min·is·ter (defined by google)
Last Sunday was rough. I was running on empty mentally speaking. It's difficult to describe the mental strain of going to graduate school and homeschooling my kids at the same time. I love it, but it is a lot of information in my brain. This semester has been extremely emotionally draining as well. Physically I was okay. That has since changed, but, that's another story.
Back to Sunday. I was stressed about the assignments I still had to complete for one of my classes as well as two musical numbers I'm preparing for Christmas, one for sacrament meeting this week on the piano, and another for a Christmas musical celebration on the cello. Brain overload.
I came home from church and just felt so . . . burned out. And tired. And weary. And incapable of partaking of the spiritual nourishment I needed because I simply did not have the energy or the brain power. My husband stayed after church with my oldest daughter for some youth meetings and I took the two youngest home. I had the distinct impression that I needed to be ministered to. Earlier in the day, I had thought about how nice it would be to just lie in bed while someone reads to me, preferable a live person, not a recorded person on a device. So, when we got home from church, I asked my youngest if she would read to me from the Book of Mormon. She agreed. My other daughter joined us, and noticing the tears in my eyes, sat down with us. They took turns reading to me those familiar words in their sweet, innocent voices. I listened, rested deeply, and basked in the service of my sweet girls who freely gave and attended to my needs.
Later that night, Ryan and I headed back to the church. He had a meeting and I had a rehearsal. I expressed to him how incredibly tired I was, and how the girls had ministered to me, explaining the impression from earlier about the need to be ministered to. I told him that I just needed someone to take care of me for a change. On the way home, my phone rang and it was my mom, who called to see how I was doing. I'm sure she had no idea how timely that call had been, how much I had needed the kindness and care. But there it was. It was a miracle to me, an answered prayer.
As if it wasn't enough to be ministered to by my daughters and my mother on the same day, I realized that for two to three days before this I had been thinking of my grandma and feeling her near. This has happened a few times since her passing nearly 16 years ago, and always at times of significant struggle. These moments are usually brief, but I had felt her presence several times over the previous few days. So much so that at one point I wanted to say, "Is there something you'd like me to do, Grandma?" Not that feeling her presence was pestering me; it was just so unusual. After the experiences of Sunday, however, I realized that my grandmother had already been ministering to me, providing companionship, comfort, and strength in a time of need.
I love my ministering angels.