home and mud

Discontent.

Depression plunges you into a world where every little movement and thought becomes work. It's like your daily tasks and routine become motions of trudging through mud.  Each step gets heavier and deeper as you move forward.  Each action and decision is accompanied by the nudging thought of "what is the purpose?"

Why am I trudging through mud?

Surely there's another path I can take? 
Am I even on a path?

Experiencing such weight has opened my eyes to a much different view of life. Or rather I'd say sometimes its closed my eyes to how I used to view life.

It's created this discontentment within me.  Almost like I'm never satisfied. Not in an addiction kind of way but more of a something is missing from my life kind of way.  It's as if I'm grieving what's been lost.  But I can't quite put my finger on what's been lost. Until recently.

I was reminded of this simple truth while listening to the young children at church:

 "...Once in heaven I was spirit, but I left my home at birth..." 

(The Lord Gave Me a Temple-Children's Songbook)

There's nothing quite like being in the comfort of your own home. A place you can relax, unwind, and put your feet on the couch without feeling like your overstepping your boundaries when in someone else's home.  Though some homes offer this type of feel even when not your own, there is still a different feeling when in your realm of comfort. A place where you can fully rest.

Life is so hard, darn it.  And hard doesn't mean all bad. I mean the good, the boring, the exhilarating, and the bad, life is just this roller coaster of hard and exhausting. Good grief. I do not profess to speak for everyone but I can surely imagine many think the same thing.

And no matter how hard I try I can't quite seem to find the true comfort of my own home. Not only does my physical body not go a day without some sort of pain but my heart also feels this tugging that there is something missing.

In my short span of twenty something years of life I have searched, sought out, and found moments of peace in the stillness of Christ.  And because of those oh so cherished experiences I've come to the realization that the discontentment with life I feel is because I'm being reminded that this is indeed not my home. Not my place of rest. It's as simple as that. There are times when we could be doing everything right, there is no immediate trial we are facing, and yet we never feel completely satisfied.  And rightfully so.  I choose to believe that it's my home that I grieve.  Though I do not remember my Heavenly Parents, or family, or previous life before being here, the ache I feel in my heart reminds me that they are there. And I miss them. And I'm positive they miss me. 

So while sometimes I get lost in feeling like my life is trudging through mud, I'll hold on to the knowledge that it's ok that it's hard. It's supposed to be. I'm not supposed to be perfectly content.  Because if I was then certainly I wouldn't be reminded that I am also loved elsewhere. That here is not the only place I belong.  This is just a path.  And by golly, I'll pass through as much mud as I need to to get back home. So that I can come back better and stronger then when I left and deserve that welcoming place of rest.

Alma 40:12

"And then shall it come to pass, that the spirits of those who are righteous are received into a state of happiness, which is called the paradise, a state of rest, a state of peace, where they shall rest from all their troubles and from all care, and sorrow."

And I suppose I'm grateful for the weight of my muddy shoes.  They are proof I did something here. Something worth coming here for.  Giving my heart a chance to remember that the value of my worth lies in an existence far greater then what this one will ever deem its highest value to be.  Muddy shoes and all.

That is why I choose to stay on this path.