It was
in many ways, just like any normal Sunday.
I had gone to BYC at 11, come home and made the announcement sheet for
the Young Women, packed my Sunday bag and was back at the church 10 minutes to
1:00 in order to sit for a few minutes and prepare to take the Sacrament. The problem was, I was very far from feeling
normal. I hope you will forgive me if I
am being too personal. I have some very difficult issues with anxiety and
depression, specifically I am one of the many women who experience
Pre-menstrual Syndrome. There are
moments when I can feel the anxiety in my chest, as though I were on top of a
roller coaster ready to plunge straight down.
There are moments when I am very sad and I cannot pinpoint a reason as
to why. One thing that happens to me
frequently during the cycle is that I feel as though I am failing in every
aspect of my life and have disappointed everyone in my life and feel a
desperate need to apologize. Anyway, I
was feeling all those things as I sat down at church. Just five minutes before I had been pleading
with the Lord to help me. There was a
part of me that didn’t want to go to church today. I just wanted to stay home. But you know one of the main reasons why I go
to church? Because it works. It’s as
simple as that. Even in the midst of my
anxiety and depression, I knew that I could go to church and hear some message
that would help me. Even as I felt the
anxiety get so bad just before the meeting started that I wanted to bolt, I stayed. As the meeting continued, I continued to pray
for help, for something to happen that would restore my inner center, my sense
of balance, and about half-way through the meeting, something did.
In all
my inner struggles, I had almost forgotten what day it was. When the intermediate hymn was announced as “My
Country Tis of Thee” I was a tad confused but then I remembered and as we stood
to sing, something extraordinary happened to me. I thought about where I was on that day 15
years ago. I thought about the instant kinship
I felt with the victims and their families as I watched TV, horrified. We were all brothers and sisters that
day. “Let music swell the breeze, and
ring from all the trees, sweet freedom’s song. Let mortal tongues awake; Let
all that breathe partake. Let rocks
their silence break. The sound prolong!” As I sang, I felt a new strength
steadying me. I thought of the strength
that shone through that darkest of days. I thought of the last words of love
expressed to family members, of the policemen, firemen and other heroes whose heroism
will never be forgotten, of the people on the other plane who decided that they
would take a stand against evil and lose their own lives in the process. That strength is part of our heritage as
Americans and members of the human race.
It binds us together, and helps us find courage in our own inner
battles. That is what this day means to
me. That is what we can never
forget. I never knew any of the people who
died that day. But I love them and one
day I hope to thank them for their legacy of faith and strength.
“Our fathers’ God to thee, Author of
liberty, to thee we sing; Long may our land be bright. With freedom’s holy light. Protect us by thy
might, Great God our king.” I close the hymn book and sit back down. There are
tears in my eyes…but I can breathe now.
Picture from picsgroup.com
