I love email forwards and been collecting them for some time. I decided to save these special emails that mean so much to me and have such meaning and inspiration to help me be a better a person and more happy. Along with the 'warning' emails, reminding me that these are the last days.
Showing posts with label Personal Stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Personal Stories. Show all posts
Below is copied and pasted from the Church News website above:
Who is President Spencer W. Kimball?
Spencer Woolley Kimball served as the Church’s 12th president, from 1973-1985.
President Spencer W. Kimball writes in his journal about saying goodbye to his family and leaving for the Central States Mission. | The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints
He was born in Salt Lake City on March 28, 1895, the sixth of 11 children. He was raised in Thatcher, Arizona, where he worked on his family’s farm and attended school.
After working several years as a bank clerk, he ran a real estate and insurance business. He also served as stake president of the Mount Graham Stake in southern Arizona.
President Kimball was called to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles during the October 1943 general conference. He served in the Quorum of the Twelve for 30 years until 1973, when President Harold B. Lee died.
After President Kimball’s death, his journals remained with his family until 2008, when the collection was donated to the Church History Library with the request that they be prepared for public release after appropriate review, the blog said.
A page from President Spencer W. Kimball’s journal when he was 11 years old. | The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints
President Kimball’s journals — 34 volumes assembled in scrapbook style — span multiple decades and contain a wealth of inspiring stories from his life and Church service, including the following:
1905 journal, when President Kimball was 10 years old.
1914-1915, Central States mission journal.
Entries written following his call as Church president in 1973, some of which were written by his personal secretary.
Additional materials, such as correspondence and many newspaper clippings. Journal entries made as an adult often went beyond a textual description of daily events; they more closely resemble a scrapbook.
Most of the 34 journals are typed and many pages include underlining, usually in red pencil with brief annotations and margin notes written in his hand. There is a gap in the journals between 1919 and 1930, after which he resumed writing regularly until 1981.
The Church expressed gratitude to the Kimball family for the donation of the journals and to the Church History Library staff for preparing them to be released.
Irina Kratzer. 2017. Kratzer moved from Siberia to Utah, studied English and passed the U.S. medical board exams, joined the church, and married a man with three children in the space of a year (starting July 1997). She spoke at BYU Women’s Conference in April 2000.
Irina Valentinovna Kratzer (b. 1965) spent her first seven years in Kazan, Russia, with her physician parents, Minareta Kotova and Valentin Kotov. The family then moved to Barnaul, Siberia, where Kratzer went to medical school and became a cardiologist. Kratzer married a surgeon and had one daughter, Anastasia Davydova. Medicine was not a lucrative field; months would go by when the hospital did not distribute paychecks. After divorcing her abusive husband in 1996, Kratzer reported feeling exhausted and hopeless as she worked extra night shifts trying to support her mother and daughter on low wages. Sometimes Kratzer’s patients brought her thank-you gifts of milk or foodstuffs. She and her mother also grew food at her parents’ dacha, a small country house three hours away by bus and tram. Kratzer had been raised in a robustly atheist environment and did not believe in God. Nevertheless, one night she ventured a request: “All right, God, if you’re there, just let me know, because you probably don’t even care about me. Who am I to you, a little thing here trying to survive?”
A few weeks later, in August 1996, Kratzer met a man who would introduce her to the church and help her travel to the United States to study English. In the United States, Kratzer not only had to learn medical terminology in a second language, but she had to learn new technologies and different approaches to medicine. She took an exam preparation course and studied twelve hours a day for three months for the first of her four board exams; she was the only member of her class to pass the first exam. Eight months after her arrival in Utah, in April 1998, Irina married Tay Kratzer. Tay had three young children at the time of their marriage. Anastasia, Kratzer’s daughter, had stayed with her grandmother in Siberia, and the day after their wedding, the Kratzers filed the paperwork to bring Anastasia to Utah.
Following her marriage, Kratzer decided to discontinue the practice of medicine. She was a teacher in an Orem, Utah, Relief Society when she was invited to speak at the Brigham Young University Women’s Conference. Her husband helped her to edit the language in the following talk, which she wrote in English.
There was a time in my life when I was touched by love and the light of Christ. My life has since changed forever.
I know how it is to live without the gospel. I lived that way for thirty years. I was born in Russia of goodly parents. They gave me tender love and care and an opportunity to have a good education. They did their best for me to be happy. For most of my life, I lived in Siberia. When I grew up, I got married and gave birth to a lovely baby girl. Soon I successfully graduated from the university and got a job I really liked. And yet, regardless of everything, I was far from being happy.
From the beginning, my marriage did not seem to work and gradually fell apart. Economic situations in Russia were getting worse every day. I was hardly able to provide simple food for my daughter and me. I sinned. I made one wrong choice after another. Hunger, depression, and poor decisions made my life miserable. I was blaming bad fortune, not realizing that in many ways I was suffering the natural consequences of my sins. But how could I know that? Sin did not exist according to what I had been taught. Let me explain.
Religion in Russia was prohibited after the Communist Revolution in 1917. I was taught from kindergarten that there is no such thing as God and that only the Communist Party and Grandpa Lenin could bring happiness to the Russian people. Religious people were badly persecuted in our society. Believers lost their jobs, were not allowed to go to school, and were labeled “crazy.” Everybody was required to take atheism classes at the university, where we proved that God does not exist. Although over time socialism in our country collapsed, and communist ideology proved to be not viable, atheism still lived in people’s minds. It had deep roots in my mind also. I just did not think of God. Yet I felt pain in my heart about my poor choices. Later I would learn that the pain I felt was the Light of Christ giving me a sense of conscience to tell right from wrong. But society opposed my feelings of pain. In other people’s eyes, I was not doing anything particularly bad.
Elder M. Russell Ballard said: “The standards of the world have shifted like the sands of a wind-blown desert. That which was once unheard of or unacceptable is now commonplace.” That’s how I lived. If there is no God, there is no sin; if there is no sin, it is absolutely up to you what you do with your life. Enjoy it. Take advantage of it. Because when you are gone, everything else will be gone also.
In the Book of Mormon, I have read about this same philosophy taught by the anti-Christ, Korihor: there is “no atonement made for the sins of men, but every man fare[s] in this life according to the management of the creature; therefore every man prosper[s] according to his genius, and … every man conquer[s] according to his strength; and whatsoever a man [does is] no crime.”
This philosophy appealed to me at first, but after a while, life seemed to me like a dark tunnel with only the grave at the end. I felt I was slowly dying. It is written in the scriptures that men are to have joy. We came to this earth with the instinct to seek happiness, no matter where we live—in Russia, Africa, or blessed America. I did not know how to pray, so I dreamed. I am a big dreamer. I dreamed that one day I would run away from everything miserable in my life and would start again from the beginning—happy and bright. I wanted so much for my daughter to have a better life than I did. I dreamed about America. Somehow Russian people, and probably many other people in the world, associate America with a good life, success, and happiness.
Even when we do not know God’s ways, he knows our hearts and listens to our dreams. One day a retired American doctor came to visit my city in Siberia. His name was Dr. Woodmansee, and he was a Mormon from Utah. All I’d heard about Mormons was that they did not drink tea and coffee, and that seemed strange. I was assigned to show Dr. Woodmansee around the hospital where I worked. At the end of our fifteen-minute visit he asked me, “Would you come to America to continue your education if I helped you?” Later he told me that in coming to Russia he never planned to make such an offer, but he followed a sudden prompting of the Spirit.
After that, for ten long months I corresponded with Dr. Woodmansee as we arranged for my coming to America. His acquaintance, Brother Ray Beckett, helped us communicate through the Internet and proved to be the best LDS missionary I’ve ever known. Very often he shared his testimony with me. In one of his letters he promised me that my coming to America would change my life forever. He saw God’s hand in what was going on in my life. He also arranged to send my documents through the church mail system, so that I could pick them up at the Novosibirsk mission office in Siberia. That’s how I met the LDS missionaries, who gave me a Book of Mormon. I was not interested in reading this book and put it somewhere on the shelf. During my next visit to the Novosibirsk mission home, I was given an Ensign. I was trying to learn English at that time, so I was very glad to receive such a present. It would help me in my English studies. The first article I read was about how the Book of Mormon had changed the lives of so many people, bringing them happiness and peace. These stories intrigued me and I decided to look closer into this book.
That is how the Book of Mormon came into my life. I read one chapter every morning before I went to work. Reading this book, I learned that God lives, that Jesus is his Son, and that he came to this earth to help sinners like me. The more I read this book, the more I saw the gap between the teachings of Christ and the way I lived. I learned that was why my life was so miserable. I felt pain and I had a great desire to change.
In 1997, President Thomas S. Monson said: “The decision to change one’s life and come unto Christ is, perhaps, the most important decision of mortality. Such a dramatic change is taking place daily throughout the world.” At this time in my life, I received a new vision and understanding of life and could no longer live the way I had before. I was ready for a dramatic change. I will always remember the night in Russia when I cried the whole night through, realizing that my life was not good, that my poor decisions had hurt people I loved the most. It was the most painful experience of my life. I sobbed and pled the whole night, “Lord, please, help me!” By the end of the night I was exhausted and had no more tears. When the first morning light broke through, peace and relief came to me. I heard the words: “Here is my hand. I will lead you and guide you. But you have to promise me that you will change.” And I did; I promised. I wanted this guidance and help more than anything else.
Alma the Younger related a similar experience to his son Helaman:
But I was racked with eternal torment, for my soul was harrowed up to the greatest degree and racked with all my sins.
Yea, I did remember all my sins and iniquities, … and that I had not kept his holy commandments. …
And … while I was harrowed up by the memory of my many sins, behold, I remembered also to have heard my father prophesy unto the people concerning the coming of one Jesus Christ, a Son of God, to atone for the sins of the world.
Now, as my mind caught hold upon this thought, I cried within my heart: O Jesus, thou Son of God, have mercy on me, who am in the gall of bitterness, and am encircled about by the everlasting chains of death.
And now, behold, when I thought this, I could remember my pains no more; yea, I was harrowed up by the memory of my sins no more.
And oh, what joy, and what marvelous light I did behold; yea, my soul was filled with joy as exceeding as was my pain!
Yea, I say unto you, my son, that there could be nothing so exquisite and so bitter as were my pains. Yea, and again I say unto you, my son, that on the other hand, there can be nothing so exquisite and sweet as was my joy.
I did not know, on that painful and joyous night in Russia, how great Christ’s promises are. I did not know then that in just a little while I would travel to America where I would learn more about the gospel, and I would soon be baptized. I did not know that in less than a year from that eventful night, I would marry a wonderful man with three beautiful little children, a man who is so precious to my heart now, and with whom I want to live forever. I did not know that my daughter would come to America to join us in happiness with our newly formed family. Oh, I did not know then how great his promises are.
Now I know how much every soul is important to God. For me to get baptized, he took me out of cold Siberia and put me in sunny Utah to warm up my heart with friendly and kind people. He gave me so many miracles that I did not have even a little chance to doubt his divine hand in my life. I agree with President Monson. The decision to get baptized was the most important decision in my life, and my conversion was the biggest miracle for me.
But what about after my baptism? Do miracles still happen? Yes, they do! The fact that I no longer live with pain but with joy is the miracle that I have now daily. Like everybody else, I have my up and down days, but I have found true happiness on this earth. I was looking for it for thirty years, but I searched in all the wrong places, following the directions of the world and not knowing the Spirit.
Many other miracles, small and great, have come about in my life. And what matters most is what I have learned from them. First, I have learned that almost every miracle I have experienced since my baptism has come as a result of prayer and effort. God requires effort and faith on our part. Second, I have learned that the faith and testimony we gain require constant nourishment. Daily scripture study helps us to do that. Without effort on our part, our testimonies will fade, and the feelings of joy will fade also. If we don’t go forward, we will go back. The third lesson I learned was that to receive daily miracles, we need to ask for them and then recognize them when they come. We recognize them not only to thank God, but to bring to our own awareness the ways in which God has blessed us. This process builds further faith.
Now in my dreams and in my letters, I return to Russia, to my friends, to people I love, and ask them: “Do you know who you are? Do you know where you come from? Please, listen. Listen to what I’ve learned.” The fire burns in my soul day and night. The fire of joy, the fire of love, the fire of gratitude. And I cannot be still. I need to tell the whole world what I know now. Once I was blind, and now I see. Once I lived in darkness, and now I live in the brightest light.
Walk with Christ! Hold onto his hand! Feast upon his word. Drink in his light with your every pore, with all your soul. In times of hardships, you won’t be left in a dark tunnel but in the light of his love with brighter light always ahead of you.
A missionary on furlough told this true story while visiting his home church in Michigan:
"While serving at a small field hospital in Africa , every two weeks I traveled by bicycle through the jungle to a nearby city for supplies. This was a journey of two days and required camping overnight at the halfway point.
On one of these journeys, I arrived in the city where I planned to collect money from a bank, purchase medicine, and supplies, and then begin my two-day journey back to the field hospital.
Upon arrival in the city, I observed two men fighting, one of whom had been seriously injured. I treated him for his injuries and at the same time talked to him about the Lord.
I then traveled two days, camping overnight, and arrived home without incident...
Two weeks later I repeated my journey.
Upon arriving in the city, I was approached by the young man I had treated. He told me that he had known I carried money and medicines. He said, 'Some friends and I followed you into the jungle, knowing you would camp overnight. We planned to kill you and take your money and drugs.
But just as we were about to move into your camp, we saw that you were surrounded by 26 armed guards.
At this, I laughed and said that I was certainly all alone in that jungle campsite.
The young man pressed the point, however, and said, 'No, sir, I was not the only person to see the guards, my friends also saw them, and we all counted them. It was because of those guards that we were afraid and left you alone.'
At this point in the sermon, one of the men in the congregation jumped to his feet and interrupted the missionary and asked if he could tell him the exact day this happened.
The missionary told the congregation the date, and the man who interrupted told him this story:
"On the night of your incident in Africa , it was morning here and I was preparing to go play golf. I was about to putt when I felt the urge to pray for you. In fact, the urging of the Lord was so strong, I called men in this church to meet with me here in the sanctuary to pray for you. Would all of those men who met with me on that day stand up?"
The men who had met together to pray that day stood up. The missionary wasn't concerned with who they were, he was too busy counting how many men he saw.
There were 26!
This story is an incredible example of how the Spirit of the Lord moves in mysterious ways. If you ever hear such prodding, go along with it.
If we all take it to heart, we can turn this world toward God once again. As the above true story clearly illustrates, "with God all things are possible".
More importantly, how God hears and answers the prayers of the faithful.
When I was 18, as I was preparing to serve a mission, my bishop called me to teach the Sunbeams. I had never before learned to love others more than myself until I had served those children in such a simple assignment. With time and patience I learned how to keep those seven children in their seats and listening to a simple lesson.
One day I invited Mike to come to church and sit in my class. Mike was my age but had stopped attending church completely by the time he was 12. We had remained friends over the years as I had served as the deacons quorum president, the teachers quorum president, and first assistant to the bishop in the priests quorum. He had been the topic of many fellowshipping discussions and was often part of my prayers as the years had passed. Once in a while Mike would accept my invitations to come to an activity. It always surprised me when he did, so I kept inviting him.
At that time, Mike had long, black hair and a beard. His complexion was dark and pleasant. I don’t remember when I invited him to my Primary class, but one day he showed up.
“Class, I would like to introduce you to my friend Mike,” is how I began my lesson. “He is visiting us today.”
Mike sat next to me in front. The children sat in a semicircle with their eyes fixed on him. They were much quieter than usual. I was about five or six minutes into the lesson when one little boy got up from his chair and walked across the room and stood directly in front of my friend. The boy paused for a moment and then climbed onto his lap. I continued with the lesson as I watched the two of them from the corner of my eye.
The boy sat looking into Mike’s face. Mike was quite uncomfortable but did not interrupt the lesson or turn the boy away. The other children watched the two of them for a few minutes.
Then one of the girls climbed off her seat and approached Mike. I was intently interested in seeing how Mike would react and did not want to instruct the two children to return to their seats. The girl stood with her hand on Mike’s knee looking into his face.
Then it happened. The boy on Mike’s lap reached up with both hands and turned Mike’s face directly to his. I stopped my lesson to see what was about to unfold.
With the innocence of a child, he said to Mike, “Are you Jesus?”
The look on Mike’s face was total surprise. It seemed, as I glanced at the children’s faces, they all had the same question on their minds.
Mike looked at me as if to say, Help, what do I say?
I stepped in. “No, this is not Jesus. This is His brother.”
Mike looked at me as if in shock.
Then without hesitation the boy in Mike’s lap reached up and wrapped his arms around Mike’s neck. “I can tell,” the boy said as he hugged Mike.
The rest of the children smiled and nodded in agreement as their simple question was answered. Mike blinked back the tears in response to the love he felt from this small Sunbeam. The lesson went on, but that day the teacher who taught the most was a three-year-old child.
Mike spent more than a year getting ready to serve a mission. It thrilled me to learn that he left for the mission field a few months before I returned. I still think of the scripture in Matthew 18:5:
“And whoso shall receive one such little child in my name receiveth me.”
Have you ever noticed how in the scriptures men are always going up into the mountains to commune with the Lord?
Yet in the scriptures we hardly ever hear of women going to the mountains. But we know why — right?
Because the women were too busy keeping life going; they couldn’t abandon babies, meals, homes, fires, gardens, and a thousand responsibilities to make the climb into the mountains!
I was talking to a friend the other day, saying that as modern woman I feel like I’m never “free” enough from my responsibilities, never in a quiet enough space I want with God.
Her response floored me, “That is why God comes to women. Men have to climb the mountain to meet God, but God comes to women where ever they are.”
I have been pondering on her words for weeks and have searched my scriptures to see that what she said is true. God does in deed come to women where they are, when they are doing their ordinary, everyday work.
He meets them at the wells where they draw water for their families, in their homes, in their kitchens, in their gardens.
He comes to them as they sit beside sickbeds, as they give birth, care for the elderly, and perform necessary mourning and burial rites.
Even at the empty tomb, Mary was the first to witness Christ’s resurrection, She was there because she was doing the womanly chore of properly preparing Christ’s body for burial.
In these seemingly mundane and ordinary tasks, these women of the scriptures found themselves face to face with divinity.
So if — like me — you ever start to bemoan the fact that you don’t have as much time to spend in the mountains with God as you would like. Remember, God comes to women. He knows where we are and the burdens we carry. He sees us, and if we open our eyes and our hearts we will see Him, even in the most ordinary places and in the most ordinary things. He lives. And he’s using a time such as this to speak to women around the world.
These pictures of me were taken one year apart. One on Saturday, August 15, 2020, in Houston, Texas, at 2:35 PM. The other on Sunday, August 15, 2021, in Maricopa, Arizona, also at 2:35 PM. Looking at them both now, you can't see much of a difference. You can tell I'm outside instead of inside, you can tell I'm wearing a different dress, and that I'm maybe a little older....but that's about it! What you can't tell is the story that transpired between these two pictures. What you can't tell is all that awaited the innocent, unknowing me in 2020, and all that the current me has overcome in this past year through my Savior.
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Some of you may know what I am referring to. Tomorrow is my one year anniversary since the attack. It's been called my "undead day," my "re-birthday," the "day of miracles," the "day of protection," and so many other things. As you can imagine, my heart is overflowing with thoughts and emotions, and I can't wait to share many of the stories and miracles from this past year with you all tomorrow.
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However, as I got ready this morning, I couldn't help but also stop to appreciate the significance of today. August 15th was, for a long time and maybe forever, the last day of my "normal." It was the last day with no trauma. The last day with no scars. The last day of being a normal teenager with a normal body serving as a normal missionary. It was my last day serving in the Texas Houston Mission. I went to bed on August 15th completely naive to how that night would change my life forever.
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Now I do, and will always, have scars--mentally and physically. Now I did, and will always, have experienced attempted murder. Now I am, and will always be, a trauma survivor. I used to look at this picture of myself on August 15th and feel a sort of longing in my soul. To me, it represented what was and could never be again. The innocent, the unbroken, the unexpecting.
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And it's true that me on this August 15th is different than the me on the last, but it's not because I can never be who I once was. It's because I'm everything I was in that blue dress and so much more. It's because I learned once that Jesus Christ doesn't just heal. He restores.
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For the longest time after the attack, I clung to the idea that Jesus was the Master Healer. That He really COULD bind up my wounds, help me walk, remove my pain. But inside I was still struggling to accept the change. Even if the wounds were sealed..... scars would still remain. Even if I could walk again, I'd never have the same endurance as before. Even if my pain went away, it could still come back again.
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And then one day the Spirit spoke to me and said, "Jesus is not just the Master Healer. He is the Restorer." He doesn't just bind up our wounds but gives us the same perfect peace we had before the injury with a greater peace in Him because of them! He doesn't just repair us until we're good enough to stand alone; He brings us back to the same strength we had before and then adds His strength to it! He doesn't just help us fix the current pain but gives us the same relief we enjoyed previously with a greater capacity to withstand in the future!
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As I look back after one year now, I can truly say that Jesus Christ has not only healed, but restored me. I have learned in the most powerful way that there is no man nor force on this earth that possesses the power to take from us what God has bestowed. Christ has brought back everything that was lost. I am back doing what I was a year ago, serving in His wondrous work as His representative, with all the joy and strength I had before, but a more perfect hope in Him because of what I've been through. I am so grateful for all that was taken from me. Because Christ has restored it all to me again, along with more than I could ever imagine
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Sleep tight tonight, everyone! See you all tomorrow
August 16th, 2020. Do you remember where you were that day? Where did you wake up? Who were you with? What plans had you made? No matter how long I live, in this life or the next, I will never forget what happened on August 16th for me. Needless to say, I have been anticipating this anniversary and this post for a very long time. I have spent many hours pondering what I could possibly share to express the love and gratitude overflowing from my heart and all the miracles that Heavenly Father has shown me this past year. It is my earnest hope that everything I experienced on this day a year ago and every day following may be shared here in a way that shows the goodness and mercy of Heavenly Father, the love and power of Jesus Christ. They saved my soul in a sacred garden thousands of years before my birth and again in a dank apartment just north of Houston, Texas, exactly one year ago today. I am Theirs, and my soul purpose for now and for eternity is to testify of Them.
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Many of you reading this know the event which I am referring to. Many of you already know about what happened, but I would bargain to say that most of you reading this right now know little about what ACTUALLY happened. The miracles, the emotions, the continuing struggles. It's true-- it all started with the stabbing. On August 16th, 2020 at 4 am I was in my apartment in Houston, Texas, with my companion. We had great plans for the following day like our church service and teaching appointments with six or seven families. I remember going to bed so excited about how successful of a day we had lined up. But that all changed when, on August 16th, I woke up to screaming and an unfamiliar figure above my bed. I woke up to a fight, a struggle of life or death that would last about 15 minutes. Grappling, screaming, slashing, praying. I woke up to the potential of death. I received 9 stab wounds in the fight: one in my shoulder that pierced my lungs, one in my elbow, one on both sides of my hand, one in my side, two in my thigh, and one through both sides of my calf. We called 911 and they came and rushed us to the hospital. I called my president to come give me a life saving blessing. I called my parents to get their opinion on the surgery. They operated for six hours, and I then spent eight days in my home away from home--Houston HCA Northwest hospital--relearning how to eat, sit up, walk, etc. I was then in recovery for five months with constant physical therapy and hospital trips. We used to fill up a whole little garbage can just redressing my wounds each morning . After what seemed like forever, I received a phone call in Walmart two days before Christmas, informing me that I had once again been called to serve as a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ, and that I would finish my labor in the Arizona Tempe Mission
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But my journey doesn't end there. I haven't shared the continuing story with many, but my story hasn't been all sunshine and rainbows. About five months ago, I started having a lot of returning health problems, specifically with my ability to eat. I began to get extremely nauseous almost 24/7, and eating became very difficult, and sometimes impossible, for me. I often can't sleep or work because the nausea and the pain is so bad. I have had a plethora of medical exams, tests, CT scans, xrays, and other things to try and figure out the problem. They assume it was caused by the stab wound in my intestines, but as of right now, there are no answers and it is something I still struggle with to this day.
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Now please understand, I don't share any of this to be pitied for my pain or praised for the perseverance. I have shared this with very few people because, when all is said and done, I consider myself the luckiest and most blessed soul on the planet to have gone through what I have and to have escaped with such FEW problems. And I am a missionary! I'm part of the greatest work in the world!! How could I be anything BUT happy?!
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But I feel impressed to share these recent experiences with you all now because they are the context that explains just how miraculous the Lord has been in my life this past year. They show that the stabbing was only the beginning of the miracle. Christ didn't just show up for five minutes to fight my battle and then retreat to His comfortable throne to observe my recovery. He has NEVER LEFT MY SIDE! Not when I left that apartment on the stretcher. Not when I left the hospital. Not when I left the THM. And not when I was healed enough to leave my home and return to service. What has REALLY built my faith in His infinite mercy and goodness is His hand in everything that has followed the attack. In the OVERWHELMING and CONSTANT love that He has shown me through each of you!!
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For me, it's all about moments. The indescribable connection I felt when a man, bent on my death, held me to the ground, but I screamed Heavenly Father's name as loud as I could and knew that He heard me. The comfort when I turned on a light for the first time after the fight and saw the world as it really was. The vision that filled my heart when I saw the stab wound through my palm and instantly felt my Savior there. The absolute wave of relief when I saw a handful of fully armed policemen crowd the scene and I knew that everything would be alright.
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And then there's other moments like when my mission president placed his hands on my frail and broken body and pronounced a blessing of peace. Or when I first semi-consciously recognized my parents as they rushed into my hospital room. And when I left the THM and was surprised with a parade from my ward and mission to see me off. Or how speechless I was when I received another parade from my ward and family in my neighborhood upon my homecoming.
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All of these moments in this past year, and so many more, have sustained me through the infinite love of Jesus Christ, expressed in each of you. But as I got ready yesterday, I realized that each of these moments are made up of little things. The things like being able to roll over in bed or cough without searing pain. The little things like fingers that can curl my hair or put on mascara. Things like how I can balance on one foot now, step up onto a curb, put on my own shirt, swallow a sip of water, wiggle my toes.
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There are more moments, memories, lessons, and experiences in this last year that have testified to me of the absolutely eternal goodness and love of our Heavenly Father and our Savior, Jesus Christ, than I could ever possibly share. But seriously, just take my word for it. GOD IS SO GOOD!!!!! He knows us, He saves us, He lifts us, He fills us! I am ONLY standing here today, alive, breathing, and absolutely beaming with joy because of HIM! It is ALL because. of. HIM.
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In the hospital a few days after the attack, one of my cousins texted my mom with a question to ask me: "What is your favorite name for Jesus Christ?" Because of the pain and circumstances of the moment, I am just now realizing that I don't know if I ever gave her a good response to that question But even if I tried to answer her question now, I couldn't. Each one of these moments for me was so sacred because it represented a different role and a different hole that Jesus Christ was filling in my life. But because it has been a year, I think I owe my cousin something;) So, to commemorate these twelve months of miracles, for the next twelve days I am going to share the twelve roles of Jesus Christ that have had the greatest influence on me this last year. I will also share the stories and miracles of healing that brought me to the testimony of each of His mighty, miraculous names. I hope that each of you will join me in this celebration of our Redeemer and reflect on the miraculous moments that He has bestowed to make you who you are today (the posts will be on here and on my page, The Work of His Hands. See link below:)
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Thank you all, each and everyone, for remembering me on this re-birthday and for helping me remember my Life-giver. Christ gave me my life once through His atoning sacrifice and baptism in His church. That potential of salvation is more than I could ever thank Him for, in this life or the next. But this re-birthday has been truly special for me because, one year ago today could have been the end. I could have died. He saved me once, He didn't have to do it again. But the thing is--He is Jesus. So He DID. He did save me again. He gave my life back to me. It has been bought, it is His. The only question that remains for me and for each of us is WHY? And what are we going to do about it?
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Now, more than ever, I know that I owe my life to the Lord! Now, more than ever, I know that I can do nothing but give every breath testifying of Him and His infinite goodness and love! My only purpose, now and forever, is to testify of my Life Saver and spread His good news to all the world! That He can save your life, too! That in Him you, me, and we all, can be reborn! As I look back, I can say with confidence that i am SO GRATEFUL I was stabbed. There is not a single thing in this year I would change. We don't have to change the past. Because He can change our future
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As my heart fills with gratitude today for all He has given that I can never repay, I know that the one thing I can give is my testimony. After one year, I can still say with confidence: I KNOW that Jesus Christ lives, because I live. I KNOW that Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father love you more than you can ever imagine, because I have finally felt some real sorrow and some real pain that allowed me to imagine a microscopic portion of how unfathomable the Atonement really was, and what a miracle that They loved us enough to perform it. I KNOW that Christ's gospel is the way to salvation, because it has saved my mind from trauma, my body from pain, and my soul from death. I know that Christ loves us because He let me suffer and almost die, so that in Him, I could be reborn, as we all can be if we choose to see each day as His day of miracles! and I bear this witness and promise to each of you in the name of He Who fulfills all His promises, even the name of Jesus Christ, amen
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. After what seemed like forever, I received a phone call in Walmart two days before Christmas, informing me that I had once again been called to serve as a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ, and that I would finish my labor in the Arizona Tempe Mission
(the posts will be on here and on my page, The Work of His Hands. See link below:)