Life lately and thoughts

So I feel like I should let people know what's going on, but I hope you will take it in stride and not feel like I'm announcing my own problems to get attention. Like Elder Scott has said, "...everybody has problems and nobody wants to hear about yours." But I've learned a few things that I think are important to share and I wouldn't have learned them without going through this.
Most of you, I think, know that I got a concussion almost a month ago. We're not sure what happened, nobody saw it and I have a lot of memory loss from that day. But I've had a concussion before, so not too big of a deal, this one was just worse than last time. After two weeks I still had some symptoms that didn't seem to be normal or resolving as fast as they should be, so I went to a doctor, who sent me to a neurologist, who ordered all sorts of tests. X-ray, CT, EEG, and MRI, the whole gambit. After some brief scares, we discovered that I still have some blood in my brain (common after a concussion) but it was in the area of my brain that is near the olfactory nerves, which control sense of smell, and that area also helps with emotions. One of my only remaining symptoms is the fact that I can't smell, [and therefore can't taste very well] so that made sense. Emotionally I seem to be fine, but jury may rule otherwise, I've always been too emotional for my own good (haha!). Anyways, the blood should reabsorb and resolve on it's own, but doctors say we can't really be sure what is going to be permanent at this point until that happens. I promise I'm fine, just experiencing life a bit differently these days.
I've had some interesting insights because of this. I happen to have injuries that are completely internal and no one could tell I even have them. There's no sign I wear that says "I can't smell and my head still hurts" and I'm fully functioning at work and school. But I know I'm not 100% yet. No one else does. Which begs the question: what are others going through that I can't see? Not all problems and injuries are visible to the world, but that doesn't make them less real or damaging. I'm as guilty of rash judgments as any human, but it seems so heartless now that I've seen a brief glimpse of the other side of things. I've had moments where I just think "You have no idea what I am going through, what this feels like. You don't even know." And now I wonder how many other people have that thought on a daily basis, and how many times have I been the cause of that thought.
I don't know how long I'll be like this, and that doesn't matter. What matters is what I've learned and continue to learn from it, and one of those things is that we all struggle in some way, some physically, some mentally, some emotionally, and some in ways that no one will know or see. So I'm determined to be more like our Savior, Jesus Christ, who suffered everything and had no bitterness, never complained, and loves everyone, weak and struggling and imperfect and tired though we all are. God loves us perfectly, He knows our struggles, and He would not put obstacles in our path without giving us a way through. Might be over, under, around, or just patiently pushing through. But there is always a way.
To quote my mom, "This is Plan A. The Lord doesn't do Plan B. Only our plans get messed up, not His."

This is hard

Alrighty, it's about to get real up in here again. Sorry about that, but this is my blog and I can vent if I want to.
Life is hard. I know life is hard for everybody and we all have our different challenges and trials, but right now my life is HARD. Hard enough that I don't want to get out of bed in the morning unless it's Sunday because that is the only day that feels safe. Hard enough that one day at a time is all I can do. Hard enough that I feel like I'm being pushed to the very edge of a cliff and have to figure out how to stay on when everyone and everything around me is shouting "JUMP!" I have never felt so stretched in my entire life.
Now, to be fair, I am a ridiculously emotional and sensitive person. It is the end of my first year of grad school, and I'm exhausted in every single way a girl can be. Everyone tells me I'm in the homestretch, but it feels like the end of the obstacle course in American Gladiators where they put the hardest stuff all at the end and do their very best to break you. I always thought I had good life endurance, but this all makes me feel like a weakling.
I know what part of the trouble is. I'm trying to live righteously. That's not a bad thing, not by a long shot, but it does invite the devil to be hard on you because he wants to break you. I read numerous talks yesterday where the thought was said that when things get really hard, take that as a sign of encouragement that you are on the right path. That made me feel good, but it didn't help me to figure out how to get through it.
I've been praying with more sincerity than I ever have, and I always hope for miracles. But I'm starting to think this is one of those "push through it" times where heaven steps back and says "We're here, but you have to do this. Come on, one more step. One more day." I pray for strength for myself, which I always receive (sometimes by the end of the day I'm on my hands and knees, so to speak, and crawl home, but I make it) and other days it's like "Whew, I made it. That could have been worse." I pray to be positive, because I have to remember that with all of this hard stuff, I am an example of the gospel of Jesus Christ and people watch me. So I bite my tongue when I want to complain. I smile when I want to scream. I pray when I don't think I can do it. It's hard, but I have to do it. I pray for the people who are making my life miserable, because I don't know what else to do, and the Savior told us to pray for those people. I think it helps. But even the Spirit can only go so far in some cases.
I thought I had learned this lesson before now, when I was in a similar situation feeling just as lost and confused. I thought, "Hey, at least I won't have to do that again." I can see now that was to prepare me for this time. This place. These people. This is the real test. At least I hope it is. If it gets any worse than this in the future, God and I are going to have to have a serious talk.
I want to quit. Every day that thought pops into my head. "You don't have to do this. You can go home where there are people who love you. There's a job there you can go back to. You don't even want to do this. Go home. Give up." And never has any temptation been so enticing to me. Would anybody blame me for quitting? No, they've told me as much.
But will I quit? NO.
I may not know why the Lord sent me here and put me in this situation with these people and this place, but I KNOW THAT HE DID. I may be mostly alone here, fighting for my life, so to speak, and without any idea of how far I've come or what I'm doing right, but none of this matters. What matters is getting through it, even if it's by the skin of my teeth, and not letting go of what I know to be true. Nothing will shake my testimony of the Savior and His Atonement. Nothing will make me break the covenants that I have made. Nothing will take away the fact that I have been sealed to my family for eternity. Nothing will actually break me. I may crawl home at the end of the day, I may break down in tears on the phone with my mom because I want to go home, I may feel so hurt that my chest actually aches, I may wonder why in the world do I have to do this (and more terrifying, what could this possibly be preparing me for?), and I may have to talk myself out of bed every morning only to roll on the floor to my knees and pray for the strength to go further, but I will not be broken by this.
Others have gone through worse things, and no trial lasts forever. The scriptures always say "And it came to pass" not "And it came to stay."
So when I feel like my best will never be good enough, when one more day becomes too much, when I am tempted by the thought of giving up, I will remember my Savior, who knows exactly who I am and what I am going through, who has felt everything I am feeling, who endured far worse with far less complaint, who has never left my side and never will, who picks me up at the end of the day and brushes me off and says "Good job, you did it!" He is all the strength that I need.
If that is all I need to learn, that truly relying on Him is the only way, then I say BRING IT ON.
There is a light at the end of the tunnel. It may be a very dim light and a very long tunnel, but it is there. One step at a time, I'm getting there. Hands and knees some days, but I'm getting there. I am being built for something, and I want to give the Lord the best version of me that I can. He deserves the very best.
I am so grateful for my friends and family that remind me every day that this isn't it, that I am more than this, who make me laugh and tell me it'll all work out and say all sorts of sweet things to make me feel better. You make the day brighter, and I love you for it.
I will make it. We will all make it. We may have bumps and bruises and scrapes and scars when we're done, but everybody knows that bumps and bruises and scrapes and scars come with the best stories. So in a future day when we're all around the camp fire with s'mores telling our stories, I go first. Pass the chocolate.

New Year

A new year. It always seems like that should mean something to me. Every year since I was a teenager, I have pretended that a new year means that I will set new goals and become a new person. That works for a lot of people, I know, and I respect that. But ever since I was that ornery teenager, all of my goals and resolutions have been the same, and they tend to fall away before Valentine's Day.
I don't know if any of you know this about me, but I have very little self-motivation. If it is left up to me to get myself to do something, it will wait until the absolute last minute if it is a necessary thing, or it will not get done at all if it is not necessary. I am also prone to sporadic spurts of energy or devotion or fascination, which inevitably become old and fade away. This makes my rare moments of self-motivation success fade just as much as the rest of them, since they, too, become old.
For example, take my devotion only a few years ago to becoming fit and healthy and toned and thin. I worked out five days a week at a gym and did core workouts at home every night. I was dedicated for a few months and there was nothing that would stop me from my goals. Then it got cold in the mornings. It became too easy to stay in my warm bed and just do my workouts at home. Then I swapped my pushups for being propped up on pillows with a book in my hands. And thus was the end of my fitness fad.
Anyway, that's how I am. My resolutions have been the same for years. Delve more deeply into the Gospel. Be a better visiting teacher. Pray with more feeling. Be physically healthy and more active. Be positive about life and love. Etc etc etc.
Last year I decided to try something different. I knew it would be a big year, one in which many things about my life would change, and I was nervous. So instead of resolutions, I opted for a theme. After much deliberation, I chose this one: Have hope. No fear.
I wrote it at the end of my [very] occasional journal entries and it became my mantra. When I had a rough time for one reason or another, I repeated my mantra. It helped a lot more than my random resolutions ever had.
So. This year I will also have a theme, because this year, I will need extra help. My life is HARD right now. A lot harder than I ever thoguht it would be. I've been thinking about this for a while now, and I tossed around a few ideas of what could help me. Nothing has seemed right, for one reason or another. But right around the new year, two new phrases popped into my head, mostly because they are on a ring my friend gave me years ago, which I wear every day, so I see these words often. But after reading my "Daily Message" from yesterday, I am decided. The message was President Uchtdorf's talk from last General Conference called "Of Regrets and Resolutions", and this was the quote that struck me today:
"Brothers and sisters, no matter our circumstances, no matter our challenges or trials, there is something in each day to embrace and cherish. There is something in each day that can bring gratitude and joy if only we will see and appreciate it."
I needed to hear that, and I need to remember it. My life is not exactly what I want it to be right now, but it is not in my hands. It is in the Lord's hands, and He is the one who will get me where I need to be. I need to be happy regardless of my situation and have faith that all will be well.
My theme is similar to last year's, but has one distinct difference: Be Brave. Love Life.
I need to be brave in the Gospel and in my faith in the Lord. I need to love the life that He has given me and remember what a blessing it is to even be here.
So, for the year of 2013, I will be brave and I will love life.

Fifteen and Twenty-eight

Today is fifteen years. I met my youngest brother fifteen years ago this morning. Probably right around this time, actually, I can’t remember that. He was born late the night before, and we went to visit him in the NICU as soon as we could. I remember thinking that he didn't look sick, though I knew he was. I knew he probably was not going to live very long, but my twelve year old brain didn't really comprehend what that meant. After all, I had a big brother that I had never met and I knew he was dead, but I’m sorry to say, that never really meant that much. I didn't know him, I had never seen him, and aside from a few pictures at our house I saw on occasion, I never really thought about him that much. Except that I wanted to meet him someday. When we found out that Andrew had the same disease, I thought about Timmy more. But it had been thirteen years since he had died, and medicine was constantly evolving, so I knew it would be different this time.

I would never have expected that meeting one small baby boy would change my life so profoundly.

He didn't look sick, and if you ignored the wires and tubes hooked up to him, all you would notice was that he already had a belly, which I thought was really cute. He had big eyes, like my sister, and he had dark hair like me. To a twelve year old, a baby is a baby, and they’re all pretty cute, but I immediately felt that he was different. This was my brother. I knew it and I felt it, and he was just as much my brother as Chris was. I remember wondering to myself if Timmy was there with us, looking out for his little brother, wanting to be with him just as much as the rest of us did. That is the first time I can remember feeling that there was someone else in the room with us, someone that we couldn't see.

I talked to Andrew a little, not much, because there were nurses around and Mom and Chris were with me and I didn't want to look like an idiot talking to a baby. I wish I hadn't felt that way. I wish… Well, I wish a lot of things. But I remember telling the little guy that I loved him and that I would come back to see him soon.

I would not see him again. Not in this life.

That hurt. I promised my brother I would see him soon, and I couldn't keep that promise. I take being an older sister very seriously, and I felt like I had failed my littlest sibling.

The second time I remember feeling that someone else was with us was at the funeral. I had spent days trying my best to be brave, all the while feeling sick inside. I had seen my parents handle this second tragedy with remarkable grace, poise, and faith. I remembered wondering how they could do that. They had to be hurting like I was, even more, because he was their son, their little baby. This wasn't something you got use to and going through it again didn't seem fair. I didn't feel like I could complain or tell anyone what I was feeling because they didn't. If they weren't going to scream and yell and ask why, then neither would I. But I wanted to.

I stood a little ways from whoever I was standing beside when my father said the prayer at the cemetery. I felt numb, cold inside. And then I felt as if a warm hand was resting on my shoulder. I cried and I smiled and I kept my eyes closed, because even at twelve years old I knew that my brother was there for me. Which brother, I don’t know, and that doesn't matter. He was there, and I felt at peace. I still hurt, because, obviously, I would much rather have all of my brothers in one place. But I no longer felt pain. Sadness, but no pain.

I never realized until that moment that death is not an ending. It is a transfer. Instead of having three brothers here, before my eyes, I have one brother here and two elsewhere. My little brother had a different course to follow than I did, and my big brother was already on that course. They were still my brothers, and would always be my brothers. They would be there for me just as surely as Chris always has been. I remembered hoping I would feel them again somehow, somewhere.

Meeting Andrew in the flesh was a life changing. Seeing him, touching him, talking to him, and then that sweet experience at the funeral. It changed my perspective of life and families, even at twelve. And it made me develop a relationship with Timmy as well. I think about him more as I get older, and I like it. I wish I could tell you their personalities, but I can’t. But I have a feeling they know all of our private jokes, and they find them just as hilarious as we do. Come on, we’re Connollys. We all have the same crazy sense of humor.

I know they've been around for important events in our lives. They are my brothers, why would they miss out on things here just because they don’t live with us? I know they were at Jenny’s wedding. I know that because I felt that my whole family was there for that moment in time. I know that they will be here at other times, and I know that sometimes they are here and checking in on us.

Sometimes we talk about them. Not always, but sometimes. One time in particular was hilarious. My sister was making a sweet gift for our aunt that involved all of the names of the family, and we had counted up the names, and there was still one missing that we couldn't figure out. Then she suddenly shouted “Andrew!” There was a moment of silence, and then she muttered, “Little brat probably did that on purpose.” I don’t think we've laughed that hard in a long time. Because a little brother would do something like that to his big sister. A Connolly certainly would. And Andrew is our little brother, and he is most certainly a Connolly.

It’s okay to talk about them. It’s okay that sometimes I won’t want to. It’s okay to tell someone that I only have one brother, because saying I have three requires a longer conversation that is too personal. It’s okay that I still cry during the four days on the calendar that they were here, and random other days. It’s okay to miss them.

Fifteen years is a long time. Twenty eight years is a long time. But it’s not forever. It’s just for now. Timmy and Andrew are not lost and gone. I haven't broken my promise to Andrew. I will see him soon, in the grand scheme of things. I haven’t lost two brothers. I still have them. I have three brothers and I always will have three brothers. I miss all of my brothers, and I miss both of my sisters. Some are farther away than others, and for a longer time, but it will just make the reunion that much better. Connolly reunions are always loud and crazy and full of laughs and hugs. Imagine the stories we’ll have to share then.

And on that best of all days, I will look at the two of us that have been gone the longest and say “We knew you were there.”

Why I Hate Politics

Let me preface by saying that when I say politics, I don’t mean actual politics. I love the way our country is set up, how one person or group of persons cannot have all power, how there are checks and balances, and most of all, how the people of the country get to decide who they want to be their leader. I love it. I love that our country was founded by good men for these reasons. I love the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence and everything that they have brought us. I am a patriot through and through. If you ever doubt that, you’ve never seen me during the Olympics or on the 4^th of July. Do I believe that as an American I am better than anyone else? Of course not. But I do very strongly believe that we have the most fantastic country on the planet. But I’m biased.

What I hate is the politics of politics. I hate the way political things have changed. Unlike a lot of people, I despise election years. I appreciate my opportunity to vote, knowing that it is my civic duty but also knowing it is a grand invitation to share my opinions on specific issues. My vote counts. My opinion counts. I get to have a say in the direction our country goes. But that is where the rose-colored glasses come off and I wish I could ignore the rest of it. I hate that political ads are always negative.  They always and without fail point fingers at what has been done wrong by the other guy. They are twisted and skewed to make the other guy sound like the vilest of people. They do not tell me anything about the man or woman they are being produced for, other than how he or she is different from this terrible, awful other guy.

And then there are the debates. Oh, how I despise the debates! Maybe it’s just me, but I happen to believe that somewhere in the world, it is possible for people of differing opinions to sit down with each other and discuss current and relevant issues with respect for those differing opinions and without someone having to be right or wrong. Whatever happened to agreeing to disagree? No one is going to see perfectly eye-to-eye with every single person they want to; does that mean they have to be enemies? No! So why do these debates turn so hateful and mean and rude and downright pointless? Does it actually tell us anything about the candidates? No. All it tells us is that they cannot get along. There is no respect. There is no politeness. There is very little class. That does not mean the candidates themselves are that way. But what we see are two grown men arguing for the sake of arguing before a divided people who are violently supporting their candidate and are willing to beat down any that don’t feel the same way.

Politics, in this sense, cause a huge divide the country, and, in my opinion, makes us look weak. If we can’t respect each other, it doesn’t matter who is in office. Someone will always hate them. Someone will always think they are the worst person for the job, if not on the planet. It doesn’t matter. There is so much hate involved in an election year, and it drives me crazy. People are so cruel. People get so caught up in the hate that they say things that do not represent how other people feel, even if they are for the same candidate. Everybody assumes that when one person says something awful about the other party or the other candidate, they are endorsed by the opposing one, or that is how the entire contingent of supporters feel. Why can’t we believe the best of people? Why can’t we acknowledge our differences of opinion and get on with life?

You don’t know these people. You know what we see on TV, and since the media NEVER skews reality, that must be the whole picture, right? Regardless of what you see on the news or hear through the oh-so-reliable grapevine, you don’t know them. You don’t know if the man is a liar or if he has been honest his entire life. You don’t know if he loves his kids as much as he seems to or if he brushes them off when the cameras are gone. You don’t know what he has felt in his life or how hard some of his decisions have been. You don’t know how hard their wives have had life by their side, fighting to raise a good family in this world that is headed straight for the sewers. You don’t know how their kids feel about having their fathers’ names slammed about like swear words, knowing that when they go out, someone will have something awful to say about him. You don’t know these men. Stop pretending that what you see or hear is actually what you get.

So how do we know who to vote for? If we ever get around to the issues ever again, figure out what you yourself believe. What you yourself want to have changed. And then you vote for the candidate who most closely follows what you believe. Religion doesn’t matter. Race doesn’t matter. Age doesn’t matter. Finances don’t matter. Shoe brand doesn’t matter. March Madness picks do not matter. Fast food preference does not matter. What matters are the issues. It’s unfortunate and very sad that the idea of what is best for America seems to have fallen by the wayside of “What is best for Republicans” or “What is best for Democrats”. We are all Americans. What is best for America?

So yes, I hate politics. Just like I hate contention. I hate rudeness. I hate disrespect. I hate ignorance. I hate a lot of things. But I love a lot of things, too. I love America. I love freedom. I love being able to choose. I love knowing that I have freedom of religion and speech and can bear arms if I want to and can be assured of a fair trial if I need one and that there is still the idea of the American Dream out there in the world.

When it comes time to vote, I will vote according to my own conscience. I hope everyone will do the same. Not because someone looks better on TV or because someone has the right amount of money or because someone has a stylish wife or because he likes Clemson or because his tie is pretty, his children well-groomed, his teeth straight, his car American-made, his background in education, finance, art history, or food services. Vote for the candidate whose opinions are close to yours and whose plan you are most comfortable with. And allow the people who are choosing differently than you the respect that you wish they would give you. If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all. I learned that from Bambi as a kid. Thought other people did too. Guess not when it comes to politics.