My Personal Witness: Hope

  

"Look unto Me in every thought; doubt not, fear not." That's what I heard in the most peaceful, soothing, comforting voice I have ever heard. I have never felt such peace and calm flood into my soul upon hearing someone's voice than I did in that moment. For a splendid, exhilarating moment, I forgot how much pain I was in. I have no other memory or recollection of anything else in the dream. I don't think the dream lasted for more than just a few seconds, really. I immediately awoke. I was back in my bed, pain washing over me in waves.

But I had hope. I had peace and comfort at the edge of my fingertips, waiting for me to grasp it firmly and hold it close. I had found my way out. Rather, it had been given to me. 

Because you see, that phrase is from a scripture that is very close to my heart. It means so much to me. It is found in Doctrine and Covenants 6:36. This is a scripture that was shared with me by one of my old bishops at Church when I was 12 years old, and quoted many times over since. It has always given me comfort. It has always helped me open my eyes a little and see things the way God sees them. 

God knew that. So did my Savior, Jesus Christ. I know that They heard my prayer. If there was any one way that They could answer me in my time of need in a way that I would not only recognize, but latch onto with all the hope and faith of my entire soul, it was that scripture. I know that God lives. I know He answers our prayers. 

But the matter still stood: regardless of any momentary comfort I was able to draw from the dream and that verse, my pain was not going away nor was I getting any better. But like I said, I had hope. And I had been given direction on how to pull myself out of what was happening then... with the Lord's help. I took that revelation of "Look unto Me in every thought; doubt not, fear not" literally. From the time that I awoke from that dream, every single thought was directed towards my Savior. I did one thing and one thing only: I pictured in my head every single image, painting, child's drawing, sketch, picture, rendering, statue, and sculpture of the Christ that I had ever seen in my entire life. 

Like this one.

And this one. 

Yep.

Who could forget this one?

Definitely this one. 

This one too

I thought of this one the most.

I ran through these things and more, over and over again, as many as I could think of. It was like a giant PowerPoint slideshow in my head. I was thinking of anything that would turn my thoughts to the Savior. I had this insane desire to hold on to those images and turn my thoughts to Christ; it was like I believed there was some special power in literally fulfilling the command to "look unto" Him. I had no other purpose or desire or want but to do so. And you know what? My heart changed. My heart softened. I was no longer scared, angry, bitter, or desperate. I didn't want to die anymore so as to wipe away the pain and suffering and anguish that I felt. There was hope and faith. Devotion and love for Christ. My heart was filled with longing to have Him there with me, in person, to hold me close and wipe away my tears and whisper in my ear that everything was going to be okay. And looking back, I know He was. 

I will say this, to make sure you understand: My pain did not go away. I was still in plenty of anguish. My chest still felt like it had a hot knife in it. I was definitely still sick. But I didn't have to go through it alone anymore. And I knew it. There was no doubt. My fear and doubt had been replaced with hope and faith and love. My pain was not taken away by any means, but that's fine with me. What was more important to me was that I receive comfort and strength to make it. That's all I wanted really, in the end. That's all I needed. And I got it. It came from my Savior Jesus Christ and His Atonement and my Heavenly Father. They increased my capacity to fight the pain and keep living, and They made sure that I knew that they were there for me. I don't believe that I would have lived had I not had that small taste of what the Atonement does for me when I did. I would not be here today if God didn't answer my prayers then and in the days that followed. I know this to be true. There is no doubt even to this day, no matter how many times people on the street have told me I'm crazy or wrong for believing what I believe. NO ONE can convince me that God isn't real or that He isn't my Father and loves me, or that Jesus is not the Christ. NO ONE can tell me that Christ didn't suffer for not only my sins, but my pains and afflictions as well so that I would have someone to comfort me in moments like this. You can't do it. It's impossible now. I have been given a personal witness of such truths by God Himself. 

And the story doesn't end here. You have no idea what's coming next. There are more miracles to come. But for now, think on the things that I have shared. Ponder the truths that I have declared and meditate on how they might apply to your own life and your own experiences. You may have had moments like this before in your own life; you may even be going through such moments right now, today. Think about that. Pray about it. 

As for the rest of the story... keep reading as I keep writing. 

My Personal Witness: Pain

I slept a lot those first couple of days. I took a lot of medicine too. I did everything I could to make sure that I got better soon. I didn't want to miss out on anything; the work that I do as a missionary is too important to be sidelined for any amount of time. But my fever wouldn't break and I wasn't getting any better nor any worse really. I was just.... sick. I didn't get it. 

Then sometime during the evening/night of Monday, April 18th, I started getting worse. Much worse. My fever steadily began to climb and sometime around midnight it peaked at 104.8. My chills got worse. I was sweating like mad. My body was aching and the slightest bump or movement was like dragging hooks across my body. My chest was radiating pain from the epicenter of the infection and outward into the rest of my body. That was probably the worst part: the waves of pain that started in my chest and spread into every inch of my body. I also developed a scarlet fever rash along with all of this, making my hands and feet swell up and my skin turn this bright reddish splotchy color and it itched like poison ivy, poison oak, and itching powder all rolled into one. If I itched, it hurt. If I didn't itch, it hurt. If I moved, it hurt. If I didn't move, it still hurt. I was throwing up and I couldn't walk to the bathroom on my own. It was frightening and maddening and it didn't seem to end. 

As my pain increased and my fever hovered at the 105 threshold, I started to get really scared. I was taking my meds, but things were only getting worse! And as they did, my mind started wondering what was really wrong with me. But pretty soon, it didn't matter what I was thinking because my pain became so bad that I began to float in and out of cognizance. Starting sometime early Tuesday morning, I lost track of time, place, and anything else you might think of. I honestly don't remember anything but the pain and the fear; pain that obliterated just about any thought or understanding of the world around me, and fear that I was worse off than I had any clue of. The pain in my chest was like a knife, and all I wanted was for it all to stop. I was walking the edge of something between sanity and an endless drop. I don't say that to be all dramatic. I'm not a dramatic person. I can say that because in those 48 hours or so of not knowing anything but pain and fear and absolutely nothing else and seeing no end to it all, I actually wanted to die. That has been and will be the only time in my entire life that I have ever wanted to die and thought of how nice it would be for it all to go away and be found somewhere on the other side as long as it wasn't where I was at the time. I wasn't suicidal, but I remember praying that God would just let me slip away into darkness so that the pain would be gone. I remember asking for it all to be over. I remember that, and it scares the heck out of me... even now. 

Yes, the pain was that bad. I was jumping back and forth between wanting death and wanting life, seeking healing and seeking closure, crying for peace and crying for oblivion. I was praying to God for all of these things, but the pain wouldn't stop. I started to question God's existence. How could He let me suffer so? How could He, in good conscience and in true love for me, let something like that happen? Why wouldn't he answer my prayers? When was it going to stop? Why wouldn't He heal me or at the very least just end it all? I was scared, then angry, then lost in my pain and not feeling anything but the pain, and repeat the process all over again. I didn't know what to do. I was praying and screaming my guts out on the inside, and there was no reply. 

Finally, I just got so tired of trying that I quit praying for help and let the pain wash over me and float me off into a fitful, pain ridden sleep. And while I slept, I dreamed. In that dream, I could hear a voice. A voice of perfect mildness. A voice of peace and hope and comfort. 

It said, "Look unto Me in every thought; doubt not, fear not."

My Personal Witness: The Context

So the experience that I have wanted to share the most during this whole blogging experience is one that has touched many different lives other than my own. I have been thinking a lot about this one single, long journey the most of all of my experiences on my mission lately, because just about a week ago I hit the year anniversary since it all went down and started, and also because I have to live with the effects of it every single day and for the rest of my life. I have literally begun measuring time since this event; I will never be the same again.

Lemme 'splain and lay out the context for y'all. Just for y'all's information, right about NOW it starts getting personal. You'll see what I mean. About a month before I left for my mission (July 28th, 2010) I had a minor surgery on my chest. The surgeon removed a small cyst from behind my right nipple and just under the skin. Yes, I said nipple. Now get over it ha. This cyst was not cancerous, malignant, life threatening, or in any way a serious problem. More than anything, it was just an annoyance and a little painful. It was about the size of a quarter. I wanted it removed just so I wouldn't have to worry about it at all ever again and especially not while on my mission. It was a simple outpatient surgery. I was in at 8 a.m. and home by noon. I had a drain in there for a couple days, then they removed it, I healed up in about a week, and all was hunky dory from there and I left for my mission with no concerns whatsoever about my health. I had just come off of a year swimming on scholarship for Brigham Young University and I had never felt better in my whole life, physically or spiritually. I was leaving on my mission. What was there to really worry about? At the time, there wasn't.

Fast forward 8 months later. I'm serving in Woodland with Elder Van Gilder. I'd been there for nearly two full transfers. Things were going great. We were working hard and teaching well and I was having the best time of my mission so far. I felt the Spirit on a daily basis and my relationship with Heavenly Father was stronger than ever and I had no reason to believe that anything might go wrong.

It was the beginning of April 2011, and we had just helped move one of the families we were teaching into a new home. For some reason about that same time my chest (and specifically the area around where the surgery had taken place) began to swell, become sensitive, and drain fluid from the scar itself. I didn't really know what to do, so I cleaned it and dressed it and left it at that. Then a couple days later, I woke up feeling really sick. Flu type symptoms: vomiting, diarrhea, fever, sweats, chills, sensitive skin and muscle achyness. My fever was simmering around 101 or 102 and I felt horrible. Luckily, a local bishop in the Church also happened to be a doctor (for those of you who aren't members of my Church, there are no paid clergy of any kind. Everyone serves voluntarily in the Church at all levels to which they may be called as well as providing for themselves with their own work) and I went to him for a check up [Miracle #1: I was able to get to initiatory medical attention easily and quickly]. His name is Dr. John Bringhurst, and he is one of the most intelligent and scholarly men I have ever met. [Miracle #2: The medical attention I received came from one of the most qualified doctors I have ever known, and it was definitely not coincidence that I had just been assigned to the same area where he lived a couple months before this all began]. As I was describing my symptoms, he seemed confused. Had I had any contact with anyone that was likewise sick lately? No. Had I recently developed some sort of topical infection in a cut or wound? Bingo. I showed him my chest, he took one look at it and said, "Yep, that's an infection. You don't have the flu or anything like that. Your body is acting the way it is because it is fighting whatever infection you have in your chest there." He prescribed me some antibiotics and told me to get rest; I would be fine in just a few days if I got sufficient rest, fluids, and took all my meds as prescribed. I went home feeling comforted and confident that I would be okay and I would only be down for 5 days more at the most. This first day of being sick was Saturday, April 16th, 2011. I saw Dr. Bringhurst the day I got sick and got my meds that same day as well. I thought for sure that I would be back to the ol' grindstone by the following Wednesday.

Boy was I wrong.

My Personal Witness: Introduction

I have been thinking a lot lately. I don't have a very long time left as a missionary. There are many things that unfortunately remind me of this fact: getting my pink slip in the mail (the piece of paper that tells you that you have 3 months left and asks you which airport you are flying home to. Seattle, by the way), my parents telling me I have 100 days or less left in my most recent email home (Momma, you didn't make me trunky. Pinky promise. Please don't take this the wrong way ha), and having to sign up for housing and classes at college this coming fall.

As I have pondered the short amount of time that I have left, I have felt an incredible and ever increasing desire to daily share my personal witness of the things that I know to be true: Jesus Christ lives, He is my Savior; the Book of Mormon is the Word of God; Joseph Smith was a prophet; God is my loving Heavenly Father; things like that. Every single day feels like from the time I wake up to the time I go to sleep that I need to find someone to share my testimony with. ANYONE.

I have also been pondering some of the most incredible life lessons that I have learned while I have served as a missionary, as well as the earth-shattering difference that my experiences as a missionary have made when it comes to the strength of my testimony. So in pondering these two subjects, and knowing very clearly that they go hand-in-hand, I have decided to post a blog about one or two of the most incredible experiences of my mission and by extension my lifetime. These experiences have changed my life; I am not the same person that walked into the Missionary Training Center 21 months ago. These experiences are sacred to me, and I hope that you feel that and respect that. I would not be sharing such things with you if I had not had the impression time and time again from the Holy Spirit to share them, for I know that my words (in some small way) carry the power of personal witness received directly from God through the power of that same Spirit. Many of the truths I declare in these next couple of blog posts will be things that no doubt you have already heard from others who share similar testimonies to mine. However, because of the experiences that I have had, I have made words that seem to be from another my very own. I have internalized them and made them a part of me and who I am.

I pray that as I share these things with you that you will feel the power and influence of the Holy Spirit of God. I pray that that same Spirit will testify of the truth of my words to you and strengthen your own personal testimony of these things. I pray that your hearts may be touched with the love of God and His Son Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior. I also pray that you enjoy reading about my experiences; I want these next few blog posts to be spiritually powerful, and as far from boring as possible, but understand that there is going to be a feeling of reverence and solemnity here as well.

Essentially, my attempt here is to use my own personal testimony and the personal experiences that made it what it is today my very own blogging version of Michelangelo's David or Leonardo Da Vinci's Mona Lisa; something that evokes such strong emotions in the human soul as to leave no doubt as to the true source of such greatness: GOD. I love you all so much. Thank you for reading and keeping up with my blog. Enjoy :)

Living Waters

I love the story from the New Testament that this video portrays. I have studied this exchange between the Savior and the Samaritan Woman so many times, and every time I do it teaches me something new. I feel the Spirit especially strong when he talks to her about living waters. That's what I want: to drink deeply from the living waters of the Gospel of Jesus Christ and never thirst again. Never thirst for love, for comfort, for strength, for peace. That is what Christ offers each and every one of us. Enjoy the video!
PS- The text in the New Testament that this video is taken from originally can be found in the Gospel of John, 4th Chapter.