A few days ago I took my Activity Days girls to the Carl Bloch exhibit at BYU. It was really amazing and I can't wait to go back when I have the time to really concentrate on the beautiful and powerful images of Christ that are there. While we were there we saw the painting The Daughter of Jairus. My friend, who came to help me, pointed out some of the symbolism in the painting and I was amazed at all that I hadn't recognized when I'd seen it before. I've been thinking so much about that painting since. In the painting the grief on the mother's face is so apparent. She is in her darkest moment of loss and despair. I can totally identify with that. I've been there. I am there still. It's a completely horrible and hopeless thing to look on the face of your child and wish for just one breath, to wish that the nightmare of their death was not a reality. It's hard to see any hope in that lasting moment of pain. In the painting however, there is hope. With dawn just breaking behind Him, the Savior is there, and so the story goes that He raises Jairus' daughter from the dead.

I've been struggling again. I've taken yet another plunge in that awful roller coaster of grief when it seems as if I just barely climbed to the top again. Since we came home from California, I've just had this overwhelming lack of hope again. I feel as if I don't have anything to look forward to right now. I look at my schedule now and I've realized how scared I've been to plan anything. Usually by now I've got most of the summer planned and this year I have nothing, not even one single thing. When my hopes have been so dashed, I've struggled to set myself up for more disappointment by making any plans. All my thoughts go to what I would have had planned had things just have been different. I planned to have a 3 month old right now, which is one of my very favorite stages, and some days the disappointment of knowing all of the little things I'm missing with Gabriel is so overwhelming and full of pain. I miss my little boy so very much.

Lately it seems as if I've heard so much about hope, in testimonies of others and in the wonderful General Conference that we just had. When I hear about it, I know that those words are meant for me but it's so hard to hope when your heart has been so broken. As I've thought about the painting of Jairus' daughter the last few days, I've wondered why I struggle so much to just turn my head and see the dawn and the hope waiting at the door. I know what lies in store for me and my family. I know that someday the dawn will break and the Savior will be at my door and Gabriel will be restored to us. Yet, like the mother in the painting, I am so intently focused on the loss that I can't see the hope. It often seems like the only hope I can muster is the hope that one day this will all be over and my family will all be together and Gabriel will be with us. It's just that day seems so very, very far away. Why can't I see any hope in this life and when I do start to see little glimmers, why can't they stay?

I've been pleading so much in my prayers for good things to happen to us. The last eight months have been such a struggle. Beyond the loss of Gabriel, we've had so many little trials and disappointments. I keep waiting for the blessings promised to us after our trials. Last weekend, in General Conference, Paul V. Johnson said, "Sometimes we see the greatest of blessings on the heels of our trials." It's something I've heard over and over again, especially since Gabriel died. I keep looking for "new blessings", for lack of a better way to explain it.

Yesterday, with the help of my amazing husband's guidance, I saw it from a different point of view. While I spend my time looking for these new things to be blessed with, I miss recognizing what I already have been given. I haven't given the Lord credit for the blessings that have come from some of these trials and tests of faith. While we've had scares in our family with my brother possibly having Leukemia, my mom having a blockage in her heart and lungs, and my sweet little Sky having both whooping cough and appendicitis, all of them, through prayers, fasting, and priesthood blessings, have turned out to be less severe than originally diagnosed, and that in itself, has been an amazing blessing.

Sometimes the answer to your most sincere pleadings and prayers is the clarity to see all that you've already been blessed with and know that it is more than you ever felt you deserved in the first place. While I feel a have a grateful heart, I know that I often lack the ability to be content with what I already have. I have more than most of the world does temporally and what a blessing that is. Even if that was all taken away, I have a faithful, caring, and wonderful husband, who stands by my side throughout all my faults. I have a beautiful daughter, Skylar, who has so much passion for life and is always excited to learn new things. I have the sweetest son, Nickolas, whose kindness and compassion, especially with me, touches my heart incredibly. I have my crazy little Kade, who keeps me laughing, always entertained, and never forgets to include his baby brother in all we do. I have my spunky Alexis who is a ray of sunshine in our house with her cute personality and sweetness. I have an amazing and perfect son, Gabriel, who is so valiant and so strong, and holds so much promise for me someday. Like Richard G. Scott shared in conference when talking of his son that had died, the covenant we made in the temple to be an eternal family means that this amazing family of mine will always be mine. I have so much and even if I was never blessed with another thing in this lifetime, I would already have been so blessed beyond measure. So why can't I be content? Why, when I recognize the blessings and truly feel grateful for them, does my heart still ache incredibly for what I don't have?