Thursday, January 19, 2012


So, in popular psychology, there's a theory that there are stages to grieving: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.

I hit stage two yesterday.

It was, overall, a wonderful day. It was my day off, so I went to the temple, then grocery shopping where I bought myself roses. Then I made dinner for my roommate and I -- tacos with homemade corn tortillas. (Yum.) Over dinner, I turned to Natalie. "I think I want to go on a date tonight. I just don't want to be by myself this evening; I want a change of scene. But I don't know who to ask."

Natalie, being the socially resourceful person that she is, suggested one of the five or so guys in the ward who have shown some tentative interest in me since I moved here. "I have his number! You can text him!" I've talked to him a few times now, and I was pretty sure he'd say yes to a game night, so I went for it.

It went off without a hitch. My date volunteered to bring some games and Natalie got ice cream and root beer on her way back from picking up her boyfriend. We had a really fun time, just playing and chatting. There was discussion of another game night, maybe a movie.

But as soon as everyone left, I sat on the couch and (finally) sobbed.

It was just so hard, watching the look on Natalie's new boyfriend's face when he put his arms around her. He's awestruck, and just trying to soak it in, that his life is this good. Chris wore that look once upon a time, but no more. Today, I am positively ferocious about that.

I really did everything I possibly could with the resources I had at my disposal. I'm sick of not being enough for people. I'm sick of not being appreciated. I'm sick of working ridiculously hard and then having so little to show for it.

It just makes me so spitting mad.

However, I am learning Christ's role in the pain. He doesn't provide the other side, the joy to counteract the hurt. Jesus Christ transcends both the joy and the hurt. His divinity remains, outside of that equation. He makes it so I can be both true to my feelings and a steadily better person. He is the place I go when I am ready to step outside of my pain and learn about much larger concerns.

I myself am nothing: I am furious and lonely and fed up. Yet, because I am a daughter of God, the worth of my soul is great: I must also be serene and faithful and stalwart. Heavenly Father expects that of me, yes, but He will be patient with me as Christ works in my life to bring me to that point again. The point where I can take a deep breath and say that I am okay, that my character has grown, that I am grateful for this hardship.

For now, however, I am angry. And, darn it, that will just have to be good enough today.

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