Be Inspiring

This is the logo on one of my favorite shirts. For years I’ve been seeing the push to “Be Inspired”. While that is good, it’s also a more selfish view. It looks outside for someone to inspire you.

I think God expects us to be the one inspiring others. It takes on an aspect of service. It’s no longer what I can get but what can I give to help others. We all have something to give. We can all inspire others.

One day when I was struggling to take care of my three little children and still pretending I didn’t have depression a woman from my ward showed up with a full meal from Honey Baked Ham company. There was no reason for it other than she just remembered what it was like to have so many little kids and wanted to surprise me with a meal. She didn’t know it had been a particularly hard day. But God knew. It helped me to learn to pay more attention to the spirit.

Sometimes I feel lonely because everyone in Relief Society is sitting together but I’m stuck on the sidelines where my wheelchair will fit. When someone joins me it makes a difference to my day.

It doesn’t have to be big. Just find some way you can serve someone else or love someone else so you can Be Inspiring.

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I have the funniest kids. Technically I didn’t take this photo. Ariana did. She spent hours taking various selfies with her hair doing weird things. She even arranged her hair on the floor to look like Medusa.

It reminds me of how when I was a teenager I set up a whole photo shoot. Usually I had to do still life or set up my camera on a timer for my own “selfies”. You know, back in the olden days when we had to have our film developed. You had to pay for the pictures even if half of them were black and the other half were fuzzy.

Eric took hundreds of pictures as he learned. Ari takes thousands. I’m glad my kids have hobbies. I’m hoping being a photo-m

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Wrong Diagnosis

Chad and I were sitting in the doctors office. I was excited, sure that I would finally have the genetic test that would conclusively show I had periodic paralysis so that I could get into a study. I felt like it was time to get better. With new medications, I just might get my life back.

Dr. Johnson walked in with two medical students and two pieces of paper. He joyfully told us that my genetic test was negative. I definitely did not have periodic paralysis. I was in shock. I questioned it. Couldn’t there be a negative test and I’d still have MD?

Not in my case. If I had it there would be a mutation somewhere on the gene but I had none. No mutations, no chance of periodic paralysis. The doctor seemed to think this was great news but I was still in shock. What was it? Something better? Something treatable? Something worse? Was this why I wasn’t getting any better?

I started to cry. I never used to cry in front of people but the more comfortable I get with myself, the more my emotions just spill out whether it’s happiness or sadness. Poor doctor.

I cried all the way home. I wanted a diagnosis. I wanted to get better. Later on I was reminded that I was on the way to getting better since I’d been treated with the wrong disease for a year and a half thanks to my insurance that didn’t want to cover the test.

The next step is a painful muscle biopsy scheduled for right before Thanksgiving. It will tell the doctor what is going on and what direction we needed to go in.

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