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

As I was driving home from our Young Women's Christmas party last night, tears began streaming down my face. Those tears soon turned to sobs, and I let myself cry freely. My eyes turned Heavenward as I realized that my tears were not those of sadness, but of immense gratitude. I have experienced intense pain and anger this past year, but I have also experienced profound love. The Book of Mormon says there must be opposition in all things; that without pain there is no joy. I know this is true; sometimes it's not a matter of recognizing opposites but cause and effect - there must be pain in order for there to be joy. If I had to put a label on this past year, I would call it the Year of Relationships. Or maybe the Year of Human Connection. I feel like I have rediscovered a lost treasure - something that existed in abundance long ago but has been lost with the passage of time and the advent of technology in our ever-increasingly fast paced world. It is something that I didn't realize I was missing until I experienced it, and then it was so profound and so lovely that I can't believe it's real. It is simply the human relationship. I know that sounds weird but let me explain. This past year, my therapist and church family have shown me that my view of relationships is inaccurate. Because of my life experiences, I have a very hard time accepting favors because I feel like a burden, I'm fearful that those favors will be used against me, and I don't want to be a disappointment or a failure. But it turns out that none of this is true, as long as you're dealing with genuine people. Genuine, kind people will never expect something in return or use those favors to cause you shame and guilt. And they will never cast you aside because of your mistakes. This is the meaning of unconditional love, and I didn't truly understand what that meant until this past year. It turns out that when people are truly genuine - when they are kind, loving, altruistic, and have Christ in their lives - they will love you despite your flaws. They will love you because of your flaws. They will engage in deep, long, heart-felt, engaging, intense, emotional conversations with you. There will be prolonged eye-contact, and laughter, and tears, and they will not be distracted by their phones, or looking for a reason to move on. There will be tough questions and vulnerable answers, and there will be love - so much love. There will be love despite the pain, and sometimes the pain will make the love stronger. The pain is what many people turn away from, which is very unfortunate, because they are missing out on the amazing love that comes afterward. We live in a world of disconnection, depression and anxiety. We live in a world where we place our orders with screens instead of people, where we have our groceries delivered to our doors instead of going to the supermarket, where we get the majority of our news and relationship advice and therapy from influencers on social media. We teach ourselves what we need to know on YouTube rather than asking for help. We even take our college courses online. The cases of depression, anxiety, self-harm and suicide among people under 30 is the highest it's ever been in all of human history. Why? Because we've forgotten how to have relationships with people. Genuine relationships. Relationships that involve love and laughter and vulnerability and trust and dependability. I cried with gratitude last night because of the love and beautiful human connection I experienced at the Christmas party. I witnessed a room full of teenage girls sitting together - talking, laughing, hugging, expressing gratitude, singing - and not a one of them on their phones. I witnessed adults smiling and laughing and helping each other with children and dishes and carrying armloads of items to cars. I also cried because of the therapy session I had been to earlier that day with a close relative, where we had finally surmounted all the pain we'd suffered this past year. This was how it used to be! This is how we as the human species are supposed to be! We are supposed to be out in the world, interacting with each other, rejoicing with each other during the good times and working through the tough times. We are not supposed to be sequestered inside, spending the majority of our waking hours staring at screens. As much as I love my beautiful relationships here and this discovery of what healthy, genuine relationships look and feel like, I know it was preparatory work for moving to Kentucky. I am moving to Appalachia, where life moves a little slower, where there is more emphasis on human connection and less on keeping up with the world. It will be a culture shock, but I know it will be beautiful. My wish for the human race this next year is that we learn to reconnect, to rediscover what it means to be in healthy relationships with one another. It is the only way we're going to survive and thrive.

I am moving to Kentucky (cue Dueling Banjos music). Never in my life had I ever imagined or entertained the idea of living in Kentucky, or really anywhere east of the Mississippi (aside from my home state of Wisconsin). I've always wanted to go west. I have visited Utah three times; I was actively saving to move to Idaho when I met my husband, and we were saving to move to Colorado this coming summer. But then, seemingly out of the blue, my husband suggested we move to Kentucky instead of Colorado. Excuse me? His reasons? First and foremost, Colorado is just too dang expensive. Second, his best friend is there. Third, we would geographically be in the middle of our spread-out family. And fourth, there will still be mountains (not quite the Rockies, but I guess it's better than flat farmland). He had solid points, and after much discussion and praying, I felt spiritual confirmation that it was the right thing to do. That confirmation apparently came not a moment too soon, for within the next two weeks unfolded a series of unfortunate events that led us to making the decision to move to Kentucky NOW. In two weeks. One week before Christmas. Five years ago, I left my ex on Dec. 28. I left behind a beautiful home, big backyard, nice neighborhood, and amazing dog. Because of the emotional and mental abuse I had endured, I had no idea if I would be able to function in the real world. I had absolutely no idea what lay ahead of me. That leap into the unknown was the most terrifying thing I have ever done, and it changed my life in the most profound ways. I found Christ, I found myself, and I discovered what it meant to feel deep, abounding joy. A year and a half ago, my fiancé (now husband) and I were struggling with finances and mental health, and after both of us losing our jobs, we decided to move back to my hometown. This was an abrupt, stressful move, and I was very sad to leave the sanctuary I had made for myself as a strong, reborn, independent woman. I was resistant to being back home and going to a new church. But it was that church that saved my marriage, and saved me in many ways. I have never felt more welcome, more at home, more alive, and more loved. This is where I don't understand God's timing. Why is he taking me away NOW? Why now, when I am so involved in church and have so many wonderful relationships here? But....as before...I have to trust that something better is on the horizon, however far-fetched and ridiculous that may feel at this moment. I have to have faith that there are other amazing people out there for me to meet, other people that I can help, or maybe they can help me. Other experiences for me to enjoy - or endure - that will hopefully make me a better person, or make my marriage stronger. I don't know. I just don't know. And all I can do right now is accept that I don't know, and be okay with it. Because the truth is, we have very little control over everything in our lives. We like to think we do, but we don't. You can make good, informed choices. You can be a hard worker. You can be a good friend, a good spouse. You can save money and pay off your bills and read self-help books and eat healthy and try to be the best person possible. Don't get me wrong - you should always strive to be a good person and make good choices - but sometimes those things don't make you immune from having your world completely up-ended. I'm starting to think God gets a kick out of upending my life. Does that mean He thinks I can handle it? I don't know. Maybe us humans were never meant to be stationary and stagnant. Maybe we thrive when we are faced with uncertainty, when we are on the move, when we are forced to endure uncomfortable situations and be experience new things. Buddhism teaches that nothing in the universe is essential - that everything that comes also goes, everything that lives must die, and everything that is created will crumble. It teaches that if you can accept this, you will be at peace. I am still working on this, but I can attest that my closest moments with my Savior have been in uncomfortable situations. So maybe that's the whole purpose of this abrupt move - because God saw that we were stagnant. We may not feel that way, but we can't begin to wrap our minds around the plans that God has in store for us. All we can do is trust that He knows the best way for us. I am going to miss my home. It was my husband and I's first place together. I am going to miss sitting on the patio in the summer. I am going to miss the garden we had plans for. I am going to miss the tall pine trees surrounding the big back yard, and all the critters. I'm just going to miss all of it. But I must welcome the adventure. Yes, it will be uncomfortable at times, and I'm sure there will be many more tears. But growth only happens in uncomfortable situations, and that I welcome. It may hurt for a moment, but I know it will be beautiful in the end.