Bitter Sweet

Overall, I still consider myself to be a very happy person. I can laugh and have fun just like I did before our world was turned upside down. But every once in a while (and sometimes more frequently than that...) something will creep up and sting so bad that I just fall apart. Last Sunday brought a particularly painful sting when the Primary children sang in church.

I had no idea the kids would be singing a song that day. I didn't find out until right before it was time for them to go up. The Primary President (who just happens to be AMAZING and always makes sure Abby is included in things) came up to ask me how we wanted to get Abby up to the stand with the rest of the kids - in her chair or being held, having us take her or someone else take her, etc. I decided it would be best for her to wheel Abby up there in her chair. (Our church building actually has a ramp inside the chapel that goes up to the stand where the choir and speakers sit. I don't know of any other buildings that have that. Maybe all the new ones do...I'm not sure.) I was kind of excited for Abby's first Primary singing experience - that is, until she was being wheeled up there. I started crying way before the song even started. I had a lot of different emotions all coming out at once. I was upset that she was in that stupid chair and couldn't walk up there on her own. I was sad that she couldn't sing. My heart was aching because she wasn't 'normal' like the other kids - like she used to be. But there was also a very tender feeling running through me. Abby looked so pretty up there with the other kids. I don't know what it was that made her look so pretty that day, but I just couldn't get over how beautiful she was. And she looked happy! She didn't smile or do anything miraculous, but her eyes were big and she just looked excited to be up there with the other kids. There was no blank or irritated look on her face, like she usually has. I don't really know how to describe it. But I could see that her spirit was happy and it was shining through. I sat there, squirming in my seat while they sang their two songs and as soon as they were done I knew I had to leave. I went to the bathroom to cry a little harder and then compose myself. A couple of women found me and I was thoroughly embarrassed. But one of those sweet women had actually come looking for me. She had been watching me during the songs and saw me leave. She decided she'd better find me and make sure I was ok. So sweet. Apparently, a lot of people were touched by seeing Abby up there that day. They have said that it brought a very special spirit to the meeting. For me, it was very bitter sweet.

 Someone recently shared a BYU devotional with us. If you have some time to spare, I would highly recommend that you watch it. It is well worth your time!

http://byutv.org/watch/8127d2ea-99bb-4096-99c9-a44ca326c3e5#ooid=p5aWRzMzobNaIkJWRZbn7Mhz2d0NeKsV
This talk struck me for many reasons, most of which are obvious, I'm sure (if you watch it!). But it made me think about the good things that have come to pass, all because the one miracle we hope and pray for hasn't been granted (that Abby will regain control of her face so that she can smile and speak). Like he said, sometimes the lack of a miracle really is the miracle. Everything works out to our benefit in the end. I've thought before about why it might be a good thing that Abby is the way she is right now. If she could cry I think it would make a lot of things much harder - especially the many torturous appointments she has had. And I thought it was interesting that he mentioned the story of the blind man from the New Testament. When we first came home from the hospital with Abby, I remember reading to her one night. We were reading from her illustrated New Testament Stories book. We read the story of the blind man and I immediately thought that Abby is like the blind man. No one did anything wrong to cause this to happen to her. Heavenly Father allowed this to happen so that she could be healed and others could see the power of God through her. The very fact that she is alive is a miracle. Every day she gets stronger and more coordinated and that is a miracle as well. I know that even if she is never able to smile or talk again while she is here on Earth, that she will one day be restored to a perfect state (as we all will be) when we are resurrected and able to live with our Heavenly Father again. How grateful I am that our Savior, Jesus Christ, made that possible. And because of the blessings of the temple, our family will remain intact beyond the grave. All of these truths put together means that I will one day have my perfect Abby back, either in this life or the next. And that is why I am still a happy person.