How Sunday Church is Like a Computer Systems Operation from the 1990s

When I was a new college graduate, I got a dream job of working as a staffer for the U.S. House of Representatives. My duties included answering phones, writing letters to constituents, and researching agriculture issues.

After a while, I was promoted to office manager. This mostly meant that I kept up with ordering the toner for the fax machine and printer, and calling the tech support line when one of the computers or phones went down. So glamorous.

Back in those days, computers were quite a bit slower. (I mean, the internet was new enough that there were no youtube videos, just randomly emailed viral videos like the very creepy Dancing Baby.)

When a computer in the office got unbearably slow, sometimes my duties involved performing a “defrag,” or defragmentation on it. I’d go to the control panel and run the system defrag, which took all the little bits of scattered data throughout the system and re-ordered it. Instead of being all over the place, the operation set the data into neat rows, freeing up empty space, getting rid of “bad sectors” and making everything neat and tidy. After a defrag, the computer always ran much more smoothly.

Watching the little video of the defrag in process was very satisfying. It felt like chaos was being trounced, and order reigned.

I was thinking of this on Friday night when I attended the temple. Going there, feeling the sweet, calm spirit of that building, getting away from the cares and struggles that had perplexed me all week, I realized the chaos I’d been facing due to a (minor) health challenge, as well as some residual stress from a (good but tough) family situation, seemed to be placed in order.

In fact, I felt just like the Lord was providing a defrag for my inner soul.

This is often how I feel on Sundays at church. I can take the sacrament, review my week, put my heart and mind and priorities in order. I can take stock of what I left undone, and what I need to do better. I often will be prompted during that time as to how I can serve my neighbors or my family. It’s a good, good time. I need it. I need it every single week. My system runs more smoothly. Feeling it happen is very satisfying. I don’t know how I could deal with life’s chaos if I didn’t have the regular defrag going to church and the temple provides.

So, I guess what I'd say is that if you haven't tried it or haven't tried it lately, I highly recommend regular church attendance. It’s a rest and a way to find peace for the soul.

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.

Finding Peace in Times of Despair

A dear friend of mine lost a child last month, right before Christmas. He was a sweet little boy, so precious. Their loss is terrible and heartbreaking.
And yet, as I read how she is faring, through all the sorrow, I continue to see positivity, strength, faith and hope.
How does she do it?
Well, all her posts refer to her great belief that there is life after this life, that death is not the end, that the children who belong to us here will be ours even after we die, that families are forever--in other words, that the eternal family is part of God's great plan for His children.
In times of extremity we can feel to despair. Without sure knowledge, how can we help but feel tempted to do so? However, setting aside doubt is possible. And when we do, when we let go of doubt, we can find incredible peace. It's like a door in our souls opens up and lets in a wash of light that brings happiness and hope and direction.
I admire my dear friend's faith, and especially her willingness to sacrifice her doubt. Because that's what it is--a sacrifice. Her strength is a strength to me. I think of the losses I've faced in my own life, though not the same as hers, and I can see that belief is so much happier and better than unbelief. Surrendering the crutch of doubt lets me run in the light of faith.

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.

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.