“A merry heart doeth good like a medicine...”
(Proverbs 17:22)
14 can be a difficult age; it's even more so when you are dealing with
difficult circumstances beyond your control. I certainly had plenty in my life
to be grateful and happy about, but I also struggled with the pain of an often
difficult life. I was smart, but not pretty; I had a roof over my head, but it
was a run-down apartment infested with cockroaches; I had family who loved me,
but I also dealt with a lot of bullying from my insensitive peers.
After my mother passed away when I was 13, my father was introduced to a woman who lived in another state. He had a man that he worked with who had known this woman when he used to live near her, and told my Dad she was single and that he should call and talk to her on the phone. My Dad was reluctant at first, but finally agreed to call and talk with Nora* (name has been changed). They hit it off pretty quickly, and soon were talking daily on the phone with each other. I was happy for my Dad, because I knew he had been lonely for a long time during my mother's illness and subsequent death; but I really had mixed feelings about the idea of having another “mother”. On the one hand, I had really missed having a Mom around to help me and to be able to talk to, but I also didn't know if I would like having another person in my life that I would have to learn to love and who would be my boss.
After several weeks, my Dad said that we were going to drive to Utah to meet the lady he'd developed a relationship with. It was kind of exciting to think about going on a road trip from California to a state I had never been to. I tried to keep the positive parts of this trip in the forefront of my mind so that I would be happy to meet this new person and her family.
They took us to a variety of places in the area, and even to a dance, where my brother and I were taught how to do the “Bossa Nova”, the “Salty Dog Rag”, and a variety of other dances. It was so much fun, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I belonged and was part of something wonderful.
As my Dad begun to start
planning how he would quit his job, and the details of the wedding, I started
to have strong feelings that I should go to Utah as soon as possible. It was spring of my 9th grade year,
and I was confused as to why I would need to go sooner than my Dad and brother,
and before the wedding; but I prayed about the feeling and then finally decided
to talk to my Dad about the idea.
He told me that he would
give me a Father's blessing, and he was certain that he would know afterward
what I was supposed to do. During the
blessing, he paused and then said very clearly that it was “the Lord's will”
that I come to Utah as soon as possible.
He gave me some counsel, and then closed the blessing. As soon as he was done he said, “I'll call
Nora.” He called and talked to her about the feelings I had been having, and
how he had given me a blessing and felt that it was the right thing for me to
come up before the wedding. She agreed,
and said she would meet us halfway in Southern Utah the next weekend.
I had recently received
my patriarchal blessing, which I cherished.
It had given me some wonderful counsel and encouragement that I felt
would be really helpful as I begun this new chapter in my life. I read it and re-read it, trying to see what
the Lord wanted me both to know and do at that time, and on into my
future. I didn't know it then, but that
blessing was to become my lifeline in the months to come.
I said goodbye to my friends, ward members, and teachers, and my Dad and I left to drive to St. George, Utah. After what seemed like forever, we finally arrived and met up with Nora at a motel. She treated me like I was already her “daughter” and was telling me how great it was that I was coming to live with her. I started having a funny feeling, but I assumed it was because everything was so new and overwhelming. The next day, my Dad said goodbye and that he would call me soon. He promised that it wouldn't be long before we were all together again, and that he knew I would be so happy in my new home. After hugs and kisses, I got in the car with Nora, and my Dad turned to drive back to Southern California.
Things went fine for the
first hour or so, and then Nora pulled the car over and asked me if I wanted to
drive. She said she was tired, and that
she had heard I was a good driver. My
Dad had let me drive his car a little around the neighborhood for the past
year, but I didn't know she knew about that.
I felt weird saying 'Ok' to driving on the Freeway as a 14 year old, but
she continued to tell me that it was fine, and that she needed to sleep.
I got into the driver's
seat, and she got into the passenger seat, and we were off again. It wasn't more than five minutes before she
was sound asleep, and I was left wondering what I would do if I was pulled over
by the Police. We were in the middle of
nowhere, and I figured if I just kept driving well that things would be fine,
but I still couldn't shake the feeling that it was strange for her to give me
control of her car (and her life) when really she hardly knew me and I was so
young. After about an hour and a half,
she woke up again and said “See, I told you, you did great!” Things only got
stranger from there.
When we finally got to
our destination, she told me that I would be sharing a room with my soon-to-be
stepsister, and that I could bring my things in and put them in her room. She said it in an annoyed sort of voice, and
I suddenly felt like I was imposing. Her behavior seemed odd, because one
minute she was smiling and happily chatting with me, and the next she would act
sarcastic or rude. I couldn't figure out
what I was doing wrong, or why she would act that way, but I could quickly see
that my initial impression of her might have been wrong.
Over the next several
weeks I became accustomed to her mood swings, though I never knew why they
occurred. I was enjoying my new school
and had made some new friends, so I was feeling happy about that part of my
life; but my home life was a roller coaster.
I began to question the wisdom of my Dad marrying Nora, but I figured it
was really not my business, and that I needed to just try to be a “good girl”
so that Nora and her kids would like me.
Finally, the week of the
wedding arrived, and things were a whirl of activity. Nora was making matching
dresses for myself and my stepsister, preparing the wedding and the reception,
and trying to keep calm as she waited for a Cancellation of Sealing letter from
the First Presidency. She had married
her first husband in the Temple, but he had cheated on her, and then divorced
her. She had married a second time, but after a difficult marriage, they
divorced as well. My Dad was to be her third husband, and she could not marry
my Father until she had the go-ahead from the church, even though they were
just going to be married “for time” and not for “eternity”. Finally the letter
came, and I felt so relieved because I hoped that would take some of the stress
and pressure off of my Step-mother, and maybe she would be a little nicer.
On the day of the
wedding, we helped get everything ready and got our matching clothes on and my
step-sister did my hair with curls all over.
I actually felt pretty, and was happy things were going so well. After
the ceremony, we took picture outside the temple, and then went to the church
building where we were having the reception to get ready for the guests to
arrive. My grandmother, my Mother's mother,
had come up from California to attend the reception (she was not LDS, so she
could not go in the Temple for the marriage). When everyone got in the line, my
grandmother went up to Nora's mother and started talking with her. Nora's mother said she was glad that Nora was
happy, but she wondered if this was a good thing for her to get married right
now. My grandma asked why she would say
that, and my new “grandmother” said, “Well, I assume you know that Nora just
was released from a Mental Hospital.”
Shocked, my grandmother
came and pulled me out of the line. She
told me what she had just been told, and I didn't really believe it. I thought that Nora's mother had probably
been joking, but my grandmother said she was completely serious when she said
it. As the next weeks and months
unfolded, I came to realize that it was not a joke.
I found out from my new
siblings that after Nora had her first husband (their father) leave her, she
married again fairly quickly, on the rebound.
Unfortunately, this man was an abuser, and physically and emotionally
abused Nora and her kids over the next 10 years. He threatened to kill her if she ever left
him, or told anyone what was going on; but miraculously he eventually agreed to
a divorce and Nora had started again on her own with her three children. It wasn't long before the stress of what she
had been through took its toll on her, and she had a nervous breakdown. She was admitted to an in-patient treatment
facility, and received treatment for depression and mental illness. It was soon after she was released from the
facility that she was introduced to my Dad.
I knew that Nora took
anti-depressants, and at first I thought that her mood swings were caused by
the medication. But my step-sister let
it slip one day that she would “lose it” when she forgot to take her
medicine. The problem was, it happened
nearly every other day, and her emotional stability was practically
non-existent. She would be fine at work
every day, and among friends, church members, or neighbors, but at home she
would usually be mean and hurtful to my brother and I. I never knew what to expect when I woke up
every morning—was I going to have to walk on eggshells? Or would I have a fun, nice Mother today?
I started to become
depressed and withdrawn. I didn't want to talk to anyone in my home except my
own brother, because I knew he loved me and would understand. I began to be in
a dark place, where all I could think about was escaping—either running away,
or...I tried not to think about it, but suicide began to dominate my thoughts. I talked to a girl I knew about how much I
wanted to get away from my home, and she tried to listen to what I had to say
with an open mind, but I could tell she didn't believe me that my step-mother
was secretly a “witch”. She finally said that she would do whatever she could
to help me, and that she would even give me bus fare to run away to my
Grandmother's house back in California if that's what I decided to do. I almost took her up on it, but then decided
that my step-mother would just find me and bring me back. I felt like dying was the only way out of the
darkness and pain.
I began by “cutting” or
using sharp objects to injure myself. I used sewing needles to scratch up my
arms and wrists until they bled, and then I tried to hide it by wearing long
sleeve shirts all the time. I didn't realize it then, but this was a escape
mechanism that apparently is prevalent with depressed teens. Many years later I watched a documentary
about this practice, and how the teens that did it thought that it was a way
for them to have some kind of control in their lives, and to release their
anguish. I thought I was the only one who ever thought of it, and I felt
ashamed at what I was doing to myself, but it was a way for me to take my mind
off my emotional pain, and I thought it would prepare me for the pain of
eventually killing myself.
One day I lay on my bed
trying to get the courage to just get it over with, when I heard a knock at the
door. I didn't want to move, but I finally got up and trudged to the front door
and opened it. There on the porch was a
plate of cookies with a note attached. It was a handwritten note, done in fancy
script with a picture of a smiling sun in the corner. It said: “I have learned
to be cheerful, for I know that the greatest part of my happiness or misery
lies in my disposition, and not my circumstances.” It was not signed, and I had no idea who
could have left me this note. My first reaction was anger—how dare they try to
just whisk away my anguish by telling me to be “cheerful”! They had no idea
what I was going through! The friend that I had confided in about running away
had moved to another state, so I knew it wasn't from her... who wrote this to
me? I took the note into my room, and read it over and over again. Then I had
the impression that I should get out my patriarchal blessing and read it. When I read the part that talked about my
future husband and children, I realized that I had been really selfish to
consider committing suicide. How would I
ever get to the part of my life where I lived “happily ever after” if I just
threw it all away right now? What did this little quote that some inspired
person had put on my porch really mean to me?
Here is what came to me
clearly at that moment—that even though I had felt alone, I had never really
ever been alone. My Father in Heaven
knew me, and loved me, and although he didn't wish for me to have sorrowful
experiences, he did want me to learn and grow.
I needed a paradigm shift, from thinking “why me?” to “how can I have a
good attitude in a difficult and painful experience”? I realized that I had
been only looking at the negative, and never thinking about all the positive
things that I had going for me in my life.
I vowed to try my best to never be the kind of person that brings other
people down; I wanted to be the light in their life, and be hopeful, helpful,
and happy. Though I have been through many ups and downs in the subsequent
years of my life, I have tried earnestly to live by that saying, that whether
we are happy or miserable is largely up to us, and that being cheerful is one
way that we show our Heavenly Father how grateful we are for his blessings in
our life. It doesn't minimize the pain of serious trials, but it does help us
to realize that to everything “there is a season, and a time for every purpose
under the heaven.” We will all go
through pain, but being cheerful, in my opinion, just means that we remain
optimistic and hopeful even when life beats us down. It means we have faith that God is there, and
never leaves us alone...and I will always be eternally grateful for the
opportunity to learn this lesson for myself.
Have you
learned the art of being cheerful? Have you been influenced for good by a
cheerful person? What impact did this
person's example have on you?
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