Sometimes we just need to cry. We need to cry because life is hard. Because it's filled with heartache, sorrow, grief, anxiety, depression, anger, fear, loneliness, and pain. Because it isn't what you imagined, what you hoped for, what you planned for. We need to cry because society is broken. Because we were promised the world if we went to college and got good jobs...but then when we were ready to enter the workforce, there were no good jobs and our degrees didn't matter. So we were left in our menial jobs, hoping for a brighter economic future, but it never came. We cry because those of us who didn't come from healthy, affluent families are left in the dust to struggle, to keep trying and trying and never getting ahead because we can't keep up with the collapse of society. Sometimes we need to cry for what once was... for a time you knew wouldn't last forever, but you didn't realize how much you would miss it, how it would leave a bittersweet ache in your heart. How you would give almost anything to go back to that moment when everything was okay and the world wasn't terrifying. Sometimes we need to cry because everything you do just isn't good enough. No matter how many hours you work and fake smiles you plaster on your face to appear acceptable to society, it's just never good enough. No one ever knows what you're truly going through, nor do they want to because everyone has their own problems and demons they're struggling with. Everyone says it's okay to have a bad day, but is it really? What about several bad days in a row? And what happens when you can't afford your medications that help you feel better, so you turn to other things that aren't deemed "acceptable" by society? Is it more acceptable to hole up in your house and never come out? To refuse to socialize because you can't summon the strength to be personable? Or to be rude and snappy because you're struggling to regulate your emotions? Which of these options is the most accepted by society? Sometimes you just need a good cry because there's nothing left to do...there's nothing to say that anyone will understand...there's nothing you can write that will make you feel better...you just need to cry, to let the pain physically leave your body...and that's okay. God gave us emotions and tears for a reason. Sometimes emotions are physical, and need to be released. And that's okay. Let yourself cry. Let all the pain out...and know that tomorrow is a new day...and hopefully it won't be as painful.

This place is wild. It's wild and unpolished, the last untamed area of the United States, as if time has stood still since the days of Davy Crockett and Daniel Boone. I don't think there is any number of country songs, documentaries or articles that can embody what it truly feels like to live here...to stand in the midst of thousands of acres of ancient, eroding ridgelines and tall, decaying trees. To walk along rutted mountain paths, wondering where they used to go and what they were used for. To drive past little crumbling shacks and eroded family tombstones tucked away on hillsides, wishing they could tell you their stories. To look up at a sky so blue it hurts your eyes, and gaze over shades of blue mountain tops that make you feel tiny. Living here comes with its struggles. The houses are cobbled together and the vehicles falling apart; the winding, one-lane holler roads are not maintained well; the garbage service is unreliable. Everything is covered in dust or mud, all of the time. I have worn my hiking boots more than any other pair of shoes I own and I have to sweep every day because of the dirt tracked in. Housing is cheap but utilities and car insurance are some of the most expensive in the country, due to dangerous driving and corporate monopolies taking advantage of people. Roads being plowed in the winter is not a guarantee, nor is running water, so people are always prepared to be house-bound for several days at a time. Like I said - it's as if time stopped here 200 years ago. I have yet to figure out why God sent me here. Most days it feels like I am just being tested, as if He is letting me explore a different part of my personality - the wild, mountain-girl side. As a kid I loved the book "My Side of the Mountain," and now I actually live on the side of a mountain. Do I have what it takes? Do I truly have what it takes to be tough, to be self-reliant, to live without life's luxuries? This area may be poor in monetary resources, but the people are rich in love and kindness. I have honestly never met more friendly, generous people. I know they're that way because it's the only thing that keeps them going out here in this wild, unpredictable land - this land that was raped by the coal companies, taken advantage of by the corporations, and then forgotten by the rest of America. All they have are each other, and they take care of each other. That is the most beautiful thing I have seen out here. Whether or not I truly fall in love with this place has yet to be determined. No one ever said that trying new things was easy. But every new thing and trial holds a lesson, and I know that no matter what happens in the end, I will be grateful I experienced Kentucky.

Rae lay on her air mattress, staring at the colorful pages of scripture she had decorated and taped to the door of the closet. Each one was special at the time of its creation, deserving to be illuminated in big, beautiful script and bright colors…but now they meant nothing. Nothing meant anything at this moment. Just over two months ago she had left the man she'd been with for 14 years; walked out on him, their dog, and their beautiful house. She'd driven an hour and a half to her cousin's apartment, where she'd made herself a small space in the spare bedroom with an air mattress and end table, next to the pet rabbit. She'd left because he was abusive, but she'd also left to be with another man – a man that had shown her what it meant to be truly loved, cherished, and respected. When she had left, life felt so promising. Unfamiliar and a little scary, but promising. She was with the man of her dreams, and he had introduced her to his faith – a beautiful faith that provided so much hope. She had become friends with the sister missionaries and began attending a church that felt like home the second she walked in. But then everything started to fall apart. First, she'd been denied baptism because she was involved with a married man. That was understandable, and something she couldn't really be mad about. But then, her love took full responsibility for this denial and reduced his affections, claiming that it was more important to him that she get baptized. She admired this, but it was difficult to see the logic in it when he was her joy…and it was difficult to be excited about her new faith when her family members were so opposed to it. Then Covid hit…and her love moved back in with his family…and her sister missionaries were sent home…and her church closed its doors…and she lost her job. And now here she was…in a new town, with a new faith, no friends, no church, no job, and what felt like no family since hers didn't understand her recent life choices. Rae rolled over and closed her eyes, figuring her best option was to sleep as much as possible until this whole nightmare was over. … A ding awoke her. Irritated at her escape being interrupted, Rae grabbed her phone and opened the messages. "Can we meet today?" It was the new sister missionaries. They had been pestering her for a few weeks now. She couldn't handle their cheeriness. Didn't they understand what she was going through? And how could they possibly be so excited about life when the whole world was going to shit? None of it mattered. Hope had been shattered. Life had been permanently altered. Happiness was no longer possible. "No," she responded. "I'm not in any shape to be meeting with you right now." "Can we give you something to read?" They asked. Rae let out a long sigh. She doubted it would do anything for her, but whatever. "Sure," she replied, rolling her eyes, and dropped her phone on the bed next to her. It dinged again a moment later, and she reluctantly picked it up. "Doctrine & Covenants 121" What in the world was that? She hadn't heard about that yet at church. "It talks about suffering," The next message read. Hmm. Rae opened her church app on her phone and clicked around until she found the referenced scripture. The first line was exactly what she had been asking for several weeks now: “O God, where art thou?” It continued with lamentations, anger at God, a deep feeling of despair, hopelessness, and abandonment. The man writing the passage was languishing in a cold, desolate jail cell while his family and friends were being severely persecuted for their faith. The prayer of complaints went on for several verses, and then God answered: “My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment; And then, if thou endure it well, God shall exalt thee on high; thou shalt triumph over all thy foes.” Rae read that line over and over again. “Thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment…endure it well…thou shalt triumph over all thy foes.” Rae's eyes flitted up to the passages on the closet door. She read them all again, one by one, remembering how she had felt when she'd created them. Hopeful. Loved. Cared for. This was just a small moment in the grand scheme of things. That realization didn't make it hurt any less, but it made her remember that everything happened for a reason, for the good of those who believed in God, even if she didn't completely understand it right now. That's when she remembered something her love had told her – Satan works extra hard against those who are on the right path. Satan is the one who doesn't want you to be happy. She might be in pain right now, but she wasn't going to let Satan win. Not after she had made it this far. Switching back to her messages, she typed "I will meet with you."

It's hard to believe that it's been just over one month since I left behind everything I knew and moved to Kentucky. It feels like so much longer. So much has been packed into those 30 days. The life I knew then and the life I know now are worlds apart. In one month, I have been to Georgia, Ohio, West Virginia and Virginia. I have eaten Indian, Thai, Korean and Japanese food. I have been to one of the largest grocery stores in the country, stayed at a beautiful historic hotel, had my vehicle stranded at the bottom of a hill and had to hike two miles out of a national forest, explored dilapidated coal mine towns, hiked beautiful trails, experienced the soul-searing pain of losing my mother, and moved into a new home. I have felt excitement, joy, fear, anxiety, gratitude, depression, and guilt. I feel guilt, because while I am sitting on a very nice, comfortable couch in a warm, cozy house on a beautiful mountain-side, I feel anxious. I should feel immense gratitude, and deep down I do - but the anxiety likes to take over. While on a walk today, I told my husband how ironic it is that this is exactly what we wanted -- to live in a quaint little home on the side of a mountain, tucked back in the peaceful wilderness. Now I have exactly that, and I do not feel happiness. While I was in therapy this past year, my therapist and I discovered that my anxiety is rooted in fear - the fear of losing control. This past month, I have had very little control over my life. I have more or less been at the mercy of those taking care of us, and I thank God that they were incredibly kind, gracious, generous people. I don't know where we would be without them. I also know that I wouldn't have made it through this past month without my husband, who is more familiar with this area and way of life. In the grand scheme of things, we have been incredibly fortunate. We have had a comfortable place to live and sleep, good food in our bellies, clothes on our backs, a working vehicle, and enough money to get by. In the grand scheme of things, the world will not end if I can't pay my credit card bills. This move has been a lesson in what to be grateful for, and what in this life is absolutely necessary. I have learned to really appreciate quiet time, hiking boots, healthy food, good razors, and temperature control. I have also learned what true charity is, and the kind of person I want to be. Somewhere along the course of my life, I was taught that the most important thing in this world and the primary indicator of my character was how I handled money. I was also (unfortunately) taught that receiving help from people was a double-edged sword; I could accept the gift, but I had better make sure I used it in a way they would approve, and pay them back in a timely manner. This past year, and especially this past month, has taught me otherwise. This area is poor. Very poor. And this area is also full of the nicest people you will ever meet. People who instantly make you feel comfortable, people who don't judge, people who will tell you their life story and then invite you over for dinner before you've had a chance to say anything about yourself, and they always end the conversation with "If you need anything, you just let me know." Every...single...time. The truth is, I have everything I've ever wanted. I am living in a colorful, quaint house on a beautiful mountainside that could easily be a coveted air bnb. I am surrounded by mountains and streams and infinite beauty and have hiking trails literally right outside my back door. I am married to a wonderful man and have a happy marriage. In one week, I will be reunited with my two adorable kittens. I even have a well-paying job that includes writing, which I love to do. I have everything I have dreamed about for so long...I just have to get my brain to accept that it is okay to be happy.

Dear Mumsie, Today I went to the cemetery, and I walked up to the very top of the hill and sat down under a tree. I started talking to you, and an eagle appeared. I immediately remembered the Bible verse: "They shall mount up with wings as eagles, they shall run and not be weary, and they shall walk and not faint." Right after that, a deer appeared at the bottom of the hill. I knew it was you, because you loved wildlife so much. And I knew it was you because you struggled so much with mobility in your last years, and now you can fly like an eagle, and run like a deer. I feel so much compassion for you after moving here. It has been a culture shock for me, but in a good way. The people here are so genuinely kind and easy to talk to and laid back. In the short time I've lived here, I've come to realize that part of my anxiety was the culture of Wisconsin - the "go go go" live to work attitude, the personal worthiness we attached to a person's career. I wish it was something I understood before. I wish I could talk to you about it now, but I know you know. I now have a better understanding of how much you suffered, and my heart breaks for you. You endured abuse as a child, and then drug addiction as a young adult. You got pregnant by a man you barely knew and made the choice to get married, which you probably thought was the best - or maybe your only - choice at the time. And then - being only 25, pregnant, and married to a man you barely knew -- you moved to Wisconsin, which I now know had to be an very unpleasant culture shock for you. I am sure you felt incredibly alone. But you did your best, and you found joy in your children. Even after you realized you were not happy in your marriage, you tried to keep it together because you thought it was best for us kids. I can't imagine how depressed and lonely you felt, how much pain you were going through. I don't blame you for losing your mind. I wish you could have gotten the help and support you needed. I wish you would have felt more love and acceptance from those around you. That is why I am glad you are in Heaven now. You are free from all of this suffering. You finally get to feel all of the joy and love and acceptance that you so desperately yearned for for so many years. You get the family you always wanted and needed. It's pretty amazing the way God's timing works. I wanted to move west, but He knew I needed to come home for awhile to spend time with you. I wouldn't have come home if Michael and I hadn't been experiencing hard times. We could have moved to Eau Claire, but God placed us in Chippewa, close to you. It feels like He kept you alive just long enough for us to spend some quality time together, and then when the timing was right, He let us know it was time to move on, and He took you Home. So now I am here, in the south, where you were so excited for me to be, and I feel closer to you than I ever have in my life. I wish I could talk to you about it. I wish I could tell you everything I am feeling and experiencing. I know it's something we would have had some wonderful conversations about. Besides Michael, you are the only one who really understands what it's like here, and I feel like I understand you so much better now. As much as I hate that I can't talk to you in person, I know that you know. I know that you are here with me. This morning as I was sitting in that cemetery, I cried tears of gratitude. I am so grateful that you are no longer suffering. I am excited for you to learn the Truth about the gospel, about God, about everything you've ever wondered about. I am grateful that you get to experience the immense joy and love that I have felt from Christ. I am so excited that you get to finally feel the peace you've so desperately longed for. I love you, mom. And I miss you. And I know it's going to hurt every time I see or experience something that is uniquely southern and want to tell you about it, but I know you'll be looking down on me and smiling. Always your daughter, Robin Rae