One Thing I Learned By Driving 6500 Miles in 7 Weeks

Between July 9 and September 1, I needed to drive over 6,500 miles. Honestly, that number could have been higher, but I opted to take a flight for one of the 2,000-mile roundtrip trips. So. Much. Traveling!

On all these trips, as you can imagine, innumerable road signs came into view. Yesterday, on another 800-mile drive, one jumped out at me.

KEEP RIGHT

This sign has many applications, beyond traffic. I can imagine my grandpa telling us it had political applications. (If you'd known my Grandpa Boyd, you'd understand.)

As a mom of five kids in decades where their decisions determine their destiny, I'm fervently praying my kids will KEEP RIGHT.

Life is a risk. Every day we have the chance to make choices. I have seen tiny errors in my life lead to need for massive correction. Attitudes need adjusting, I need humbling, etc. It's kind of hard to Keep Right sometimes, and if I didn't have the constant flow of daily scripture study, and weekly sacrament meetings, as well as the gentle (sometimes pointed) correction of the Holy Ghost, I'd be in even more dire straits.

But how? How can we do it? One way is to always remember our divine identity. I found this quote from Boyd K. Packer, another Boyd with a strong opinion on how we can KEEP RIGHT.

“You are a child of God. He is the father of your spirit. Spiritually you are of noble birth, the offspring of the King of Heaven. Fix that truth in your mind and hold to it. However many generations in your mortal ancestry, no matter what race or people you represent, the pedigree of your spirit can be written on a single line. You are a child of God!”4

If there's any other statement more powerfully effective in helping me KEEP RIGHT, I can't think of it. My identity as His child is the most important knowledge I have and the best incentive to strive, even when it's hard.

When I Realized the Commandment to Be Perfect Isn't Actually Kinda Cruel

Most of us who have read the words of the Savior have come to the end of the first chapter containing the Sermon on the Mount and hit those words, "Be ye therefore perfect." And we have stumbled at them.

Perfect? Shah, as if! Most days I can't even keep my dinner from burning, let alone aspire to perfection in all areas. (It's true: I burned dinner four times in the last two weeks. Four. My 13yo has started referring to it as "that nice, smoked flavor.")

The commandment to be perfect looks like a shiny golden coin I can reach out for but never touch. In fact, a lot of days, it is so far away, I don't even bother reaching out for it. And on other days, as it winks in the sun, it feels like it's mocking me. "I exist, but you can never have me."

But this is a terrible attitude! It's a wrong attitude.

Then, a while ago I realized the reason for this commandment, and why it isn't just put there to taunt me with its impossibility.

When Christ spoke, He spoke giving His Father's words. He attributed everything to the Father. He gave us His Father's commandments.

The Father is perfect. The Father wants us as His children to grow to become more like Him, and He knows we aren't yet. But He cannot, in His perfection, give us anything less than perfect. He gives His perfect love. He created a perfect earth. He gave us the gift of His perfect Son.

To give us a commandment to be less than perfect would be...well, it wouldn't be in His nature. His nature is to lift us, and to--line upon line--move us toward His kind of life, which is perfection.

When I noted that there isn't a time limit on that commandment (few of them have a time limit), I realized that this commandment was more eternal in nature. It is more like the shining golden city at the far end of a miles-long long path. But because He has given it to us as something to aim for, we can continue walking toward its beauty, keeping our eyes on it as a distant prize.

But there's also this: because He gave us the commandment to be perfect, that means that it must be attainable. That thought planted a grand, golden hope in my heart. I might not be there now, but if He commanded it, I can someday do it.

But what about in this life? Is there any, any, any way to keep this commandment?

Yes, actually. But obviously not on our own.

Here's an analogy you've probably heard before. We in our imperfections are like a bottomless bank account, with no credit limit, getting further and further into debt with all our mistakes, sins, misdeeds, and wrong thinking. However, the Savior is like a bank account filled to infinity. If we allow Him to take us on as financial partners, then infinity minus anything (even our bad credit no matter how bad) is still infinity.

In that way, we can be perfect. When we allow Christ to be our Savior, we are combining with His perfection. It is the only way in this life we can fulfill that commandment. But it's absolutely doable. It's doable today. The way is simple, and it's a combination of the first two principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ:

1) Faith in the Lord Jesus Christ
2) Repentance

By latching ourselves onto these two principles, we become one with our Lord. We become His. And we are thereby made perfect. Not in all the ultimate "golden city at the end of the road" sense, but we become acceptable to the Father. Because we are His Son's.

If ever we read in the scriptures about how the Savior's advocacy will go at judgment day, it's not going to be, "Allow this child into Thy presence because they are worthy." It's more like, "Allow this child into Thy presence because I am worthy--and they're mine."

I want to be His. I want Him to claim me, both at that day and now.

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.

Three Simple Steps to Getting More From the Scriptures

This morning as I was reading the scriptures, I came across the phrase "feasting upon the words of Christ" as a suggestion for how we can press forward with faith.
As I saw it, I thought about how that's even possible. I mean, some days I'm reading and I know it's more of my standing at a buffet while I'm on some wacky diet, where I can only snag a floret of raw broccoli or a tablespoon of bacon bits--and yet I know all that is there and available to me, but I just am not partaking.
So how can I FEAST?
I remember hearing this formula over the years, and it's so simple, like reaching for more food at the buffet, and eventually allows me to fill up my plate.

1) Make a list of my biggest concerns/challenges today--stuff that perplexes or troubles me.

Maybe it's a problem with parenting, or with other relationships. Maybe it's health or financial challenges. Maybe it's a spiritual worry or doubt creeping up. Maybe it's a doctrinal question--something that has been challenged by my interactions with the world.

2) Pray about the thing(s) on the list.

3) Open the scriptures and actually search for answers.

If the topic doesn't readily appear in the daily reading I'm doing, I can use one of the indexes of topics, or maybe follow a footnote, or pray to know where to read.


That's it. Maybe the full answer to the perplexity won't TA-DA! appear all at once, but I've never done this where I didn't at least come across a portion of a solution, whether it's just a sense of peace that helps me hang on while the answer is still percolating.


It seems almost too simple to be effective, but literally YEARS of doing this has shown me that it's real and that it works. I will admit to not using it consistently, and to floundering in darkness or despair until I remembered aha! to get back to the basics of feasting on the words of Christ to solve my dilemmas.


I'm so thankful for the feast that the scriptures are to my soul. Especially when I come hungry to them, I am always filled.

The Chosen Ones (and How To Be One)

As a writer and a reader, I love the "chosen one" stories as much as the next guy. Harry Potter? The chosen one. Luke Skywalker, Annakin too, chosen. Leven Thumps, chosen. The list goes on.


I think these themes resonate with us because we all secretly wish we were the chosen one, special, set apart, meant for higher things than groveling in the lowlands of oppression.


Over the millennia of recorded history, there has been that same theme, and we find it in the Old Testament. Joseph of Egypt was chosen. So was Moses. Chosen to deliver their people.


But what if they hadn't heeded the call to be chosen? What if they'd ignored it, done nothing, refused to obey the call. Would they still be chosen? Not exactly.


So, am I chosen? Are you? Who is?


I have wondered this from time to time. I think there was some annoyance from the surrounding tribes when the People of Israel showed up saying they were the Chosen People. It might incite animosity--possibly (likely) based on jealousy. Chosen of God. Wow. That's a big claim.


But how does it originate? What about those questions posed above, the ones about those who refuse the call? And if someone is chosen, does that mean they're better/more loved/the favorite child/more important? Does this even mean God could be unfair to some of His children?


I found a scripture that seems to answer that question. It comes from 1 Nephi 17:35 in the Book of Mormon.


 35 Behold, the Lord esteemeth all flesh in one; he that is righteous is favored of God. But behold, this people had rejected every word of God, and they were ripe in iniquity; and the fulness of the wrath of God was upon them; and the Lord did curse the land against them, and bless it unto our fathers; yea, he did curse it against them unto their destruction, and he did bless it unto our fathers unto their obtaining power over it.


Clarity! God loves us all the same. The way to be chosen? It's for US to choose HIM.


That turns the whole concept on its ear for me.


To be chosen, all I need to do is choose His ways, be reliable, be a daughter He can count on to do what He needs done with the capacity He has given me.


What a gracious, fair, praiseworthy God we have.

How Can I Forgive When I'm Still Being Harmed? (The Opposite of Forgive and Forget)

You've read it a hundred times. We have to forgive others if we want to be forgiven of our sins. We know it's true. We believe that with all our hearts. And we want to obey that--really ache to forgive our oppressor--in our desire to approach the Savior.


However, what do we do when that oppression is still going on full force?


This is the conundrum I have been grappling with over the past few months. Years, actually. But it has hit a crescendo in recent days. I want to forgive, I want to move on, I want to keep the commandment to not hold a grudge against my brother. But the damage hasn't ended.
Usually when I think about forgiving someone, I think about a past wrong, something that has ended and I have to reflect on and get over.


But that isn't always the situation. Sometimes it's ongoing. Sometimes there is nothing we can do to escape the situation, and yet, we need the peace of not being angry or upset or even annoyed by the person inflicting the damage.


This is my problem! This is what I'm dealing with! And how do I forgive?
Well, I went to the scriptures, and at first glance, they just made me feel WORSE.


3 Nephi 12: 23-24
23 Therefore, if ye shall come unto me, or shall desire to come unto me, and rememberest that thy brother hath aught against thee—

 24 Go thy way unto thy brother, and first be reconciled to thy brother, and then come unto me with full purpose of heart, and I will receive you.

Yep, I can't even really pray for help if I'm holding this bad feeling in my heart. Right? I'm harboring anger and a grudge, so I'm not worthy to even come to Him. Right? Well, that's how I took it the first hundred times I read it.

Ugh. Worthless. That's how I felt. And despite my efforts, the ongoing nature of the meanness made it hard to let go and forgive. Just when I thought I had it conquered, boom. Something new showed up, and I was upset all over again.

Discouraging.

However, this time when I read it, I noticed something brand new. It was the phrase "if ye...rememberest."

That phrase struck like a gong in my heart.

Sure, I can't change the behavior. I can't change the situation or the circumstance. I can't change the other person.

But I can forget.

Because it sounds like as long as I FORGET that the "aught against me" exists, I don't have to worry about it.


If I FORGET that the bad stuff is happening, then I actually don't really have to figure out how to forgive the person.

Because I totally FORGOT about it.

Huh.

So, after a few days of ruminating on this concept, I realized that since I was going to be stuck in the rotten situation for some time left to come, I started to pray instead to be able to just FORGET.

I mean, I forget absolutely EVERYTHING else.

I forget to buy light bulbs at the store. I forget to pick up my son from track practice. I forget that my daughter needs a new piano book. I forget where I put my shoes, what I was going into the pantry for, that I really need to have laundry done for tomorrow. I'm an EXPERT at FORGET. I begged the Lord to help me forget.

And then, He did. In his divine goodness, He sent me a dozen slap-me-down trials (mentioned in previous posts) that completely distracted me from the irritation inflicted on me by this person. He sent me hard things. He sent me a bunch of people to serve. He sent me an answer to my many prayers to find someone who would listen to the missionaries, so that I'd be busy a couple of days a week helping her prepare for baptism (which she was and did and yay!) He sent me blessings and a desire to finish some goals, like publishing and promoting a book. He sent me a healing of my long-defunct knee and a renewed ability to run several miles in a row.

And...I FORGOT.

At least for a while during those days. Yes, there were a couple of flare-ups. There were a couple of times where I felt like those disciples who were trying to cast out the evil spirit, and the Savior told them, "However, this kind goeth not out but by prayer and fasting." So I prayed. And fasted.

And I was able to forget. Again.

And even though stuff kept happening, and I'd remember the pain--soon, the Lord would help me refocus on the other issues/blessings/duties/trials of my life, so I could forget. Again.


This has all been happening over the past several months. I'm hoping that sometime circumstances will fully change, that the person will just move away or evaporate from my life. It hasn't happened yet. I'm still in the trenches. And there are good moments and bad. When the bad stuff hits, sometimes I pray for help just to forget for five minutes. And He helps me--and that five minutes stretches much longer. God is good.

It's completely backward from the old adage FORGIVE AND FORGET. Sometimes, frankly, that feels impossible. Instead, maybe it's more doable to FORGET AND FORGIVE.

Because either way, the goal of forgiveness is accomplished.

And forgetting can sometimes be the easiest thing in the world.

Crying in the Darkness

One of the most dramatic and inspiring stories in the Book of Mormon, in my opinion comes in the 5th chapter of Helaman. In it, there are two missionaries imprisoned, bound, starved and their captors have come to kill them when a miracle occurs and they are delivered by a pillar of fire. Awesome. (I love the stories in this book so much.)



However, the part that struck me this morning was in verse 40 and 41, which comes later in the story, and doesn't happen to the missionaries, but to their fellow prisoners.


The prisoners have watched this miracle occur. And then they hear this voice out of heaven come to them. It tells them to repent and seek no more to destroy the servants of God. It comes two more times. The prisoners don't know what to do.

And then, a huge cloud of darkness comes and blots out all the light.


Okay. So that's got to be scary. Probably at the time the prison was some deep pit, too. (Just guessing.) They are really worried. They ask:

 40 And it came to pass that the Lamanites said unto him: What shall we do, that this cloud of darkness may be removed from overshadowing us?

And then a fellow-prisoner speaks up. His name is Aminadab, and he's been there with them a while. Probably not a great guy. Possibly a dissenter from God's path. But something awakens in this man and he knows what to do. Here's the quote:

 41 And Aminadab said unto them: You must repent, and cry unto the voice, even until ye shall have faith in Christ, who was taught unto you by Alma, and Amulek, and Zeezrom; and when ye shall do this, the cloud of darkness shall be removed from overshadowing you.

The thing that just slammed into my mind this morning was the "repent, cry unto the voice UNTIL ye shall have faith."




So, the repent thing isn't something that's going to take forever. It can be an instant change for them, a change of heart. But they still don't have faith, perhaps. But they have to cry unto the voice until they have faith.


Sometimes we've been in darkness. We are scared. We don't know what to do. We don't even know what to believe or how. But if we repent--soften our hearts and turn from hardness--then cry unto the Lord UNTIL we have faith, it is granted. The light does come.


In this story, as soon as they cry out for faith, the light comes. And understanding. Oh, yeah, and angels! (I told you this story was dramatic.)


But I also like the verb chosen: cry out. It's not the same word as pray. I sometimes think the word "pray" connotes a softness, a calm effort, a meditation almost.


Not this one. Instead, it's "cry out." This is an active, involved, urgently motivated calling upon God.


I'm pretty sure we've all been there at some point. I know I have. And I also know that the light does come. He loves us. He hears our cries.

How Should I Approach Prayer?

The Savior Jesus Christ visited the American continent after his death and resurrection. He taught them and blessed them and organized His church among them. The incident is recounted in the Book of Mormon, my favorite book. I love the Bible too and the stories of Christ's life in Jerusalem while He lived His perfect life of service on the Earth.




At the end of the first day of His teaching of the people in the New World, He told them He was going to leave, but that He would come again on the morrow, so please go gather up all their friends who hadn't been there that day.




However, then a miracle occurred--even beyond what miracle they'd experienced already. When He announced this, they looked on Him with tears in their eyes, as if they would ask him to stay.


They didn't have to say anything. He knew the desires of their hearts.




And because of the desire of their hearts, he said, in great love, that they could bring to Him their sick and afflicted, and that He would do for them what He'd done for their brethren in Jerusalem: heal them.




As I read this a few days ago, I thought about this, and several things struck me. One, that the Lord truly saw and knew the deep desires of their hearts. Two, that their eyes were trained on Him, and filled with emotion.




I wondered to myself, would that be a better way to approach my prayers? To (mentally/spiritually) train my eyes on Him, and then express my deepest desire to be healed, and for my loved ones to be healed physically and spiritually?




Maybe so. And I have a lot to learn about the true nature of prayer, it would seem.

When You Have to Say No

Quite a few years ago, my husband was asked to serve in a certain position in the Church. His family has always taught him, just as mine has taught me, that when the Lord asks, the answer is yes.


However, in this case, there were some real complications to saying yes. Without going into detail, there were phone calls made to higher ups in the state as well as in the Church, and ultimately, my husband had to say no, he wouldn't be able to serve.


(Strangely to some, I'm sure) this was kind of a trial. Part of me wanted to know why the Lord wouldn't just let the issuers of the invitation know that my husband wasn't going to be able to do it and inspire them to move on to another man instead.


I thought about it for a long time.


It also made me reflect on something that had happened a couple years before that. I'd been serving as the president of an organization. At the time that organization seemed very difficult to staff with leaders. As president it was my responsibility to seek spiritual guidance and make recommendations on who might be right to serve with me. However, it seemed like my recommendations were regularly rejected. But I'd been so certain! I started wondering if I even had any right to inspiration or if I was just a total dud.


These two situations I juggled mentally for a long time. Finally, I talked with someone who suggested a completely different idea to me. He said,


Sometimes the Lord will inspire a leader to ask someone to serve, not because that person will ultimately fill the position, but so that the person being asked will know that the Lord considers them *worthy* to serve in that capacity. It is a confirmation to them that God loves them.


Huh. This put a new spin on things for me entirely. I reflected again on the many names I'd tendered to the bishop years before asking for help in my organization that were ultimately not selected. And I realized that the Lord hadn't given me bad information, and that He hadn't either left me high and dry. And that my spiritual guidance detector hadn't necessarily been broken. (Frankly, that was my greatest fear.)


And so, I realized too that this may relate to young men and women who have been out serving as missionaries and for one reason or another have come home before the originally planned time period, despite their worthiness and willingness to serve.


But I think it's good to recall that life is more of a "to be" list than a "to do" list. And the "to be" in all these cases comes down to those two "W" words: Willing and Worthy.


So, I guess those two "W" words are what I guess I should work on this week. And remembering that the Lord loves me. And you. And all of us. And He is aware of our hearts and wants to let us know in myriad ways of His great, abiding love.

Getting Off Nephi's Path

This morning I was studying the scriptures about happiness, and I read 1 Nephi 8:10. “And it came to pass that I beheld a tree, whose fruit was desirable to make one happy.”

 

Now, we all know Nephi sees the interpretation of his father’s dream and that the fruit of that tree is the Love of God. I started to think about this happiness, this fruit, this love.

 

My husband has a little orchard. It’s a baby orchard, and this is the first year we will have any fruit. But we do! And there are some fruits out there right now, just waiting to be picked. Pomegranates, apples, and such.

 

It occurred to me that I ought to think of Lehi’s dream fruit like that—just there, waiting. I can go pick it or not. But it’s ready anytime I want it. It won’t pick itself. And it won’t force itself to be tasted, but it’s ready. It’s available. It’s delicious.

 

All my life as I’ve studied Lehi’s vision, I’ve thought of those different groups on the pathway to the Tree of Life. Many are “pressing forward.” And it seems like it’s taking them a lot of effort to cling to that rod. And then, of course, there are groups that don’t make it.

 

When I put myself into this vision, I’d always ask, “Am I clinging to the rod? Am I on that path?” or various questions about whether I was dipping my toe in the filthy water or getting blinded by the mists or heeding the sneers of the people in the great and spacious building across the way. Oh, how I hoped I was on that path! I just desperately wanted to move toward that love.

 

Someday, I thought. Someday!

 

However, when I looked again, I realized Lehi called to his family, and Sariah and Nephi and Sam came immediately. They ate right away. There was no implication that the iron rod that led to the tree was a thousand miles long, a lifetime long.

 

This morning, it occurred to me. I’m not on that path.

 

I’m already at the tree. I have TASTED that fruit! In fact, I’ve been at the tree for a LONG time. I’ve been tasting the fruit, sharing it with my family, trying to share it with the people over whom I have stewardship in church callings and things. Yeah, I’m still clinging to the iron rod of God’s word—trying to, at least. And there are still dangers even once you reach the tree. We just need to keep eating it, and let it, as Alma taught in Alma 32, “be a tree springing up unto everlasting life.”

 

Anyway, maybe my problem with hesitation to share the gospel, to holler out to others to come and taste the fruit is this mental image of where I placed myself: on the path. But mentally I need to get off the path. Recognize that I’m at the tree, and we can all be—right away.

 

It’s time to go invite my dear ones to come and taste.

 

A Commandment I COMPLETELY Missed the Memo On

Yesterday the most fabulous thing happened.

For the past six or eight months, I’ve had a specific worry that has been weighing on my mind and heart. It was a situation that could very much affect my family, and that could potentially cause serious problems.

I’ve spent hours and hours on my knees trying to figure out solutions, begging for insight, making plans to combat this problem.

Finally, about two months ago, I just gave it to God. I’d done everything I could, physically, spiritually, emotionally to make this right. At that point, I just put it in the Lord’s hands, asking him to let my soul rest, to let the right thing work out. If the trial had to be, it had to be, and I would just trust Him to carry us through. It had to be enough. And I placed my faith in Him, that he would bless and protect us.

Along the way, there were little blips of help—things that reminded me He was aware of me, that He cared, and that He was still watching, even though there was no real solution as of yet. Those gave me courage and bolstered my faith.

Yesterday, the situation finally resolved. At last! And the news was good! And the threat has passed, and God is just so good to me. I feel everything lighter as the storm clouds pass away over the horizon. Last night, as I climbed into bed, I told my husband I was afraid I was a little like Memory Foam. That after a long time of pressure, I might not spring back immediately. There might be a bit of time to puff back out to my real shape, but that I could already feel the expansion as the pressure had lifted. Hallelujah.

This morning, as I studied the scriptures, I was pondering on the word “Thanks.” Of course! I looked it up in the topical guide and began going through the scriptures one by one, until one hit me—hard. And it wasn’t the thanks portion of it.

2 Nephi 9:52

Behold, my beloved brethren, remember the words of your God; pray unto him continually by day, and give thanks unto his holy name by night. Let your hearts rejoice.

The remember and the prayer and the thanks parts, I expected. However, it was the verb that starts the final phrase that arrested me.

 

Let your hearts rejoice.

 

Now, I’ve seen that phrase a lot of times in the scriptures. We all have, I know. It’s just there, all the time. For me it almost blends into the background. But…

Today I realized it starts with “let.” And that it can have a couple of meanings.
The first meaning that hit me was taking the word “let” in the meaning “allow.” I need to allow my heart to rejoice.

How many times do good things come to me, and I say, “Wow! That’s great. Now I can really focus on this other problem or weakness.” Or how many times do I think, “Whew. That’s nice. And now if I just didn’t have this other thing, I’d be almost there.”

Ugh! That’s starting to rejoice… and then instantly pulling back. It’s stopping myself from feeling the full joy of the moment, of the blessing.

The second thing I noticed about “let” was that it makes the whole sentence in command form. Let your hearts rejoice. It’s a command. It’s important enough for us to rejoice that the Lord’s words are not a suggestion, “Maybe you should rejoice.” Or “Think about rejoicing, but then move on pretty quick to trying to improve yourself in other ways.” Nope. It’s a command to take the time to rejoice. To fully feel the joy of the blessing He has afforded us.

And so, with that little slap in the face, er, reminder, I am just going to say that today, I am SO HAPPY! I will take the time to fully rejoice, to fully feel the gratitude and goodness of my God, of His love, of His blessing and care and mercy.

And then I am going to think about the other ways, not just this specific thing He’s given me, but the other things He blesses me with so much that they too kind of fade into the background, and LET myself feel joy for them too.

Because “Men are that they might have joy.”

I am going to LET myself have joy today.

Does God Really Have Time for Me?

A few years ago a friend of mine gave me a collection of her favorite quotes. It was so good it made me want to start keeping my own collection. The other day while looking for something else, I found my little quote journal. This thing I'd written down really struck me, and I've been thinking of it every day since.


"[God] has infinite attention to spare for each one of us. He does not have to deal with us in the mass. You are as much alone with Him as if you were the only being He had ever created. When Christ died, He died for you individually just as much as if you had been the only man in the world." --C.S. Lewis


I don't know about everyone else, but there are times when I know the worries in my life are trivial. There are so many others who have bigger concerns, that when I want to pray about my problem, ask for help with my dumb little thing, I feel guilty asking for help. Answering my prayer would be a waste of His time. Right?


This quote says no. That way of thinking is a fallacy. He has infinite time and infinite attention.


My concerns might be small compared to others' but they're still mine, and He still cares for me enough to stop, listen, help. He doesn't have to take His eyes off someone else in order to look my way. I am not a waste of His time.


How liberating! How comforting! How much LOVE I feel just in this idea alone.


I am His. He is mine. And He cares for me and my cares, great or small. It makes me want to go to Him more, to trust Him more, to give him more opportunities to guide and bless my life.

Why Bad Things Happen To Good People -- A Bible Answer

Maybe it's only me, but it seems like life goes in waves sometimes. There are peaks and valleys, times of ease and times of trial. Right now in the lives of many people I love and care about, it seems like waves of trial. A loss of a job -- complicated by a dire illness in the family, a child stricken with disease, a wayward loved one making destructive choices, financial crises, marriages in trouble, health struggles, and so on. I have mourned with them, and wondered why these good people are going through so much difficulty.


But that is the age-old question: Why should good people have to suffer bad things?


We've heard it a hundred times. Shouldn't the righteous be blessed and the wicked punished? And yet it doesn't seem to work that way. Sometimes the wicked seem to prosper and the righteous struggle. How could a just God allow that to happen? Those who are following Him, doing their best, still end up with trials--some of them simply huge.


Some people say the scriptures don't address this, and yet, the words of Christ teach us this is going to happen-- and why. Granted, it's in the Gospel of John, and the words in that book are somewhat poetic, and maybe a little harder to grasp the meaning, at least for me, but here's the passage I'm thinking of.


John 15:1-8
1 I am the true vine, and my Father is the husbandman.


The first part means, since these are the words of Christ, He is the "true vine," the thing from which we all grow from and find nourishment in. The second part means the Father is the one in charge of the whole vineyard. He decides how to take care of all the grapevines and then is the one that keeps the fruit at the end. Christ always gives the glory to His Father.


2 Every branch in me that beareth not fruit he taketh away: and every branch that beareth fruit, he purgeth it, that it may bring forth more fruit.


We're the branches on the vine. When we don't bear fruit, the Husbandman takes them away. I think that means the Father doesn't let those people have His Spirit with them.


When, however, we do bear fruit, he "purges" us. The footnote for the word "purgeth" says it comes from a Greek word meaning "try, test, prove."


My husband is a backyard farmer and has been taking good care of our grapevines this year.  We've gone a few years with only tiny, sour grapes--too many bunches of them, all basically inedible. This year, though, he got rid of the fruitless branches so they wouldn't suck up all the soil's nutrients. And he went through and cut back the good branches so we'd get more grapes. We're having a good crop of sweet grapes this year because of his work.


The Lord has to cut us back. He has to purge us, prune us. This scripture says the Husbandman gives us trials, for His purpose, and that He wants the branches to bring forth fruit.


I guess there are ways we, too, can cut back in our lives. We can get rid of the things that are sucking the nutrients we need. Time wasters, friends who keep us from doing what we know we should. (Sometimes friends can be clutter.) Bad habits. That's a tangent, but I could benefit from a pruning I give myself and my time for sure.


There are more verses about this and then verse 8 says this:


8 Herein is my Father glorified, that ye bear much fruit; so shall ye be my disciples.


That is the Father's glory. I know the greatest feelings I glory in are the successes and growth of my children. I sense that is a tiny taste of how our Father feels about us and our growth.


And it is what makes us Christ's disciples.


As I pray for my friends and family members in their times of need, I think of the times of trial I've faced as well. I know there are waves of trial coming my way too, and I hope I can follow the examples of faith of these dear ones. These good people are clinging to the True Vine, the Savior, and He is nourishing them as they go. I'm struck by my friends' faith. It is giving them strength to endure, and I'm inspired by their love for God, and God's love for them.


It's interesting that the verses that follow this passage I've just noted are all about love. God's love is evident in the way he purges us. He wants to make us disciples of Christ, and to glory in us, His children.


And so maybe the bad things happening to good people are actually just "proof" (since the word purge means to prove) that we belong to the True Vine and that we allow the Husbandman to work in our lives. Because He loves us and wants to make us His.

A Little Mother's Day Consolation Post

Some of you have already been accosted with my previous thoughts on motherhood. The one about the seeds and the dirt? Well, anyway, here's a second consolatory thought for all of us who suspect that we just might stink at motherhood.




A couple of years ago I was asked to speak in church on Mother's Day. I called my dad, asking what to say. He always knows what to say. And this time was no different. Here's his story.


"One Mother's Day in Grandma and Grandpa's ward, your uncle's teenage friend was asked to offer the closing prayer after the Mother's Day Sunday meeting. Lots and lots of laudatory things had been said about the speakers' 'Angel Mothers' and so forth. Your uncle's friend approached the microphone, bowed his head, and said,  'We're thankful for our mothers. Please bless all those mothers here who aren't as good as the ones we've heard about today that they won't feel bad.'"


Amen, brother.


I don't know about you all, but as much as I love Mother's Day for the opportunity to think about and praise my own mother, going the other direction generationally is a bit more anxiety-inducing. It's all about misgivings and worries and wishing-I-could've dones. And yet, ...


There's a scripture I turn to in those times. Isaiah 40:11.


11 He shall feed his flock like a shepherd: he shall gather the lambs with his arm, and carry them in his bosom, and shall gently lead those that are with young.


He shall gently lead mothers. I have to hang my hopes on that gentle leading. And I know it's true. Who among us insecure mothers hasn't felt it many times?


Like that impression you get to go look at the 2 year-old's feet. At 3:00 a.m. And there's a scorpion there that you kill (get your husband to kill) before it strikes.


Or the time when the 3 year-old and her friend pick all the fruit off the experimental trees in the greenhouse and cut holes in your brand new duvet cover (that you waited six years to get) and eat the centers out of all the chocolate pies for Thanksgiving and it's your birthday...and all you can do is laugh and decide to not let that friend come and play again. Ever. And you know the only reason you didn't turn into a shrieking banshee is the Spirit showed you the humor in the situation.


Or when the 7 year-old runs away at an outdoor festival in the desert and you can't find her for 20 minutes and you're about to freak out and need a straight jacket and something (the Spirit, obviously) just tells you to get it together. It's going to be fine, and then after another 20 minutes, it is.


And the six thousand other things that motherhood is about that you couldn't of your own power have dealt with. Because on our own, we're just not good enough. And we feel bad about it. Because we know it so deeply. Which is what makes Mother's Day hard. We know intuitively that very little if any of the good we affect comes of our own goodness.


So, to all of us imperfect mothers, Happy Mother's Day. And thank Heaven for the gentle leading as we go.

What is a Testimony, Really?

The other day I was looking up the word "tabernacle" in the Bible Dictionary. It was basically a mobile temple used while the Children of Israel wandered 40 years on the wilderness before entering the promised land.


A lot of the description of the tabernacle had to do with the length of the poles that held up the fancy curtains and what kinds of wood were used in the construction. It was a condensed version of what it says in Deuteronomy.


I skimmed.


But then my eyes landed on this part that talks about what was kept in the holiest place of the tabernacle. It was the Ark of the Covenant.


Now, we've all heard of this thing, if we've watched Indiana Jones do his thing. And we've probably all heard the story of what happened to Uzziah when he reached up to steady it when the oxen tripped while dragging the ark. Zap. But what was really inside the ark (a.k.a., very nice wooden box)?


According to the scriptures, within the ark were the stone tablets upon which the finger of God had written the commandments when He gave them to Moses on Mount Sinai. The Israelites kept these in the most sacred place they had while living in camping conditions for decades: the ark.


But what stopped me cold was the alternate name for the ark: The Ark of the Testimony.


All of a sudden, this idea poured into my head, that a testimony is something where the hand of God has written something indelible--such as these plates of stone. And that my testimony is the collection of things that God has written upon the tables of my heart, never to be removed.


I do have a testimony. God's hand has written many things on my heart over the 40+ years I have been a sojourner on this earth. He can write better when my heart is fleshy than when it is stony. He can write more when I come to Him. He can write more when I humble myself and seek to share His love and search out the One.


It's incredible that each of us can have this writing on our souls. God is so good.

Like a Cheese Grater for the Foot...Stony vs. Fleshy

Last week I started running again after a five month hiatus to let my owie knee rest. It still sounds like a box of Tic Tacs when I walk down a staircase, but it doesn't hurt anymore, which means I started back out there. We'll see how long it lasts.


One of the unexpected blessings of the hiatus was the calluses on my feet healed up. When I checked them out today, for the first time in a few years, they were more like human flesh than like the pumice I use on them. My pumice stone is part of a pedicure paddle, and on the other side of it is a thing that's remarkably like the cheese grater / lemon zester tool I use in my kitchen. Except I use it on the bottoms of my feet. And often the calluses are so thick it doesn't even hurt.


So, does this have a scriptural point? Why, yes. It does. Because I have still been reading in the book of Ezekiel, from Chapter 11:

 18 And they shall come thither, and they shall take away all the detestable things thereof and all the abominations thereof from thence.

 19 And I will ^agive them one ^bheart, and I will put a ^cnew ^dspirit within you; and I will take the stony heart out of their flesh, and will give them an ^eheart of flesh:

 20 That they may ^awalk in my statutes, and keep mine ^bordinances, and do them: and they shall be my ^cpeople, and I will be their God.

I keep thinking of this phrase, "stony heart."


When we sin, we feel bad. It hurts us when our hearts are soft because we're each born with a conscience, given to us by our Heavenly Father. That's like a central nervous system for our soul.


It's like when we accidentally touch a hot stove. The heat would damage us, and the pain tells us to stop.


So, in a strange way, the pain is a good thing. A warning system.

However, if we repeatedly burn our hand, after a while it gets deadened and we can't feel it as much. 

That, or in the case of a callused-over blister, our flesh actually hardens.

Likewise, our spirits can harden. If we ignore the pain of sin long enough, it can make our hearts like Ezekiel said: stony.


Anyway, I was thinking about it. When we do stuff we shouldn't, and it hurts, we basically have two options to help us stop feeling sad/bad about it. 1) We can repent. 2) We can keep sinning and develop a spiritual callus (i.e., "harden our hearts.")


It can harden to the point that it doesn't even hurt when we scrape a cheese grater over it. We ignore it, until we barely notice we're constantly walking around both harmed and callused.


Ezekiel says when Israel is gathered, they will put aside their "detestable things," and when they come to Christ, He will give them a heart of flesh and take away their stony heart.


Then they can walk in His statutes and ordinances (like taking the sacrament) and be His people and He is their God.

The Lord wants soft hearts. He is a God of soft hearts.

And another important point is we don't have to make the exchange. I don't have the skill to turn rocks to flesh. But He does. He turned water into wine. He can and will turn stone into softness.


All we have to do is put aside our detestable things and come to Him.


And so, according to Ezekiel, I need to get off my stony, callused feet and onto the flesh of my knees.

What's the Most Important Choice We'll Ever Make?

I've been thinking about a friend of mine. She's lived a really exemplary life, and made all the good choices. She's been a good person, gone to church, been a good student, a good daughter and friend, and a good example for everyone in her family. I admire her to the moon!

But lately, she's been going through a rough patch. We all do, from time to time, for various reasons. I don't know all her situation, but I do know that whatever it is, it's making her pull away from the good stuff she's done in the past.

Years ago I went through something similar. I didn't go completely off the rails or anything, but I did make some choices that weren't helping me progress. At all. At least not toward the destination I ultimately wanted to end up in.

One day I was reading through Ezekiel and found this passage. It's a bit long -- apologies -- and it repeats, so if you just read the first two groups of verses, you'll get the idea. It's from chapter 18.

   21 But if the wicked will ^aturn from all his sins that he hath committed, and keep all my statutes, and do that which is lawful and right, he shall surely live, he shall not die.

 22 All his ^atransgressions that he hath committed, they shall not be mentioned unto him: in his righteousness that he hath done he shall live.

*

 24 ¶But when the ^arighteous ^bturneth away from his ^crighteousness, and committeth iniquity, and doeth according to all the abominations that the wicked man doeth, shall he live? All his righteousness that he hath done shall not be mentioned: in his trespass that he hath trespassed, and in his ^dsin that he hath sinned, in them shall he die.

*

 26 When a righteous man ^aturneth away from his righteousness, and committeth iniquity, and ^bdieth in them; for his iniquity that he hath done shall he die.

 27 Again, when the wicked man ^aturneth away from his wickedness that he hath committed, and doeth that which is lawful and right, he shall save his soul alive.

 28 Because he considereth, and turneth away from all his transgressions that he hath committed, he shall surely live, he shall not die.

I remember being in the thick of making my bad choices and thinking, "I've lived a good life up to now. I've always pretty much done all the stuff I should: go to church, serve other people, be nice, read the scriptures," and so on. I'd been a missionary. I'd been a good daughter. I was going to be fine. My past goodness would cancel out the rotten choices.

But then, that scripture was a slap in the face!

What it said to me was that it didn't matter one smidge what I'd done in the past. If a good person turns from her righteousness and does bad stuff, she's not a good person anymore. You're only the person you are in the moment.

On the other hand, for a person like me who needed to change, it also didn't matter what I'd done in the past. If I turned away from what I'd been doing wrong, through the power of God, I could once again be a righteous person because of His goodness and forgiveness when I reconciled my life with His laws and was washed clean by His grace.

So as much as it hurt to read this, it also caused me to be humble, so that I could get to a place where I could really repent.

Since then I've thought a thousand times: it doesn't really matter what our past is -- righteous or wicked, lukewarm or lazy. It doesn't matter if we've gone to church or been a jerk all our lives up to this point. If we turn away from what we have done, we become -- and are -- what we choose at this moment.

In other words, the most important choice we will make in life is our next choice. 

It's a perfect blend of fear and hope, this principle. I find myself filled with fear when I am not doing what's right. And I find myself filled with hope when I remember that Christ's great love for us makes the past irrelevant. He can heal us. He can heal me. He has healed me.

When I read this passage of scripture, humbled myself, and came to Him with my burdens and broken self, He fixed me up, made me whole again. I found I never, ever wanted to leave His fold. His grace is magnificent!

If only everyone broken could feel this love -- including my dear friend whose chosen path is looking rocky right now. It's ready, it's available. It can be all of ours now, from this very minute, if we choose Him in our next choice.

A Not-Exactly-Magic Eraser for Life

Something about our hot water heater is broken. This is nothing shocking. There's generally something broken when you have a house. Our roof shingles have been inadequate for about six years, and we need to replace them. Luckily, it's been a severe drought and since it never, ever rains, we just haven't needed shingles. I am going to look on the bright side of the drought.


Still, this hot water heater thing really puzzles me. At random times, maybe about once a month, I will run water in the tub, and instead of clear water coming out of the faucet, the water is laced with black, greasy sludge. I do nothing different than any other morning of life, it just suddenly happens.


Truthfully, for a long time I blamed my husband. It's almost like that horrible story where the cranky wife berated her husband daily for getting bits of water and toothpaste splashed around the sink. She really laid it on thick. Then, after he died unexpectedly, she went to clean the sink and realized it was just as splashed as when he'd been alive.


Of course, I was far more justified in my conclusions, since there would be a black ring around the tub, and since I'm a showerer and he's a bather, this had to be his fault. Of course, he wasn't a diesel mechanic or a dock worker, so it was hard to imagine how he could be covered with black sludge enough to leave such a residue. It wasn't until it had been going on for about a year and I'd been secretly grousing at him for it (not aloud, I'd read the sink-splash story one too many times to fall into that trap) that one day I was bathing my youngest daughter and I saw the sludge for myself.


I apologized. He accepted.


But we still had the ring around the tub. Ugh. I hate scrubbing the tub. Am I alone in this?


Luckily, Mr. Clean came to the rescue, or Dow Chemical or whichever genius invented Magic Eraser. That thing is truly incredible. It's just a white sponge thing that you get wet, which activates some kind of acid that is in the sponge and with much less elbow grease than using Comet or Ajax makes that porcelain sparkle again.


It's going to sound cheesy, but it has changed my life.


It's time for me to scrub the tub again, and I've been postponing it, but when I saw it this afternoon I suddenly thought about how much happier I am when it's clean. A clean bathroom is a gift I give myself. Then I thought about this whole tub thing in a different light, and realized it kind of had a spiritual application.


Sometimes my life just gets sludge in it. I make mistakes. It happens at random times when I'm least expecting it. I mean, I generally am trying to have a clean life. But sludge happens. I get angry or weak or lazy, and suddenly next thing I know, there's a black greasy film over my world. Sometimes it disgusts me so much that I postpone cleaning it because I'm afraid of the work it will take to get rid of it or because I want to blame someone else for it and why doesn't someone else come and fix it because surely this couldn't be my fault.


And I guess the truth is, I can't actually fix it. All the effort I'd give would be less than Ajax or Comet or even just a well placed thumbnail scrubbing it away. It would never get truly clean. What I need is a spiritual Magic Eraser--and it comes not by magic but still by power, by the great and infinite power of the One who can truly clean me up, make me whole, make my life sparkly once again, only the Savior Jesus Christ. It's through the power of His love that all that yuckiness can be eradicated from my soul. And it can make me happy. It's a gift He gives me, and my choosing Him and to come to Him is the gift I give myself.


And I mean this with all my heart: He has changed my life.

Heavenly Help for Those Sleepless Nights

Do you ever have those days (or sleepless nights) when memories of stupid things you’ve said or done come flying back at you and pain you like scorpion stings? It doesn’t even have to be major mistakes—because even just the faux pas of social interaction can cause the soul to cringe and shrink.

 

I happen to have a lot of these. In fact, I’d venture to guess that because I’m both a talk-a-holic and a bit impulsive, I have maybe more than anyone else. Oh, maybe pride tells me that. Or maybe because on those nights when I can’t sleep and memories of these idiotic things fill my mind in a seemingly endless parade of painful recollection, I can’t imagine anyone could have more, and if they did, they’d have my sincerest compassion.

 

Like the time I called the CEO of one of the largest employers in the state of Utah “Captain Micron” --to his face. Or the time I fake-hyperventilated when I got pulled over for speeding. Or… No. I’ll save you the pain. And besides. This is a blog, not an epic novel. And these are just the mildest of the mild. (Note: This is one big reason why I’m a novelist. Because then I get to spread all my thousands of most embarrassing moments over scores of characters, instead of centralizing them all in one person. They’re more believable that way.)

 

So, anyway, these and so many, many, many others come back to me and make me feel like a total, blithering idiot. Frequently. I get thoughts like, “How could any one person be so dumb?” Or worse self-worth destroying thoughts as the faux pas progress into serious mistakes that might really have hurt someone but it’s far too late to know how to repair them.

 

The other day I was reading in Exodus, the part where the “fiery flying serpents” attacked the Israelites while they were still during their 40-year wander. It says that lots and lots of people died from these. But then it says that Moses went to the Lord and asked what to do to heal the people, and God told him to make a serpent’s likeness. Moses held it up, and all the suffering people had to do was to look at it and they’d be healed. Many did. But many didn’t. Because they didn’t believe it would work. Because it was too easy. And instead they suffered and writhed and died.

 

Of course this is a symbol of the loving grace of Jesus Christ, his suffering in behalf of our sins. All my life I’ve heard this story and wanted to think I was someone who would look to God and live, repent rather than suffer.

 

However, the other day, as I was thinking back on some negative experiences in my past, things that gave me those “scorpion sting” memories, I ached to not recall them with pain. Many of them should simply be “lessons learned,” things I could look at dispassionately as part of a less mature version of myself who could take that experience and grow. I mean, it’s not like I look back at myself learning to ride a bike and feel so sorry and bad about myself for crashing a few (a lot of) times and gouging up my knees and elbows in the process. Those memories don’t cause emotional anguish, no. Why should social things I had to learn by (sad) experience? Maybe they shouldn’t.

 

Maybe…maybe I didn’t have to suffer them. Maybe I didn’t have to have those sleepless nights be plagued.

 

Maybe the solution was much more simple than I’d realized. And it had been there all along. And I simply hadn’t taken advantage of it. And I could just look to God and live. Stop dying over these dumb little (or big) things.

 

Let Him heal me.

 

Because the atonement of Jesus Christ is big enough. It’s big enough for the huge sins. It’s big enough for the tiny stings that we inflict on ourselves and others. It can heal those we hurt. It can heal those who hurt (including us!)

 

Including me.