When I woke up, my phone read that it was nine thirty. The baby had woken up. It was time for a bottle. I fed her. I burped her. I needed to shower.
I handed Charly off to her dad while I greeted the hot shower with glee. I needed to be rid of my sluggishness. The high-and-sometimes-uncomfortable water pressure could do just that in a matter of mere moments, and can be oddly refreshing although painful.
As I tried to make myself presentable enough to sit in the chapel, I heard the baby begin to cry from her swing. I set my curling iron on the ground and gave Charly her pacifier to calm her just long enough for me to get one more wave in. Getting ready would prove to be challenging.
By the time we made it out the door, church had already begun and the baby was still in her pajamas. She would definitely stay in the car seat during sacrament!
We pulled into the parking lot, reverently walked into the building, and sat down on the sofa by the entryway just in time to sing along to the sacrament hymn. I found my stress from the morning swept away by the Spirit I felt as we prepared to renew our covenants.
We chose to remain in the foyer for the duration of the meeting while Charly tried to fall asleep. The previous week she had gotten fussy while the sacrament was being passed, and my anxiety flared up. I had raced out of the room with her in tow as to avoid collecting judgment from those who expected absolute silence. Anxiety told me it was better safe than sorry.
As we listened to the speakers, I felt peace, but it was quickly interrupted by a few straggling members of the ward we were supposed to attend. I wasn't bothered by their conversation by any means, but rather the volume at which they spoke to one another. Corey and I continued to sit quietly, it becoming increasingly difficult to hear what the speaker was trying to convey to his audience. The Spirit was gone, and my stress came racing back.
Usually I am not one to become irritated when I am in the foyer during sacrament meeting and people decide to socialize at a high decibel. So why was I particularly upset yesterday?
It's the week.
That week.
The week I've been dreading.
I have found my patience to be very limited in several capacities this month. This was one of them. Perhaps I thought that if I listened intently, I would hear or feel something that would make getting through the week--especially Saturday--a little easier, a little less grim.
Driving home from church was anything but pleasant. Apologies kept finding their way out of my mouth after turning a cold shoulder to my husband numerous times in less than twenty minutes.
But how could I turn my attitude around when I am mentally shivering at the thought of even acknowledging what Saturday is and what it means?
I unbuckled the baby from her car seat as soon as we set her down inside the apartment and took her straight to the bedroom to change her diaper. I buttoned her onesie up and saw she was rather alert so I put her hands in mine and started to play with her arms.
She smiled for the first time as a reaction to me--and she kept smiling as I moved her arms up and down, side to side. It was just what I needed to make the day more pleasant and be reminded that the Lord is in all the details of our lives--meaning He sent Charly to us just in time.
Honestly, I have no idea what I would do this week while Corey's working if I didn't have our little girl to keep my mind--for the most part--occupied. Based on what I saw myself conform to yesterday when only the thought of Saturday instilled fear in me, I know now that the Lord didn't bless me with pregnancy just to comfort me during nine of the months following my brother's death, but He blessed me with Charly when He did because He knew the year mark would be unbearable without her.
This month, Charly has grown in so many different ways. It has been nothing short of a blessing to witness her different milestones the past few weeks.
I wouldn't be so bold as to say she's been a distraction from the fact that my brother is gone, but her being here has helped me in various ways to lessen the pain grief has brought over the last year.
I never thought motherhood would be entirely healing--and it's not--but the Lord knew that this calling would give me the ability to better navigate the road of loss and alleviate some of the emotional suffering.
I do not know how I would get through any of this without the knowledge that God exists--and more than His reality, that He loves me. I barely made it through the first few months following Christian's death when I let my anger cast a shadow over His outstretched arm. I will say it again: He is in all the details of our lives. I know He's been in mine.
Even sitting in the foyer of the church while loud conversations were taking place, I felt His hand--I felt His hand because I was there. The gospel gave me a reason to be in the building at all to partake of His goodness. I felt His hand because I took the sacrament. I renewed my covenants.
That was enough to be grateful for--and I was reminded that I can rely on the Atonement this week, on Saturday, and always.
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