Ministry and Suffering Alone

There is a rising trend of people talking about reaching out to those who are struggling. I'm not sure how I feel about that. While I don't think that reaching out is wrong, there's something about this effort that doesn't sit well with me.

It started with the new ministering program. I absolutely love the idea of ministering. I've struggled with the visiting teaching program for years. At the time of ministering, I had asked to not be visit taught any more. Unfortunately, it was misinterpreted to mean that I didn't want to visit teach any more, and I'd been entirely cut off from the whole program, but that is another issue. When they announced ministering, my heart sang. This is what I'd wanted to do and be, and never really knew how.

But then reality struck. Up until very recently, I've been pretty overwhelmed with my life. I've just barely gotten to the point where I'm strong enough again to try to reach outside of my own little circle. And I have found that by simplifying my life in order to manage it, I've created a habit of only dealing with my life.

Ministering requires not only serving, but also being able to be served. And I can't do that very well. I am fiercely independent, and the few times I've managed to admit to needing help, it has only been by compartmentalizing how I feel about being helped away from my mind. One of my greatest fears is being a burden. To the point where I'd rather suffer than risk being a burden to someone.

Because I feel this way, I also have an unrighteous habit of looking the other way when people are hurting. I don't want someone to take advantage of my weakness, so I don't serve unless expressly asked. Ministering to God's children doesn't work that way, though, as evidenced by my own life, where I've needed help desperately and not been able to ask for it.

So I guess that's why I have a hard time with this concept of reaching out to those who are struggling. I don't want anyone and everyone seeing my pain and weakness and trying to fix me. If I'm struggling, I don't want it to be visible enough for people to notice and help. But at the same time, I know I need it. Desperately.

I don't know what the answer is. But I know I don't want to be a project. I really would rather suffer than that. Even though I know that, technically, not being open enough to be helped is antithetical to Zion and God's Kingdom.

Lost People

It surprises me that in my ward, I teach teenagers. It surprised me even more that, after coming into the classroom to hear her daughter teach, one mother told me, "you are just what these girls need."

I do not feel like I'm just what these girls need. I am not a good example of the efficacy of the things I was taught as a teenager. I waited for a temple wedding, only to have it fall down around my ears. I'm a single working mother with little hope and no expectation of marrying again, in small part because I will not marry outside the temple.

Based on my reading of scripture, both public and private, I have thoroughly failed to do what the Lord asked of me. There is little left. But I intend to do my best at what little there is. At least I'll die trying. I'm too German to give up in the face of failure.

There are two things I have been called to do which still may have some application to my life. I have been told to be a mother and to be a teacher. So when I listened to Paul H. Dunn's decades-old talk, (nearly fifty years old!) I knew what I needed to write about.

Top 5 Reasons I'll Never Marry

I wrote a post that didn't quite fit into this blog, but I'd still appreciate any feedback or thoughts you have on it. Part of me really wants my developing paradigm to be blown out of the water, but I've not found evidence that I'm wrong yet. So:

Top Five Reasons I'll Never Marry

Fire away.

To Those Who Know Joseph

“We both belong to the race that knows Joseph, as Cornelia Bryant would say.”

“The race that knows Joseph?” puzzled Anne.

“Yes. Cornelia divides all the folks in the world into two kinds– the race that knows Joseph and the race that don’t. If a person sorter sees eye to eye with you, and has pretty much the same ideas about things, and the same taste in jokes–why, then he belongs to the race that knows Joseph.”

“Oh, I understand,” exclaimed Anne, light breaking in upon her.

“It’s what I used to call–and still call in quotation marks `kindred spirits.’”

“Jest so–jest so,” agreed Captain Jim. “We’re it, whatever it is. When you come in tonight, Mistress Blythe, I says to myself, says I, `Yes, she’s of the race that knows Joseph.’ And mighty glad I was, for if it wasn’t so we couldn’t have had any real satisfaction in each other’s company. The race that knows Joseph is the salt of the airth, I reckon.”

—Anne's House of Dreams, Lucy Maude Montgomery

---

Do you ever meet people who just instantly click with you? It's like you've known them before, even though you have just met. Rarely, I have. It is a wonderful feeling, like you resonate at the same wavelength.

One of my companions was just that sort of friend. From the first hour we met, we were instant friends. We saw missionary work the same way, we were both a bit older, and we were able to pour our hearts into our work and have fun doing it. It really helped a particularly stressful time, and gave me the confidence to be the kind of missionary I felt called to be, even though it was almost the opposite of what I was being taught to be.

The True Meaning of Christmas

I'm a woman, which means I get irrational at times. (Men do too, but in different ways.) And yesterday, I kind of broke down.

See, over the last several weeks, I've had a series of mild illnesses. A chest cold, which is lingering. A stomach bug, not serious but unpleasant, and my most recent acquisition, a sinus cold. On top of that, I've been trying to get back into my exercise routine. I've slacked on it for a year now, and I don't like feeling sluggish. Basically, I feel physically beat.

And yesterday, it snowed all day long.

Female Power and Reaching for Perfection

Some argue that men and women are essentially the same, that only a happenstance of biology categorizes them as one or the other. But to me, that same happenstance of biology gives men and women a unique perspective on this mortal life.

Whether or not there is something deeper than mere genes that determines gender, I don't know. Indubitably, there is some gray area when it comes to our mortal bodies and how they express spiritual, eternal gender. That isn't a challenge I've had to struggle with in any significant physical sense. Though I was unashamedly a tomboy as a child, and certain aspects of my physiology make me distinctly unfeminine, I have never struggled with my identity as anything but ultimately female. Perhaps unorthodox, but definitely woman.

But it is not the liminalities of gender in this life across the eternities I want to discuss. Nor is what I write supposed to define how women SHOULD approach their gender relating to the Gospel. It is descriptive, not proscriptive. Perhaps I am self-centered, but this blog is to share my journey, and right now that is learning to explore and trust my perspective. Rarely do I feel prompted to tell others how to act.

About Not Belonging in the Church You Belong To

When I was a teenager, my family moved to a town within the Mormon Corridor. (Western-ish U.S.) For the first time in my memory, I lived among a significant percentage of fellow Mormons. During this time, a friend of mine accused me of several things that I did not do. While no one at school believed her, some of the members of my ward did. They would whisper in the bench behind me, calling me Jezebel. My lessons in Young Women were pointedly pro-chastity. I was called into the bishop's office for a detailed interview. Fortunately, he believed me. He was the only one (besides my parents.)

This was the first time in my life that I was the target of someone's concerted manipulation of others to hurt me. Church was a nightmare for me, and I grew to hate it. But I knew that not all Mormons could be like that. A desire to prove it to myself contributed to my decision to attend BYU. There, I learned what I went to learn, that Mormons are not as cookie-cutter as people like to think, and that there were others like me who believed as I do.

But that feeling of being an outsider has never quite faded.

Beautiful Sorrow

In the mornings and throughout my day, my Facebook is filled with people posting "uplifting" quotes. I know that many people feel supported and uplifted by positive thinking quotes, or lists of what to do to be "happy." I'm not trying to put that effort down for them, but just to mull over why it doesn't work for me.

When I hear things that say, essentially, "just think yourself out of sadness or negativity," I hear "your sadness is not valid, your negativity is all in your head. You don't (or shouldn't) feel what you feel. If you were a better person, you wouldn't feel that way." It's a lie, a pervasive and sneaky lie that masquerades as truth. Happiness doesn't drown sorrow, sorrow births happiness. We NEED to experience pain and sorrow, in order to know joy.

We tend to believe in our medicated, comfortable lives that pain is evil. If something causes us pain, it must be changed or avoided. Well, my life has an element in it that causes pain that I cannot remove. Though a part of me wishes it were simply gone, I am thankful for it. It has taught me that not everything which causes pain is evil.

The Cure for Self-Hatred

I wrote a post more than three years ago which continues to bring a significant number of people to this blog. That post was about self-hatred, a problem that I seem to run into again and again in myself.

Faced again with the same personality problem I so often have, a problem that threatens my friendships, my employment, and my relationship with God, I am trying to learn what I need to change to be liked and accepted for who I am. But I have not met much success. I pray and plead and struggle with the Lord, but the only answers that occur to me are things that I can't change without losing the good parts of myself. I know this, because sacrificing my personality to keep the peace and to be liked and valued is precisely what I did in my marriage that fed the abuse dynamic.

In the end, the only answer I seem to get from the Lord is to have faith.

Futility of Morality

"Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day;
earth's joys grow dim; its glories pass away;
change and decay in all around I see;
O thou who changest not, abide with me."
—Hymn #166, Abide with Me!

It is discouraging to try again and again to do the right thing, to follow the teachings of Christ and, again and again, look around and see those who act for themselves prospering.

I have been reading a little Nietzsche lately, and while I know he is chock-full of the philosophies of men with almost nothing of God in his words, somehow what he says about the master- vs. slave-morality resonates with what I observe. I feel the pull of just letting go and doing what seems best for me, rather than trying to act as I believe God would wish.

Job, Jeremiah, David and even Joseph Smith witnessed the seeming triumph of wickedness over good. It is hard when you have done everything as thoughtfully and carefully as you can, have turned the other cheek and forgiven, have tried to rise above life's disappointments, but your life is nothing like what is promised. Either there is something wrong with the system, or there is something wrong with you. And deep down, I can't believe there is something wrong with the system.

I want to clarify that I'm not looking at specific lack of blessings. I'm just looking at an overall trend of what I have accomplished or been blessed to receive versus what I have been promised.

But despite repeated failure, there is something deep in me that cannot concede defeat. I know what path I have chosen, and I know there is no option of going back now. Even if I fail to teach my children morality because they are surrounded with immoral success, even if I conduct the rest of my life alone, even if I never succeed in overcoming my personality flaws that keep me from realizing happiness (alone or not), I will trust my Savior.

Oh, Thou who changest not, leave me not comfortless!

You Say It Best When You Say Nothing At All

Do you ever wonder what to do or say when someone you know, whether bosom friend or barely-met acquaintance, is going through a terrible life-changing event?

There is no one good answer, but to be guided by the Spirit.

However, I know that the times I've been helped the most are the times when I've been just been listened to, hugged, and then simply told, "I'm so sorry." No one expects you, as a friend, to make it all better. But acknowledging the pain, being willing to "mourn with those who mourn," to help weather the pain even for a brief moment, is one of the most powerful things any human can do. It lets a person know they're not alone. And that's what most feel in times like this, even when it's not true.

It doesn't matter how a person got to their point of pain, whether their circumstances were preventable or not, what matters is that they hurt. Don't let anyone hurt alone. Put aside whatever personal beliefs about their situation or self-consciousness you might have, and just be with them.

That is what the baptismal covenant means, when we become members of His church. That's exactly what Christ would do, if He were here.

Where, When My Aching Grows?

The funny thing about hard times is that it tends to clarify what you truly believe and what is most important while muddying up everything else. I really have no idea what to do or where to go from here. I can't think of anything I can do to improve my situation and protect my family any more than I am doing. That is a rather desperate feeling. Yet, I am learning what it means to turn my life over to God.

May He craft some good out of the mess I have made.

When Spiritual Leaders Aren't

Due to some of the advice in my previous post, I thought it might be appropriate to follow up with a post I've been struggling with for some time. Again, I don't want to disparage or criticize anyone. At the same time, a failure to find appropriate and authoritative spiritual guidance when you need it most is not an uncommon situation. Especially in a Church where ecclesiastical leadership is untrained and uncompensated, and isn't even the primary concern of those who lead, it will come sooner or later that most members find themselves with no official spiritual leadership. What do you do when those who should spiritually lead do not? How do you cope with needing spiritual guidance and not finding it in those with the authority to help? Where do you turn for counsel?

First, I think it is important to understand why the Lord might have instituted a lay priesthood. There doesn't seem to be much clear commentary on the matter, so my thoughts are mostly conjecture based on what I understand of the gospel and priesthood. I feel that, as it is God's will that we should make good choices and come back to Him, the opportunity for all men to participate in priesthood leadership gives them the chance to learn what leadership is. Rather than restricting that learning experience to those who choose it by making it their vocation, He asks that men learn to balance Church, family and personal life, learning to put service as a priority and learning empathy for those they lead. Additionally, they can taste a small measure of divinity when they stand as if they were Christ, intercessors in some way between us and God. In short, it is a chance for them to learn to judge wisely and exercise charity. This principle must work with agency to create some less-than-ideal circumstances. Sometimes, other children of God have to suffer because of the learning process. This doesn't make such leaders bad or wrong, just imperfect. It also gives those without good leadership a chance to learn forgiveness and patience for imperfection.

This is all well and good in thought, but what happens when it comes down to the nitty-gritty and you desperately need spiritual guidance which just isn't there? What happens when you find yourself struggling under the influence of Satan's power and there are no home teachers, no bishopric member, no father or husband or brother to turn to? (As a side note, this may seem to be a uniquely female conundrum, but I'd like to point out that men must also turn to another for spiritual leadership. They cannot do it for themselves.)

There, the beauty of the Gospel truly manifests. Although the Lord has set up the Priesthood to bless the children of Adam and Eve, He has not left us comfortless when we cannot turn to another mortal for such help. He has blessed us with the Spirit of God. This Spirit can not only comfort us, but can call forth His servants to help in times of trouble when one of His children cannot ask for it. I have experienced this in my life multiple times, particularly in the last year or so. Disciples of Christ, thankfully in tune with the Spirit, have come to me and ministered to me when I didn't know how to ask for help. (Many of whom read this blog.) Angels, both mortal and immortal, have surrounded me to bear me up.

However, even in those dark times when I haven't been able to feel or recognize heavenly help, I have been able to cling to the knowledge of my redemption. Gaining a testimony of Christ's Atonement has, at times, been the only lifeline I had. Despite the structure of God's Priesthood, the line between each individual and divinity is unbroken and unbreakable by any other. A lack of mortal spiritual leadership when needed is sometimes only an opportunity to deepen the spiritual bonds between yourself and God. When there is no one else, He is always there.

So, where do you turn for counsel? To Jesus Christ, whose life and death was dedicated to our welfare, who knows us better and more deeply than we know ourselves, whose faithfulness was stronger than Death and Hell. When our faithfulness to Him becomes just as strong, we will be able to ensure that when another of God's children needs spiritual guidance, we will be there, ready to answer the call of the Spirit.

The Maverick of the (Sanity) Ward

A very interesting conversation over at BCC hits close to home for me. They are asking members to be a little kinder to those who do not agree with them, a little more thoughtful of the "outliers". While I completely agree that a little more kindness, a little larger place would be nice, I feel I have something to say from the bottom of the pile, so to speak.

I am currently absolutely furious about a situation in my ward as it concerns my family. I won't say I'm rationally furious, as it does not come from rational thought but from a wellspring of pent up frustration and loneliness. Most of my fury is focused around a man who happens to be the current leader of the ward. In complete honesty, I can say that I admire him. He is a good, plainspoken man. He has a very homey way about him completely free of guile and manipulation. As a person, I like him very much. Unfortunately, I don't think he understands much about me or my life. This isn't for lack of trying to communicate on either side of the issue, but it is there, all the same. Hence, the frustration.

In other words, I am the recipient of some very biased attitudes. Much of it is my fault for being who I am, much is just the fallout from the situation.

But I want to say that, while I would appreciate (and HAVE appreciated) little acts of kindness from members in my ward, I can recognize how much I have grown from the struggle. Because the people around me are imperfect, I can get a little more perfect. If everyone around me was perfectly kind and accepting of whatever I did, I would have no reason to change, no reason to examine myself and my actions. I have been able to weigh my lifestyle, my pride and comfort against my faith, and decide what is truly important to me.

Therefore, I recognize my fury as pointless and temporary, and can appreciate the chance to learn and grow, even if I don't like it, and even if it breaks my heart.

After all, it is a broken heart which God asks of me.

I Am a One, Why Does No One Come After Me?

When I served a mission for my church, we had a few small pamphlets which we could stamp with our contact information and leave in the boxes or under the doors of those who were not at home. We often used them as sorts of business cards. I believe they were 5.5x8", folded in thirds. On the cover of the yellow version of this pamphlet was a question mark. It contained text asking if there were questions in the reader's life which they could not answer. Such questions included, "Who am I?" "Why am I here?" "What is the purpose of life?" There is a question which has come to the forefront of my mind many times in my life. In the parable of the ninety and nine, Christ tells of a shepherd who left his flock to search out the one which was lost. I feel that I am one who is lost, why does no one come after me?

At many times in my life, I have felt cut off from the flock. Once, when I was fourteen, I was actively rejected from it. I have failed to really connect with a ward since returning to Utah after serving my mission. The feeling of failure and of being failed has at times become overwhelming. As a result of my estrangement, I have come to rely more and more on my Savior, knowing that He will never leave me comfortless. Once the tears are spent and I can calm enough to listen, He has always been there to comfort me. It took a change in my approach to realize that He has always been coming after me, just not in the ways I expected.

I have often been tempted to stay home, or even at times to leave altogether. "There is no reason for me to attend Church," I think. "I can feel the Spirit more strongly by serving those who really need it, or by a quiet walk in the woods." Although I have felt the Spirit many times in such circumstances, I know that they cannot replace the need to struggle and fit into the body of the Church.

In response to my desire to simply quit trying, the Spirit has also gradually whispered to my mind the understanding that I cannot allow my salvation to rest on others' shoulders. I cannot permit the actions and behavior of others to come between me and my God.

The final thing I've been taught by my feelings of estrangement is a realization that I've been holding others to a standard I can't match. Not only am I not reaching out to others the way I wish they'd reach out to me, I am expecting other people to read my mind and somehow discern what I need. There is a reason God advises us to ask, knock and seek. I have not been asking others for help, I have not been seeking help. The Spirit can prompt others to help me, true, but if I am not willing to humble myself and ask, I cannot expect others to give to me. The Spirit will not often take up my slack. When I have been willing to open my heart, there have been special souls waiting to soothe it. It has built far stronger connections than I could have imagined, sometimes from unforeseeable quarters.

There are many waiting to help, they only need to be shown how to do it. And, in the end, if you are truly alone on earth, you will never be without comfort if you are willing to accept it.

D&C 61:36-37: "And now, verily I say unto you, and what I say unto one I say unto all, be of good cheer, little children; for I am in your midst, and I have not forsaken you; and inasmuch as you have humbled yourselves before me, the blessings of the kingdom are yours."

Discipleship is a Lonely Road

Did I ever mention how much I love the Germans? One of my favorite paintings is called "Road to Emmaus" by German painter Robert Zünd.





On my mission, I often stared into that painting, wondering what was down the road, wondering if Christ would be walking with me along the way, teaching me.

I have had a lot of cause lately to doubt my choices. I don't know if I made the right ones. My dad sent me a beautiful letter last week for my birthday outlining my life. I wonder where that bright, inquisitive, loving, fearless child has gone. She was full of possibility. She decided, once, that she wanted nothing but to be a disciple of Christ. Now, my life is set in the path it will take to the end. I have found that I'm a pretty sorry excuse for a disciple. I no longer have the control over my destiny I once had. I no longer feel that I can make the powerful decisions I once made. Unable to change my situation satisfactorily, I have had to completely give the reins of my life over to the Lord and just concentrate on staying on the horse. It hurts in a way. I feel like I have messed up, lost the trust of the Lord. But looking back, I know I did my best. I've always done my best. My fear is that my best won't be good enough.

I testified in Church last week to the same thing I'm going to say here. Despite the pain and uncertainty, I know that my Savior will get me through this. There is indescribable joy woven through the sorrow and the fear. My best may not be good enough, but His was. Men are that they might have joy. That does not mean we are without pain and doubt. I heard it said once that faith cannot exist where there is doubt. Contrarily, I have found my faith growing most during this time of doubt. I look at the offering that has been my life so far and weep at its smallness. It is small, but it is all I have. According to the prophets, it is enough.

Let it be enough.

Confessions of a Half-feminist

Due to my recent vacation and return, I had the pleasure of experiencing two of the "The Women of the Church" lesson, one in Connecticut and one in my home ward in Utah. I found an interesting phenomenon that proves 1) that different environments affect one object differently and 2) I am multiple personality. Allow me to illustrate.

The Connecticut lesson was taught in a relatively small room in a relatively small and brand-new ward building. The attendant Relief Society was diminished in numbers from their usual women. The president had us pull our chairs around into a circle. I felt as comfortable as I could feel chasing a toddler among strangers. Many of the attendant women were single, widowed or divorced. The president taught the lesson gently and beautifully, quoting from the book where applicable. The Spirit was the strongest I have felt at Church in a long time. Several women testified to the beauty of women's God-appointed role. I felt moved to bear testimony of the divinity of women, the divinity of servitude and the Divinity of women's calling to serve and to seem to take a second-place role. It was amazing, despite the toddler (who, blessedly, fell asleep.)

***One week later***

The Utah lesson was taught in a recently-expanded Relief Society room in a fairly large, though somewhat aged Church building. The room was packed with about 80 or 90 women. We sat in the usual rowed seats. I felt as comfortable as I could feel chasing a toddler among somewhat-disapproving mostly-strangers. Many of the attendant women were single, widowed or divorced. The teacher stood in front of the class and read from the lesson manual with a modicum of discussion. There was an uneasy feeling in the room. Several women testified to the appropriateness of women's role. Feeling an increasing unease, I felt moved to testify to the need to teach our sons the same lessons about preparation for marriage and responsibility that our daughters get. I mentioned that the Priesthood rarely get prepared, spiritual lessons (based on reports from my husband and brother.) I mentioned that boys are not taught to prepare themselves to be good husbands and fathers the way girls are taught to be good wives and mothers. I testified that, in the words of the manual, "Every [boy], and I say every [boy], should prepare [him]self for marriage and for domestic responsibilities." I am certain I offended at least two women who took their turns to emphasize that their husbands got the same lessons they got in Relief Society. Despite believing that, as in Connecticut, I was moved by the Spirit to say what I did, I left with a feeling of embarrassment and frustration.

The same lesson. The same me. The same toddler. Two vastly different experiences.

It is funny, because I know I'm labeled by the largest portion of LDS bloggers who have registered my existence as a very conservative person. Sometimes this frustrates me, too, because no one online has any idea of the things I have gone through in relation to the Church and the behavior of her people towards me. No one has any understanding of the years of soul-searching and divinely-oriented pleading I have willingly traveled through to finally reach my current level of faith and acceptance. Only my Father and I know that. For years I have longed to speak personally with someone who knows, despite knowing I will never have that chance. What I wouldn't give for a half hour with one of the Apostles, certain of the Seventy or the First Presidency. What I wouldn't give to speak with them. I wouldn't ask them questions, exactly. I'd only want to hear from a friend of Christ that I'm doing alright and I'd want to hear them speak of Him - as a friend. To testify of Him. Not in a General Conference sort of way, but in a way that is real.

A Final Parting?

I have long thought that reading different LDS blogs was a good idea. It has given me perspective, helped me formulate my feelings on topics I'd otherwise not have thought much about, and has helped me find people I could consider true friends. But after watching Conference, I wonder. In addition to the never-before-dealt-with distraction of a toddler, I found myself thinking "Hm, wonder what they'll say about that," and "Oh, they'll not like that one bit," and "I'll bet that comes up in a blog post." These thoughts severely interfered with my ability to listen for the Lord's voice speaking to me. I have always loved Conference. It is the closest I consistently get to hearing people who know speak on the Lord's behalf. I'm a little saddened that this Conference feels wasted to me.

Though I still strongly enjoy writing, is it possible that I'm growing towards a final parting from the realm of LDS blogs? Is it more of a detriment than a help at this point to read others' struggles? Is there any purpose to my continuing?

The Pain of Charity

I've stayed away for a couple of days because I've been hurting. I'm still hurting, but I feel ready to write again.

My grandfather passed away June 1st, 2007. He was a pillar of the community, often giving succor to those in need. He was a great man. One of my earliest memories of him was down in his basement. He had a container of black walnuts and taught me how to crack them so I could extract the nut whole. In that same visit, he took me across the street to his neighbor's house and let me help him pick apricots. In an even earlier memory of him, I remember going to his flower shop. I remember little of the sight and sound of that shop, but I remember the sharp tang of moisture, roses and greenery. That smell means beauty to me. I believe it has something to do with my affinity for green, growing things. I remember wanting to design a flower arrangement, though I couldn't have been more than five years old. I remember wanting to emulate his artistry. Perhaps that is what helped me discover my love for color and form. Though my grandfather was a somewhat more distant figure than my grandmother (who passed away in 1999,) his paradigm of service and duty has shaped my life.

I attended the funeral yesterday. Grandpa was surrounded by grieving friends and step-family. It was clear he would be sorely missed in the community. Observing this and listening to the eulogies, I began thinking of myself. I came to some hard realizations. The first was how very selfish I am. Through much of the funeral, I hurt because I wished I had had some part in it, something to give the man who contributed to my life. As I analyzed my own feelings, I realized I had very little place in Grandpa's life, so it was only fitting that I would have no place in his death. Unlike my grandfather, I do not connect with people. At my funeral, there will be many fewer grieving faces.

As I thought about it, I also realized that I do not connect with people by choice. I have actively destroyed any but the most superficial ties to anyone. I'm not sure why I do this. I know I am afraid, but I'm not sure of what I am afraid. I think it may be that I am so afraid of hurting someone - I am so afraid of failing - that I minimize my connections. The ironic aspect of this is that the isolation hurts me. I know that I am hurting myself more than rejection and failure would hurt me, but I don't know how to change. This is what brings me to the topic of this post.

In The Princess Bride, the Man in Black tells Buttercup that "Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who tells you differently is selling something." In my estimation, charity is pain. There are two types of "charity." The first is characterized by "alms to the poor." It is simply giving because you know you should give or, in other words, because you gain something from it. I believe it is this brand of charity to which the world subscribes. It is giving because you feel you will gain a reward, whether heavenly, socially or financially. This sort of charity is not evil per se, but I don't believe it is the sort of charity of which the Lord or His prophets speak in the scriptures. It is not this sort of charity that is the "greatest of all" virtues. It is not this sort of charity which "suffereth long, and is kind, and envieth not, and is not puffed up, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil, and rejoiceth not in iniquity but rejoiceth in the truth, beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things." It is not this sort of charity which, as the Relief Society motto states, "never faileth."

The type of charity Christianity teaches is much more difficult because it inevitably leads through pain. This charity is the "pure love of Christ" which "caused myself, even God, the greatest of all, to tremble because of pain, and to bleed at every pore, and to suffer both body and spirit—and would that I might not drink the bitter cup, and shrink . . . ." It is the charity that enabled Christ to atone for the sins of all mankind. It is the charity that is a cause rather than a symptom. It is love, not for glory, reward or honor, but for the cruel, beautiful, glorious children of God. It is love that gives, knowing that it will be hurt. It is continually building relationships despite the pain, despite the fear, despite the loneliness of rejection.

I know in my heart that God has granted me a great capacity for this kind of charity, but I am too terrified, too bound up in the cords of Satan to utilize it. I feel that this is my purpose on the earth, to love God's children, to be a place where "The beloved of the LORD shall dwell in safety." I don't know how to do it. I don't know how to let go of my fear of pain and give. I don't know how Christ continued ministering, knowing the pain He would suffer at the hands of the ignorant. I know I need to learn.

Perhaps when I do, I will be happy.