Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.🍂
-F Scott Fitzgerald
Elder Robert D. Hales once said:
When you cannot do what you have always done, then you only do what matters most.
Those words sink deep for me as someone who lives with chronic pain.
There are many things I cannot do anymore—not the way I used to, not with the energy or freedom I once had. And yet, in the midst of those limitations, I’ve discovered that my life is being reshaped around what truly matters most.
🔍 Finding Clarity in Constraints
Elder Hales went on to say:
Physical restrictions can expand vision. Limited stamina can clarify priorities. Inability to do many things can direct focus to a few things of greatest importance.
That is the truth of my life. I don’t have the stamina to do everything I once could. But I do have the vision to see what is worth my energy. Pain has forced me to slow down, to let go of what doesn’t serve me, and to focus on what is most meaningful—faith, relationships, healing moments, and time in nature. 🌲
💛 “Come What May and Love It”
Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin also offered a phrase I want to cling to:
Come what may, and love it.
His mother taught him those words, and he later reminded us that
adversity, if handled correctly, can be a blessing in our lives.
I admit—I don’t always love it. There are days when pain feels relentless, and my instinct is to resist, to grieve what I’ve lost, or to dwell in shame when I make mistakes. I make a lot of those. Mistakes. I find my brain just checks out while dealing with chronic pain. 🧠
🚤 A Maritime Memoir Best Left Unsailed
Like this past weekend, for example. I may or may not have put my husband and myself in mortal danger on the lake (😬 oops). I turned off the boat engine when the battery was low—thinking I’d heard Brent say to shut it off. Turns out, he had said the opposite. 😳
This process set off so many megaddons-
We would have drifted helplessly across the lake. But Brent, my hero, jumped in and anchored us to shore 🥶 . Now he was soaked through with no dry clothes.
Meanwhile, the navy was literally training around us, however, we were too embarrassed to ask for help. What would you have done?
My dad had to haul out his sailboat ⛵️ that was already getting packed away for winter. The sight of them motoring across the harbor with no sails…well, let’s just say it was memorable.
There we were, covered in lifejackets and wrapped in blankets, being eaten alive by biting flies.
At the time, I didn’t want to “come what may and love it.” I wanted to wallow in shame for the mistake that stranded us. But shame didn’t help. It only made me feel worse.
Looking back, I see parts of it that were quite humorous.
Brent’s pants (they had to be fished out of the lake after the wind blew them from their safe perch where they would stay dry while he swam us to safety) soon had the appearance that we had been shipwrecked for months by the time rescue came.
Wet sweatpants are diabolical. Wet sweat shorts on the other hand- marginally better.
So out came the fishing knife (he did not have them on at this stage of the procedure) and off came his pride and a few inches of dripping fleece. Suggesting a shipwreck much longer than the hour or so that it actually turned into.
I couldn’t help but think in this scenario, I was the Gilligan.
On the contrary, the more loving response—for myself—would have been to let it go. To choose self compassion. To laugh. To accept my parents’ kindness.
And Brent’s! Even as he frantically thought through what he needed to do then jumped in the water. Even as he stood there shivering and dripping wet. Even as he swatted flies in nothing but my blanket, he told me not to worry. Not to feel bad.
He encouraged self compassion from the outset. To remember that we would survive the “fly apocalypse,” catch a fish 🎣 , and make it home safely. He reminded me to stay focused on what matters.
Meanwhile…
The devil whispered in my ear, “You’re not strong enough to withstand this storm.” I whispered in the devil’s ear, “I love your eggs.” 🤦🏼♀️
🍄 Woodland Wellness: Discovering Peace Among Trees 🌲
Elder Hales reminded us that even the senior leaders of our church aren’t spared from affliction:
Rather, they are blessed and strengthened to press forward valiantly while suffering in and with affliction.
That idea gives me hope. If they can press forward valiantly, maybe so can I. Maybe so can we. Whatever our struggle may be.
That’s where forest therapy comes in for me. When my pain feels like too much, I turn to the forest.
Dendrolatry
a deep reverence for the trees, where every branch whispers ancient wisdom and every root holds the secrets of the earth– to honour a tree is to honour the quiet, sacred connection between life and nature.
The forest is where I remember how to breathe, how to soften, how to let go of shame and find a thread of joy. The forest teaches me that even in adversity, there can be beauty. Even when I’m hurting, there can be laughter, resilience, and connection.
My adversity is chronic pain. It is woven into every corner of my life. It shapes my days and my choices, and so it will show up in my writing and conversations, too. It is part of who I am.
Some people wish I’d talk about it less, but this is my reality. And it’s also where I’ve learned to discover meaning, humor, and even joy.
The woods invite me to notice beauty even when pain is loud. The trees 👆🏼 don’t erase adversity, but they remind me that I am still alive, still loved, and still capable of joy. 🍃
💖 Embracing Love, Bidding Farewell to Shame
So next time I find myself swarmed by biting flies (literally or figuratively in the form of invasive thoughts), or when I am caught in the grip of pain, I hope I can remember Elder Wirthlin’s (and his mother’s) invitation:
Come what may, and love it.
Not because it’s easy. But because it’s the better way forward. 😊
September was a thirty-
days long goodbye to
summer, to the season that
left everybody both happy
and weary of the warm,
humid weather and the
exhausting but
thrilling adventures
-Lea Malot
As we bid farewell to shame we also bid farewell to summer. The following is an unorganized smattering of my summer adventures. Enjoy perusing (or skip it altogether). I encourage you to do the same. Enjoy your memories. Feel free to share stories or pictures in the comments!
Enjoy your life and the beauty that nature provides. If you’d like to schedule a forest therapy walk before the snow flies, let me know in the comments, or email me @ pam.munkholm@gmail.com I’d love to show you how healing it really is.
SUNBEAM ACRES 