Why I'm Not Broadcasting My Pregnancy

We all have those friends who post daily about their pregnancy regime, what baby likes and doesn't like, how the baby bump is growing, how excited they are for baby, etc.
I'm going to be incredibly honest and personal in this post, and my purpose isn't to offend anyone, so if you become offended, please don't point your finger at me.
A few months after Corey and I were married, we decided we wanted to make an addition to our family. I'm not quite certain how much money I spent on take-home pregnancy tests and doctors visits, but to no avail, all came out negative. I'll never forget each moment my excitement was quickly stolen by the single vertical line on each test I took every month for one year.
Frankly, we gave up. Our determination to grow our family was shattered by the notion that perhaps we couldn't have children--at least right now. To elaborate, my patriarchal blessing tells me that I'll give birth in this life--but to rely on modern technology and medical advances as I develop a baby within my body.
What could that mean? Before fighting this battle with my husband, I was under the impression that maybe I'd just need some extra medication during my pregnancies, but after having tried to conceive for a year, that thought changed.
I began to get jealous of those who seemed to have pregnancy come easily to them. I scrolled through Facebook to see friends who had just gotten married post their first ultrasound. It wasn't fair!
I cried. A lot. I told myself and my husband every time I'd take a test that I wouldn't be upset at the outcome if it were negative--but I lied, every time.
Shockingly, in October, less than two months after my brother died, I went in for a doctor's visit because I thought I had some infection--but had already given up on asking for a pregnancy test during my visits--only to find out that I was pregnant.
I didn't want to believe the doctor when he told me. I didn't want to get my hopes up for them just to be stripped away days later.
This is where I'll get extremely emotional.
Days before this miracle laid itself in our laps, I had vented to my mom about how jealous I was of my siblings who had children to bring them joy in the midst of their despair when all I had were textbooks and a desk at work.
My husband's a wonderful man--and he does make me happy. I'm definitely not discounting the peace he has brought to my life during this tragedy. But there's something about holding a child in your arms that brings you peace, knowing they are closer to the veil than you are.
I count this pregnancy as nothing short of a miracle from God--almost like a gift from my brother beyond the veil to my husband and me through God Himself--as if Christian was rooting for Corey and me, begging the Lord to let us have this one little joy in the middle of our pain.
I can't bring myself to boast about this pregnancy--broadcasting it from every corner--when I know where I have been in terms of trying to conceive and in what circumstance this little miracle came to be.
Fight me if you want, but I feel this ball of sunshine Corey and I created comes from far more than biology working together for our benefit.
I call bull if anyone tells me the timing of this pregnancy was merely a coincidence, and we were just finally successful in conceiving. I just do.

There's my story for you, but let me pull this all together and make sense of the title.
Let's take a step back to the beginning of our story: jealousy, pain.
Finding the opposite of success in trying to increase your numbers brings a lot of emotional discomfort, and provokes much jealousy when someone's posting constantly about their pregnancy.
I'm definitely not saying that it's wrong of you to share your excitement with the world, but as far as I'm concerned, I choose to stay more private than public when it comes to this baby--especially because of the circumstances which are rather special.
To expectant mothers and fathers, please be mindful of those on your feed who may be struggling, or incapable of conceiving children of their own. Try to refrain from being braggy as you share your journey with your friends.
The way you document your pregnancy is completely and utterly up to you, and I'm not here to tell you to keep your excitement to yourself, but all I am saying is this: be mindful, and be caring.

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Concerning...Concerns

I rarely get political on my blog, but I have something I need to say, and I feel I should say it here.

Each individual in our country found a candidate to back from the beginning of this election who they felt would defend their ideals, morals, and beliefs. 

Let me back up to these two words: they felt.

As people, we tend to have our own opinions. Each of us feel there is a certain way to run this country, to really make the nation flourish.

We blatantly call people "ignorant" and "stupid", but for what reason? 

Why do you think there is a divide in our government? 

One side feels they will lead the country in the right way, as does the other. 

I can't sit here, typing away an opinion that portrays an idea that the right is correct, nor can I tell you the left is correct. 

For eight years, I accepted a president that I didn't quite agree with on every policy, every decision, every statement. Despite my disagreement with his views, I allowed him to be my president. Why? Because I could tell he loves America. 

Again, I'm not trying to be entirely political--but only to share my perspective on differences with my readers. 

Conservatives may think I need to be put in a straight jacket because the perception is our former president did everything in his power to hurt America.

I strongly disagree.

What he did, however, is do his job to the best of his ability, in the way that he and his party felt right and fair. How can I point my finger at a man who did more for America than I ever have--despite my differing views and opinions? How can I be so lax as to say he was a horrible president when he fought his hardest to do right by the American people?

I feel it is unfair to call others out because of things they find deeply concerning when it comes to...really anything in life. 

While something may not cause you to quake in your boots, that same issue may snatch the ground from beneath someone's feet causing them to fall, and fear. Because it doesn't concern you and your conscience, spirituality, or political belief, that does not immediately stamp another's concern as illegitimate.

The same can be found true when the roles are reversed. 

Because something is concerning to you, but not to another person, that doesn't immediately call for the label "ignorant". 

I understand how we're divided, and it isn't because of the fight between Republicans and Democrats. 

I'm tired of the name-calling, the hatred, the unwillingness to listen, the intolerance of anyone who might have an opinion of vast difference from another. 

We have a new president--one that I really didn't want in office, but here we are.

I don't blame democracy, nor do I blame the people who voted for him.

I don't blame anything or anyone for the position filled by a man I found to be vile (understatement).

I have had so many concerns regarding this new presidency, but I have decided to open myself up to understanding, and acceptance, and allow this man a chance to do right by America.

I have found, though, as I have tried to be open that I have been blasted by others who firmly disagree with his ideals without any consideration as to my previous stance on his election as president. 

Can we stop? 

Can we be more open?

Can we try to give this man a chance as president?

Can we speak up to the capitol--without violent protests--if our rights are not being defended during his presidency?

Can we accept others' views while still holding our ground?

Can we stop pretending like we know someone's heart because of who they stand behind during an election?

With all politics aside, this is exactly how I feel when it comes to any other disagreements--education, religion, football to name a few.

I said the same thing when the Supreme Court ruled in favor of the LGBT community two summers ago--love despite differences. 

I still stand firm to that now.

God bless America.

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Five More Minutes

With so much left to say I prayed, "Lord I ain't finished

Just give us five more minutes"

Time rolls by, the clock don't stop

I wish I had a few more drops

Of the good stuff, the good times

Oh, but they just keep on flying

Right on by like it ain't nothing

Wish I had me a pause button

Moments like those Lord knows I'd hit it

Yeah, sometimes this ol' life will leave you wishing

That you had five more minutes

Oh five more minutes

Imagine you've just been ripped apart by loss, you're sitting at a concert listening to one of your favorite singers, and these words are rippling through the auditorium. How do you not cry? Honestly, when we went to see Scotty McCreery, I wasn't expecting to be so mesmerized by his emotion. As soon as he began singing the chorus, all the rawness just came back. Of course, everything is still raw. It's been less than two months so how could it be anything but raw?
When Christian died, I wasn't finished. I wasn't finished with my time with him. We had plans to see each other at Christmas. I had just switched around my grad plan so I could attend his high school graduation. I just wasn't done.
There are no truer words than what Scotty sang that night.
I wish there was a pause button. If there was, and I had known, I would have hit it when Christian and Mom came to visit just three weeks before we lost him. I would have begged them to stay for a few more minutes, but I was under the impression I would see them in just three short months. Such wasn't the case.
I know that it's better for us to look ahead than to look back and wallow in our regrets, but in the past is where my fondest memories are of Christian. I want to stay there. Being so young, I feel that if I allow myself to move along as time does, then Christian will get further and further away. I look at the calendar and realize it's already been over a month and a half since his death and I don't want the clock to keep ticking because that means Christian will be in the past.
I can't fathom him simply being a memory of my early adulthood.
It isn't fair.
Big sisters aren't supposed to spend decades upon decades wishing they could have had the opportunity to watch their little brother grow up, go to college, get married, and have kids. That shouldn't be a wishful thought. That should be a reality; but unfortunately, it isn't for me.
The truth is, I will never get those things.
I will never see Christian graduate.
I will never see Christian get married.
I will never see Christian become a dad.
I will never see Christian become infinitely more than who he came into this world being.

At least not here.

It is so hard for me to look ahead.
Of course I'm going to be spending a lot of my time looking into the past, because that's where Christian is...but he's also ahead.
No matter the speed of the ticking clock, Christian will never get further away.
Although this is my fear of moving forward in months and years, he will not be left behind.
The more I age, and the closer I get to the veil, the closer I get to Christian.
So no matter where I am in life, I am always close to him.
Always.

Yes, this life truly leaves me wishing that I had five more minutes with Christian, but in all honesty, having five extra minutes is nothing in comparison to all the time I will get with him when we are reunited in the next life.
As much as I don't want to move forward in time, I don't want to hit the pause button. Not now.
As the clock ticks, life flees, but eternity beckons.
I want eternity with my family.
I so look forward to seeing Christian as the boy he was before depression overcame him.
I cannot wait to hug my brother and see how much growth he was able to attain just by being in the spirit world and having been welcomed by a very loving, Heavenly Father--to see that He is real, and that He loves him.

I'm in no way saying that I'm okay, or that I'm happy because of my knowledge that families are eternal, but the gospel gives me hope in the midst of my despair, and a little bit of light which will eventually outshine the darkness.
Grief still hangs on my back, gripping me tighter and tighter with every moment that passes.
I'm starting to understand Lehi's vision of the tree of life.
I'm barely holding to the rod, but the point is: I'm holding on.
There have been so many times that I have just wanted to scream "I give up!" and let go, but I haven't.
Although difficult through my grief, I can envision Christian up ahead calling my name, telling me to keep holding on. Every so often, I catch little glimpses of brightness eternity gives off. It gives me hope.
I can do this.
I don't want to do it, but I can do it.

I love my brother, but more importantly, I know God loves my brother.
I know that he is near me.
I know that he is rooting for me from the other side of the veil.
I know that he is just as eager as I am to be reunited at the end of this mortal life.
As time goes on, he and I will get closer to that happy day, and I can truly say, "All is well."
But until then, I just have to hold on and let the clock keep ticking.

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His Hand

It's been a rather trying month since Christian left. I have experienced emotions that range from all areas of the spectrum from anger to joy, from doubt to hope. There have most certainly been ups and downs--unfortunately, I've spent the majority of my grief burrowed in a hole of sadness; however, peace is slowly helping me to resurface.
I mentioned in my first post after tragedy struck again this summer that I haven't been entirely sure how to feel towards God. I've put the blame on Him. I've neglected to speak to Him at times--actually, "neglected" seems to be inefficient in explaining precisely what I had been purposefully doing, which was "ignoring" Him. I didn't want to speak to God for quite some time. I still have my days.
Yesterday, my childhood friend, Maddy, and I took a day trip to Afton, Wyoming to go to the first temple open house we'd been to since last decade. As we rode in the wagon, wrapped in our blankets as we braced the fierce Wyoming wind, our tour guide told us a stained glass portrait of the Savior knocking at the door would be the very first thing we'd spot as we would walk into the temple. She was right...it was gorgeous and thought-provoking.
I pondered the strength of my testimony over the course of the past five years. For the longest time, I didn't quite believe in God's existence...especially as a loving Heavenly Father because my life seemed to be in shambles because of choices I had made. If He loved me, how could He allow me to be in such a dark place? I couldn't possibly understand. So I chose to throw His existence by the wayside and do my own thing.
When life seemed to be getting harder, I realized it might be better for me to understand the nature of God more fully--if He existed, then what could it hurt? Maybe He could help. I wasn't sure, but I gave it a shot. I picked up my copy of The Book of Mormon and read, then I prayed. I felt His arms wrapped around me, and that's when my faith began to surface.
Over the years since that evening, my testimony has flourished. I was so set in my convictions that I knew a year and a half before my nineteenth birthday that I would serve a mission. Because of my determination, nothing got in the way, and on February 5, 2014 I set out to preach the gospel.
Nothing stood in between the Lord and me between the time I first received a witness of His reality to the time I left on my mission. Absolutely nothing. We were perfect.
But then the headaches started. I struggled for about six months with severe, chronic migraines. I knew at seven months that I wasn't going to finish my mission, but my pride got in the way and I held on until I reached thirteen months.
I wasn't angry at God during this time, but I was confused. I thought I was so great. I had a handle on the missionary thing and I felt like I was fulfilling my purpose. Why did I have to go home?
Not a month after my return last year, I received a phone call from my mom letting me know the high school called to inform her Christian wasn't there. I walked into his room to find his bag lying on the floor beside his bed, but he was gone. Frantic, I left the house, shoeless, to go to the first place I thought I could find him. Not there. It was awful. I didn't know what was going on, and I didn't know what had happened to my little brother.
It was about two hours (or so it seemed) after that phone call that my mom found Christian walking down the main street in our neighborhood and learned he had been contemplating suicide all day long, but he didn't go through with it. Immediately after walking in the door, Christian went with Mom into her bedroom and he called the suicide hotline.
We were worried sick about him. I remember pulling his mattress into the living room, turning on Psych, and having a campout to ensure he'd be safe with us there.
The next day, Christian spent most of his time laying on his bed. As the protective big sister that I was, I wanted to check on him. I quietly knocked on his door, and he grumbled at me. That usually meant I could come in.
I sat on his bed, and he looked at me for a brief moment. I told him how much I loved him. Then the tears began to trickle down my face.
"Christian," I whispered.
No answer. His eyes met mine.
"Please don't leave me."
Again, no answer.
Through my silent sobs, I told him how torn, broken, and hurt I would be if he ever went through with it. I told him again how much I loved him and how much I needed him to stay with me.
That week, Christian met with a psychiatrist and was diagnosed with depression.
Even during this time, I wasn't angry with God. In fact, I turned to Him much more than I did before. I felt confident that I had His trust, and Christian had His protection.
So I wondered why I came home from my mission five months earlier than anticipated.
This is why.
I came home, not only to marry Corey, but to have five months of uninterrupted time at home, under the same roof, with my brother.
I also wondered--racked my brain, even--why it took us six months after our wedding to find jobs.
Corey and I weren't able to find jobs so I could go home twice this year, for two weeks at a time, so I could be with my brother.
God's hand is in everything. His hand was in my suffering on my mission so that I could be there for Christian. His hand was in our inability to find jobs so we could have more time. His hand was even in my sister's and her husband's decision to move to Utah so Christian and Mom would have a reason to take a road trip--for us to have a shot at our shenanigans one last time.
The Lord knew. He knew what our family needed so we could have more time, more experiences, with Christian.
It still bothers me that He didn't intervene when Christian made his final plans, but I know that the Lord was still with Him. It wasn't a part of His plan, but He has a plan that will ensure the entrance of my little brother into His kingdom one day.
While I still struggle to understand what God's intentions were, as I looked at the picture of the Savior knocking at the door, I recognized my need to accept Him and let His atonement work in my life as I grieve.
Although I am upset in His allowance for Christian's death to transpire, I find gratitude in knowing His hand truly was in all aspects of my life over the past few years.
Had I not seen that piece of art in the temple yesterday, I don't know if I would have ever recognized just how much time the Lord gave Christian and me before he left.
He truly is always there.
Always.
He will never leave because of His infinite love for all of us.
I know He allows Christian to be near me at times, even though I cannot see him.
His hand is still working in my life, even though I've ignored His constant knock at my door.
I love my Savior, and I love my Heavenly Father.
I think I'm beginning to let Him back in, little by little, as I recognize the mighty miracles He's wrought in my life that has allotted me more time with my brother.
He truly is good and I love Him.

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Good Grief

Now isn't that quite the oxymoron?
Two weeks ago, my baby brother chose to leave this life and it's literally broken my heart. All I'm left with are questions, heartache, and more questions. My entire being has been shifted into something I've never known. I'm different. I'll never be the same after his passing.
Our family can't seem to catch a break. In all honesty, I've wanted to shout this phrase to the skies and tell God to take a chill pill in allowing these tragedies to take place.
I've been so angry. So hurt. So weak. So desperate for Christian to walk through the door.
Bargaining.
Grief.
This is what will consume my soul during the remainder of my life here.
Why? Why do these things happen? Why--if God is so loving--does He allow these things to happen? How could He?
Anger.
Grief.
I don't know how to cope with this loss. I absolutely hate the phrase: "You'll get through this." No. No, I won't get through this. There is no getting through loss. There are only ways to cope...but I don't know how to cope.
I find it hard to laugh. I find it hard to enjoy the little things. Moreso, I feel guilty when I begin to find myself having a good time because Christian is gone.
Depression.
Grief.
Grief isn't something to get through or get over. Grief becomes an acquaintance with which you want to depart, but find the task to be impossible. Grief becomes a part of you. It's a part of me now.
While I sat in class today, we were meant to be discussing a scripture.
I couldn't speak.
I could feel the judgment emanating from my peers as we huddled in our little circle. They spoke in turn while I sat silently. Grief held my tongue while my mind raced from corner to corner rendering me inattentive to the words being spoken by my classmates.
They see I'm silent, maybe just shy.
Oh, how wrong they are.
If they only knew of the anguish of heart I was experiencing then maybe we would not have exchanged so many awkward glances as they awaited my admittance into their discussion.
Frankly, I don't know how I am going to get through the semester while the great grief hurricane rages. No one in this one class is going to understand my sinking shoulders or my teary eyes.
Only one will understand.
Jesus Christ.
Through His atonement, I can somehow make it through the semester while grief hangs on my back. I don't think the Lord can see to it that grief releases me from its grasp, but He sure can hold my hand while I walk this ever-so rocky course.
Some of you may ask why I will continue to put my faith in God when I am upset with Him. I may be confused, but I still trust Him. The difference between God and me is that He sees the bigger picture, something my mortal mind is incapable of doing.
I do it because of what Jeffrey R. Holland said:

When problems come and questions arise, do not start your quest for faith by saying how much you do not have, leading as it were with your “unbelief.” That is like trying to stuff a turkey through the beak! Let me be clear on this point: I am not asking you to pretend to have faith you do not have. I am asking you to be true to the faith you do have. Sometimes we act as if an honest declaration of doubt is a higher manifestation of moral courage than is an honest declaration of faith. It is not! So let us all remember the clear message of this scriptural account: Be as candid about your questions as you need to be; life is full of them on one subject or another. But if you and your family want to be healed, don’t let those questions stand in the way of faith working its miracle.

I still have faith in the Lord. I do not understand the reasoning behind all that He does, but I know that in time I will be able to be healed from this hurt and confusion which stands in between us if I will press forward in faith--even if I only have a sliver of it. 

I have faith that God loves me. Since Christian died, there have been days when I've felt it, and days when I have had nothing but questions and anger. But I know that even through my grief, He will continue to gain my trust in His character as a loving heavenly father who loves His children--even me, even Christian. I can't see it now, but I do have faith that I will see it someday.

I love Him, and I trust Christian is okay even though I would much rather him be here with me. 

One day it'll be so.

One day.

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Will You Let Him In?

Vacation is over and it's back to reality for us. With our transition back to normal life, we were handed some sort of reality check--or maybe a spirituality check would be a more appropriate term.
Holidays and anniversaries always cause me to reflect on my life and where I'm headed on the path I've chosen. Well, this anniversary did just that for me, and I am so embarrassed to admit this, yet I'm absolutely thrilled to share this experience with you. Seriously.
I can honestly say that I don't know that last time Corey and I picked up a copy of The Book of Mormon or even said a prayer together. I know--awful--but that's not even the worst part!
It's so easy to get caught up in work, games, Netflix, school, and social media while it's much more difficult to set aside leisure activities and temporal responsibilities to center our focus on the Lord for an hour a day. After all, what you're doing isn't bad right?
Wrong.
How do we know when something good becomes wrong? When it takes you away from your Father in Heaven.
Corey and I have always made time to lie in bed and be on our phones while we try to fall asleep. While it isn't a bad nightly ritual, it would be much better for us to use that time to study the scriptures and have a heartfelt, meaningful conversation with the man upstairs.

Let me tell you the consequences and affects that come from neglecting to talk with God and invite the Spirit into your home when you choose not to read the words of His chosen prophets for months on end:

1. Contention easily finds its way into your home. Satan loves it when scripture study and prayer aren't a priority for our families. He finds ways to cause more harm to our souls as we bicker with our loved ones which drives the Spirit further away.
2. Your testimony weakens. As wonderful as it is to believe that once you've gained a testimony and you decide not to do what you should that it will only plateau, it's a myth. Testimonies either grow or they wither. There is no in-between.
Lastly,
3. Church begins to feel like a burden. Once you begin to sink to this level of thinking, you should be bonked on the head with an "Ah-ha!" moment, but sadly, it doesn't work this way. Church seems to be an after-thought when you've invited the Lord to exit your home. When He is no longer the center of your world, it will come easier to you to justify not attending all three hours of church by saying: "Well, I'm too tired." or (this is my personal favorite) "We'll go next week."

It is so important to develop habits that will create room in your home for the Lord to stay. We have made a colossal error in not trying to make room in our ever-so small apartment for Him. There is always room. I feel entirely guilty as He has stood knocking on my door while I have ignored His plea for entrance.
I've received quite a few promptings to change, yet I have brushed them off the shoulder. It wasn't until yesterday when we finally decided after months to attend all three hours of church that I realized the subtle ways Satan had been taking me captive.
As I sat in Relief Society trying to find that one tidbit of the teacher's testimony that could release me from this struggle, this question came to mind: What lack I yet?
It wasn't a minute after I had this thought that the sweet sister
teaching the lesson shared this thought:
"No marriage can thrive without the spirit of Christ."
As quiet as it came, I took that thought as my lightning bolt of realization that we needed to make some changes in our home.
Last night, before we went to bed, I opened up the drawer to my nightstand and pulled out the scriptures I had used on my mission. There is a lot of wear and tear as well as markings of verses that have particularly spoken to me. As I held the book in my hands, I felt so much peace. You can only imagine what I felt when I cracked it open to begin reading with my husband.
When we knelt at our bedside to pray, I felt so much love for my Savior and for His atonement. We all fall short, and we all make mistakes. I have felt that the last few months of our marriage could have been so much better had we made a more conscious effort to let Him in. I know that when we do, He will work wonders for us as we strive to live the life our Heavenly Father would have us live.
I wouldn't say that it was necessarily worth it to let my testimony wither a little bit just to have this experience, but because I cannot get the past back, I am grateful that I followed the promptings when I did; otherwise--with time--I probably would have started to question.
I know that when we actively seek the Lord in all aspects of our lives, our faith will always conquer our doubts. I am eternally grateful for help coming to the rescue when it did. I couldn't imagine myself doubting the wonders of the restored gospel, but I know it happens to many people on a daily basis.

I am not willing to allow the adversary to take advantage of my happiness.
Are you?

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Marital Bliss

It's almost that time again--well, again for the first time, if that makes any sense at all. We're two weeks away from celebrating our first anniversary!

I would have waited to boast about how great the (almost) past 365 days have been with my fabulous husband, but we'll be away from the internet as we cruise on down to Mexico to celebrate!

Lately, Corey and I have been asked for advice from those who haven't found their forever yet. We have had a lot of opportunities to solidify our answers.

For those of you who are still out there looking--maybe waiting--for your companion, your expectations should be no more than: 

1) Your spouse will put one-hundred percent into your relationship just the same as you will. 

and 2) Your spouse will love you endlessly.

Corey and I have found that having unnecessary expectations for one another will just cause more disagreements than a husband and wife care to worry about. I'll be honest and say that when we got married, I expected him to take out the garbage without me asking, and I also expected him to know exactly what to do and say when I'm upset. On the other hand, Corey expected me to do the dishes every night, and to clean all the time. This caused a lot of stress that neither of us needed. 

This past year, we've learned that we should set all other expectations aside, and just love. When you love an individual, you feel a greater inclination to serve them. 

Corey and I don't assign each other chores. We've decided to treat each other as equals. It makes things much better between us. I've taken out the garbage a handful of times just as Corey has cooked dinner quite a bit. Essentially, if we see something that needs to be done, instead of wasting away on unreasonable arguments, we pick up a broom, a spatula, or a sponge and we get the job done. 

The key ingredient to a loving home is to politely ask, not silently expect. Communication is vital if you want your relationship to flourish--and that doesn't mean constant bickering over whose turn it is to clean the toilet.

I think you could say we've had a successful first year together. I can see the growth in both of us as individuals and as a partnership. 

Anyone who knows me knows that I suffer from a bad case of stubbornness. I have to be right--not all the time, but most. Corey has taught me patience through his example. He has never raised his voice at me, and he was always the first to apologize when we I was fighting. While I still get irritated (who doesn't?!) with my spouse, it comes easier to me to just stop, breathe, and make it right.

Likewise, when I married Corey, he wasn't entirely focused on excelling in school. As long he got a passing grade, he was fine. As we went through school fall semester, I could see him focusing more and more on what grade he received and the quality of his work. It was so rewarding to see him light up at his grades when they were posted. They were well-deserved.

Who knew that spending hours on end with the same person every day for a year would yield so many opportunities for personal betterment?

Nearly one year down and eternity to go!

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