From The Mouth Of Babes

I. Don't. Feel. Good. It seems like for the better part of 10 months now, these have been my most frequently spoken words. Though I try not to express them as often as I'd like, I am more than sure that my family tires of hearing them. Problem is, no one truly understands what I feel like but me. Others try. Others empathize. But no one, no one but HIM, truly gets it. And so I stumble through the days and weeks, hoping and praying, smiling and crying, pleading and wondering, when the pain will stop.

Through all of this, I have missed out on a lot of living. I find that I'm not nearly as interested in some of the things I used to be. Social situations are a living nightmare. Light and noise are dulled by ear plugs and dimmers. I try not to get discouraged. I really do. I know that I've let myself slip in many areas. I find my lack of motivation startling at best. My reliance on my Heavenly Father is great. Without him, the reality of falling asleep and never again opening my eyes becomes all too real. But I am weak. And though I beg and plead for answers and help, I often fall short when it comes to doing the simple things He's asked of me. Church. Three hours. Once a week. Not a lot to ask. But on Sunday's I'm so tired. Scott is finally home and I can lay down and rest. And that is all I want to do. Some Sundays the pain truly is too bad for me to go anywhere. Some Sundays I could try a little harder, push through the hurt, and make a better effort. Some Sundays, I just don't care anymore.

Today has been a hard day. This week has been hard. My headaches have been constant, crippling at times, running one into the next. Last night while helping Scott prepare his lesson, I insisted on working in the dark. The light hurts my eyes. How fitting that this weeks Sunday School lesson should be on Job. Job, who was handed one trial after another. Job, who suffered more than any one man should ever be asked to suffer. Job, who never faltered, never waivered , never lost sight of Him, his Savior. It is a remarkable story. And one that leaves me feeling a bit weak and ashamed of myself. Nevertheless, I too know that my Redeemer Liveth. I know without a shadow of a doubt. And I'll never deny that fact.

By eleven today, my headache had pretty much reached it's potential. I'd been walking around turning lights off, and had yet to remove my ear plugs. I was not going to church. When Jace went down, I was going to sleep too. In sleep, I feel no pain. My mom called, asking about my preference in rice for dinner this evening. She really called to see if I was going to church. I know she worries about my attendance. I told her I'd try. I lied. Not even Mom's guilt got to me today. Hurting too much.

As Scott was leaving, he bent over to kiss me goodbye. He didn't offer to find a substitute for me...someone to lead the music. The air was thick and silent between us. My husband, my lover, my friend; the one who understands my pain more than anyone else; who has seen me suffer; he knows I'm sick, he knows I hurt, and still, I can see the pleading in his eyes, "Please try Brianne." When I don't say anything, he tells me he'll find someone to lead. Just like that. No judgement, no criticism, only love and devotion. I should have told him 'no'. I should have said I'd pull myself together and go. But I didn't.

Finally, Izzy comes in to kiss me goodbye. She is a mere 3 inches from my face, stroking it lovingly with her hand. I love her more than life itself. She is my perfect creation. And just as I think she's about to leave, she stops. What she said, I'll never forget. "Mom. You know what would make you feel better? Just getting up and coming to church. If you don't lead the music, everyone will wonder, 'where is Brianne?' I know you hurt mom. I know your head hurts a lot. But if you come to church, Heavenly Father will make it better. He will help you mom. Mom, you should come." What could I say? How could I possibly tell that angel of mine 'no'? Deny my mother? Easy. Deny my husband? Done. Deny my baby girl? My pure, without fault, child of God? Never. In that moment I knew, I knew that my Heavenly Father was using Isabelle as a mouthpiece to speak His will. I saw it. I felt it. And I knew it. What could I do but wordlessly shake my head 'yes'.

And so I am going to get ready for church. I'll put on the minimal amount of makeup, clip my hair up, leave my earplugs in, and make my way to the meeting house. Because Isabelle told me that my Heavenly Father would help me. And I believe her.