall not cast him out from among you, but ye shall minister unto him and shall pray for him unto the Father, in my name; and if it so be that he repenteth and is baptized in my name, then shall ye receive him, and shall minister unto him of my flesh and blood”

3 Nephi 18:30

What a deliberate, heart felt message. Given by the Savior, who quite literally just suffered for our sins in Gethsemane, was crucified, and resurrected. Come to administer and teach of the sacrament, knowing that his sacrifice alone wouldn’t be enough to save us without participation on our part, and instead of saying “if you make a mistake, tough, don’t know what to tell you”, he invites ALL of us to come unto him, be among those who are disciples of Christ, and participate. This is a universal invitation, and none are barred except by ourselves. It is because of His sacrifice we CAN come back to the fold and be present, whether we partake of the bread and water or not. You are worthy of love, support, and prayers. All are welcome because Christ welcomes all. Don’t deny yourself those blessings that come from merely being present as I did.

“However late you think you are, however many chances you think you have missed, however many mistakes you feel you have made or talents you think you don’t have, or however far from home and family and God you feel you have traveled, I testify that you have not traveled beyond the reach of divine love. It is not possible for you to sink lower than the infinite light of Christ’s Atonement shines.”

Jeffrey R. Holland

I am living proof of that sentiment. I was allowed in the congregation. Despite the path I walked to get there. Not only was I allowed to come to church and participate, I was welcomed with love and support from the members there. Then, I could let the Atonement, what the sacrament represents, make me whole again. The day I was able to take the sacrament for the first time after my return, was one I will never forget. I was eager for the meeting to begin; it had been over a decade since I last took the sacrament. My step father, who was sitting next to me, noticed me take the bread and after the tray had reverently moved down the row, he reached over and gave me a hug, told me he was proud of me, and that he loved me. I was so overwhelmed with joy. Pure, indescribable joy. I silently said a prayer of gratitude to my Heavenly Father for my Savior that made it possible for me to be clean again and renew my covenants with Him. Every. Single. Week. I made a promise to never take it for granted again. I promised to do better. That I would never return to where I was. Guess what? I haven’t gone back, but I have certainly made mistakes since. Lots of them! And every week I take the sacrament, I say another prayer, asking for forgiveness, that I may be a better disciple of Christ this week. That I would be a better example this week. A better person, more kind, more patient, more aware of the choices I make each day – this week. Because it is only for a week that we need to try. Because in a week we can come and take the sacrament, be forgiven, and start all over. Every time I feel that same love that I felt the first time. Followed by joy regardless of my shortcomings. The sacrament now represents the single most important event in my life. The Atonement. I now look forward with excitement, not dread. Because I responded to an invitation by a loving Savior.

Thanks for stopping by. Know you are loved.

To start, a poem:

The Cookie Thief by Valerie Cox

A woman was waiting at an airport one night, with several long hours before her flight. She hunted for a book in the airport shops, bought a bag of cookies and found a place to drop.

She was engrossed in her book but happened to see, that the man sitting beside her, as bold as could be …grabbed a cookie or two from the bag in between, which she tried to ignore to avoid a scene.

So, she munched the cookies and watched the clock, as the gutsy cookie thief diminished her stock. She was getting more irritated as the minutes ticked by, thinking, “If I wasn’t so nice, I would blacken his eye.”

With each cookie she took, he took one too, when only one was left, she wondered what he would do. With a smile on his face, and a nervous laugh, he took the last cookie and broke it in half.

He offered her half, as he ate the other, she snatched it from him and thought… oooh, brother. This guy has some nerve and he’s also rude, why he didn’t even show any gratitude!

She had never known when she had been so galled and sighed with relief when her flight was called. She gathered her belongings and headed to the gate, refusing to look back at the thieving ingrate.

She boarded the plane, and sank in her seat, then she sought her book, which was almost complete. As she reached in her baggage, she gasped with surprise, there was her bag of cookies, in front of her eyes.

If mine are here, she moaned in despair, the others were his, and he tried to share. Too late to apologize, she realized with grief, that she was the rude one, the ingrate, the thief.

Just a few short years ago, I was like that woman, worse, even. In her position I would not have merely thought negatively while this man, this “ingrate”, stole my beloved cookies. I would have reacted in anger, raising my voice so that those passing by could hear my accusations. I would have attacked his intelligence, his physique or anything else to cause him pain. Afterwards, I would have shoved all the cookies in my mouth, turned to him, cheeks full like a vexed chipmunk, made a rude hand gesture, and walked off. Possibly leaving him in tears, hurt, with a damaged self-esteem. And even worse still, had I discovered that I was mistaken about what had actually occurred, I would have made myself feel better by misplacing blame again with thoughts like, “well, he should have said/done something to stop me”. I was capable of being ruthless. I was known to be cutthroat. People in previous social circles knew not to push me. I had made people cry, broke their spirits, and damaged self-esteems. I was a punisher and others would boast of my abilities. “Sick Sammi on them. They won’t ever do that again”. I saw myself as the stronger individual. I didn’t take crap from anyone. When people acted out of line, I was the one to put them in their place.

“Kindness is lending someone your strength instead of reminding them of their weakness” -Unknown

Kindness is strength.

I was not displaying feats of strength through my tyrannical rampage. No. True strength is what the man in the poem represents. The one that showed restraint, that opted to share what was rightfully his. He remained silent and made the choice to be charitable. He wasn’t judgmental, immediately forgiving her indiscretions. He practiced love, compassion and patience.

“And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you” – Ephesians 4:32

About 4 years ago I decided to change. It was that or lose this awesome man I was dating that I eventually tricked into marrying me. Through love and patience, he showed me that the way I viewed my actions was severely off-center. And he taught me a lot about who I was and how I needed to treat others. Bless his heart. I put him through the ringer. But knew I needed to change. So, I started to do this thing, when someone irritated me, made a mistake, or did something to upset me, I prayed. And the prayer was simple at first: “Lord, make me kind”. And from there, “Lord make me kind. Help me be patient. Help me understand. Help me to react with love as I know thou lovest them. Help me be like Christ”. And let me tell you, my prayers were answered! It not only forced me to take a time out which is always a good idea when I am feeling upset, but it helped me to better understand Christ’s response when he was asked which is the great commandment:

“Jesus said unto him, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.” – Matthew 22:37-39

Loving our fellow man is such an important principle to our Father in Heaven that he places it right underneath the love we should have for Him. Thankfully I have Him to help me and that He is a merciful God because heaven knows I still have a long way to go. I am trying and that’s about all I can do. He helps me the rest of the way. I will get there one day in the eternities I’m sure. Until then at least I have a Cookie Thief as an example.

Thanks for stopping by, know you are loved.

It’s Christmas Eve and my thoughts turn to a talk I gave in my church on Christmas day 2016. I thought I would share that here as it is Christmas, after all. I hope you enjoy and have a Merry Christmas!

“When I was asked to speak on Christmas day, I was initially very excited because…Christmas. There’s plenty to talk about and it’s obvious as to what you would talk about. Who doesn’t love Christmas? And of course, everyone knows what Christmas is REALLY about. Everyone emphasizes that it isn’t about presents, trees and decorations. You hear about Christ and his birth the entire month of December, so I thought this talk was going to be easy. I thought I could sit down and write out a bunch of typical Christmas words and fill up time easily and be done. However, I think Heavenly Father had a different idea.

I typically plan for my lessons [for Sunday school] with prayer, asking Heavenly Father to please lead by the Spirit with which topics I should spend more time on, what to say, what to think, what to share, what to wear… kidding. But mostly I just want to feel the spirit leading up to the time that I must teach. I want to be inspired and every single time, I am. I feel ideas rushing to me a million miles an hour and the wonderful people attending invite the Spirit from stories and comments they share. We often have beautiful discussions. I have been very blessed that the Lord has made my calling in the church both enjoyable and possible.

This talk has been an entirely different experience. I said a prayer. I asked for inspiration as to what to share about Christmas. To feel the Spirit. To know what I could possibly offer to this inspiring group of people on this holy day. I thought I would be answered the same way I have been answered in the past. That I would search the church’s website about Christ’s birth and, boom! There would be an article or a quote and everything would fall into place. And you know what? It didn’t happen.

Days passed and…nothing. I didn’t feel anything. In fact, I began to worry, I began to fret that the Spirit had left me. That I wasn’t “good enough” that maybe this talk was a mistake that I shouldn’t be the one to share because I wasn’t worthy. That I didn’t have anything to contribute or worth sharing.

Now I am sure all of you are expecting the “and then it happened…” but I want you to understand something. I want you to know just how empty I felt. That me telling this story is a few moments in time to get to the “and then it happened” when, in fact, it was days…weeks. Time seemed to drag on and I was getting to the point when I figured I would just read a good story and share some “in-sight” and sit down and call it a day. I would be left feeling just as empty after the talk as I did leading up to it with no fulfillment for me or anyone in the congregation.

Don’t worry, I want to share with you my “and then it happened”. I was driving in my car. Because that’s how I get places and it is often time to reflect. Those who know me best know I am a tad abstract, so my reflection is typically all over the place and I gain absolutely nothing from it. However, this particular day I was thinking about a particular person in my life who set in motion a string of events that quite literally turned my life around. This person is also the source of a lot of pain, anxiety and depression that I have come to know quite well. Why I was thinking about him? Who knows. Those thoughts are intrusive and tend to stay for a while. Leaving me in tears with feelings of hopelessness and distraught. While driving in my car I realized that the darkness that unfolds is staying for shorter and shorter amounts of time. I am able to claw out of that unforgiving pit just a little faster as each day passes. And while I was thinking about how far I had come, I realized that I am approaching the 2-year anniversary of the worst night of my life. And I thought to myself, “wow, time really does heal”. And immediately following that thought, something far more intrusive and pertinent, was “Christ heals better”.

That’s it. Three words. 17 letters. And a very, very, powerful message. Christ heals better. And then it dawned on me. That’s why Christmas is so important. Christ was born so that he could present the greatest, most selfless gift to each and every one of us. Christ came so that the Atonement could be carried out, so that we would not be alone, and that HEALING was made possible. Healing not just from sin, but from sickness, anger, depression, anxiety, sadness, physical pain; everything. All our mortal bruising could not only be faded by time, but completely healed through Him. Christmas is important because the Savior who was prophesied about, came. He arrived in the humblest of circumstances and maintained that humility throughout his entire life. Then, when push came to shove, he humbled himself before our Heavenly Father and went through unimaginable pain. In that moment in my car I thought to myself: “In some of your darkest moments when you thought there was no way out, the pain was too much, the anxiety unbearable, the depression crippling, take all of that and imagine how Christ must have felt. Your Savior. Going through hundreds of times worse for you. So that you would not have to be there alone. You may not have noticed, but He was there. He knows EXACTLY how you felt, and he was right there with you. Patting you on the back, telling you it will all be okay. Just one more step forward, and you’re in the light. You can do it, Sammi. I know it’s tough. I’m with you every step of the way”.

This experience reminds me of a picture that I absolutely adore. It was painted by David Bowman and it is a picture of Christ embracing a man. But the look on His face is pure happiness. With a smile from ear to ear. It is a depiction of Christ that I hold dear to my heart because He always looks so somber and serious in a lot of the videos and pictures you see of Him. This is how I imagine my reunion with my Savior. When we finally get to meet, and he’s there, telling me: “I knew you could do it!” and I get close and tell him the honest truth; “I couldn’t have done it without you.” And in that moment, the gratitude I feel will be so much I cannot bear it. And he will lift me in his embrace with that smile on His face and tell me He did it because He loves me.

And that is the truth behind Christmas. He came because He loves me. He loves you. To those feeling insignificant, don’t. You matter. You are important. To those with a broken heart, stay strong, smile, Christ heals. To those with anger, let go. Peace is to come. To those who are feeling guilt, forgiveness is on its way. To those with physical ailments, it is not forever. In fact, nothing is forever. That is why the Atonement is so special. There is a light at the end of the tunnel and Christ is at the center of that light. The Atonement is the great “and then it happened” for all of us.”

Thanks for stopping by, know you are loved.

This year I had an urge to buy a new Christmas tree, buy new ornaments, and do a whole new theme. After splurging on new ornaments and a woodland theme Pinterest board started, I got ready to create something beautiful in my home. Then it hit – buyer’s remorse. I felt bad for the purchases because we had a tree, and I had ornaments. Both perfectly fine and functional. After talking it out with my husband, I resolved to return the items.

But the ornaments sat, untouched for days on my kitchen counter. I couldn’t bring myself to return them. It made me sad. Hubs commented on the clutter one night and I told him I would take it back, but I admitted to the gloominess. A few minutes later, we are sitting in the basement, old tree is up, not decorated and unlit, but standing next to a wall. Old ornaments sitting in a bag ready to be placed in their rightful spot. It was there, staring at that tree, that I realized why I didn’t want to let go of the new.

It wasn’t about the ornaments – it was about the memories attached to each one. What they represented to me. Where they came from. And why I didn’t want to use them. I was avoiding the inevitable heartbreak I experience every time I decorated with them.

My grandma, who has since passed away, always gave each of her grandkids a new ornament for Christmas. Me being the oldest grandchild, had quite a collection built up. Each one unique, all with a sweet memory attached to it. I don’t have those ornaments anymore. They were tossed out along with numerous other belongings by my ex, Rich, when I left Arizona. For the past 4 years I have been decorating a Christmas tree with replacements my mother gave me. Still from my grandma, but you can see where my mother crossed out someone else’s name and wrote mine above in black sharpie. Still something I will keep forever, still a piece of her I hold dear, but, painfully, not mine. For the past 4 years I have been reminded of the trauma and why I don’t have them. Every year it’s been torture, tears shed privately to not distract others from the joy that is decorating a tree for the holidays. This year I didn’t sneak off to my bedroom to fall apart. Instead, I let it out right there on the couch next to my poor, lovingly confused husband.

His response to my shaky explanation of the epiphany I just had: “Tomorrow we are getting a new tree and you keep those ornaments you bought. There is no reason for you to have to do this every year”.

He’s right. I don’t.

“Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid”

John 14:27

I said a lengthy prayer that evening asking my Father in Heaven to give me that peace. I prayed that my grandmother, who I know can see me from the other side, wouldn’t be offended at her ornaments staying in a bag this year and that she would know that I love and miss her deeply. I prayed that I could use this opportunity to let go of the past and leave it with Him, my Savior. Let my trauma, pain, and sorrow be swallowed up in His atonement. That I could be renewed. Peaceful with the past. At least for the Christmas season.

 “For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: … and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.”

Isaiah 9:6

“Prince of Peace”. A prince, that was born in a stable and laid in a manager. A prince, who spent his time amongst the homeless, poor, and broken. A prince, whose only crown was made of thorns. A prince, who was the world’s greatest conqueror, victorious over death, sin, and heartache. A prince, who calmed troubled seas and continues to calm troubled souls. A prince, who heals broken bodies and broken hearts. A prince, who through all these good works and so much more, brings peace to the world. An eternal peace.

I now have a beautiful woodland themed tree complete with LED color changing lights thanks to Hubs. I needed new. I needed a new tree, new ornaments, and a new me. I needed the peace the ‘new’ brought. That peace came from my focusing on the true meaning of Christmas, the Prince of Peace, Himself, Jesus Christ. Every time I placed a new ornament on the tree, I thought of Him and what He did for me. The reason I was finally able to experience this peace. I hope that this season each of us take the time to express our heartfelt gratitude to our Heavenly Father for that sacrifice. I hope that we each take time to focus on our Savior’s birth and realize what that means to each of us individually. To those of us that are amongst those that are struggling, I hope that we take the time to lift them up and let the Savior work through us to bring them peace. I hope that those of you who are struggling, especially this time of year, feel that the Savior loves you dearly. That you are precious to Him, invaluable and irreplaceable. I hope we all find peace.

Thank you for stopping by, know that you are loved.

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints members participate in something called “Light the World” each Christmas season. The purpose is to showcase the true meaning of Christmas for the month of December. They have a calendar with different acts of service for each day to help bring the spirit of love, compassion, service, and most importantly, Christ, into their homes. Today being December 2^nd, there is an activity in which we are invited to highlight an individual from our lives that exemplifies Christ-like service on social media. I immediately thought of my mother and decided I would share a very specific example from my childhood that has stuck with me. It also fits perfectly with the Christmas season. Apologies to my mother who is never one to boast and is the perfect example of humble service. I hope she is not embarrassed by this share. I love you mom!

When I was in the third grade, my family lived in Richfield, a small town in central Utah. My mother and father had purchased an old LDS church and had a vision to convert it into a bed and breakfast. As a result, we lived in the church while my parents hosted weddings out of the chapel and slowly earned money for remodels to make their dream come true. The home we had lived in prior was being rented by my father’s sister, her husband and four children.

One afternoon I was sitting in class, getting ready for a spelling test, when my mother came to the classroom door. She was checking me out of school to “go up north”. That’s what we said when we were going to go visit family that lived around the Salt Lake area. What I didn’t know, was the reason we were headed up north, and on such short notice, was the house my aunt was renting had just been raided for a methamphetamine operation. My aunt and uncle were in jail, their kids with my grandparents, and my parents, the legal owners of the home, were now responsible for the clean-up.

I remember walking through my early childhood home shortly after the dust settled, literally, and seeing what was left of it. Anything that had traces of meth had to go. That was the instruction of hazmat when they walked the house. Walls, floors, counters, cabinets, all gone. What remained were dirty, grime covered slabs that no longer resembled a loving home. The skeleton before me was not the same house that existed in memories of my childhood. I remember leaving the somber group of adults assessing the damage and going outside on the front porch and there, I screamed. I screamed because I was hurt, I screamed again because I was angry, and again because I felt betrayed.

We had to move back into that house. My parents couldn’t afford to keep up their dream in Richfield and repair the damage. So, once the “meth house”, we affectionately called it, was livable again, with running water, electricity, the walls and floors replaced, we relocated.

Before we knew it, it was our first Christmas season back in that house. A couple of weeks into the month, my parents called my siblings and I into their room. They had something to share with us. When we entered, there, on the bed, was a beautiful nativity set my mother had purchased. Complete with the three wisemen, shepherds, and stable animals. My mother had an idea and she needed our assistance to carry it out. My aunt, the one that was responsible for the meth lab, was out of jail and currently living with my grandparents. It was my mother’s idea that we take one figure from the nativity and deliver it anonymously to my aunt. One piece, each day, until Christmas, saving the baby Jesus for last. The baby Jesus was to be given to my aunt in person when we saw her at the family Christmas party.

There was no way I was participating in this atrocious act of kindness. My aunt didn’t deserve our affection and I made my opinions known! She was the reason my family had to uproot and move. She was the reason that my parents found them selves in financial crisis, struggling to make ends meet as they fixed up the house she ruined. I was not going to lay a finger on any single piece of that nativity and my mom couldn’t make me. My little 8 to 9-year-old mind was made up! What a ridiculous idea. Giving to the very person that hurt us the most!

My mother didn’t care about my opinion. Bless her heart. She assured me that I did not have to participate. If I didn’t want to give the nativity to my aunt, I didn’t have to, but she was going to anyway. And so, each day, for the next couple of weeks, my mother and siblings (not me, definitely not me) went to my grandparent’s and anonymously left different pieces of the nativity for my aunt. The day of the family Christmas party, I found myself at my grandparents with a tiny gift, containing the baby Jesus, addressed to my aunt. It was at the party that my parents asked if they could have a moment alone with her. They had something to give to her. My mother pulled me aside and asked if I would consider being the one to hand her the gift. I reluctantly agreed.

I faced my aunt in the quiet living room, separated from the rest of the party. My parents, siblings, and grandparents sat around us. I didn’t say anything, just held out the little package. She looked around at each of us questioningly as she took it from me. She opened it, and when she saw that it was the final piece to the nativity, the one she treasured, the one she felt she didn’t deserve, she wept. My aunt expressed how important the nativity had been to her. How she had strategically placed it where she could see it each day. She had wondered who loved her enough to do such a generous thing for her. She had looked forward to getting a new figurine each day and was so grateful for the gift each time. Not once did it cross her mind that it was from my family.

She wrapped me up tightly in a hug and my little heart melted. I then understood what my mother was trying to accomplish. She wanted us to experience the power of forgiveness and mercy. She knew the only way to move past the hurt, was to show compassion towards my aunt and let her know she was forgiven. Now, it was my turn to weep. Our families stood, embracing, tears flowing, as we expressed our love for one another. And that is what Christmas is about. Love. Love for our fellow man and for our Savior. How fitting that the last piece to be given was the gift of our Savior, Jesus Christ, the one that atoned for our sins and our heartaches. The reason that my aunt, myself, and every person on this earth has a chance to be forgiven and to find peace and joy through the hardships. Especially around Christmas. He was and still is the reason for the season.

Thank you for stopping by. Know that you are loved.

My next post was hijacked by this thought, so I decided I would share in a little blip before returning to the post resting in the background.

“The past can shape you, but it does not have to define you”

Something that popped into my head this morning and I thought it was an interesting concept. How many times have we heard:

• Our trials make us who we are

• I wouldn’t change my past because it shaped me into who I am today

• I don’t regret it, I am a better person because of it

All these comments have a common theme: growth from experience. But we must be cautious. There is a fine line between personal progress and letting these experiences define who we ARE. As in present tense. Our past is not who we are today or tomorrow. It is who we were. Yesterday, a year ago, ten years ago. We need to remember that. Too many times I have seen people, myself included, weighed down by their identity, assuming a role they had in the past. Denying themselves the freedom of letting go.

FORGIVE YOURSELF!

I don’t know who needs to hear that. I sure did at one point, and still give myself emotional black eyes every now and then. It certainly follows the rule ‘easier said than done’. We are quick to forgive others and slow to allow ourselves that same solace.

“I, the Lord, will forgive whom I will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men.”

-Doctrine and Covenants 64:10

…but of you it is required to forgive all men… that includes you. The individual in the mirror. The one that is probably the hardest but most deserving of your forgiveness.

Let me tell you a story.

I once made some awful choices in my life. Who am I kidding, it was way more than just ‘once’. But without going into too much detail, because that is not the purpose of this post, these choices required some serious repentance. I had come to a point in my life that I wanted change, I needed God and others to forgive me. I wanted to be a better disciple of Christ. With the help and guidance from loving church leaders, I found myself on a long-awaited journey back to Him. As I continued the path, my eyes were opened to the reality of the severity of my transgressions. I found myself on my knees at one point, pleading with my Father in Heaven for forgiveness. I laid out all the things I could possibly think of that would be displeasing to Him and at the end of it all, found myself muttering “I hate myself”. I was overcome with emotion as I came to that realization. That I hated myself for what I had done and felt that was what I deserved. Hate. But almost immediately after I said those words, I got an answer. My Heavenly Father, who had been quietly listening to me, responded with “But I don’t hate you. In fact, I love you more than you could ever know, Sammi. And because of that love, I have provided a way for you to come back to me. Because I love you, I sent a Savior. And because He loves you, He gave His life for you. He suffered for your sins because he loves you just as much as I do. And because we both love you; we forgive you. And because we forgive you, you can forgive yourself.”

None of us are perfect. We don’t have to be. God knew we would make mistakes and provided a way back. The purpose of the Atonement is to feel God’s love for his children. Not His wrath. We, I, need to do better about remembering that and using the Atonement the way it was intended. To seek forgiveness from Him, and from ourselves. I will do better about remembering that.

Thanks for stopping by. Know that you are loved.

On March 13, 2015, in the early morning hours, I found myself in the emergency waiting room in Phoenix, Arizona. I had no recollection of how I got there. All I knew was that I was in severe pain. I walked up to the woman working the desk and stated I didn’t know why I was there, I didn’t have my phone or wallet and was in pain. Her response: “what do you expect me to do about that?”. I left her desk, defeated, and noticed a line of phones in the waiting room that anyone could use to call out. So, hunched over and taking short, quickened breaths from the pain radiating from my stomach, I dialed the number of my then boyfriend, we will call him Rich. Rich answered and I proceeded to tell him that I was at an ER and needed a ride home. I didn’t have phone or wallet and they didn’t want to see me. Could he please come get me and take me home. I just wanted to go home to bed. He then told me he was on his way to California but agreed to come pick me up and take me home.

As I waited for him to arrive, my thoughts drifted to earlier in the evening. I had gone out with friends to a bar and then back to their house for a couple hours before calling it a night. I hadn’t driven that night, and not wanting to stay the night at my friends, called Rich to pick me up and bring me home. We lived together at the time and he hadn’t gone out with us because he worked at a local club as security. When he came to my friend’s house, around 2 am or so, he asked me what was wrong as we navigated the streets to our apartment. I told him nothing was wrong, that I just wanted to go home. An argument ensued because he didn’t believe me and accused me of hiding something. He got mad and pulled the car over and told me to walk the rest of the way home. He told me as I got out that he was sick of the way I was acting. I knew the relationship was over. There was this same pattern occurring over and over for the last 6 months. I started walking in a less-than-safe part of town and after a few minutes, I called Rich again and told him that if he would just come pick me up, that I would go home, pack my stuff and we could call it quits. He agrees, picks me up and takes me home. I remembered, sitting on the bench at the ER that when we arrived back home after that fight, that I had been standing in the kitchen putting things in boxes and fighting with Rich. But what about? I don’t remember. Then, shocked, I remember him grabbing a knife and cutting his wrist in front of me. I remembered feeling so shocked, scared, and angry that I remember my only response was “Do it. See if I care!”. Then, nothing. Black. The next thing I knew, I was at an ER in excruciating pain in my abdomen.

When we got home from the hospital, Rich helped me up the stairs to our apartment, laid me down in bed, and before I lost consciousness to sleep, saw him punch a hole in the wall. The next morning, I couldn’t stand up straight, couldn’t breathe, and would fade in and out of consciousness. I told Rich I needed to go back to the hospital because something was seriously wrong. It was at another hospital, they rushed me back to receive an emergency CT scan where they discovered I had massive internal bleeding. My spleen had ruptured, and I was currently bleeding to death. They explained all this as they brought me back for emergency surgery. Sitting in ICU after the surgery, unable to move due to risk of blood clots, Rich came to see me. He had flowers. He set them down on the table and explained that he was sorry that he had to do that to me. What? What did he mean? What he meant was that during our argument in the kitchen the night before, he had hurt me. He had picked me up in the kitchen and dropped me on my head. He hit me or kicked me, still don’t know which, but somehow ruptured my spleen. He knew he had seriously injured me and as a result, he had decided the best thing to do was to place me in the trunk of his car, drive me to the desert, and bury me. He had participated in similar acts before. You see, Rich was an active member of a Chicago syndicate in the Italian Mafia. But he explained to me that the reason I am still here is because, in the process of “ridding me” that “God told me to stop, so I did, and dropped you off at the ER instead”.

So, the only reason I wasn’t a missing person, buried in some unknown location, is because God told him to stop. And he listened. God saved my life.

There is an ancient prophet in the Book of Mormon. He is known as Alma the Younger. Named after his father, Alma, who was the presiding leader of Christ’s church in the ancient Americas. Alma the Younger was not always a righteous man. In fact, before he became a great leader, he is described as a “very wicked and idolatrous man”. He and his friends, 4 sons of the king in the land, were enemies of the church and because “he was a man of many words, and did speak much flattery to the people”, he was able to convince many believers to fall away from the gospel. However, as Alma the Younger went about trying to destroy the church, his father and people of the church prayed to God that he may find his way back. And because of their relenting faith, God answered their prayers in the form of an angel that visits Alma and strikes him dumb. He is unable to move or speak for 2 days. Then, when he awakes, he is a new man, having seen the error of his ways and has repented.

“Nevertheless, after wading through much tribulation, repenting nigh unto death, the Lord in mercy hath seen fit to snatch me out of an everlasting burning, and I am born of God. My soul hath been redeemed from the gall of bitterness and bonds of iniquity. I was in the darkest abyss; but now I behold the marvelous light of God. My soul was racked with eternal torment; but I am snatched, and my soul is pained no more”

This is what God did for me. No, I am not some great prophet, nor do I consider myself one of God’s great leaders. I didn’t see an angel, but I was saved, by God Himself. Of that, I have no doubt. But why? Why me? I am still figuring that out almost 5 years later. The most I can do to repay that debt is to serve Him for the remainder of my life. Like Alma, who became a great missionary, spreading God’s goodness throughout the land, I can do likewise by using the most of the second chance I have been given. To try to be a better example. To serve others. To love people and show them that there is hope even for the worst of us. I was no saint and by all accounts of my life at that time, most would consider me “unsalvageable”.  Literally, no one is untouchable from Christ’s redeeming love. His sacrifice, asked for by the Father, is what redeems each of us. Each and every day. The least I can do is not take it for granted.

Thank you for stopping by. Know that you are loved.