Lucky

The drafty air was slithering through the paint chips in the window seal and I wondered how the chilling February wind outside could so perfectly embody my heartache. I pressed my salty lips against by bare knees and sat crumbled on the floor. I was twenty-years-old, hopelessly inexperienced, and consumed by my first horrible heartbreak. Through my selfish tears, I picked up my phone and prayed that my mom's voice would be there on the other end. I don't remember everything that she said, but one part will stay with me forever. She said, "Ashley, you're so lucky. Now you'll know how to comfort your children when they're hearts are broken by someone they love."

I went to Provo a few nights ago to be with a friend who's going through one of those bone-chilling, heartbroken periods of her life. As I drove home after talking to her, I remembered what my mom said five years ago. She was right, as moms so obnoxiously always are. I am lucky. Lucky that I had the experience of being heartbroken over a silly boy. Lucky that I got over it. Lucky that I found the man of my dreams to be with forever. And lucky that I can now feel compassion for those going through hard things.

I'm trying to keep this perspective with other aspects of my life lately. Things don't always go according to plan. Sometimes they're tragically different. But God is granting us this time and these experiences so that we can feel deeper and love more fully. It gives me a different perspective of the atonement. I imagine that after all of the suffering that the Savior experienced, He must have felt a profound sense of gratitude for being able to feel what others feel. I'm grateful that He lets us feel a minute portion of that suffering and subsequent compassion.

We're lucky.