Email I sent to my family soon after Sequoia's birth: 

Dear family,

I hope you've heard by now our sad news. I went into the ER Saturday night because of some strange things happening down under, and we just left the hospital this afternoon, having given birth to and losing our little girl. 

After the initial visit to the ER, they knew it was something they didn't know how to handle, so they sent me up to Labor and Delivery. At this point, I was still thinking it was something manageable. Kate and her friend were with me, as Paul was gone to Arkansas to visit family and go to a training (and was also really sick with a sinus infection). After a number of hours and doctors, it was clarified that I had a incompetent cervix--meaning that the opening to my uterus wasn't holding closed, and the gestational sac was slipping out. This obviously had a lot of potential dangers. There was an option to do a procedure that sewed my cervix together, but I would have to wait to see if I wasn't leaking, and if there wasn't an infection and if I wasn't contracting. If I had an infection, that would be dangerous for me and the baby. If I was contracting, it could tear my cervix and/or uterus, which would be really painful in the moment and not be good if I wanted to get pregnant in the future. If I was leaking--well, there isn't really any way to repair that and I would slowly keep loosing fluid. At 18 weeks, the baby wasn't old enough to save if she was born.

That night, Kate, her friend, and Paul's brother-in-law stayed the night with me in the hospital. We were in a beautiful, quiet, corner room on the top floor with lots of windows and peace. 

A specialist came early the next morning and did a full-scale ultra sound. Paul was face-timing so he could be in the loop. In the ultra sound we saw that my cervix was 3-4 cm open, the baby's legs were in my vagina, and we found out that she was a girl. As life often confirms--there is opposition in all things. When I saw the image of her legs, I knew things were not going to go well. When we found she was a girl, as I had intuited all along, it was a special confirmation. The specialist was really kind and capable. He reminded us that it was nothing we had done. There is no way to find out you have a weak cervix until it is put to the test. He confirmed that I was leaking after taking a sample of the fluid, and let us know that I wasn't a candidate for the procedure and it was only a matter of time. If I developed an infection, they would speed up the delivery process for my safety. Paul decided to fly back and my mom was on her way. Ricky had given me a blessing of peace the night before and he gave me another one that morning. 

As we talked and cried and laughed and slept and rested during that day, I had the tender mercy of Time. I was able to ponder and process and eventually come to peace. Paul and I weren't sure what miracle we should pray for--should we just pray for the miracle of peace? Or that somehow she and the sac would go back in my cervix, that the leak would heal, and that my cervix would close? 

Ultimately, we just felt that it was right to let nature take her course. The blessing Ricky gave me that morning said to "seek in the spirit to understand." I received some understanding that part of the reason this was happening, was that she had served her purpose in helping heal and prepare me. This pregnancy has been pretty rough on me emotionally and has brought up some things that have been really helpful to work through. I've experienced a lot of healing and though I wasn't feeling excited or ready when we first got pregnant, I feel that--just this past week actually--I was able to reach a space of excitement and joy, through the grace of God and power of intention. This was hard, but purposeful timing, I feel. It was hard that just as I allowed myself to really open up to joy, the sorrow came tumbling in. Which was exactly what I was afraid of. But I hold on to hope that it is worth it. (See Moses 5:11-12) And little baby girl has been vital in helping me develop the depth of understanding that I need to get to in this area of my faith. Part of me feels selfish in seeing that as my main source of "reasoning" comfort--but that is all my veiled understanding can see for now, and I feel her, and the spirit's, confirmation of that. 

Mom arrived with Jan and the earth angel vanguard switched up for a little bit. Early in the evening I developed a fever and the doctors were notified. If I didn't go into labor soon, they would help me along. Soon after I went to the bathroom and more of the sac came out. The doctor came after a while and punctured the sac, letting the fluid out. They checked my cervix and it was only about 2cm wide and her legs weren't hanging down. For a few hours, the pain in my pelvic area slowly became more intense. They gave me some medication to help induce contractions. Paul came just as they were getting intense, poor guy--didn't get to warm up to it. 

I actually didn't expect that I would go into labor. I guess I assumed that my cervix would just keep opening and she would gently slip out. But I definitely went into labor. Throughout the day they had periodically been checking her heartbeat, and she was still alive. I only needed to dilate to about 5cm because she was so small. As the pain became contractions, I rallied the troupes around me (Paul, my mom, Kate, and one of my best friends, Amber) to sing some of my favorite meditation chants to help me work through the pain and, but eventually I needed the pain medication. I wasn't as prepared for birth as I was planning on being. At all. (I was only as far as 2nd trimester in my literature!) I ultimately requested an epidural, which didn't really work because, as we found out soon, I was so close to giving birth. She slipped out head first, stillborn. Tiny little thing, perfectly healthy and normal, with beautiful hands and feet and legs and arms and face, and a bit of a bruised head from the contractions. 

Paul and I held her and loved her and cried with those that surrounded us. David and Alicia joined us. We cleaned up and a dear woman, a bereavement specialist, came in and took pictures, made little casts of her feet and hands, and talked empathetically with us. We finally slept, after hours of not sleeping, little Sequoia in a basinet beside us. 

Although we had the underlying peace that God was with us, angels surrounded us, and this was just as it was meant to be, it still was painfully sad. And still is. As I see her little box in the fridge that we'll keep until we bury her, or I walk in my house that I left having no idea what was ahead, or I meet someone's eye that knows, or I see a picture, or I wrap my chest and drink tea to prevent lactation though my body longs to hold a baby, or a hundred other things, it brings some pain and tears. I don't know how we humans can produce so many tears. I thought I was all out yesterday afternoon, but have proven myself wrong over and over.

Simultaneously, I feel a depth of gratitude that also brings tears, along with smiles. For the incredible support from the precious humans that surrounded me--holding my hand, massaging my feet, saying the right thing or not saying anything, allowing for moments of laughter and moments of sorrow, reading scriptures with me, crying with me, praying with me (and for me), chanting with me, sleeping by me, cleaning me up, encouraging me on. For the gift of Sequoia and all she has taught us. For the blessings of modern medicinal advancements that will allow me to have children in the future. For our peaceful room and the gift of processing time. For the wonderful staff at the hospital and having the perfect nurses and doctors for the exact right moments. And, of course, the peace and love of God, which all of this was nested in. 

Sequoia was already a favorite name of ours because of our connection to Redwood trees, and then just a few days ago I was studying Lehi's dream (in the Book of Mormon) and was struck my what the angel tells Nephi: that the Tree represents the Love of God. At the time I thought "Ha! This is why I love to hug trees--it's maybe an echo of what it feels like to hug God." Sunday afternoon, as I thought about our little girl and her name and the situation, it seemed perfectly appropriate to name her Sequoia, as even God is allowing/putting us through this hard and sad situation, it is--somehow--evidence of His Love. I knew, early on in the process, as I learned the direness of the situation, that I could not allow this to harden my heart and make me angry at God. I've allowed that to happen before and wondered if those situations were possibly preparing me to see the eternal plan and purpose of this situation, instead of being blinded by bitterness. 

As a sweet confirmation, Paul had felt that she was Sequoia during his plane ride back. When the nurses set her on my chest and asked what her name was, we looked at each other and I offered up "Sequoia?" He breathed and smiled in relief that I felt the same. 

We are resting this week, not going into work, and just processing. I'm so grateful for all of the prayers and love being sent from afar. We can feel them. So grateful you are family. And that family is forever. Isn't that amazing? How blessed we are to know that. 

​Love, anna and paul

Check out www.adventuresofagratefulheart.com for recent posts!

This past Sunday in church during our open testimony sharing hour, a young man got up and expressed a sentiment that has given me pause over the last year. 

I respect and admire this young man for his courage in sharing and also believe many things he said. Near the end of his time, he said "God will not give us anything we can't handle." At one time (probably many, actually) I am sure I have said this. But I've come to believe that this statement is false--or rather, not the whole, truthful story. 

God has given me many things that I can't handle. From experience, I have come to know that God gives me MORE than I can handle. This is what brings me to Him and His Son. This is the miracle of the Atonement. We can't make it on our own, and wherever we are on our own personal journeys, Christ meets us and makes up the difference. 


Maybe realizing the error in the phrase "God won't give me anything I can't handle" is something that I missed the boat on a while ago and everyone is nodding and metaphorically patting my hand. Regardless, I want to share that I've realized that when I think this, or when it is preached, it enables (unhealthily) the mindset that I can do this thing called life on my own. FALSE. Letting go of this phrase and embracing the phrase that "God will give me more" has been incredibly liberating. It enables me (this time, healthily) to admit my weaknesses and move forward with more trust and faith because it changes how I look at life experiences.

Nephi writes that "the Lord giveth no commandment unto the children of men save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them."  

Acknowledging from the beginning that this will probably be something I can't do on my own encourages me to include my Father and Savior much earlier on in the process. When I experience my own weaknesses I feel vulnerable and get down on myself, but not for as long as I did before--because the pressure of "handling it on my own" is gone. As I lie in bed, tears rolling to the pillow, I give myself freedom to be real with Father about how hard it is and allow my heart to be softened, and many times broken. Knowing that it is the plan for Him to "give me more" and that He has prepared a way of healing for me, then brings me peace in that moment of brokenness--peace that healing will come eventually. 

The beautiful parallel meaning to this phrase "He gives us more" is that when the healing and blessings that eventually come, they are so much MORE than we can even imagine. More than we can even hold. As Christ, through His Atonement, enables us to bear great trials, He also enables us to bear great joy. 


In times when my heart is broken and it's more than I can handle, I hold fast to that promise, that inherent meaning in the law of equal and opposites-- that great healing and joy is coming. 

And I gratefully rejoice that it will be so much more than I can handle. 

Thank God for chocolate. I'm sitting alone at Zupas, chewing a rocky road brownie as I stare of into space. It may look like I'm spacing out, but I'm actually processing. I've realized that I'm a pro at processing (in the moment) what other people are going through as I observe them, but my processing speed about what I am going through in the moment is definitely not as fast. I'm trying to let myself take the time to process before I move on to the next task in my day so I don't bury it and have it pop up later as a fountain of tears at the exact wrong moment. I just came from a professional meeting that ultimately was good but had some rough spots--feeling shamed and undermined being a couple of those spots. As I'm trying to process this experience, the doubts come... "Is this worth it?" "What am I doing?" "What do I think I am doing??" ... "Am I making the best difference I can make?" "Am I even making a difference???" ... I finish up my brownie and the bathroom is finally free. I lug in all my shtuff (the laptop with the lesson plan still not written), and eventually find myself in front of the mirror. I stare into my eyes and feel exhausted and something like "I don't understand". 

Then, over the Zupas speaker system comes the catchy phrase of a song I discovered months ago and is just now REALLY hitting me: "Carry o-o-o-o-n! (It's weird to try and write holding out a vowel) Let your past be the sound of your feet about the ground, Carry o-o-o-on. Carry on, Carry on!" And I realize that I will, because He wants me too and He makes all things possible. 

Thank God for Fun..

***

Lean Cuisine. It's just been that kinda day. I mean, week. My heart is tight and shut. I still haven't fully processed the afore mentioned meeting experience and other things are raising the water/drowning level. My roommates try and connect but my efforts in reciprocity are weak. I have 45 minutes to eat and study my scriptures, which I haven't gotten to yet today. For the last two weeks, scripture study has been my guiding light, saving grace, iron rod. Yup, all the cliches. I send a quick question up: "What do I need?" Yup, peace. Again. That seems to be the word of the month for me. I feel to turn to Helaman 5, near the end where it talks about how to remove the "cloud of darkness" -- which I totally have goin' on. First verse I read: "Ye must repent--" alright! alright... doing. Next part, "Cry unto the Lord even until ye shall have faith in Christ." So I do. I close my eyes and almost literally start to cry. Wow, that outer wall of my heart is really hard right now. I can feel the pressure in my chest and the fear of letting go of control clinging to keeping my heart tight and shut. I will Light... from Him. I will this Light for a while. Then I really give in to crazy impulses and feel to pray for every cell in my body to be full of gratitude. I find a bit of sunshine pouring through the kitchen window and stand in it, trying to soak in the eastern mountains through the glass pane. My arms spread eagle. I need Love and I don't care who knows it. 

It works. I feel transformed. I yell down the hall that I'm sorry for being ... whatever I was being, and run to get ready for the evening's events. A roommate comes in and let's me blow off the steam of that experience that wasn't fully processed. (Oh, vagueness.) Very helpful. Bless her. And I head to watch my student's performance. Which they rocked. (Plus, a friend just reminded me that laughter is healing and being with my students and watching them definitely WAS healing. There is so much joyful laughter when I'm with my ScenicView family.)

GRATITUDE!!! It's real, people. 

***

Chips and Salsa. (It really does always comes back to food. Hm. I'll process that later...) I'm sitting on my couch calming my mind and body down after a long and crazy day as I snack and watch the latest Mormon Messages. (This is "Productive Vegging"--it's short because it's late and I gotta get to bed soon, and I can go to bed not feeling worry consume my entire soul because the Abbey at Downtown is in an uproar again.) I feel drawn to watch the latest "Esther" and then the "Stephanie Nielson" one. I was finally able to process that other experience, but those questions are still boppin around when I give myself time to think. My heart is prepared as I remember Esther and her courage and the courage of women. Then I watch Stephanie's message. Not only is she so freakin' inspiring, but this song starts playing in the background called "It's All About Your Heart" by Mindy Gledhill... this happens to be my Autism Song. I know it's about Stephanie, but it really works for me. I would listen to it on the way to work with my little kids every day. "I don't mind your odd behavior, it's the very thing I love. If you were an ice cream flavor, you would be my favorite one. My imagination sees you like a painting of Van Gogh. Starry Nights and Bright Sunflowers follow you where you may go. Oh, I've loved you from the start. In every single way and more each passing day. You are brighter than the stars. Believe me when I say... It's not about your scars... it's all about your heart."  

And peace returns.

God sends us Gifts. He sends us "taps", as Stephanie says. Reminders that He is there and aware. Some may call this coincidence. I can't. I can't deny the feeling I get that simultaneously there is a big ol' universe out there that He is in charge of AND He knows and loves my small spirit. 

Thank God for everything. I hope you pardon the grammatical errors of this monologue and catch my feeling. He is so good and He answers prayers. 

"Ask and Ye Shall Receive" is Real. Believe it. Try it with me. We fail, but we fail fabulously and become more. 

Build the Kingdom. Relish Chocolate. Allow Peace. Over and out. 

PS In an effort to be not so boring, I'm adding some videos.

Last Saturday I ran into Walmart at 11:45 pm. I was going to go grocery shopping come hell or high water! I'd been putting it off for too many days. I went and grabbed some things for a nice salad to add to the dinner party that my little sister was having the next day. My little sister who is a freshmen in college, in her ward Relief Society Presidency, serving as a Best Buddies mentor and a lot of other things. She was making 3 pots of corn chowder, 6 loaves of bread, and inviting over 10 girls. As I rounded the corner into the frozen dinner isle, the sneaky shame monster started creeping into my head. Here I was standing in front of Lean Cuisine because I barely had time to run into the grocery store, let alone work on my womanly homemaking skills of meal preparation. How come I couldn't pull it together enough to make myself (and maybe even--heaven help me--OTHERS) some decent home-cooked meals? Was I really that much of a disorganized disaster? 

Then Brene Brown saved the day. Channeling her voice into my head, I talked back to that sneaky shame monster. NO! STAY BACK! I LOVE MY LEAN CUISINE LIFE! Here is what I remembered. Cooking = time. While at some points in my past life and hopefully some points in my future life spending my time cooking has been the right choice, right now, my time is being spent elsewhere. And I love where it is being spent. 

Before I had sprinted into Walmart, I had just spent an hour talking with an incredible Argentinian woman who is a convert to the LDS faith, single mother to a son with autism, first grade teacher, and one of the most courageous people I have ever met. Both of us were uplifted and edified by the conversation and I wouldn't trade that for anything. Right now, I choose to spend my time with children with autism and people who love them. I choose to spend my time with incredible artists and people of faith to create moving works of theatre. I choose to spend my time at the temple. I choose to spend my time communing in nature. (I sometimes don't even choose to spend my time shaving my legs.)

So, sneaky shame monster, I CHOOSE LEAN CUISINE! 

This summer has been full of wonder, stretching, love, and adventure. I'll give you a very brief taste of what each place and it's people held and taught me:

Provo, Utah, June: 

• Received a grant to start an after-school theatre project for children with autism. Clear Horizons Academy and The Hale Center Theatre are combining efforts to forward the work. (My roomie Jen and I danced our "God is Good" Dance for a very long time.) Learned about the power of prayer, hard work, good people, and a cause.
• Met Tracy Golden and we began our adventures together. Threw together "Stories of Autism" and our first version entitled "Life, Love, and Autism." Dear friends and new friends gathered to support us and give us feedback on the performance. Learned about empathy, perspectives, love, and life.
  

Salt Lake City, Utah, June: 

• Started rehearsals for "The Nauvoo Pageant." Reconnected with beloved friends and made new ones. Dear ones supported the rehearsals, captured me for lunch, and excused my leaving in a lurch. Started learning humility, love, patience, and trust. 

Nauvoo, Illinois (and surrounding towns), June/July/August:

• GAAA!!! No words, but obviously I'm about to try...
• Performed in the Nauvoo Pageant and vignettes about the Relief Society. I was honored to portray and learn from Sister Eliza Roxcy Snow.
• Associated with, learned from, and taught out-of-this-world families. Made dear friends for life. 
• Shared the Gospel of Jesus Christ with people from all over the world. 
• Felt angels daily. 
• Re-learned that I have a Father in Heaven who loves me, to trust myself and the spirit, that the veil is thin, more about my spiritual gifts, that Joseph Smith is a prophet, that the temple is what it is all about, that youth are amazing, how to drink lots of water and electrolytes, and much more. 

Chicago, Illinois, August:

• Adventured in this glorious city of reflective light with a sister and friend. Learned: I want to be a bucket-filler, I love the parts of earth where sky and water and land all meet, every temple is special. 

San Francisco, California, August:

• Played and relaxed with grandparents.
• Caught up with dear old friends. (and stood where Humphrey the Whale passed by!)
• Gloried in the sunlight and bay and rolling hills while driving in a stick-shift with the windows down.
• Learned that I love all of the above. 

Tahoe, California, August: 

• Sweet time with mom and sister playing in the lake and water-coloring.
• Learned: I love them and once again, that part of the earth where the sky and the water and land all meet.

Loomis, California, August:

• Attended a sweet lady's wedding and caught up with forever friends. Learned: people are placed in our paths to teach us, even if for 3 minutes.

Austin, Texas, August:

• Flew with a dear friend to another dear friend's wedding. 
• Learned that marriage is sweet and grounding, that the Lord places us where we need to be and will whisper to us what we need to do. 

Denver, Colorado, August:

• Attended a workshop at DU on Suzuki and Viewpoints Training. 
• Adventured around Denver and met wonderful and giving people.
• Learned about the essence of performance, what my path as an artist is starting to look like, that all things work out (even couches to sleep on for a week), and that God is in the details. 

And home again, home again (with a jiggidy jig) to ...
Provo, Utah, September: 

• Spent time with family in Park City before they take off on their adventure around the world.
• Started buckling down on "Bridges Theatre Project: Theatre for Communities with Autism" (what we received the grant for).
• Started work with a dear friend on a piece of theatre called "Women of Faith" that will be incredible.
• Am meeting new wonderful people and reconnecting with dear friends. (Have I not with you yet? Let's do it soon. Call me. Beep me. Reach me.)
• Learned: how to breathe again (and again and again), that I'm choosing to simplify my life (and subsequently, my standard of living), that I missed my students, that I love my family and love having some of them in Provo now, that I'm grateful for good friends, and that every day is a glorious struggle of the primary lesson of trying to be like Jesus. 

I wish I had the will-power to mention everyone by name right now. Thank you to all who shared their love with me this summer. I am more of who I am because of you. You are in my books in heaven of those whom I will skip and leap to thank. 

Thus the orphan boy exclaims; shouting with outstretched arms atop his trunk full of star-stuff. He's free, he knows it, and he feels it. 

I love that feeling. That feeling you have when you've come out of your tempest, having fallen asleep in the unknown darkness that ensues, and then awakened to that sense of newness, freedom, enlightenment, growth--the sunshine of the dawn tickling your neck and then engulfing your body. 

I saw a play on Broadway recently--Peter and the Starcatchers. My new favorite thing. It tells the story of how Peter Pan became Peter Pan. From the moment the play begins, truth emanates. 

I've always been fascinated with the story, as well as with the fascination it holds for so many. "Peter Pan" was the first book I read, my favorite movie growing up, the first musical I directed, and the subject of one of my favorite stories that I tell. I am so grateful this play has made the "Peter Pan Faves" list. 

I can tell that I have the potential to start waxing very poetical here, so I'm just gonna give you the goods straight. This is what I learned from my latest encounter with Peter, the boy who never grew up (and how he became for me "the boy who almost grew up"), as well as Molly, the courageous starcatching girl. (Warning: plot spoilers.)

"Decision"
There are two points in the show when the characters make an important decision that affects themselves and others that they love. The first is when Molly decides to tell the orphan boy on the ship (with whom she feels a strange and intense connection) that she is an apprentice starcatcher, and all the meaning and information that comes with that knowledge. She debates within herself for a few moments, then states "Decision." and tells him. She decides to be vulnerable. To share her deepest and most beloved secret. To open up to him. To trust him. May we all decide thus. 

The second time is when Peter uses the word back. Molly has been fiercely protecting the trunk of starstuff and trying to save everyone else, and then is captured by Captain Black-Stache. He will slit her throat unless he gets the trunk. Peter--who has been wanting the starstuff so he can fulfill his dreams of having a family and being free and loved--runs over to the trunk, pushes it in front of Stache,  and stares into Molly's eyes stating, "Decision." Stache let's her go, recognizing the sacrifice of a hero--the nemesis he's been waiting for. (A whole 'nother story.) Peter decides to sacrifice his utmost desires to save Molly. May we all choose to love and sacrifice thus.

"It's supposed to hurt--that means it meant something."
As Molly's heart breaks when she realizes that Peter has to stay on the Island and can't come home with them, she says this to Peter and her Father. How my heart reaches out to that precious girl on the stage and all other girls and boys that feel and hurt because we loved and risked. Take heart, it meant something. 

"Yes, I wanted to" : Molly's Courage and Peter's Feelings
At one point Molly impulse kisses Peter and when he tries to bring it up later, she shuts him down pretty hard and doesn't want to talk about it. He asks her, implying, if she wanted to kiss him again. She doesn't really answer. Right before she leaves Peter, she runs up to him and kisses him again,  saying, "Yes, I wanted to." Then, tears streaming down her face, she runs back to her father, and they leave Peter on the Island. I recently read that the original definition of courage is "to speak one's mind by telling all one's heart." Molly has the courage to tell her whole heart. 
As Peter, too, has tears streaming down his face, he watches them leave and then crumples to the floor. A narrator says that this is the closest the boy ever came to being what he hated--a grown up. 

"To have faith is to have wings"
Molly says this as she is first showing the boy her starcatcher powers and her father says it to Peter as they are leaving him on the Island and Peter is questioning his fate. How freaking deep is this line. Just suck on it for your whole life, okay?

For me, this is it. This is my golden nugget at the paradox of Peter vs. Wendy. Be a child or Be a grown up. Decision: Have faith. Be as a little child. In the reality of growing up, we can be reminded how to fly through having the faith of a child.  

"To live will be an awfully big adventure"
As Peter marvels at what was just told to him, the possible fulfilling of the promise made to him by the mermaid in the Lagoon that he could fly, the lost boys gather around him. They lift him up as he says, "Boys, to live will be an awfully big adventure!" 

I yearn to see the world this way. To wake up every morning with the faith of a child and the courage to live life embracing it as an awfully big adventure, with all it's risks and tempests and heart breaks and moments of feeling the glorious sun. 

Decision.