"I feel my Savior's love"

When I got in my car at 6:15AM to meet Derek to drive to Lewiston for Tizzie's homecoming thais was the song playing on the radio. It was PERFECT. I struggled not to cry all the way to meet him. I told him multiple times how grateful I was that he offered to go with me, but words are so inadequate. I really have the best family. And if the anguish of the last several years has taught me anything, it's that Heavenly Father loves ME and knows ME and wants what's best for ME -- trials, anxieties and all. Nothing is too big.

I'm not sure why everything has had to happen this way, but I was telling my wonderful Auntie this weekend that if I had to go through all of it to know that He loved me and to learn to recognize the Spirit better, then it was worth it.

The gospel is amazing.

(this was the version playing on the radio this morning.)

I needed to write

Sometimes I feel like I should be over all of it already, but then I remind myself that it's not really something you "get over." And it's okay if I break down and cry once in awhile or if things feel unjust. I just can't let myself get bogged down in it.

I feel like my emotions have been on high alert lately. There is so much going on inside my head. Excited about moving. Missing the parents. Wondering about the third roommate situation. Wanderlust. Wanting to be a librarian. Issues I have no control over. Preparedness. And not really knowing how to deal with any of it.

If I could choose (and this is a knee-jerk reaction), I would know when I'd see my parents again. My wishes for the third roommate would come to pass. I'd take a road trip to Seattle (but not by myself. That's boring.). I'd be able to determine which direction I want my career to go (I never imagined myself as a career person). The issues would be resolved. And the preparedness. No one ever really taught me how to do it, but I think it's an easy fix (time consuming, etc. but not hard)... once I move. 

And this is a cranberry bog. This is what I always think of when I write "bogged down." I'd love to see one in person some day. So maybe a trip to Maine needs to be added to my bucket list. ;)

(from here.)

22

Last night as I was kneeling down to say my prayers a memory came into my mind and I strongly believe that Heavenly Father wanted me to remember it for a specific purpose - what, I haven't quite sorted out.

"Remember how it felt when you walked after surgery." 

I don't really remember much pre-surgery. I don't remember what it felt like to walk like a "ballerina on pointe." I remember all the therapy and serial casting and being terrified of the saw even when they showed me that it couldn't cut into a tomato. I remember the braces. I remember the teasing. But I don't remember what it FELT like. But, I remember after. 22 years ago.

{via}

The casts all the way up my legs. The mosquito bites I couldn't scratch. How yellow my legs were when they came off. Eric rubbing baby lotion on my legs. The missionaries doing wheelies in my wheelchair. The walking casts. How bad it hurt to stand up, to put pressure on my feet. Accidentally stepping on the track for the shower door while taking a "real" bath for the first time in 6 weeks. The walking casts coming off.

And, a family friend asking what it felt like to walk for the first time with my feet flat on the floor.

It was amazing.

And for some reason, I needed to remember that.