Fasting Means a Little More to Me Today

This is just brief, and it will probably sound shallow because of the abundance I enjoy based on the previous sacrifices of others. Sorry. I know I have a long way to go.


Fasting. We generally have the opportunity and blessing to be able to fast one time a month, and then to offer to the bishop the equivalent of what we would have spent on meals, for him to distribute to those in his stewardship who may not have enough.


In my life I've been really blessed to have never gone hungry, except, at times, by choice. I know this is not the case for many, many people, including those of my forebears whose lives involved privation as they left homes and families and the safety of productive land to go settle the West and take their chances on farming in a desert.


This morning we're fasting, along with the other members of our congregation. What's different is it just happens that this week I've been cutting my calories--and making myself hungry by choice. (I'm sure that many people in the history of the world would beg to trade me places. Too much food? Yes, please. Right?)


Anyway, today as I fast, I realize:it means a lot more to purposely go without when you've already been going without. My hunger pangs have been much more pronounced than when I usually fast. I've felt more like I need the Lord's help to get me through. It's only two meals, twenty-four hours. It's nothing compared to what others face and have faced. I know that. Which is what makes it all the more poignant.


Most of all, I'm looking back at my ancestors, who when asked to live the law of the fast, were already often not getting enough to eat. How much it must have been a real sacrifice to them to give up food, especially when they lived much more physically labor-intensive lives than I do. Wow, I appreciate them more today, even in this small thing.

Hard Times and Healing and Being Grateful For Trials

Sometimes we have a season of testing. I took a notable long break from adding to this blog while I went through the fires of testing during the balance of 2016. I'm pretty sure I'm not the only soul who found last year to be particularly trying.


However, throughout all the months of struggle, which initially left me feeling wounded and weak, I was able to turn to the One Source of healing: our Savior Jesus Christ. I have learned in my extremity about His immense power to heal and to make us whole.


Often, I have heard people tell me to be grateful for trials. This idea? Pretty tough. It's even tougher when we're reminded to be not only grateful *for* the trial, but also *in* the trial. Yeah, I'm not master of that at this time. (Which likely means I need quite a lot more testing, alas. Buckling up for the ride to continue.)


I have, for certain, however, become grateful for the growth that has come out of the harrowing up of my soul.


When I was a kid, I lived on a farm in Idaho. There were a lot of farm implements my dad pulled behind his John Deere tractor--balers, swathers, discs, and the scariest one: the harrow. Another name for it was "the ripper." It had a long line of curved blades on it, each tipped with an arrow shaped knife. The blades lowered into the soil, and then the tractor dragged it across the packed ground, making the area ready to plant.


When the scriptures say stuff with the term "harrow" it's often in terms of "harrowed up my soul." I'd always just thought of that in terms of pain. Ripped up my soul. Ouch, right? Just left me in a pile of tumbled dirt clods. Clumps. Messy. But I never really considered that as a situation that prepared the soul for planting of good seeds, a necessary step in the long process of the harvest of our souls, making us fruitful.


I love the Lord for His long-term plan for me and for each of us. I'm glad He lets me be a work in progress.