it's all real.

Things have been a little crazy up in here. We ended March and began April with three sick kids. We were in sub-zero lockdown all winter and managed to escape without getting sick at all. But the snotty, whiny, 2-week-long hacking cough caught us. And it wasn't that much fun. The sunshine came out, and we have been enjoying time outside. Finally! The breeze is still so chilly, but I actually felt warmth from the sun, and it was glorious.

About a week ago Carly got a rash. She scratched at it, and it got worse and worse until it appeared infected. Her doctor was out of the office until Monday, so we tried to persevere. We have had night after night of her waking up 2-3 times screaming in discomfort and pain. Days of laying around because she is hurting. The babies got stir crazy; the house fell apart. Did I mention Chris was finishing a chapter of his dissertation? He has been coming home to help with bedtime, then heading to the library until 1 and 2 am. I would get up with Carly in the middle of the night and find he wasn't home yet. It has been a hard and exhausting few days (has it only been a few days?).

I'm not about to number myself among the women who fight for their children's health day in and day out, but watching Carly hurt, and not know what it was or how to help, was torturous. Monday we made it to the doctor, and that night Chris gave her a priesthood blessing. She woke up 3 times that night, still in so much pain, but I knew it was going to get better. I had hope. She got to go to school today and was so excited, she ran off to class without giving Chris a hug. It has been a brief moment in time, but watching my daughter in pain has had me thinking a lot about a Son in pain a long time ago.

A few months ago there was a tragedy in my home ward. A father, mother, and two young teenage sons passed away in their home from carbon monoxide poisoning. Their two older children were serving full-time missions. I knew these wonderful people when I was a teenager. I looked up to them. I remember those boys being born. But it wasn't my loss. I hadn't seen them in many years. Still, I felt overwhelmed with sadness, as I mourned with those who mourn. But the sadness became nearly debilitating. I couldn't sleep. I woke in panic and fear. I just felt so sad. One night I could hardly take it. I couldn't sleep and I was downstairs. I knelt to pray. I prayed for the remaining family members. I prayed for my babies. And then I fell silent. I needed something. I didn't know what question I needed to ask, but I knew I needed whatever the answer was. After a long silence, words fell out of my mouth: "Just tell me it's all real." There was barely a pause before I heard, It is all real.

I was raised in a faith that taught me about eternal families and life after death and forever happiness. And I never doubted, not for a second. But now I have these little people I would give anything for, a husband I cherish, family I live too far away from and don't get to be with nearly enough, and a realization that life moves much too quickly. Here I was, 27 years old and suddenly eternal families meant everything and mortality felt like it was staring me in the face. I didn't have doubt, I just desperately needed reassurance. How very grateful I am for a loving Heavenly Father who will provide reassurances, and for a Savior who made my forever family possible.

It is Easter time. In our chaos, we haven't dyed a single egg or made a single craft. Thank goodness grandmas send Easter packages, or we'd have some empty baskets. But I have been thinking about the Savior. I have been thinking about the peace that comes from faith in Him. I have been thinking about the comfort that comes from faith in Him. And I have been thinking about the joy that comes from faith in Him.

I'm grateful He lived.
I'm grateful He died.
I'm grateful He lives again.

And I'm so very grateful it's all real.