Crying it Out

Sunday was a tough day, all over again.

I saw the newest baby in the ward, all wrapped up like the burrito baby of my dreams. Later, in Relief Society, she was all unwrapped and I got a good look at her. She's beautiful.

And something about that room full of all those women (in a special meeting with Young Women's and Primary leaders), and something about the red and green tablecloth, and something about the Christus on the table, and something about that baby all wrapped in fluffy pink. . . I stared at that Christus and wondered "Christ is said to have experienced every human experience possible. Did he know what it felt like to have a miscarriage even though he was a man?"

Something about all that combined against me, took hold of me, and the tears started to fall. Uncontrollably so. To the point I decided I had to rush to the bathroom before the dam broke open and the floods came. I fumbled past my fellow ward members in a haze, offering a weak smile and bumping into doorways and walls in my haste to get to a safe, isolated bathroom stall.

Once there, I grabbed at the toilet paper to wipe my already wet eyes. Then I cried quietly for a few moments. And prayed that I could get over my funk and be happy at church.

As a group of primary girls came in with their teacher, I composed myself as much as I could as quickly as I could and returned back to my own class with a puffy, red, cry face.

And as I sat down I knew, I just knew, that Christ knows exactly what I'm going through. And I felt better.

~Nichole