The Heart Healing {Chapter 4}

This is the final chapter of my heart story - at least for now...

A week passed and life started up again full throttle. All summer we had been preparing for something new - homeschool to start in the fall. The Lord had placed this desire, this mandate so to speak, upon my heart earlier this spring and countless hours had been spent researching and planning and preparing for the start of this new adventure. 

With such a busy summer I knew I would need to rest after having the baby so I would be refreshed and revitalized when school commenced. But life rarely goes according to plan - it's a lesson I keep learning again and again. And the week I had penciled in my planner - the week Patrick had off work - I planned to rest. I had visions of snuggling my new baby boy, getting to know him, napping - just slow, gentle time easing our family into this new season.

But the "heartbreak" happened and the restful week turned into a testing week. We were exhausted, but still we plunged on - charged with the energy of what seemed a second chance at life.

So, with my heart on the mend, the children were ready and anxious to begin school, and before I knew it, we were thrown back into life. The zest of excitement in teaching my children, the magic sparkle of embarking on a learning adventure with them every day was rich and soul-satisfying. I felt I had stepped into a fairy tale. Motherhood took on new layers of depth and meaning I never before knew existed. My heart swelled with a joy so complete that I almost forgot about my heart complications.

And yet, in the midst of all this goodness, there was a nagging inside me. It was a small feeling of unease but I couldn't decipher what it was trying to tell me. Not until last weekend, when I came down with a cold, did the small feeling turn into a small voice...I needed to process the trauma I had been through. I stumbled upon Ann Voskamp's most recent blog post and the hot tears that coursed down my cheeks as I read about her daughter's recent heart surgery made me realize I hadn't journaled about my experience fully. You see, there's a danger in moving too quickly from the wake of a storm back to regular life. We need time. Time to process the lessons as we heal. Otherwise, the lessons are lost. The Master Sculptor is ever trying to shape us into beautiful works of art. But if we don't take the time to learn from our trials, our sculpting process is slowed or halted altogether. Yes, there was more to be discovered from my Peripartum Cardiomyopathy and it could only be found in the stillness.

And like He always does, the Lord provided a way for me to do just that. To my delighted suprise, my sweet grandparents called me up and offered to take my three older children for a visit to their house. They came on Tuesday, and with the flexibility of school at home, my children left with their backpacks bulging and ear-to-ear grins on their faces. I was alone with my baby and it was time to go within.

I opened my rose-gold planner-journal to a clean, smooth sheet and titled it: "Heart Pondering." For the next several hours, my pen flew across the page as the words flowed through my mind.

I started with questions: "My heart was breaking and it hurt to breathe. Why was it breaking? Why was it beating so slowly? Why was it enlarged? Why was there excess fluid around my heart and lungs?"

And as I pondered there, the answers came. Perhaps I had been packing away too much "unnecessary fluid" in the forms of criticism and judgments toward myself and others, and the ever-alluring path of perfectionism. Perhaps on a mental and emotional level, this lack of love had slowed my heart down.

On a physical level, perhaps I had asked my heart to do too much. With all good intentions, I had planned to rest during this pregnancy, but instead I increased my pace with moving to the Middle House, planning homeschool, and living out family vacations. I had over-sacrificed myself throughout the pregnancy and despite the fact that I had promised myself I would slow down and take it easy, I sped up.

And when the heart problems came, they forced me to slow down and come to a complete halt as I lay there in the emergency room feeling so close to death. All I wanted was my family. All I cared about was my family. And all I wanted was to be healed so I could go home and hold them once more. Nothing else mattered. Life felt altogether so overwhelmingly beautiful and so achingly fragile. 

And while the lessons from that fateful night were so poignant and my perspective had shifted permanently, I realized that my actions had not. Soon after the trauma I was right back to where I had started - over-sacrificing and not taking enough time for myself to rest and recharge.

I determined the lessons would not be lost on me. 

"Listen to the beat of your own heart. Listen to what it's telling you, to the rhythm it wants you to keep. Listen to the bravery of your beats -- believe that your heart is pounding together something new. This is how He made a heart to work. Listen to this and rest. The way to recover is to cover everything with grace." -Ann Voskamp

This grace? This love? It's the antidote to every heartbreak on earth. It was the love of my Savior through words of scripture. Love of my husband and love for my children that I held onto for dear life. Love of family and friends through their charitable service and those heavenly angels that are just across the veil. I was mended back together in that broken place by Love.

And now it's time to love my heart back to wholeness. I will love my Savior stronger than I ever have before. He will be my anchor and my rock. I will love myself better through the continual gift of stillness and self-compasision. I will love my family with kind words and kisses, gratitude and grace, shared memories and lots of listening. I will love my friends and my enemies with just a little bit more service, just a few more prayers in their behalf. I will love my life by leaving the "path of perfectionism" to pursue the "art of excellence."

Because in the end? Love is all that matters. Love binds up our hearts, binds us to Christ, and binds us together. Yes, it is true. Overwhelming love is the prescription to all our heart afflictions and it's this love that will keep our hearts beating strong.

The Heart Healing {Chapter 3}

Ann Voskamp described it this way:

"You must surrender to a breaking that must happen if you want any of your brokenness to heal.

"I hadn't known this or felt this -- but I have now and I cannot forget.

"And this is a harder thing -- You have to trust that the breaking of your heart will heal you into a kind of stronger."

The morning dawned bright and beautiful after that eventful night in the Emergency Room, but the pain was still there. I hoped for answers as we took our newborn son to the doctor for his 5-day old check-up.

Our little boy looked wonderful, but my doctor was concerned about me. After reviewing the cat scan from the night before, he gave me the diagnosis: Peripartum Cardiomyopathy. It's a rare form of heart failure induced by pregnancy. My symptoms of pitting edema, chest pain, stabbing back pain, and shortness of breath all checked out with the results from the scan. My heart was slightly enlarged and there was fluid around my lungs and heart. In effect, my heart was backed up with all the exertion of trying to eliminate the excess fluid. But it couldn't keep up and had subsequently slowed down. He ordered more blood tests, prescribed medication, and sent me to a bigger hospital for an echocardiogram.

And so the week progressed. Tests and more tests. More anxiety. More worry. "Even though you're in recovery, you're still in pain. This can happen. And somehow you still have to keep breathing through the ache."

But through it all my Savior was there - to lift me up and strengthen me to meet the demands. We marveled at the tender mercies He was showering upon us day after day. Tender mercies like how my case was mild - it did not result in cardiac arrest or more severe complications. Tender mercies like how Patrick was able to take a whole week off work to take care of me and the children and drive me around to all my doctor's appointments. Tender mercies like prayers and calls and texts from sweet family and friends. Tender mercies like sweet sisters from my Relief Society bringing us meals each night. After each taxing day in the hospital we would return to a warm, home-cooked meal made with love and pure, Christlike charity. Indeed, the Lord never forgets us in these dire moments of need. We need only to notice.

By the end of the week, my body was healing. I lost fifteen pounds of fluid which eased the excruciating pain in my back and chest. My heart gradually picked up its pace and returned to a normal rate. I could finally sleep because I could finally settle into my bed and get comfortable.

It seemed my heart was on the mend and I knelt, weeping, before my Maker in praise and thanksgiving. Gratitude that He had sent me early warning signs to signal something was amiss. Gratitude that I had listened. Gratitude that there was no clot and no cardiac arrest. Gratitude that my doctor had answers and treatments for my condition. Gratitude for sparing my life and most of all, gratitude for my family and the promise of eternity.

Our hearts break many times as we journey through life. I know mine has. And I don't know what you are facing in your life story right now. I don't know how your heart is breaking - may it be physically, emotionally, mentally, or spiritually. But I can promise you this. There is a purpose. And it will be sorted out in the end. And when your heart finally heals, it will be even stronger than before, because it will be stitched back together with the threads of grace by the Master Healer. 

My heart healing story? I thought it was over. I thought I was healed. But in the week to follow, I would learn even more about what it takes to mend a broken heart and how God leads us forward, ever forward, to the place He wants us to be...

To be continued...

{Chapter 4 coming soon}

The Heart Healing {Chapter 2}

I couldn't ignore it any longer - that pain in my chest. Each breath felt like a knife stabbing right in the center of my back. Perhaps most disconcerting of all was the slow thrum of my heart - as if giant hands were holding it tight and each beat was trying desperately to break free. It felt like it would drop out of my chest at any moment. Just feeling that slow, pounding drop of my heart beat after beat sent a wave of nausea over me. I don't do well when I think about blood.

The pain had been my companion since just after the birth, but it had gradually worsened over the two short days since coming home. I felt for my pulse. Could it really be ticking this slow? Lightheaded as I stood up, I carried my baby into my husband and told him my symptoms. I asked him to check my pulse. He's a physical therapist - I knew he'd know what to do.

The concern in his eyes betrayed his voice as he told me my heart rate was only 37 beats per minute.

Just the thought that my heart was not working properly sent me into a wave of panic. I remembered how the hospital monitors beeped a warning every time my vitals were checked. My heart rate was low then, but now it was even lower and physically palpable. I couldn't get my mind to think of anything else except the pain. And the ever-present nagging that something wasn't quite right.

So I tried to rest as the hours ticked by. But the pain persisted. By 11:00 that night, Patrick started worrying that my symptoms were pointing towards a possible blood clot in my lung. He consulted with his uncle, a PA, and then made a decision. "We're taking you to the Emergency Room," he said with urgent soberness.

But how could we leave when our little ones were asleep in their beds? What would we do with our baby? I thought about calling my sweet friend, but knew she has four little children of her own and I didn't want to wake her. We tried calling several kind neighbors, but to no avail. Everyone was either asleep or out of town. I contemplated calling my parents, but I knew they would have a long drive ahead of them. We were getting frantic. I mustered the courage and called my dear friend. I prayed she would answer.

Hearing her sweet voice made me choke up with relief and gratitude and all the worry spilled out as I asked her if she could come sit with our children while we were gone. There have been few times in my life when I have ever been so grateful for true friendship.

Patrick had called ahead to the hospital so they were waiting for us. I was poked and hooked up to all kinds of machines and for a few minutes I was calm knowing everything would be all right. I would soon be taken care of. But then the waiting began...waiting for blood results which came back too astronomical to be accurate...waiting for the cat scan...waiting for the second set of blood results...and the cat scan results...It was amidst all this waiting in that cold, sterile room that I think my panic attack began. Tears poured uncontrollably down my cheeks. You could have cut through the silence with a knife. The clock wouldn't move and I couldn't stop hyperventilating. And why was I so cold? They brought me a blanket but the shivering continued. Why could I not get warm? If it was a blood clot, it could be fatal. I wondered if I was going to die.

The white board on the wall, displaying the care team and treatment measures had not been erased from the previous patient. I couldn't stop staring at the words on the bottom of the board: "Going Home." I assumed this section was meant to be filled with a time of discharge, but I couldn't help wondering which "home" I would be returning to that night.

Thoughts like that only made my blood pressure skyrocket. If my health condition didn't kill me, my anxiety surely could.  I tried to think of my sweet family to get my mind off the stress, but each memory was haunting. Flashes of my children played before my eyes like scenes on a movie screen. I saw them playing and dancing, their laughter echoing through the corridors of my mind. Would I ever get to see them again? My heart sunk - in the rush of getting to the ER, I hadn't kissed their sleeping faces. What if I never had the chance to say goodbye? I called my husband over and squeezed his hand. "If something happens, will you please tell the children that I love them? I didn't get to say goodbye." We were both crying at this point.

"Everything is going to be okay. You will be fine," but his voice was shaky.

"I know," I cried, "But what if something happens? I had to ask you -- just in case."

Ann Voskamp once said, "And the people who love you, right in the midst of the aching? They will need to be brave. (Sometimes the greatest courage is to trust enough to let go.) They will need to hope that miracles can make a home right inside of broken people. They will need to believe that broken things can become new things.)"

He placed his hands on my head and gave me a blessing. I felt the peace enter the room, but my heart just wouldn't accept it. Every single thought would lead me to remember my children and each memory broke my heart in pieces wondering if I would be granted the opportunity to continue to raise them. All I wanted was to go home and play with them once more - to wrap my arms around them and hold them tighter than I ever had before.

Finally, when I felt I couldn't take it anymore, my mind caught hold of one glimmer of hope - my mother's example. I remembered back to when she had her thoracotomy - those long agonizing nights in the hospital when she nearly died. But instead of giving in to the despair, she reached over with the little strength she had, picked up her cell phone, and called her sister. She could barely talk, but she managed to ask her if she could read to her from the Book of Mormon. It was the middle of the night, but my aunt stayed up for hours, reading chapter after chapter of the scriptures. I remembered when my mom later told me this, how I felt her faith, and the power of the word of God.

And when my mind caught hold upon this thought, I knew this would be the only thing that would bring me peace - that would calm my state of panic. Days later I would find this quote for the first time and it would ring true: "The best kind of intensive care for a broken heart is to let the words of Christ intensively care for you...If you let His Word wash your wounds, let His grace caress your pain, let His Truth touch your bruises, let His hope heal your ache, you can feel a kind of resurrection on earth. His promises are more than true - they are your resuscitation."

With tears blurring my vision and threatening to overtake me, I looked to Patrick: "Would you read to me from the Book of Mormon?"

He read from 3 Nephi - when our Savior, Jesus Christ ministers to the Nephites, heals their afflictions, and blesses the children.

As I listened, I could feel the tension leave and my body relax. The beautiful words drifted through my mind and I clung to each one like a lifeline tossed out to a drowning sailor. I silently prayed that my life would be spared and that I might have the opportunity to continue to raise my three precious children and my new baby boy. I pleaded that the Lord would allow me to stay. I just wasn't ready to go Home yet.

As I prayed, I felt angels nearby and I pleaded that they would surround my sweet children as I could not be with them at this time. The calm washed over me like a gentle summer wave. I finally felt a semblance of peace. It was going to be okay.

Finally the doctor came in with the news - there was no blood clot and everything looked good. He didn't know why my heart rate was so slow or why it was hurting so badly, so he ordered a Holter monitor for me to pick up the next day - one that would track my heart.

With tears of gratitude swelling in my eyes, we walked out of the hospital that night with assuaged fears, but nagging doubts. I was ever so grateful my life had been spared, but still I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. The ache was still there, the heartbeat still slow and thrumming so painfully. My body was trying to tell me something, but what I didn't know. 

But even with all the unanswered questions my perspective had shifted and light flowed into the broken cracks of my heart. I was going home and no matter what the morrow held, my Heavenly Father's mercy had rescued me on the darkest night of my life. I would never be the same.

"It's okay to let the tears come, to weep over all this pain, all this love, all this beauty, all this brokenness and the hard roads that we somehow find ourselves walking, forcing one step in front of the other...Turn to the window and wait for the sun to rise, to keep always rising. Never stop being surprised that it does, never get over the miracle that you get to see it."

 

To be continued...

{Chapter 3 coming soon}

The Heart Healing {Chapter 1}

My heart was hurting. Deep inside my chest, I felt a heavyweight pounding with each slow, strained heartbeat -- as completely confusing as it was altogether disturbing. Pressing my fingers into my wrist, I felt for my pulse.

Something was wrong.

But it hadn't started out that way.

Just three days prior I was counting minutes between contractions instead of number of heartbeats. My mother recorded the minutes on a sticky note as I talked to her on the phone, pacing my bedroom.

I wondered if I should go in to the hospital. She thought yes, but I wasn't convinced. This pain felt different than the last pregnancies, just a dull, uncomfortable ache in my abdomen that wouldn't go away.

But the odd contractions continued and I could barely walk. After a few more hours, Patrick came home from work and picked me up. It was time to go.

I told the nurses it might just be a waste of a visit, coming in when I wasn't in excruciating pain. But a check revealed that I was indeed progressing in labor so the doctor was called.

After the initial procedures and epidural, the doctor and nurses left the room, explaining that maybe in an hour I would be ready. But just fifty minutes later, I felt a plunging drop of my heart and a wave of nausea came over me. We called for the nurse and she said it was time.

The labor was more laborious this time around. Each push left me utterly drained and exhausted. But thankfully, less than twenty minutes later, and with a last-minute turning from posterior to anterior, our little baby boy made his grand entrance into this world.

He was glorious, so fresh from heaven and angelic. I held him close and I'll never forget how he curled right up, so content. This skin-to-skin contact had been recommended by the doctor, but our little one was so content, he just snuggled into me and wouldn't breathe consistently. It wasn't until after I asked the nurses to take him to check his APGAR score that he finally started to cry and turn a healthy rosy pink.

But oh the rapture I felt during our hospital stay. Everything was perfect. The instantaneous love for this precious boy came just as suddenly and powerfully as it had for his brothers and sister before him. I studied every feature of his perfect face and marveled over the exquisite details of his tiny body. I breathed in his newborn scent and wondered at the sweet nobility of his spirit.

The next day the children came and met their new baby brother. They were absolutely smitten. My oldest son, who usually isn't too interested in baby events like this lit up like a candle when he held him. His dimples were glowing at the peaks of his genuine smile.

My second son exuded a peaceful calm as he tenderly placed his head on his baby brother and gave him the gentlest of snuggles.

Then my daughter was given a turn and tears brimmed up in my eyes at the sound of her sweet, angelic voice singing her new best friend the most beautiful lullabies I've ever heard.

How could my mama heart be any fuller? Nothing could compare to the love I witnessed that day.

And nothing could prepare me enough for the trials I would face in the coming few days. But one thing's for certain. As the battle ensued, I would cling to this memory with all of my heart...

To be continued...

{Chapter 2 coming soon}

Day 25: Give Thanks

It's about this time of year, when autumn is in full swing and we realize Thanksgiving is just around the bend that our thoughts start turning toward gratitude.

An attitude of gratitude--we've all been schooled in this positive way to frame our thoughts. We know all the answers backwards and forwards, inside and out. But has this practice of giving thanks really, truly penetrated our hearts?

The practice of gratitude is often on my mind. Maybe it's because I'm still not very good at it even after all these years of practice. Do you need some fresh perspectives on how to practice an attitude of gratitude?

In this post I wrote last year called "The Thanks Giving Project," I suggested a way we can train our minds to tread the positive path.

Another post I wrote called "The Stained Glass Window" suggests 5 ways we can practice daily gratitude and experience the warm glow through life's stained glass window.

This year, I want to challenge myself {and all of you} to try another practice--in everything giving thanks. In order to step to a higher level in our eternal progression, it would serve us well to eliminate complaining and whining and pessimism.

Give Thanks in Everything. Even when your children are misbehaving. Even when you have a bad hair day. Even when you're late for church or a meeting or work. Even when you're sick. Even when rainstorms ruin your party. Even when life is unfair. Even when you lose your job, or your car, or your home, or money, or even a family member. Even when everything seems to be going wrong--give thanks.

You see, sometimes, the very things that seem so terrible will ultimately work for our highest good. Because it is in these desperate times that we become molded and refined and smoothed into exactly who God wants us to be. There is not one single experience we pass through that will not be for our ultimate good, of this we can be sure. Heavenly Father loves us. He is there for us. And He wants us to return to Him.

In everything give thanks.

It's a steep challenge, to be sure. But the result will turn us into something so magnificent, so humble, so Christlike.

Will you come with me on this path towards Thanksliving? Let's take the next step and see where it leads.

Every Last Drop

She sat so reverently that Sabbath afternoon during the ministration of the Sacrament.

And when I passed her the tray of water, she carefully picked up a little plastic cup full to the brim with pure water and tenderly placed it to her lips, tipped her head back, and drank until every last drop was gone.

I smiled to myself. This time the lesson was not lost on me.

Every Sunday as the Sacrament is passed, the same familiar scene plays out. I quickly drink my cup of water and wait as my little ones take their time relishing theirs. The tray seems to hover on our bench a little longer than most and at times I've wished they would drink just a little bit faster so as not to keep everyone waiting.

But not this time. I watched my daughter savor every last drop of water and wondered how I can become more like a child.

The Sacrament can become more than just a morsel of bread and a cup of water--it feeds our hungry souls, heals our spiritual wounds, cleanses our hearts, renews our covenants, and gives us life. It is a time we can "watch" with our Savior.

This sacred ordinance is holy and powerful. It deserves our utmost reverence. And as my sweet daughter so profoundly taught me, it is worth savoring--every last drop.

For the Hard Days

It's been one of those months. Where a whole lot goes wrong and yet somehow you're given the strength to press on and climb even higher.

I think I've been knee-deep in a tutorial on trusting in the Lord and especially in His timing.

It's when life is relatively easy that we view trials as hard taskmasters and wonder or even doubt if we would have the strength to do what others do if presented with similar hardships.

But when we are thrust into a refiner's fire of our own, it's in this space that we find our inner strength. We worry and struggle and feel a bit sorry for ourselves. But then, if we are still, we feel the enveloping peace of our faith engulfing us. From somewhere deep inside, the flame of our faith turns into a blazing fire. And our faith grows intensely stronger while simultaneously carrying us through the moments. And so we stand up, and arise, and walk the road "less traveled by." We walk His way.

A scripture from Isaiah has been running through my head:

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts." (Isaiah 55:8-9)

We don't have to understand, but we do have to come to a place of acceptance for every thing the Lord places in our path. Because every single thing, whether triumph or trial, has the potential to liberate us--allowing us to live as the person we've always wanted to become.

And He sustains us every step of the way, reminding us again and again that everything will work out for our eternal good. Because He is good.

And I want to be good. I recognize this adversity as a blessed tool to draw my heart closer to my Father and Savior. And on a day when my schedule was overflowing, I decided to stop worrying and to instead commit myself to Christ--to be wholly consumed and centered in Him. I chose to view my appointments as opportunities to minister as He would. And I did. But the trials kept coming and the fire grew hotter still.

But even in the midst of the fire, He was there, still giving me good gifts.

Like calls from family offering support. Like visits from my mom and sister. Like my husband's last work appointment canceling so he could be with me. Like a text from a neighbor and an artichoke casserole given when I had doctor's appointments and four other commitments, and was trying to make dinner for another sick neighbor. Like strength to make hard decisions and then red lights after the decision was made to help us back up. Like a mother who is still serving and visiting and cooking and shopping for me and prayers from family and friends and three other friends offering to make me dinner and help with anything I need. And a host of other tender mercies that are causing my heart to brim with fullness and nearly burst in gratitude.

And yesterday, amidst it all, this song played for me and I knew it was sent from above.

Open My Hands (by Sara Groves)

I believe in a peace that flows deeper than pain
That broken find healing in love
Pain is no measure of his faithfulness
He withholds no good thing from us
No good thing from us, no good thing from us

I will open my hands, will open my heart
I will open my hands, will open my heart
I am nodding my head an emphatic yes
To all that You have for me 

Truly the Lord is good and this refiner's fire is gifting me gold. 

When your dreams seem far away.

There are moments when my house is clean and serene.
But then there are other times...

And sometimes during those "other times" I feel down on myself--for not being more talented, or more on top of things, or better at this or that--{like creating a home that is a candidate for the cover of Country Living Magazine}. Do you ever feel that way?

But when I look a bit deeper and let myself "feel" what my home is like instead of viewing it through the eyes of critique, I realize that my although my house may not be perfect, my home is pretty close.

My home is lived in and loved. It is cozy and colorful and loving.

It is messy and glorious all at the same time.

Do I dream of someday living in and decorating a Country Living cover farmhouse? Yes. Because dreaming gives me a bright glow of hope. And because a good dream is like chocolate to the soul.

But this? Here? Right now? This is where my heart is. And when I wake up each morning, I make the choice to embrace this crazy beautiful life.

Because right here, right now, this is exactly where I'm supposed to be.

The Thanks Giving Project.

So a few days ago I was listening to the wonderful messages at church and smiled to myself at the general theme of gratitude. I love the holidays and Thanksgiving kicks off the most wonderful time of the year for me. I was blessed to have two of my children during the holidays (my son 4 days after Christmas and my daughter a few days after Thanksgiving). And while it makes for some pretty crazy days of trying to simultaneously plan Thanksgivings, Christmas activities, and two birthday parties, I feel so blessed.

After church though I came home and felt a bit melancholy. There was no apparent reason, just a slight touch of sadness. And as I reflected on what to do when I start feeling this way, a prompting from the Spirit came simply and quietly--you need to practice thanks giving.

I hesitated. I have read the studies on gratitude (you must see the infographic at the end of this post via mindvalley.com). The science behind living in gratitude is amazing.

This one simple principle can impact life in enormous ways. I have participated in countless gratitude lists and journals and have tried to follow my mother's counsel to look for 5 things to be grateful for daily. And in so doing, I have noticed my joy levels rise.

So why was I hesitating when the prompting came to practice thanks giving? If I believed in the power of gratitude to add joy to my life could I believe in the power of gratitude to be a quick and effective happiness boost for those moments of stress, sadness, or frustration?

This deserved to be a project I decided. So on Monday I began the "Thanks Giving Project."

Let me explain how it works.

Every time I start to feel a negative emotion (such as anger, sorrow, stress, etc.) I stop the thought right in its tracks and redirect my thoughts to ones of gratitude. I reflect upon my many blessings, or any blessing that I can pick up and place in my heart....

In the few short days I've engaged in this project, I have witnessed my negative emotions literally melt away every time. I hope to make this "giving of thanks in the hard times" a habit by Christmastime as my gift to my Savior and I can't wait to witness the miracle that may transform me. I truly believe that if I can practice this giving of thanks, then I will be given even more experiences for which to be grateful. It will be a positive cycle of "thanks giving to thanks living" and then back again to thanks giving.

Would you care to join me on this path?

May you have the most wonderful Thanksgiving with your family and loved ones this year is my sincere desire.

Love,
Jamie