Hope Through Heartache

From the moment I got married I never envisioned infertility being a part of our life together. That was in large part due to the fact that I got pregnant with twins on the honeymoon and on birth control. I just assumed I followed in the fertile footsteps of my mother. When it took nearly four years to become pregnant again, I didn't think anything of it. We had our hands full with two very lively little girls and so I never felt a sense of urgency to add another child to the madness. After having Helaman, Kip and I knew right away that we wanted another little child to be close to him in age. We started trying almost immediately to get pregnant and this is when I began to realize that maybe I have a problem.

We tried for four years before going to my OBGYN to discuss my infertility. They started me on chlomid, which only proved to make me a raging lunatic. One round of that was all it took for me to realize I'd never do that again. Over time I began to realize that perhaps it would never happen, that I might never carry another baby in my body. I slowly began to adjust to this new reality and started making plans for my future accordingly. I started to be pretty confident that we would never have more children so I went ahead and made plans to get a tummy tuck to remove the lose skin on my abdomen resulting from massive weight loss. I prayed about this decision, knowing if I went ahead with the surgery I would not want to have any more children. I felt good about my choice to move forward and booked my surgery and payed my non-refundable deposit. I was really excited about this next step and made an appointment with my OBGYN to get on birth control, the first time I would be on it since my honeymoon. I filled my prescription and anxiously waited for my period to start so I could begin taking the pills.

The month before my surgery, I made a trip down to Utah to help my sister with her move. The entire time I was gone I felt exhausted and lightheaded, and still my period didn't come. When I got back to Idaho, I was so lightheaded and weak and did not feel like myself. The next morning I took a pregnancy test simply because I had yet to start. Much to my shock, it was positive. I never get early positives so I was skeptical. I called my doctor and my an appointment for a blood test to verify before I would believe it. Sure enough, the blood test came back positive. I somehow managed to keep it a secret for a few days so I could tell Kip on our anniversary. He was elated. I was filled with mixed emotions as I had to cancel my tummy tuck, something I was really anticipating. I wondered over and over again why it happened, but figured that it was God's way of saying there was another child that needed to come into our home and He knew it was either now or never. We told our kids and mother's early because I do not do pregnancy well. I get really moody and sick and it was hard to keep it from them. Everyone was beyond excited.

I scheduled an ultrasound to see when my due date would be since I had no idea. Kip came with me. The ultrasound tech was nervous saying the baby was smaller than it should be and that she couldn't detect a heartbeat. The doctor warned us it was possible that it would not be a viable pregnancy, but also that there was a possibility that it was just too soon to tell. Kip and I left the office feeling hopefully optimistic and not concerned at all. We just knew that this baby was coming for a reason. The doctor told us to come back the following week before we left on our trip to Disneyland to see if they could see and hear what they needed to. I went to the next ultrasound without Kip, so confident that everything would be ok. Thankfully my good friend Linda insisted on coming with me.

I went into the appointment expecting to hear the best and left hearing the worst news possible—our baby was dead. I cannot even begin to explain the heartache and shock that rippled through my entire being as I was left alone in the sterile doctor's room to change back into my clothes. I sobbed, wishing that Kip was there to comfort me and share in my grief, but knowing I was alone and would have to call him and tell him the news. I also knew that on the other side of that closed door was Linda and Helaman and that when I walked out, I would have to tell them. I dreaded the task like I dreaded nothing in my life.

I was broken and I couldn't quit sobbing. At once, I became angry. I didn't understand why God would bless us with a miraculous pregnancy after more than four years of trying just to take it away. I couldn't understand it. I became angry at Him and angry at Kip. No one understood my pain. I immediately knew that I never wanted to go through that again and that I would not try to have any more children. Underneath the surface, my anger simmered. I knew that if I prayed, God would tell me to have more kids, and I knew that Kip wanted more as well. I felt consumed with anger at the two people in my life I love the most and who love me the most in return.

My body did not want to give up the baby. The sack kept on growing as if it were a normal, healthy pregnancy, though my baby had died weeks before. I felt morning sickness and all the other pregnancy symptoms, but knew that they were for naught. I waited two weeks for my body to miscarry naturally before I finally had to take a pill to force my body to give up the baby it wanted so badly. I took the pill first thing in the morning and experienced painful, intense cramping for hours, though there was no bleeding. When it got so bad, I decided to get in the bath to help relieve some of the pain since there was no blood. While I was in the tub, I gave birth to the placenta and sack carrying what looked like a small blood clot. My baby was no more than a cluster of cells. I called Kip in and had him help me clean it up and dispose of it. It was a bonding experience unlike any other.

I remember the minute the baby passed from my body—I was filled with an all consuming love for that child and for my Heavenly Father. As I got in the shower to clean myself up, I cried. I knew in that moment that there was another child waiting to come to our home and that I would do whatever it took to get them here. Needless to say, those feelings and that promise have been tested over and over and over since that fateful day. I have been filled with so much anger. I volley between wanting to have more kids and wanting to move on with my life and avoid the heartache that comes each month with my period when I realize I am not pregnant.

I can't tell you how many people tried to comfort me after my miscarriage by telling me that when they went through that, they were pregnant the next month with a baby that stuck. Well, the next month when I wasn't pregnant I fell into a deep depression. Months came and went and I was still not pregnant. Why would God tell me there were more children and not bless me with a pregnancy? I finally decided to seek out help from a fertility expert. Kip and I went to a number of appointments and were subjected to rounds and rounds of testing. In the end, the doctor had to define it as unexplained fertility. Because of my history, he gave us 2% probability of getting pregnant naturally each month. Not good odds. He said we had about a 50% chance of getting pregnant on our own within the next 10 years. 10 years! I couldn't wait that long. I am at the point where I either need to have a kid now or be done for good. I am so tired of living in limbo and of the emotional turmoil I face each month when I'm not pregnant.

I'm tired of the comments from people about it being time for another one. I'm tired of my kids begging for a baby. I'm just tired.

When Kip and I left the fertility doctor's office, knowing that our best bet for achieving a pregnancy was IVF, I told him there was no way I would submit myself to that. We talked about it for awhile and we both agreed that it was a hardship we didn't want to deal with. I told him I would give him until the fall to get pregnant naturally and that if I wasn't, I would go get my tummy tuck and we would be done trying for more kids. That evening we went to the Temple. As I was sitting and praying in the Celestial room, the Spirit so clearly told me that I needed to do IVF and do it NOW!

In the week that has followed, I have experienced incredible peace and unspeakable despair. The adversary is working so hard on me, trying to cripple me and destroy my faith. But as I have looked back over the past several months, I see that the Lord has been guiding me to this decision very clearly and very directly. The only other time in my life I have faced so much opposition was on my mission. In hindsight, I can see that the adversary was trying to stop me from baptizing people and changing lives, and also trying to stop me from meeting Kip. He knew what would result from my time spent in Pittsburgh, and he tried to do everything to stop it. I feel that same weight now. I am convinced that he knows the spirit that is waiting to come to our home and is trying to thwart God's plan. I am not entirely sure why God has led us on this path or why we have faced this trial, but I am convinced that He has his hand in it and that He is guiding us fully. Because of this assurance, I have hope, something I have been severely lacking since the day I found out my baby was dead.

Unkowingly Fighting Against God

2014 has been a tough year for me. It seems like me and my family have been bombarded with an endless stream of trials and never-ending stress. Don't' get me wrong, we aren't immune to stress or trials in the past, but never, in the nearly 8 years since we've been married, have we experienced them back to back in a constant wave as we have this year.


As the trials kept pouring in and the stress kept mounting, I found my spirit feeling more and more overwhelmed with thoughts of despair. I don't seem to manage stress very well. And though, on the outside, I kept functioning somewhat normally, inside I was in total despair. Why was God allowing us to go through so much? Was He trying to destroy me? (I remember having that thought so many times on my mission when I was going through my trials and later diagnosed with Bipolar 2). And then the biggest seed of doubt of all was planted in my heart...had God forgotten me and my family?


It was a slippery slope. I felt myself sliding into this depressing abyss as I struggled to make sense of why we were facing the things we were. My faith was being tested and I was found lacking. I began to harbor negative thoughts and doubts, wondering why God was fighting against me, causing my family so much grief. I remember one day I was struggling particularly bad. I cried out in prayer for God to show me that He hadn't forgotten my family and to know that He still cared. I was at a really low point.


That day when I went to the mailbox, there was a letter inside from the Office of the First Presidency of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. A few weeks earlier our family had watched the semi-annual General Conference of the church. During the talks, my six year old daughter Hallie drew pictures of and wrote letters to several of the apostles and the prophet, President Monson. I mailed them off and never imagined we'd get a reply. It came that day, the day I had pleaded with the Lord to give me a reminder that He hadn't forgotten us. We received a letter from the office of His prophet on the earth telling us how much he loved us and was proud of us for raising our family in righteousness. I know that it was no coincidence the letter arrived in the mail on that very day.


I wish I could say that immediately cured all of my doubts and anger, but it didn't. Though my sorrow was lifted somewhat, I still continued in my murmuring, for which I am ashamed. When another devastating trail hit, I opened up to my mom and couldn't help but tell her of my pain. I told her how I felt abandoned by God. Later that day she sent me a link to David Archuleta singing the hymn, “Be still my soul”. I was doubtful that listening to a hymn that I was very familiar with could help, but regardless, I watched and listened anyway.


Be still, my soul: The Lord is on thy side;
With patience bear thy cross of grief or pain.
Leave to thy God to order and provide;
In ev'ry change he faithful will remain.
Be still, my soul: Thy best, thy heav'nly Friend
Thru thorny ways leads to a joyful end.


Be still, my soul: Thy God doth undertake
To guide the future as he has the past.
Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake;
All now mysterious shall be bright at last.
Be still, my soul: The waves and winds still know
His voice who ruled them while he dwelt below.


Be still, my soul: The hour is hast'ning on
When we shall be forever with the Lord,
When disappointment, grief, and fear are gone,
Sorrow forgot, love's purest joys restored.
Be still, my soul: When change and tears are past,
All safe and blessed we shall meet at last.

The minute I heard David sing, “Be still my soul, The Lord is on thy side,” I felt something within me begin to change. The Spirit spoke so clearly to my heart that it was true. All of this time I had been unknowingly fighting against God when we had been on the same team the entire time! He never abandoned me, forgot about me, or punished me. He was there besides me fighting my battles with me every step of the way. My eyes were opened to the numerous times that He had answered my prayers, eased my burdens, lightened my load, and provided miracles in my life.

“Be still, my soul: Thy God doth undertake To guide the future as he has the past.” A quick and honest look back on my life showed me that indeed, though the way had often been rough, He had always guided me with His steady hand to where I needed to be, to become who I needed to be. My heart was changed as I realized that I had been betraying the one constant source of peace, hope, and help that I had always had in my life. Always. My heart returned to the Lord that day, filled with an inner peace and assurance that He had not forgotten me and never would. I now know that we are on the same side, fighting the same battle against the unseen enemy to all of us. And I know, with God, all things are possible, all battles can be won if we but trust in Him, hold to the rod, and endure.

I Have A Secret

Countless times I have contemplated sharing this personal experience, and countless times I have concluded that it is much too draining of an ordeal for me to try and express such a dark time in my life. But, more often than not, people approach me about their own personal struggles with depression and I feel compelled to share my story. So here I sit with a pressing weight on my shoulders and apprehension in my gut, but a determination to share my story of depression, mental illness, and most importantly, of faith. The spirit compels me on, therefore I must conclude that it will be of some benefit to somebody, somewhere.

“The greatest battle of life is fought within the silent chambers of your own soul.”

-President David O. McKay

Growing up I was often surrounded by people struggling with depression. In my ignorance and pride, as someone who had yet to struggle with it personally, I thought that depression was simply a choice one made. I thought that each individual had the power to decide if they were going to allow themselves to be depressed or not. Snap out of it, I often thought, and at times may have even voiced that sentiment. I have come to regret that way of thinking now. Maybe part of my particular trial was learning humility. I can honestly say that now, I do not hold to those same views.

It wasn't until I was 21 that the first stirrings of depression began making their way into my life. Well perhaps that's not exactly the best way to describe it. If I'm going to be honest, I will have to admit that my depression pretty much hit me full force, head on, the moment I entered the MTC in preparation for my mission call to serve in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. The two weeks I spent there learning about the Gospel and how to effectively teach it were hard. I often attributed the strange and sudden appearance of my depression to the adversary trying to thwart me from serving a mission. In hindsight, I still fully believe that was true.

I remember perfectly my first night in Pittsburgh. My trainer had spent the day taking me out and showing me the ropes. We ended the day by tracting in a residential neighborhood full of families. It was dark as we knocked on doors and people were angry at the intrusion. They were upset that we dared knock on their doors so late at night, intruding on their bedtime and nightly rituals. And of course they were generally just angry because us Mormon's had the audacity to come to their homes and try to preach to them. I soon learned that missionary's for the church were not well received in Pittsburgh.

Growing up in Utah, I had a different ideal of what a mission would be like, of how a missionary would be received. I did not except such a cold, uncomfortable welcome in my field of labor. I was shocked and more than a little upset as we drove back to our apartment. That night as I was praying I had an intensely spiritual experience with my Savior, followed immediately by a very real and personal experience with the adversary. It shook me to my core. To this day, I don't speak of the details to many people. It seemed to set a tone for my entire mission, in fact, for my entire life. From that point forward, I felt as if a legion of demons surrounded me, trying desperately to pull me down.

These feelings were so foreign to me, so painful. Everyday was a chore, a battle to live. I had to convince myself daily to stay on my mission, to stay faithful to what I knew was true. After a time, I began to become bitter, I couldn't understand why I felt the way I did. I was at the my righteous peak; I was giving every single hour of every single day in service to the Lord. Why wasn't that enough? Why would God do this to me?

In my last area I hit my lowest point. At times I even questioned if there was a God. If there was, and He really loved me, why was I suffering so? I hated myself, I hated the constant feeling of darkness and hopelessness that enshrouded me. I was quite literally in pain. But eventually I became numb, and that was a whole new level of scariness. I was past feeling.

I suffered somewhat of a nervous breakdown in my last area. My companion and mission president had no idea that there was even a problem. I was reminded by my mission president that I was one of their hardest working missionaries. My mission president eventually helped me to seek out an LDS counselor. I began seeing her but we never fully clicked. She said that she thought that I possibly suffered from mild depression, that nothing was really wrong. But inside I was dying. I knew that it wasn't normal to have such low moments in my life, such worthless feelings. The feeling wasn't always constant—sometimes I would feel fine, then at others I would feel low. My moods shifted so quickly and rapidly and for seemingly no reason at all. How could she possibly think nothing was wrong?

I never did get any help or understanding on my mission, but I was able to serve honorably to the very end. I desperately hoped that once I got home, I would go back to normal, that I would feel like me again. I wish I could say that was how my story ended, but the feelings of depression and worthlessness increased once I got home. It took everything in me to talk to my dad about what I was experiencing. He suggested I see a counselor once more. I scheduled an appointment and met once again with a stranger to discuss my innermost feelings. At the end of the session, he diagnosed me with mild depression, said that I didn't need medication and basically sent me on my way.

Another piece of me died inside. It took literally everything I had to reach out and seek for help and twice now, I had been turned away, brushed off. I knew the feelings I had couldn't simply be explained away by a 'mildly depressed' diagnosis. Why couldn't anyone, even professionals, see what was wrong? I felt completely hopeless as I fought, arms flailing, trying to reach for a lifeline that would keep me from sinking, but there was none there. At this time of great darkness, I received a letter from some missionaries still serving in Pittsburgh with ill intent. They accused me of being a bad missionary and other such things. It broke my heart. I was not perfect, but despite the turbulent depression I had been trying to function in, I honestly can say I tried my hardest. In fact, I struggled with extreme perfectionism on my mission, which only added to my feelings of despair. I wanted so desperately for those missionaries to understand that I was fighting against something more powerful than their words, but I knew I could never explain. Instead, it just added to my feelings of worthlessness and made me angry.

One day, out of the blue, I got a phone call from my Stake President. He said that ever since I had returned home from my mission he'd had me on his mind. He asked if I would come to his office and meet with him. I agreed. When I got there he said that he got the impression that something was wrong, that something had happened to me on my mission, that I had gone through something that most people don't usually go through. I recounted the incident I had with the adversary my first night in Pittsburgh. He asked me a few more questions regarding the incident then asked if he could give me a blessing. I readily agreed.

Tears poured down my face as this humble man of God, a man that knew almost nothing about me and my trials, placed his hands upon my head and bestowed upon me a blessing of healing. He told me that I would be cured of my depression. It was the first time I recall feeling hope. I was optimistic that I would walk out of that office a new woman, a woman free of depression. That didn't happen. If anything, the symptoms only escalated. I fasted, I poured my heart out to God to help me understand what was wrong with me, I went to the Temple often. I was looking for answers in all of the right places, yet there were none.

Several months passed by before my sister and I moved down to Provo. We were excited for this new adventure in our lives. I was hoping that the change of environment would prove a blessing. Since my mission, I had been prompted to move to Provo. When my admittance to BYU was rejected, I thought maybe I wasn't really supposed to go there, but several experiences and prompting reassured me that I was.

I remember the day I went and registered for classes at UVU. It took everything I had in me to go to campus and sign up for my classes. It was as if I had run a marathon. The dark, hopeless, depression was becoming more of a constant companion. People irritated me, socializing drained me, and even little things would send me over the edge. I was called to be the Relief Society President of my single's ward, a job I was excited and willing to accept. I hoped that if I just served more, was more righteous, that eventually I would be cured. Yet none of those things seemed to be the antidote. I begin to grow bitter once more. Hadn't I received a blessing from God that I would be healed? Why wasn't I being healed? Anger and bitterness warred with the depression, causing an almost lethal combination.

I finally reached a snapping point. One day I was laying in my bed in my empty apartment. I couldn't muster up the strength or desire to do anything, even live. In fact, I had even notified the school that I was dropping out, before I had even started, because I knew there was no way I could be a student in my current condition. As I lay wallowing in the pain and agony of my soul, I came to the conclusion that there were only two options left for me; admit myself to a mental hospital, or commit suicide. I had literally hit rock bottom. I found myself driving to the nearest hospital, unsure of what I was going to do or say, but knowing I needed help and I needed it now. I walked into the hospital's mental ward, went to the front desk and told them I needed to admit myself. The receptionist looked at me strangely before telling me to go home and call my doctor. I was devastated. It had taken everything left of my soul to take myself there and ask for help and here I was being rejected.

I don't even remember driving home, but I can almost guarantee I was crying. Holed up once more in my dark room, I pulled out a phone book. The task seemed enormous and I wasn't sure I even wanted to attempt it. But something compelled me onward. I called the first doctor only to get the office's answering machine. My fingers shook as I hung up the phone. Maybe that was my answer. I decided to try one more. The next doctor's office said they could see me the following day. I scheduled the appointment and hung up the phone, still feeling determined. How can you tell someone who is barely hanging on to life to wait another day. Another day may as well have been eternity.

Walking into Dr. Olsen's office that day, I knew that this was my last attempt at seeking help. The answers I did or did not get that day would be final. I was apprehensive to talk to a therapist who wasn't LDS. I sat down on her couch and started telling her what I was going through. Literally within minutes she said, “You have bipolar 2.” I didn't understand what that meant, but relief flooded over me at finally having an answer to what was going on with me.

Dr. Olsen went on to explain that unlike people with traditional bipolar who experience extreme ups and extreme downs, a person with bipolar2 only gets the extreme downs with mild ups in between. She explained to me the cycles of emotions, and I could identify with all of it. I had spent the last several months rapid cycling, meaning I would volley back and forth between both extreme emotions rapidly...sometimes hundreds of times during the course of a day. No wonder I was physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted. She then prescribed me medication.

I drove to the Walmart pharmacy immediately after my appointment, feeling relieved that I had finally gotten an answer. I picked up my prescription and began taking it immediately. From the moment I took that first pill, I was changed. The rapid thoughts cycling through my brain ceased and my spirit felt peace for the first time in as long as I could remember.

I can't say that was the end of my story, of my experience with mental illness, because in many ways it was just the beginning of a lifetime journey. After talking to numerous people with mental illness and sharing our experiences, I came to learn how incredibly fortunate I was to find a medicine that worked for me so quickly and so well. It wasn't until many years later when I was discussing my disease and the management of it with my OBGYN during my pregnancy with my son that I truly realized what a miracle it was. I had progressed to a point where I no longer had to take the medication daily. For the last several years I have been able to take it on an “as needed” basis. As I was explaining this to her she stopped me and said, “First off, I want you to know how odd it is that your doctor would prescribe you that particular pill for bipolar 2, it's almost unheard of. Second off, I want to tell you that everything I know from my training and my medical profession tells me that it should not work the way it works for you.”

She wasn't telling me this to condemn me, but rather, she spoke the words in awe. It was at that appointment that I truly came to know how big of a hand my Heavenly Father had in curing me. I used to think the only way I would be cured was to have my disease removed from me, but I have since learned that sometimes God cures us by giving us the tools we need to survive, to thrive.

Over the years my symptoms have lessened considerably. During both of my pregnancies I was able to go completely off the medication so as not to harm my unborn children. Sometimes I forget that I have a mental illness, and sometimes I can't see past it. The first few years of marriage were hard, my husband had a hard time understanding what I was going through. Looking back I realize that was a pattern in my illness. I think I became really good at keeping a solid, composed front whilst inside I was literally dying. I think that's what makes mental illness so hard for people to understand. Often times it's the “normal” looking people you associate with on a regular basis that are crying the loudest on the inside, that are in a place of such complete darkness and self loathing that they feel there is no way out.

Sometimes depression is a product of our lifestyles. Poor choices and sin, whether on our part or the part of others, can lead to feelings of despair. And other times, it's out of our control, it is literally caused by chemical imbalances in the brain and nothing you say, nothing you do, will fix it. I had erroneously thought that if I could just be righteous enough, I would be healed.

It was during my darkest days, months, and years that I came to know firsthand that the healing power of the atonement is real. My Savior was standing beside me more than I ever knew. I know that it was He that directed me to the right place at the right time in my life so that I could find the right doctor to diagnose me and prescribe me with the exact medication that my body needed to function correctly. I feel that Dr. Olsen was guided and inspired as well.

I now look on people with mental illness and those who suffer with depression with such compassion and empathy, not disdain. I know that when the Savior lay suffering, bleeding in the Garden of Gethsemane that He felt the awful chains of hell that had wrapped themselves around my soul, that He felt perfectly what I was going through and therefore knows how to succor me perfectly. I know that I was given this trial for a reason. I can honestly say that the things I have learned as a result have changed me into a better person. I also know that my trial wasn't meant for me alone. My husband had to go through his own journey as well as he learned to live with a spouse affected by mental illness. He has become a more loving, understanding person. I literally could not live without his love and his support.

I know that there are more people than we can even know who are currently suffering through these inner battles, that are crying inside like I was for somebody to offer them relief. I pray that we can all be a little more kind, a little more loving, a little less judgmental, to ourselves and to others, for we never know the battles that are raging within another's soul. Only God does, and I promise you He loves those children of His dearly.

Choosing Which Animal to Feed

Each of us has two animals residing within us, the first I like to refer to as the Lion. The lion is the natural man in all of us, the part of us that encompasses all of our weaknesses, insecurities, fears, and doubts. The lion in us desires things that are not of God, struggles with a desire and conviction to choose right. It encompasses the darkest parts of ours souls. This is the part of us that satan likes to encourage, the part of us satan wants us to feed so that one day it will consumes us.

On the other hand, we all have a divine spirit, a part of us I like to call the lamb. This is our true identity, our identity as sons and daughters of God. This part of our spirits is the part of us that yearns for something greater, that comprehends that we have so much potential, that longs for and strives for righteousness and for all that is pure and holy. It longs for home.

So what decides the prominence of these animals in our lives? What determines which beast will occupy our souls and hearts? It's as simple as this...whichever animal we decide to feed will be the animal that dominates and thrives.

There will be different times in our lives when either the lamb or the lion demands our attention or seems to consume our control, but ultimately it's up to us to decide who we will let rule us. I've been thinking about this a lot lately as the lion in me has fought to take precedence over the lamb. Sometimes I feel consumed by my natural man and the weaknesses inside of my heart that it exploits. But I'm learning that it's completely and totally up to me to decide who will win out.

So how do we feed these animals? If we choose to feed the lion we do things that are selfish, we ponder on our weaknesses and let our flaws consume us and blind us to others and their needs. When we focus so deeply on our weaknesses, our mistakes, or our unholy desires we give fuel to the lion.
Likewise, each time we sin, whether by omission or commission, we feed the lion a feast that strengthens him.

On the flip side, when we choose to "put off the natural man" (Mosiah 3:19) we choose to feed the more precious part of our souls, the lamb. Each time we sincerely pray, seek truth, study the scriptures, selflessly serve others, and choose righteousness we are fueling the lamb.

President Monson once said that "Our decisions determine our destiny," and it's absolutely true. Each of us are fighting an inner battle, a battle between good and evil. We have both beasts residing within us but it's up to us to decide which one we will feed, ultimately resulting in the one who will dominate. It is only by "putting off the natural man and becoming a saint through the atonement" (Mosiah 3:19) that we will be able to return to God's presence and live forever in happiness. I know this is true. My greatest desire is to have the conviction, courage, and strength to feed the lamb and become like the Lamb of God, my elder brother Jesus Christ, for truly the ultimate test of this mortal probation is who we choose to become.

The Atonement

On Easter Sunday Kip and I were asked to speak in sacrament meeting on the single most important event in all of history and eternity--the atonement of Jesus Christ. I had several people ask for a copy of the talk so I decided I would just write it on my blog as a blog post.

I have a great love in my heart for the Savior and His sacrifice on my behalf. I wish I could claim my limited understanding comes on account of my personal righteousness but the complete opposite is true. It is because of my sinful nature that I have come to more fully rely on and comprehend, however minutely, the Savior's atonement.

What is the atonement? In Alma 7: 11-13 it reads, "And he shall go forth, suffering pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind; and this that the word might be fulfilled which saith he will take upon him the pains and the sicknesses of his people. And he will take upon him death, that he may loose the bands of death which bind his people; and he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities. Now the Spirit knoweth all things; nevertheless the Son of God suffereth according to the flesh that he might take upon him the sins of his people, that he might blot out their transgressions according to the power of his deliverance; and now behold, this is the testimony which is in me."

To more fully understand the atonement, I want to talk about a momentous event that occurred, an event that each one of us was present at but that we cannot remember; the council in heaven. In the council of heaven two plans were presented for our spiritual progression; God's plan and satan's. Satan's plan was to strip us of our agency and more or less force us to return to God's presence. He would ensure that not one soul would be lost and in return he wanted all of the glory. God's plan was to allow each of us our agency, our ability to choose if we would follow Him and live or follow the evil one and die. Central to Heavenly Father's plan was the Savior, a sinless person willing to pay the price for our misuse of agency. Every one of us chose Heavenly Father's plan or we wouldn't be here. We chose to take advantage of the Savior's atonement. Satan and a third of our brother's and sisters were cast out of Heaven as a result of this war, but whereas in the pre mortal life satan's plan was to lead us captive at his will in order to ensure our salvation, his plan now is to lead us captive at his will to ensure our destruction. We came to this earth amidst a great battle, terrible destruction abounds and our enemy has gained many victories. We're all subject to temptations of the flesh and temptations of an adversary who knows us and our weaknesses well.

The Bible tells us that all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God. It was no secret to our Heavenly Father that we would struggle and in His great mercy and love for us He provided a way for us to overcome the effects of our sinful behavior.

I've been thinking a lot lately about how the effect of one sin can potentially alter the course of our lives and our eternity. It's so tragic to think of the opportunities lost and the pain inflicted by sin, both our own and other peoples. God knew this would be the nature of mortality and that no amount of repentance or restitution on our part could ever pay off the monumental debt our sins would accrue. We needed somebody who would settle the account, who would assume our debts as his own.

Jesus Christ was foreordained to this role. I can easily imagine the cunning that satan employed in the pre mortal life to convince and deceive us into thinking that it couldn't be done, that no man could take upon himself all of our sins and temptations, our weaknesses and sorrow and refrain from committing a single sin in return. Seeds of doubt were planted and eventually a third of the hosts of heaven were led away.

There is no question in my mind that when Christ entered the Garden of Gethsemane where He would take upon Him the incredible burden of our sins, or as James E. Faust put it, "the indescribable anguish and overpowering torture for our sake," that satan and his angels were eagerly watching in hopes and anticipation of Him, the very Son of God, to fail. One sin is all it would've taken for the atonement to be rendered incomplete, yet Christ, as He lay in the garden suffering in such complete agony that He bled from every pore, was able to break the bonds of sin. He suffered personally and intimately for each one of our sins, our disappointments, our pains, our humiliations. He felt what it was to be a sinner and to be sinned against and not once did He subject himself to sin. I imagine it was a devastating and horrific day for the adversary when Christ successfully completed the atonement, but more importantly, for all of us it was a day of great rejoicing! A day of victory! A day where we were fully bought and paid for and could now be freed!

President Faust said, "Our salvation depends on believing in and accepting the atonement. Such acceptance requires a continual effort to understand it more fully. The atonement advances our mortal course of learning by making it possible for our natures to become perfect. All of us have sinned and need to repent to fully pay our part of the debt. When we sincerely repent, the Savior's magnificent atonement pays the rest of that debt."

This month when I taught sharing time it was on the atonement and I asked the primary kids to take a minute to think of a world where there was no Savior. Think about that for a moment. Some of their answers were, "Well we wouldn't have a church," and "We wouldn't be able to have eternal families" and they were exactly right, we wouldn't. We would be forever spiritually damned, there would be no possible way for us to ever return to our Father's presence, there would be no hope for us and we would forever remain in captivity to the devil. But there is hope because Jesus lives, His perfect sacrifice complete.

As members of the church we have this knowledge, we are taught of the atonement and what we need to do to access it's power, but do we treat this knowledge lightly? Do our actions betray the awesome gift we have been given? It's not simply enough to know that the atonement was performed, for even satan knows of its reality. The scripture in 2 Nephi 25:23 tells us, "that it is by grace we are saved after all we can do" implying that there is a work expected of us. We can and should all be more loving and kind, a little more humble and teachable, quicker to repent and to choose righteousness and more faithful in keeping our covenants and then after we have exhausted our best, most noble effort, which will still fall completely short, our Savior, our older brother's grace will make up the difference and enable us to return to our Heavenly Father's presence.

I know that Jesus is the Christ. I know that He lives. And though I don't comprehend the entirety of His marvelous atonement, I know that it is real. I have been given a new heart many times, I have been healed from the devastating affects of sin, both mine and others, and through my own trials in my own personal garden of Gethsemane I have come to know and love my Savior more fully. This is His church, of this I am sure. I say this in the sacred and reverent name of my Redeemer, Jesus Christ, Amen.

How He sees us

My first night in the mission field in Pittsburgh Pennsylvania was not a good one. My trainer had taken me tracting that evening and I remember it was dark and we were in a neighborhood that did not appreciate us coming and knocking on their doors while they were trying to get kids fed and put to bed. I felt awkward, unwanted, and just plain weird. The next morning my mission president, President Crump, called to see how it was going. I broke down and bawled. He told me to come to the mission office so he could talk to me. I remember going to his office and crying. I told him how weird I felt going out and knocking on doors and being looked at like I had a scarlet letter on my forehead. For some reason I had started to look at myself, a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, as the world looked at us…as an irritation, as a cult, as just plain odd and I didn’t like the way that made me feel. And the thought of spending everyday of the next 18 months feeling like that overwhelmed me. As I explained this to my mission president he listened calmly then replied, “Sister Olsen, you need to start seeing yourself as the Lord sees you, not as the world sees you.” Wow! That same advice is the exact advice I need now, today, this very second. How come it’s so easy for us to get sucked into viewing ourselves through the world’s eyes and not His? For me, as a missionary in Pittsburgh, it took less than one full day! Yikes! I wish I could tell you that once I talked to my mission president things magically changed, that I was instantly able to view myself as the Lord does, but I can’t. And still to this day, even though I have the knowledge of a loving Heavenly Father and a Savior who died for me and personally atoned for my sins, weaknesses, shortcoming, etc. I still can’t seem to let that fully change the way I view myself. It’s so easy for me to look at other people and see their value, to look at them through His eyes. I have a feeling that most women can do that to other women, but when it comes to ourselves we are much too critical and unforgiving. I’ve talked to so many friends and family members who don’t love themselves, who feel they are always lacking and I look at them in awe, my heart saddened because when I look at them I see their beauty, their faithfulness, their desires to serve others, I see all the good they are doing and the way they’ve strengthened me. I’m flabbergasted that they could feel that way, but at the same time I’m not surprised because that’s the exact way I feel about myself. I recently had a conversation with one of these dear friends. We were talking about the pressure we feel to always look good and how we feel like we never meet our own expectations or others. In a book I read by Ashley Weis she said, “Imagine if women spent as much time obsessing over virtue as we do our physical appearance.” I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about that, trying to determine where my own heart’s desires lie.  As I continued talking to my friend, we mentioned several women in our church who don’t seem to care one whit about their physical appearance and keeping up with fashion. I’m not saying these women are sloppy or unclean, because they are not, but it’s clear that their physical appearance is not their priority or their god. I made the comment that the women I admire the most in our church are not the most fashionable women, but the women who are pure, who are raising righteous families, who are living their lives in a way that makes their Heavenly Father proud. Those are the women I admire and want to emulate. I hope someday my children can look at me that way and see a woman who loves the Lord and desires to serve Him above all else, not someone who has spent her life hating herself and comparing herself to the changing standards of the worlds idea of perfection. Why are we more concerned with how the world (our friends, associates, co workers, family, mere acquaintances) see us than how our Heavenly Father sees us? Do we spend more time trying to obtain the attributes of Christ (love, faith, service, honesty, purity, etc) or the attributes of the world (physical beauty, a good body, style, fame, fortune, etc)? I think it’s time we start considering more fully who the master is we want to serve.

"For God so loved the world"

I’ve been overwhelmed lately with an outpouring of the spirit in my life.  Usually these occurrences in my life are a result of trials I am currently going through and lately that has been the case. I’ve felt an overwhelming attack on my self esteem lately—I’m being hyper sensitive to everyone and everything around me. I’m finding myself quick to take offense, to fall into self pity and insecurity. Of course none of these feelings are of God. The attack on our spirits is real. Sometimes we forget that satan has known us since the beginning of our existence. When we came to this earth, a veil was drawn before us allowing us to come to this world with no remembrance of who we are and what we promised to do; an ultimate trial of our faith. But no veil was drawn over satan’s eyes. He has not forgotten exactly who you are and your allegiance to Christ. He preys on your every weakness. He knows your insecurities and he wants nothing more than to make you miserable like unto himself (2 Nephi 2:27) and he’s pretty darned good at it! So as I’ve been feeling all of these unsettling feelings lately, I found myself on my knees, pleading for God to give me some sort of sign that He loves me, that I have worth. The minute those words escaped my heart, my head was filled with the voice of the spirit saying, “For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son.” (John 3:16). I was truly humbled as God reminded me that His Son is evidence of His great love for me and for the entire world. He doesn’t need to give me signs and miracles to validate that I have worth to Him; He has already given me His Son, my personal Savior. So now my personal question is this—when can that be enough? When will I stop looking to other sources to validate my worth when the greatest gift of love has already been given on my personal behalf? And really, that’s the only source that can actually validate my worth—the source from whence my worth springs. As a beloved daughter of a Heavenly Father and Heavenly Mother, my worth is immeasurable, divine. When will we let ourselves believe that? It’s true.