The Non-prodigal One

I have not written in some time, since I have been under considerable stress in my personal life. I don't write much when I'm in the middle of my own crises. I have no energy for it, nor do I feel I have anything to offer. But recently, a thought did occur to me which I felt I ought to share.

One of the many things which has troubled me lately was the cry of the non-prodigal son, the one who said, "these many years do I serve thee...yet thou never gavest me a kid." It is not that I feel I have never transgressed, because I know I have. Nor that I deserve blessings, because I know I don't. But it is hard to see how far off the tracks my life has gone. Tracks that I followed only because the Lord asked it of me, and not because I wanted those tracks at the time.

I am surrounded with people who have the life I was taught to accept (and even desire.) But it is a life I'm forever barred from, all because someone I trusted decided to exploit that trust to its fullest extent. I have fought, not only to become strong, but to keep that strength from making me hard. It is a daily battle, sometimes harder than others, but something I have to fight every day. And sometimes I lose.

I do not understand why I can't seem to catch a break. I just need a year or so of equilibrium, of rest, a time when I know that my kids are safe, that I am safe, and that I can heal a little.

But I was looking up a scriptural reference, and ran into something that I think applies.

A Marriage Contract

You might wonder why I, as a woman who was single longer than I was married, and whose life as a divorcee is now longer than as a wife, might come and talk about what marriage should be. As a failure, perhaps I have no right to counsel those of you who have kept your relationships intact.

Since my own marriage (and even before,) I have watched all of you who are married. I have watched for signs that marriage can be what I think it is. I have found a few people who I believe live what God intended. But I have also found plentiful evidence that being married does not necessarily teach one understanding of marriage.

What it Means to Repent in the Face of Excommunication

I have never been called before a disciplinary council. But on my mission, I experienced something similar. Near the end of my mission, my mission president was released and a new one was called. My first mission president had incredible perception by the Spirit. He allowed me to be the kind of missionary I was drawn to be, even though it caused considerable upheaval and confusion among the ranks of the elders called to lead me in my work.

I remember going to interviews with him, which happened once every six weeks, nervous that I was going to be called on the carpet for the disagreements about how to conduct missionary work I had been having with my leaders. Every new set of leaders in every place I was moved (and it was frequent, at the beginning of my mission) was a new battle. They were called to report numbers of baptisms and lessons taught. I was inclined more to concentrating on the people I came in contact with, feeling strongly that counting numbers was not going to be effective in the area I served.

A Ram in the Thicket: a Personal Interpretation of Abraham's Test

Once upon a time, there was a man who had been promised by God that his children would outnumber the sands of the sea and the stars in the sky. But he and his wife despaired as time and time again, his wife was unable to bear a child. They prayed and waited patiently, but still there was no hope. Eventually, his wife even gave her husband her handmaid as a concubine and surrogate, to perform what her body would not do.

Imagine the depths of her joy and self-recrimination when that handmaid succeeded in bearing a son almost immediately.

Imagine her pain when, long after once-beautiful Sarah was too old to have any more children, a perfect stranger wandered up to their home and told her husband she would bear a son.

Imagine her joy and consternation when it turned out he was right.

Her son, Isaac, was a miracle child. Not only was he born to a mother who had long since given up all hope of having a child, he was the fulfillment of prophecy. Through him, all the promises of the Lord were finally possible. He proved that God's promises would never be forgotten.

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

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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.

When Church Leaders Are Wrong

With the recently released study topic on race and the priesthood in the LDS Church, there is predictably a flurry of praise for the Church's efforts and criticism that it wasn't enough. And, naturally, questions are being raised about the significance of the Church disavowing past explanations for the Priesthood ban and discussion of the racism that caused it, and what that means for following current leaders now. The racial ban could not have been any part of God's will, an argument often runs, because God would never cause so many people so much pain. Therefore, policies which currently cause pain cannot be of God's will, either, so there is no obligation to follow the prophets in matters which cause people pain.

While I am not black, I have been a victim of others' bad choices before. I know what it is to feel pain from the perspective and opinions of Church leadership, as well. It is from that experience and the things I have learned about the nature of God that I now address some of my feelings on this topic. It isn't meant to tell other people how to think or feel, but only to share my personal reaction to fallacy in my priesthood leaders which affects me. I, obviously, have no right to demand the Church leaders repent on the issue of blacks and the priesthood. I am not the injured party. But what I can do is liken the situation to myself, and what I have experienced, so that I can learn from it. With that in mind, although blacks and the priesthood is a parallel, it is not the whole point.

My Best Two Years

I have often heard people refer to their missions as their best two years. There is even a movie about it. And I've heard many people mock the idea of a mission being their best two years. Usually because missions are so hard and miserable. Who can honestly enjoy being rejected on an hourly basis, working so hard at something with so little personal reward? You've got to be insane, or brainwashed. Or brain dead.

To be honest, my mission is not the best two-year span anymore, though it was. That honor currently goes to my most recent two years. But directly after my mission, I would have said it was my best two years without any hesitation. Not because it was fun. It was actually pretty terrible. I would explain, but that would be a VERY long blog post. So I'll give a light sampling. Under my first mission president, incredible focus was placed on memorizing the discussions. We were even considered "greenies" (newbie missionaries) until we had memorized and passed off word-for-word the first discussion. (They still had the seven discussions, then.) Eventually, we were expected to memorize them all.

I don't memorize. Generally, I think memorization is a waste of time that undermines comprehension, especially with something like missionary discussions. Being who I used to be, I vociferously refused to do it. (My poor 19-21 year old district leaders really got a workout trying to be my Priesthood leader through the entire duration of my mission. Any of them who still wish to serve God in a priesthood capacity after experiencing mission-me really deserve some kudos.) I did eventually cave, but only because my mission president told me that while I didn't have to do it, it would really help my district leader if I just bent to the unnecessary rule.

The bulk of my mission under this president was an ongoing battle of wills between me, my district/zone leaders, and the mission numbers.

What Love Isn't

In the wake of a failed marriage and two of the most loving children I could ask for, I have had reason to think about love, what it is . . . and what it isn't. I have heard a great deal of rhetoric on love lately, not restricted to but certainly a part of one side of the debate on homosexual marriage.

The recent participation of many members of the Church, some of whom are my friends and acquaintances, in a Salt Lake City Gay Pride march has given me even more reason to think over this eternally debated and perplexing topic. While I sympathize with the efforts these members are trying to make, and also want to communicate somehow to those with a different ideological stance than mine that I care for them as people, though I fear for the consequences of their choices, I have some thoughts that will be uncomfortable for many.

I do not apologize for them, as they are based on experience and wisdom gained through a great deal of personal loss and sacrifice. Before you continue reading, I will remind you now that while disagreeing points of view are tolerated and even welcome on this blog, insults and other forms of denigration are not. I have many more important things going on in my life than your sensibilities, and while I generally try to be patient and understanding, I don't have the emotional resources or the time to deal with immaturity right now.

There are places in the internet for you, this is not one of them.

Priesthood, Stewardships and Lamp Oil

Some time ago, I addressed the parable of the ten virgins. Jim, an excellent commenter, presented some questions about the nature of stewardship and this concept of spiritual lamp oil. I can't promise to answer them the same way I would have then, but in light of a rather surreal and one-sided recent conversation*, I found it interesting when I ran into this old archived topic which I never addressed.

The essence of the topic is this: as we each have sole responsibility for our salvation, worked out entirely between ourselves and our Savior, do we not have a responsibility to invite others to Christ? Can we add oil to another's lamp?

After the Manner of Happiness

Most of the drafts I have sitting behind the scenes will probably never be written or published. Some of them don't seem important to me any more. Some of them were only whispers of thought that have not yet coalesced, and may never coalesce. But I saw this title without text, and it resonated with me right now.

"And it came to pass that we lived after the manner of happiness."
—2 Nephi 5:27

I haven't been writing as often lately. I have been turning inward, rather than outward, in my contemplation. I have reached a new level of peace from what I have had since my life fell apart, but the nature of that peace is not something that I feel will help anyone else going through a similar journey. Each of us have to reach it on our own, and in our own way.

For me, it is like diving into the undertow I have fought so long, and that is not a course of action I would recommend generally.

When Nephi wrote the above scripture, he wrote it from the end of his story. He had succeeded in helping his father bring their family across the sea to the new land. He had tried to fulfill the blessing the Lord gave him to teach his brothers, only to eventually have to flee them when his father died. He knew what it was like to feel like a failure, weak and ineffectual in fulfilling the commandments of God. His people were the only ones in the land with the gospel of the Lord.

It is important that he didn't say "we were happy." He said they "lived after the manner of happiness." I don't think this means that they pretended to be happy. I think it means they followed the gospel, living the Plan of Happiness.

Seeking a Savior

The picture at the right is the painting of Jesus that I grew up with. As a rather too introspective and critical child*, I remember looking at it for long periods of time, trying to feel out what in it was truly the Savior, and what was just a painting.

Unlike some, I was never under the illusion that Jesus really looked like that, nor have I ever been that interested in what He did look like. I wanted to know what He felt like. I have never cared whether he was scarred or misshapen, or an attractive, charismatic leader. What matters to me is what He thinks about me. But that's the problem, isn't it? Knowing what He truly thinks.

And it is just as much a problem for me now as ever.

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!

Starving for Validation

Not long ago, I wrote a post that mentioned that validation is one of the things a recipient of abuse desires most. And, although I am essentially healed from my marriage, the scars still pull sometimes.

For example, as I was sitting in General Conference listening to Elder Holland speak, I was overwhelmed with an intense desire to know the Apostles personally. In analyzing that, I realized that I want to know them in part so they can tell me that I am okay in the sight of God. I shouldn't need them for that, but the desire to be told by His servants that I'm okay was almost overwhelming.

I occasionally read blog posts dealing with various aspects of marriage. Cheating, for example. Because my ex accuses me vociferously of emotionally cheating on him, and there is some evidence that he might have emotionally and possibly physically cheated on me, such a topic draws my attention. Even now, over a year after the divorce, whenever the topic of cheating comes up I can't help but obsess about the accusations all over again. Did I really cheat? If so, how? What was it I did wrong? Should I have refused to speak to any male outside of a public sphere? Should I have not been open with my spouse about male acquaintances? The questions just keep mounting ever higher.

I am reminded of a plea which has always touched my heart, but which resonates even more with me now, "What could I have done more for my vineyard?"

What more could I have done for my marriage?

It's not an obsolete question, because I am afraid of making the same mistakes I made—whatever they were—again. I would do almost anything for someone I could trust, someone who knows the Lord, to give me the answers, to teach me what I did wrong.

In short, to validate me.

But I must come to accept that I will never be validated by anything but the Spirit of God working in my own heart. I can't look to the apostles, or people online, or anyone to validate my decisions.

Just me and God. And I don't know that I can do it.

Thou Hast Not Withheld

The process by which I decided to divorce my husband was a life-altering one. Up until that time, I had, piece by piece, sacrificed everything of myself on the altar of marriage. To take all of that and sacrifice the marriage itself was difficult. The Spirit and I wrestled many nights over that decision. The Lord taught me slowly but surely that He was asking of me a sacrifice not unlike Abraham's when he was called to sacrifice his son, Isaac.

Since then, I have weathered other betrayals, predominantly by those in the Church. My attempts to sacrifice my pride and anger has lead to others discounting me, disbelieving me, and ignoring me. These betrayals are small but devastating aftershocks.

This morning, I realized that the divorce was only the beginning of my Abrahamic test.

Some tests, like Abraham's, are an event. One decision. Some people are delivered from following through with their test, as Abraham was. But sometimes the test is more subtle over a longer period of time. Sometimes you really have to make the sacrifice.

There is one thing every test has in common. You are always called upon to decide what is most important in your life. Is it resentment towards other people that might cause you to become bitter, angry, or no longer attend Church? Is it grief over your loss that you wrap around yourself like an invisibility cloak? Or is service to God, is discipleship, more important than even your own pain?

Each time I have been disappointed by my fellow Saints or by life in general, I have clearly seen a choice of two paths. I can let this turn me away from the Church, or I can choose to learn from my experience and become even more devoted to my Savior. I can gain a greater desire to serve God's children, to not be one of those so embroiled in my own life that I don't notice when someone needs me.

So for me, the sacrifice truly is everything, especially myself. The test is whether or not I will choose to still love even after the sacrifice.

Thanks, But That's Not a Compliment

After testifying for the first time in awhile yesterday, I was told by a woman in our ward that I was a "deep thinker". My first gut reaction was not positive (though naturally I covered this fairly graciously, knowing her intent was to compliment and not insult.) After thinking about it for some time, I realized a few reasons why I am not complimented by this.

First, I think no more deeply than anyone else. I spend far too much time on trivialities of daily life, and struggles with things I should have already mastered.

Second, by labeling me a "deep thinker", people are subconsciously excusing themselves from pondering over gospel topics. They are saying, essentially, that I think about the gospel because that is what I am, not because that is what I choose to do.

Lastly, I have also been labeled a "Kolob chaser" by a few in my ward. (Although the term is my words, not theirs.) As a person who chases after the so-called "deep doctrines", which in my mind are anything but deep, I am easily ignored as being too caught up in non-essentials, too "scholastic". This has cost me dearly at times, and probably will again in the future. All that is beside the fact that there are many, many more people historically and doctrinally educated than I am.

The truth is I really don't care too much about where Kolob is, how Heavenly Mother fits into the grander scheme of things, or how exactly Mary conceived Jesus. I don't do more than occasionally briefly speculate on such things. I try not to spend too much time on them because I figure that my spirit already knows them, they are just hidden behind the veil of mortality. I'm not particularly interested in wasting my time trying to guess at things I must already know or will more accurately learn after this life, and things that have little bearing on my duties to God here in mortality.

I do, however, take the gospel very seriously. I spend a lot of time self-analyzing and looking for ways to bring myself in closer alignment with God, ways to listen and respond better to the Spirit, ways to purge myself of resentment and other dark feelings before they become habits. That is no more than any disciple of Christ does. It is not particularly special or laudable.

A much better compliment to me would be something along the lines of, "you must really love the Lord." Because I want to. That is my life and my goal, however imperfectly I pursue it. I want to love the Lord not merely through my emotions, but through my actions, in a way that glorifies and serves Him.

I want to be someone in whom He can be "well pleased." That would be a compliment indeed.

Exaltation Isn't Graded on a Curve

http://rsc.byu.edu/blog/?p=903

Which is a great thing to keep in mind.

I Believe in Virtue

Articles of Faith #13
[I] believe in being honest, true, chaste, benevolent, virtuous, and in doing good to all men; indeed, [I] may say that [I] follow the admonition of Paul—[I] believe all things, [I] hope all things, [I] have endured many things, and hope to be able to endure all things. If there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, [I] seek after these things.

This is the last of my series on the Articles of Faith, and perhaps one of the most poignant for me right now. I have thought on this Article since I first began writing these statements of my personal faith just short of a year ago. I little knew at the time how my testimony of this particular statement would change from beginning to end. If I had realized how my hope and strength would be stretched to the breaking point as I found myself in a situation seeming to have little to do with beauty and purity, I don't think I would have had the courage to go on.

There has been some talk over the past year about virtue, in particular, as it has been added to the Young Women Values. When I once thought of virtue, I thought of a white knight, standing ready to defend the helpless at sometimes great personal sacrifice, never wavering in temptation. Now, the image is more along the lines of the Little Match Girl, cowering in a corner and lighting her own personal testimony to keep her warm, trying to share her matches with others who do not have time or interest to buy.

Virtue is something that keeps you standing tall, tattered, ragged and besmirched with mud thrown from misunderstanding hands. It is an inner loveliness that surmounts all other forms of beauty and ugliness. It makes the "most beautiful" women in the world look stale. It incorporates integrity, faith, duty, dedication, the Spirit of God, seeking everything praiseworthy, and all the things mentioned in this Article.

More than anything, I think it is the power derived from all these things.

Several times in scripture, the word "virtue" is used almost interchangeably with "power". When the woman touched Jesus's hem, he perceived that the virtue had gone out of Him—that some sort of power had gone from him to her, healing her. In Alma, they try the virtue of the word of God—preaching had more power than any other source of power they knew to change the hearts of men.

In one final example, Joseph Smith tries to teach us the secrets of Priesthood power, that it comes from virtue. I believe that this is the key misunderstanding to those who covet and misuse the Priesthood of God. There is no true power in the Priesthood except that which is gained through virtue: through the power gained in integrity, faith, and pure charity.

In the situation I find myself now, it is easy to feel as if I am cheap and used, without virtue. Yet, I am slowly being taught by the Spirit that by doing my best to follow God's will, to live true to my faith in Him and my covenants, and to do my best to be a blessing, despite my failure I come closer to a virtuous life than I was before.

I believe that true virtue can only come through the cleansing fire of the Atonement and of the Spirit. When we understand Christ and His eternal connection to us, we become purified, sanctified, and eventually exalted. How grateful I am to be drawn into the filth of this life so that I may understand the virtue and power of God.

Professing Christ Means You're Better?

I'm not a big sucker for politics. I try to keep my boots as clean as possible while gathering enough information to vote. I don't usually comment on political issues, but this isn't really a political issue so much as a religious one. In watching the debates about whether or not good LDS members will break the Republican mold, a comment was made that voting for Huckabee is better than voting for Obama because "any person who professes Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior . . . will be a better person for it." I don't think so. I think it depends on what image the so-called "professor of faith" has created for Jesus Christ.

Evidence: The Crusaders professed Christ as Lord and Savior.
The Inquisition professed Christ as Lord and Savior.
The Salem witch hunters professed Christ as Lord and Savior.

I generally feel pity for atheists and agnostics, but there is one thing on which I wholeheartedly agree with them: unaccountable evil has been done in the name of Christ. Christ himself warned that many would come falsely in His name. That it is necessary to take upon oneself the name of Christ in order to be saved is inarguable. However, if someone confesses the name of Jesus Christ, but does so by redefining that name, he is creating a false Christ and is, essentially, taking the name of God in vain. The name of Christ is its own, it cannot be used to justify a person's own agenda. True belief in Christ is not a political tool.

Whether or not Huckabee falls into that category, I'm not intending to comment on, but simply saying "I believe in Jesus" is not enough to truly take His name upon oneself. Nor does it automatically make one a better person. In some cases, it has shown to make one infinitely worse. For me, I'd rather* have a sincere and humble follower of Islam in office than a two-faced, manipulative Mormon.

*Disclaimer: this is not a comment on either Obama or Romney, so don't get your knickers in a twist.

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.