President Uchtdorf spoke here about an airplane metaphor that I really like.  What airplane metaphors of his do I not like?  

Anyway, he says that prayer is like flying on an airplane and rising above the storms that are right next to the ground.  Apparently, above every storm is clear blue sky, on top of the world, sun always shining.  (This should have been obvious.  I guess the sun is not always shining, when you are on other side of the earth… but still clear blue sky.  And still should have been obvious.)

President Uchtdorf said prayer is like that.  It can take you above your storms to an eternal perspective, steeped in God’s love.  As I mention in this post, my prayers are usually down in the rain or the mud, just complaining and saying “please please please make it stop please please please.”  At the end of which, I feel worse.  

But ever since reading that talk, I learned that unless I feel like I ascend above my storms in prayer, I’m not doing it right.  This week has definitely been one of those storms (sick, kids sick, resulting doctor appointments and laundry loads, winter storms, cabin fever, husband out of town, resulting loneliness and boredom).  I have really tried to remember this principle.  So I pray about things like gratitude that it’s not worse (that my husband is only on a week-long business trip, that I only have two kids), for such good friends with such good cooking skills and kindness, for technology that allows me to see and talk to my mother and mother in law whenever I want, that our bodies heal themselves, and for good doctors, medicine, and science in general.  I express faith that I know God knows what I am going through, that I know He doesn’t like to see me suffering, that Jesus felt these same sufferings, that these times will end, and that I will wake up to a beautiful morning at some point and I will feel such joy and forget my pain.  And that at the end of all of this (maybe at the end of my life), I will agree that everything negative I experienced was the very best thing that could have happened to me.  

I know that good things come from everything.  I know that beautiful mornings come.  Earlier this winter, there was a long stretch of sun-less days, sickness, and unresolved conflict when I felt pretty depressed.  I don’t remember the other causes for it.  I would say it was a touch of antepartum depression.  But when that time was over, when I took healthy kids out to play in the sunshine after communicating and compromising, it was so beautiful.  I turned my face upward to the sun and felt so warm in my heart.  

That “beautiful morning”  hasn’t come for me yet this time, but I know it will.  And that warm feeling is as “mine” now as it will ever be, so I might as well allow myself to feel it.

To make it come faster, I called a few of my old friends, invited the sister missionaries over to give me a spiritual message, and have determined to begin family history month for real.  I know that it will get my mind off my own problems and get me thinking about other people. Who are separated from their loved ones, just like I am, but won’t be reunited in a couple days, unless I do something about it.