I wax spiritual

On occasion, at church, I will notice a trend with the talks we hear and the hymns we sing in sacrament meeting (similar topics and whatnot) and it makes me want to stand up and say to the heavens "So, you planned this one for me, right?"
Today was one of those days.
I think it is an unwritten fact of science that if sacrament meeting starts off with 'How Firm a Foundation,' it's going to be a good one. You all know that this has not been the happiest of weeks for me. I've been stressed (almost to the point of tears) about my job and I've been even more stressed AND frustrated with the lack of a baby in my life (This one's well beyond the point of tears. I've slept on a wet pillow more than once this week.) Anyways, the meeting started off with one of my favorite hymns which put me in such a good mood and I just felt like... I don't know, I just felt like I was about to hear a bunch of wonderful things just for me. While the sacrament was being passed around and it was (relatively) reverant in the chapel, part of the scripture Alma 7:12 popped into my head:

...and he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities.

This is probably one of the best things ever written, ever. It always makes me think of how, when Christ atoned for our sins, He also took our weaknesses, trials, heartaches, etc. upon Himself so that He could understand how we feel when we go through those things. I started thinking about how my heart feels right now, even though it's only been a few months since we started trying, it really hurts that I'm not pregnant yet. And then I started thinking about ALL of the women who have ever felt like this. Which made me think of the ones that still haven't had a baby or maybe never did, and how that must hurt even more. All of this thinking (no, my head didn't explode) made me feel even more appreciative to the Savior for being willing to atone for us; because good gracious my heart hurts enough, I can't imagine feeling the weight of hundreds of thousands of broken hearted, babyless women.
After all of this pondering I did in the 10 minutes or so it took to pass around the sacrament, the speakers proceeded to talk about hope and trials. At least that's what I got out of it. This was about the time I was looking to the heavens and thinking 'Seriously? He must've planned this for me today.' THEN the choir got up to do a musical number since it was Pioneer Day* (I totally forgot!) and when they started the first verse of 'Come, Come Ye Saints' I lost it (I started thinking 'no toil nor labor fear, but with joy wend your way-WHY am I making a big deal out of work?? I'm not crossing the plains here!'). And THEN their little medley went into 'Faith in Every Footstep' and I lost it even more. I've mentioned before that I've inherited my mother's ability to cry right? Mike put his arm around me and let me cry on his shoulder because there's probably not a better husband in all existence. I might be a little bit biased though.
In Sunday school I got to watch Cooper smile at Aleece for the better part of 30 minutes (I wasn't stalking you or anything Aleece...). Let's be honest, is there anything cuter than a baby, who gets progressively fatter every time I see him, happy to see his mom?
And then in Young Women (I teach the Beehives, 12 and 13 year old girls. I love them.) I proceeded to learn more from my girls than they learned from me.
All in all, it was the punch in the gut from the Spirit that I needed. I had an epiphany of sorts (is it just me, or do I seem to be having a lot of epiphanies lately?) What good will it do me to be bitter about life, specifically not having a baby, if it turns me into a bitter person for when that baby is finally here? What kind of a mother would I be then?

*Can I share a (condensed) pioneer story from my family? My great great I don't know how many greats grandmother Ann Rowley pulled a handcart, like this:

across the plains with her kids. Her husband died before they made the journey. At one point it was so cold and they were so out of food that she was desperate. She remembered some old, hard sea biscuits (actual biscuits, not a bunch of horses...) left over from when they sailed to America from England. She put them in a pot of water over some coals, covered it, and said a prayer. A little while later, she opened the pot and it was filled with food. My favorite part of her writing this story in her journal, is that she mentions that they made sure to give thanks to the Lord for the blessings they received.

I come from a long line of amazing, interspersed with crazy, women. I have a lot of catching up to do.