Launched Out Into the Deep

Much like this year, April 2023 flew by. After the cruise I was energized to take on the single mom game again. But man, those were long, exhausting days. I don't recommend being a pregnant, single mom of 4 kids, working part-time during the manic energy of spring time. Fortunately, this year our kids didn't play any big commitment sports like soccer or softball. I may be projecting, but through the heart ache of ending a marriage and breaking a home, there's this compulsion to spoil your kids in anyway possible, at least there was for me. It's like, If I couldn't give my kids the most important thing of all, a home with a mother and father who love and respect each other, I'll give them xyz... So last spring it ended up being rock climbing and horse riding lessons.

At the end of those long, tiring days, after the kids were asleep, I was busy typing out my talk for a youth conference I had been invited to as the key note speaker. Back in the fall of 2022, I had spoke at a youth fireside on the topic of chastity. I had had the framework for this talk in my mind for a few years and finally asked if I could give it. (If you'd like to read the talk, click HERE) This talk was well received and word travelled to the church leaders in Cardston, where the conference was being held. I'm one of those strange people that actually really enjoys public speaking, so when I heard I was being considered to speak for 5 stakes worth of youth, I was thrilled. When I was finally officially asked to speak, I remember thanking President Nunn for asking me and saying, "I really needed a win." But anyways, what was originally a 15-20ish minute talk needed to be around 45 minutes, so I had my work cut out for me.

After the cruise is also when I started seeing a counsellor. I'm fortunate enough to have a Family & Community Support Services office in my community, which is where I connected with a counsellor. FCSS offers 10 FREE sessions with their counsellors. I don't recall any ground breaking revelations or life changing advice, I mostly talked about the situation I was in and was encouraged to begin "finding myself" again. After a particularly emotional session of counselling, I took my kids to the play group happening afterwards. I had made the mistake of dressing Zuzu in her "big sister" shirt we used as the pregnancy reveal to our kids. I was definitely NOT ready to reveal this news to other people, but I was quickly found out and enthusiastically congratulated. What a dichotomy of feelings that time was. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times... My happy news of a pregnancy went hand in hand with the news that my marriage was ending. A smart person would have just accepted the congratulations with a smile and changed the subject. What I did was burst into tears and then have to explain that I was actually also getting a divorce. We left immediately after that conversation. But it was a conversation I encountered many more times. Fortunately, the tears no longer accompanied it.

The end of April is also when I had my 20 week ultrasound. I don't recall telling Jon the date of the ultrasound, but that morning he had texted me asking if he could come to it. My answer was no, which I felt justified giving for two reasons: 1. Jon blatantly chose to cheat on me after finding out that I was pregnant, and 2. After the truth came out, Jon had the nerve to say that he didn't want more kids. But it was still hard to say no. That afternoon, I turned off "Find My Friends" to ensure that I went alone. And then I did something bold: I chose to NOT find out the gender of my baby, which was something Jon always made us do. I was proud of myself for being nonconfrontational and a peacemaker, but I could still find little ways to be petty, ha. He later asked if there was a way he could find out the gender, by contacting my doctor or if my mom could find out and tell him. The answer was still no.

The time finally came to give my "Launch Out Into the Deep" talk. This talk was about setting out into adulthood bravely and boldly, being unafraid to be different. It included the infamous chastity talk, but at the end I felt inspired to put a different spin on the quote, how not all the "launching" we do is voluntary, sometimes we get "launched." This is what I said:

Before I close, there is one last interpretation of “the deep” I want to share with you. There will come “deeps” in your life that you do not choose to “launch out into.” Whether you have chosen to remain on the shores of life or have valiantly launched yourself “out into the deep,” you will encounter trials, adversity, pain and unwanted change. This is inevitable. There is no “Get Out of Trials Free” card here on Earth. Some of your trials will be consequences of your own actions, while others will be the results of factors beyond your control. I have no doubt that some of you sitting in this room have already encountered some of the greatest hurts that this life has to offer. My heart goes out to you.

 

I’m no different than you in this regard. I have had heartaches and heaviness, sorrow and suffering. Something I may possess that you have not had the time to acquire is the blessing of retrospection. I’ve lived long enough that I can look back on my trials and remember the light that was at the end of each tunnel, something you may not have discovered yet as you trudge through the thick of your adversities. There have been trials in my life that have convinced me I would drown in the downpour of my tears, that I would be forever flooded with fear, and spend the remainder of my life in the shadows of an overcast sky of overwhelm. You may be able to relate.

 

But I want to remind you, as residents of southern Alberta and southeastern British Columbia, each of us is familiar with the importance of rain in our areas. Usually around this time of year or further into the spring and summer, our church leaders will bring our attention to the dire need of moisture, whether it is to aide in the growth of crops or to help reduce the risk of wildfires. If we haven’t been already, we’re encouraged to pray for rain, perhaps even organized as a stake to fast for the life giving and sustaining moisture we need. We beg with our Father in Heaven for the rain because we know the blessings that exist once the rain clouds have cleared away. So it is with our trials. The overcast mind, the downpour of emotions, what appears dark and cold and dreary, is what brings us some of our richest blessings once the clouds part.

 

Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf said: “Adversity helps to develop a depth of character that comes in no other way. Our loving Heavenly Father has set us in a world filled with challenges and trials so that we, through opposition, can learn wisdom, become stronger, and experience joy.”

 

I promise you that I have yet to encounter a trial that has not blessed me, refined me, and brought me closer to my Saviour. As a young girl, the terror of discovering my beloved dog dying in a beaver trap prompted me to utter the most earnest prayer I had in my life. Without that trial, I would not have been blessed with the lifelong testimony that Heavenly Father hears and answers my prayers, as my dad was able to free and save my dog. Years later, my dad’s life would be in peril after a horse accident. Multiple doctors encouraged my mom, sisters, and I to say our goodbyes. After accepting that my father’s life here on earth was likely over, my testimony of the Plan of Salvation and eternal families was carved into stone upon my heart. I knew I’d see my dad again. Fortunately, our family was gifted a miracle and my dad is still here today. As a young newlywed, my mental health took a turn for the worst. As I trudged through what my doctor called a “major depressive episode,” I became convinced that the joy and light I had felt earlier in my life was essentially over. As darkness consumed me and almost my marriage, I managed to direct my faith towards my Saviour and the advice and care of my family and doctor. As the clouds began to part, I realized that that trial had gifted me with a newfound depth of compassion and Christlike love for the people around me. As I stand before you today, I again find myself encompassed by the rain clouds of adversity. 2023 has been the year I found out I was pregnant with my 5^th child and discovered that deception and broken covenants would bring the end to nearly 11 years of marriage. The rain and my tears have seemed to never cease this year. But I know from experience and from a hard-won testimony of the Gospel that the sun WILL eventually come out and that I WILL find myself blessed for my faith and endurance. By no fault of my own, I have been “launched out into the deep,” and it is hard, but I know when I return to the shore that I will return a refined and richly blessed daughter of God because of it. So it is with you. There are deeps you get to choose to pursue, and there are deeps that you will be thrown into. Choose to see the trials you endure for the rich blessing of moisture that they are. The sun will always come out after a rain. And the trials you have endured will be for your benefit.

Band Cruise

Back in September 2022, I had started a new job. Jon was back in school full-time and we needed some sort of income, fortunately the Junior High was hiring. Thus began my brief sojourn as the "Band Aide" - the Teacher's Aide to the Band Teacher. Up until this point in my life, I would have told you without hesitation that my favorite job I ever had was lifeguarding. I'm pretty confident my new favorite job is being the "Band Aide." I owned the heck out of my nickname too. For Halloween I made a giant "band-aid" costume using those foam mattress toppers. I cut out two Kristen-size pieces for my front and back and had a hole for my face, slits in the sides for my arms, and a hole in the bottom for my legs. I was like a giant band-aid mascot and I thought my costume was hilarious and amazing until some mean flute player in grade 12 said, "What are you? A pad?" Then I was much less confident and rather sheepish that I didn't just dress like a hippie like the rest of the Jr High staff. Live and learn.

Anyway, my biggest responsibility as the Band Aide was to plan the upcoming Band Cruise that the grade 9-12 band students could go on during Easter Break. Had I ever been on a cruise? Nope. Had I ever planned a trip for 50 people? Nada. But I somehow managed to do a pretty bang up job. We were still coming out of Covid and figuring out travel restrictions. I made phone calls I never dreamed I would. Ever phoned the American Centre for Disease Control (CDC)? I have. Phoned airlines, cruise lines? This girl has. I also communicated with chaperones and parents several times a week, making sure every imaginable form was completed. The band teacher and I also held notary nights and information meetings. I had to assign hotel rooms and cabins. It was a huge endeavor but I made sure we were prepared air tight and the whole entire cruise went off without a hitch. Minus the horrible weather and sea sickness... but more on that later.

So last Easter Break I was the pregnant teacher's aide joining a group of 40ish teenagers and their accompanying chaperone parents. I believe the entire group was 54 people. We met at the high school at 1 am on a Sunday morning and arrived in Orlando, Florida that evening. That first night away hurt. Once we arrived at the hotel, all the other adults snuck away to call their significant others. It seemed like everyone had someone and I didn't. I wasn't going to call Jon to tell him I made it. I did call my kids, but that just didn't feel the same. It was the first time since everything started that I felt the acute sting of loneliness. It wasn't that fun. 

The next day we boarded the Independence of the Seas and as soon as we set out for sea it felt like the boat became a giant paint shaker. And not once had it occurred to me that I should pack medicine for motion/sea sickness. I felt awful. Fortunately my roommate was a godsend and shared her meds with me. As I sat in the fancy dining room that night at my assigned table, I was actively focusing all my energy into breathing in, breathing out, looking at the table, and encouraging myself into thinking I felt fine. And I was doing alright until the young man I shared a table with took his first bite of escargot and then exclaimed, "Mmm! It's like a meaty gummy bear!" At which point I discreetly barfed in my napkin and made a drunken, teetering walk back to my cabin. And although I felt like death, I couldn't help but notice all the "wet floor" signs, ambiguous splash marks running down the sides of garbage cans, and dark splotches on the carpeted hallways. I wasn't alone. Me and a few thousand people were trapped on a never ending amusement park ride.

The next morning we were supposed to port at Nassau, Bahamas. When we met as a group at 8 am to make plans for the day, we all looked grey. The captain then came over the intercom to let us know that it would be too dangerous to make port that day and we would be having our "day at sea." Talk about a sucker punch to the gut. The prospect of getting on solid land had been the light at the end of the stuck-on-a-ship tunnel and now we were still just stuck on a ship. I know some people cried haha. I literally just laid in bed all day and napped. It felt like I was being rocked in a cradle. As the day went on, word got around that the night before the cruise was short staffed since even the cruise workers felt sick. That it took them hours to clean up all the throw up, again, because they were short staffed. And that the captain of the ship had said this was the worst April weather he had ever seen in his entire career. Lucky us!

The next day we docked at Coco Cay, which is a private island owned by the Royal Caribbean cruise line. We got to soak up the rain on cloudy beaches, but at least we were on solid ground. That night I did something I had dreamed of FOREVER. I don't know why, but I have spent the majority of my adult life wanting to sing karaoke and the opportunity never presented itself until I was on a cruise. So I got on a stage in front of a bunch of strangers and belted out Lady Gaga's "You and I" to the best of my ability. It was a hoot.

On Thursday we finally docked in Nassau. I spent the day tagging along with the girl I chaperoned. We snorkeled, explored the markets, and got sun burnt. Then that evening the kids performed their bandly duties and we watched the play Grease. All in all, it was a good time. I'm glad I went. It stunk to feel sick, but the stories are pretty hilarious in retrospect.

The only picture I took of myself the whole entire trip

Oh, for our travel days I had the privilege of designing a dorky matching shirt we could all wear. As we were boarding one of our flights home, a flight attendant asked me, "What instrument do you play?" and it made my life complete. She had mistaken me as a band student. I told her I was a teacher's aide and thanked her profusely.

When I finally got home in the middle of the night, there was a giant poster welcoming me home and some helium balloons. Jon had been staying with the kids and I was oddly moved by this gesture. How thoughtful of him to go through the effort of helping the kids welcome me home. Maybe there's hope? Is this him trying? I soon found out the next day that my mom had actually helped the kids do that, it was all her idea and effort. It's a weird feeling to still be grateful and thankful and feel loved, but just not by the first person you assumed it was. Oh well.

*

Peacemakers Needed

Last year General Conference happened before Easter. We're more pagan members of the church and don't make a great effort to watch the Saturday sessions, but I always read them afterwards. Although I didn't watch conference on Saturday, I distinctly remember texting a cousin of mine that day who had the same calling as me. Planning a summer camp is one of the biggest tasks a Young Women's Presidency has to do and we were chatting about what each of our wards were thinking of doing. And for the first time since accepting my calling, I felt some anxiety and dread. I was 4 months pregnant at this point, I was going to be 7 and 8 months pregnant during the summer. But camp was important and I was committed and we were going to have fun dang it.

For some reason on Sunday I got it in my head that Jon would come out that morning to watch a session with the kids so he could play "Conference Bingo" with them. I even bought candy I knew he would like. Had he said he would? No, but I had told him he was welcome and assumed he'd jump on a chance to spend time with the kids. As 10 am rolled by with no sign of Jon, I did some snooping on "Find My Friends" and discovered he was doing hot yoga. Again, he never said he'd come, he didn't owe me squat, but this marked the beginning of feeling disappointed for things I had no right to be disappointed in.

Conference was what it usually is. Except this time felt like the first time my kids actually listened and grasped "Conference Bingo." We sat on the floor together with little bowls of candy and excited whispers whenever a word like "prophet" or "faith" was uttered. It was one of the those moments where you feel so sublimely happy to be the parent of such smart and good and kind kids, but also a little sad that this moment didn't look like how you envisioned it would when you were first married and having babies.

Now, it's a fact of life that when you watch General Conference with young children, you really don't hear much of the talks. There's shushing and potty breaks, scolding for eating too much candy, random questions to answer, etc. When it came time for the last speaker, President Russell M. Nelson, I made a point of telling the kids this was our Prophet, that this was the most important talk of the whole conference, that if they could listen and be quiet for one talk, this should be it. And they were.

Perhaps I'm speaking for myself when I say that usually after General Conference I feel like I've been gently scolded and lovingly encouraged to continue doing my best. If you were to ask me how I felt after listening to President Nelson's talk "Peacemakers Needed," I might tear up and tell you that it felt like he was speaking to me and that he was patting me on the shoulder and telling me I was doing a good job. Over the course of the past 3 months, I had so, SO many reasons to be angry, spiteful, and filled with contempt. Anyone would have agreed that I was justified to curse and yell, to kick and scream, to release a maelstrom of justified indignance. But I had chosen to sit. To be still. To be quiet. To be calm. And it irritated some people. I was urged to lash out. I was encouraged to take a stance, to make rash decisions, to reimburse pain. I didn't have a word for it while I weathered the storm, but I did now. I had been a peacemaker. I had done my best to make the pain, hurt, and contention stop at me.

The disappointment I had felt evaporated. Hearing that talk was such a blessing. That afternoon we went to my parent's house to watch the afternoon session and have dinner. My bishop contacted me between sessions asking to speak later that afternoon. When he came over I genuinely assumed he needed to talk to me about upcoming Young Women camp things and catch me up on Ward Council business since I had missed a meeting. I was dumbfounded when he kindly explained that he was releasing me from my beloved calling as Young Women's President. In an attempt to take an edge off the devastation I was trying to mask, he asked how I had enjoyed conference. I told him how President Nelson's talk had been a gift. That I felt seen and recognized.

After the bishop left, I found my mom in the kitchen with tears in her eyes. As soon as they saw the bishop, my parents knew I was being released. They knew how much I loved my calling. And like me, they knew that my release was an olive branch as my life was unravelling at the seams. That didn't make it hurt any less though. This marked the beginning of my circumstances changing in big ways, in ways that almost felt like I was being punished for Jon's actions. I was losing my calling, losing my church keys. Soon I'd be losing my sweet little home, losing the keys to my home. I had done nothing wrong, but I was losing all the things that I had loved so much.

I Would Do Anything For Love, But...

Eventually word began to spread about my situation. I was quickly overwhelmed by how lucky I am to be surrounded by good, loving people. Ironically, when Jon and I were newly married he had a very strong opinion that small towns were the worst. Everyone knows your business and everyone gossips. I mean, he wasn't wrong. But I didn't think he was right either. Yes, I was guilty of talking with my parents about the people in our orbit, but it was rarely malicious or judgmental. For the most part it was just a genuine interest in what was taking place in the lives of people I knew, questions I would ask someone in person if I bumped into them. Admittedly, there were times the conversation became more "gossipy," which was usually when someone made a freaking stupid, completely avoidable mistake... Perhaps Jon's words were a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Anyways, soon enough I became the very fortunate recipient of more love and service than I could fathom. I had friends hire a cleaner to come to my house twice a month. Another friend brought me more groceries than I had ever bought at once for our family in my entire life. Another friend brought me a pop and sat and visited with me. And another friend invited me over for dinner. I'm positive I'm missing many more acts of kindness, these are just what I managed to write about in my journal. If I missed anyone, I'm sorry! And still so grateful!

The night I went to a friend's house for dinner, Jon came out to Raymond and had dinner with the kids and put them to bed. When I got home from my Young Women's activity that night, Jon and I awkwardly danced around having a conversation.

"How are you doing?"

Not good. I told Graeme (his roommate) why we separated. He's really mad at me.

"I'm sorry."

Yeah, I'm worried he's going to kick me out.

"Shoot, I'm sorry."

Painfully awkward silence.

Have you thought at all about what you want?

"What do you mean?"

About maybe getting back together?

*Shocked and a bit speechless*

"Uhh, not really." - Meanwhile, what's going through my head is how much easier the last couple weeks have been without the mental gymnastics of keeping up appearances, waiting for him to change, waiting for an apology, etc.

I realized I needed to be honest, despite how hard it would be to say:

"I guess I don't really see us getting back together. I'm sorry."

And then it happened. After almost 3 months of deceit, indifference, and apathy towards our marriage, Jon finally showed remorse for his actions. And it was devastating.

As a parent, you're used to seeing your kids hurt. They get hurt physically and you comfort them. They get their feelings hurt and you hold them. You are constantly, day in and day out, rushing to the aid of your beloved children. Underneath it all you even know that it's good for them to encounter a little hardship and opposition here and there, but at the end of the day, you'd do ANYTHING to take away what ails them and make their life easier. What you don't see very often is your spouse in pain. Even after all the heartache Jon had put me through for the past 3 months, seeing him awash in regret and remorse was like a knife in my chest. Simply put, I still loved him, he had been my husband for almost 11 years. And I wanted to take that pain from him so badly, it hurt me to see him hurt. I guess Meat Loaf sums it up best, because I would have done anything for Jon in that moment, but I couldn't see us getting back together.

Fortunately the conversation doesn't last much longer as we're both now in tears. As Jon goes to leave, he turns back and utters his first sincere apology. And I believed him. He really was sorry. But it was too late.

After he left I started sobbing uncontrollably. All the pain I had felt up until this point seemed miniscule compared to this moment. And I couldn't bear it alone. I called my parents and they quickly came over to sit with me. To talk me through what I had just admitted to Jon. To help me hold up under an emotional burden I thought would crush me.

When I was finally composed, they said good night and I got myself in bed. Which is when I began to remember the night Jon refused to tell me he loved him. And how he had sat there and watched me weep. How? How could he do that? Because seeing him fall apart earlier that night had been more than I could bear.