If It So Be That They Will Repent

Safety is something that many of us take for granted in a first-world country. Unlike our ancestors, even the poorest of us generally have access to food, water, and shelter. Most of us wake up in the morning, go to work, mow our lawns, go shopping, without ever once feeling unsafe. When something does happen to us, it's a shock.

A coworker of mine recently experienced a break-in. It was a kid who knew the family, and thought he could get away with ripping off a few cell phones. He confessed to his misdeeds, and the family now knows who it is and what led up to the break-in, but he still said that they couldn't sleep well at night, knowing how easily their safety could be shattered.

Grief and Redemption

Let's imagine for a moment that you see a child reaching for a pot of boiling oil. You know you can't stop the child from severely burning himself, and he will probably die.

But in that instant, you are given the chance to take the pain and scars on yourself. You will not die, but you will spend your life in incredible pain. Would you do it?

Now let's say that you did this, but the child somehow chose to suffer all the pain anyways...to die, even, because he didn't want you to pay for something he did.

Would you still have taken the pain on yourself? As the child, given that you can't stop someone from suffering your pain for you, what will you do? Will you reject His offering, or accept it in humble gratitude and love?

Therefore I command you to repent—repent, lest I smite you by the rod of my mouth, and by my wrath, and by my anger, and your sufferings be sore—how sore you know not, how exquisite you know not, yea, how hard to bear you know not.

For behold, I, God, have suffered these things for all, that they might not suffer if they would repent; But if they would not repent they must suffer even as I; Which suffering 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—

Nevertheless, glory be to the Father, and I partook and finished my preparations unto the children of men.

D&C 19:15-19

They Shall Not Sorrow

Conference brought me peace, but it was not so for everyone. I intended, at one point, to write my perspective on several of the events surrounding Conference, and the applicable talks, but as I have watched discussions and listened, my heart was moved. I feel it doesn't matter how I see a fellow sister or brother in the Gospel erring, nor how I perceive that they have been deceived. What matters most right now is that they hurt and mourn.

I do not really share that mourning, though I believe I understand it. I have been burned by unrighteous male authority many times, myself. I have struggled with some of these same issues for nearly two decades. My journey through those struggles has been far different, but not so different that I cannot feel compassion. And what touches my heart more than the errors of those who find themselves feeling at odds with the Church leadership is the rush to harm them by people who ought to be most filled with the compassion of the Savior.

There are enough people telling others they are wrong. We need more people focused on hearts and tender feelings, offering sympathy and love.

Power in Vulnerability

"You know what, you're imperfect, and you're wired for struggle. But you are worthy of love and belonging."

Years ago, I created a fictional character that was almost entirely built around vulnerability. She was able to be hurt again, and again, and still open herself up to loving others without judgment. Even then, more than fifteen years ago, I wanted to be like that. Since then, I fought and fought to gain the ability to be vulnerable. I learned how to stop layering my personality with illusion, and truly allow myself to be myself. Then, the first time I truly put it to the test, that vulnerability was taken advantage of in every way. It's been like I've had to go through that struggle all over again in the last few years. But I think I am getting there.

I find myself occasionally having to defend my choice to stop dating. In a religion where marriage is the pinnacle of covenantal achievement, it has been very hard to let all expectations of it go. But dating, for me, was becoming something where I kept being drawn, again and again, into this feeling that I have to conform to someone's idea of perfection to be loved. In the LDS singles' world, so much energy is bent on becoming that ideal, desirable person. To me, a recovering perfectionist, it is an alcoholic hanging out in a bar. It was simply too hard to continually fight against the current.

The biggest reason why I left the singles' ward and stopped dating was to give myself the space I needed to work on charity. To me, charity and being vulnerable are almost the same thing. When we are able to be vulnerable, we can *see* other people, and love them in their weaknesses. I don't think I can do that in an environment that lends itself so readily to objectification and predation.

I think a huge point of the Gospel is that we have been given the ability, through the sacrifice of the Savior, to be vulnerable. Understanding this is the key to heaven, which I'll be soon be writing about. Consider this a bit of a prelude. Listen to this woman. She knows what she is talking about.

Beauty in Grief

Most of the time, we think of grief as losing a loved one. But loss of faith, a marriage, a hope or dream, or even a way of life can also shake our world to its very foundations.

Just this Sunday, I substituted for a Sunday School class to teach teenagers how following the commandments can help us be like Heavenly Father. Never before have I struggled with a topic the way I struggled with this one, and I didn't expect it. Not only did it tap into my understanding that I can never be like Heavenly Father, not really (since I'm a woman,) but it tapped into the biggest source of my grief. It is not my marriage that still haunts me, my fears and pain regarding that are long resolved. It isn't even my relationships afterwards to which my intermittent sorrow clings. It is that I have lost faith that "after much tribulation, cometh the blessings." Believing that has lost meaning. It is the things I have worked the hardest at that fail most spectacularly. I have struggled long and hard within myself and with the Lord to discover what I'm doing wrong, what I could do better, without answer. Whatever it might be, I am at a loss to change it.

Grieving on Presidents' Day

I wrote this on Presidents' Day and decided to post it. Consider it a bit of a tribute to two wonderful people and to the slightly dysfunctional but fiercely loyal family they left behind.

Today, instead of lazing around home or going shopping for Presidents' Day, I packed my daughter and most of my cleaning supplies into my small Honda and drove to my paternal grandparents' home. My grandfather's wife has retrieved all her things and left the home feeling truly empty. My two uncles and two of my aunts were there. Tensions have been high since my grandfather passed away, but the feeling today was one of industry and nostalgia. My throat caught when I first walked into the house. I thought I had anticipated the feeling of realizing yet again that my grandparents were gone, but I hadn't prepared myself enough. The leftover shell that once housed a living, breathing couple lay stripped of most of its character, but whispering stories still lurked in the corners, waiting to be uncovered with brooms and spic-and-span-soaked rags.

Our main goal was to clear out the kitchen. My father and his siblings had decided to rent the house to a friend of my aunt. All of the dishes, utensils and other detritus that can collect in a kitchen was slated to one of three fates: the garbage, the thrift store or to a room to be picked over by family. I was allowed to take anything in the thrift store pile. I didn't take much, mostly a couple of odds and ends: a set of tongs, a garlic press, an old-fashioned ice cream scoop. Nothing that held any real meaning.

As we sorted through things, we came to a hanging sorter with three pockets labeled "Letters". "Bills". "Misc". In the short time I lived with my grandparents, before I went to college, I helped my grandmother sort her coupons, matching them to the things she wanted to buy. My aunt decided to send it to the thrift store. I quickly scooped it up. To me, it was not junk. My grandmother passed away nearly nine years ago. I miss her.

The family - and by that, I mean my grandparents children - decided that the grandchildren would have no claim on the things left behind. Once the children claimed what they wished, the grandchildren could pick over what was left. There is little to no chance I will have anything else to remember my grandmother by, not until my own parents pass on.

I didn't realize how bittersweet helping to clean my grandmother's house would be. I am a child of the military. Places are not meant to have meaning. Yet, in all the places I moved, I always knew my father's and mother's parents were there. Their houses never really changed. They were anchors in an otherwise drifting life. Now, the house remains, but the anchor is gone. It did not break suddenly. It slowly rusted as my grandmother died, replaced by my grandfather's new wife, and then finally gone when my grandfather joined my grandmother.

My mom's mother recently entered a nursing home. I feel that my grandfather will not be far behind. Their farmhouse is now the last of my anchors. It, too, will soon rust through. Then, I shall be left to find new anchors.

We were visited by a cat. I am allergic to cats, but I love them. This one was small, colored a rusty black and had eyes the color of new pine needles. She was dusty, but affectionate, though she was afraid of my exuberant daughter. She was a stray. I told her I would take her home if she stayed until we left. The tiny, superstitious part of my mind wondered at the coincidence of a black cat visiting so insistently at a time like this. I find that animals, particularly cats, tend to come when I need something soft and living to touch. By the time I left the house, she was gone. I wish she had stayed.

I left the house feeling a little more at peace. Death has never been something to ruffle my feathers. I'm not sure if it is because I have never formed strong bonds with someone, or if it is because I have a very unorthodox view of death. It is probably a little of both. Whatever the reason, I always find myself feeling a little awkward when surrounded by the grieving, particularly when I should also be grieving. Today, I mourned my grandfather and my grandmother in truth by sorting through their things and remembering.

To Forgive or Not to Forgive?

. . . verily I say unto you, I, the Lord, forgive sins unto those who confess their sins before me and ask forgiveness, who have not sinned unto death.

My disciples, in days of old, sought occasion against one another and forgave not one another in their hearts; and for this evil they were afflicted and sorely chastened.

Wherefore, I say unto you, that ye ought to forgive one another; for he that forgiveth not his brother his trespasses standeth condemned before the Lord; for there remaineth in him the greater sin.

I, the Lord, will forgive whom I will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men.

And ye ought to say in your hearts—let God judge between me and thee, and reward thee according to thy deeds. D&C 64:7-11

So how does one forgive another? How do you know when you have forgiven? Is it possible to be frustrated and forgiving at the same time? What if the person is still doing the thing that requires forgiveness, and has no foreseeable feeling of repentance? In that case, the wounds are perpetual. Such a case requires constantly working to forgive the newest wounds.

What if you are not seeking "occasion against" the person you are trying to forgive, but you can't quite get rid of feelings of hurt and frustration? What if you want to forgive, but don't know how to let go of the pain of what they have done because it is still ongoing? Forgiveness belongs to the Lord because only He "know[s] the hearts of all the children of men." Is it enough to want to forgive and to seek the Spirit, hoping that your feelings of anger and resentment will fade? What if those feelings are building because of repeat offenses and future consequences that you will have to pay? How do you let it go?

I'm afraid I'm not forgiving very well right now. I'm terrified of the consequences of not being able to find forgiveness. I have done so many things wrong myself! I'm begging for forgiveness myself. As long as I feel resentful and hurt, I don't think I can fully repent of my own weaknesses and mistakes. I want to let go. Usually, I'm uncannily good at letting go, but not this time. What does that mean eternally? I think I'm at a point where I have to pray to forgive and say, I want to forgive, then when forgiveness comes, I'll welcome it.

I'd welcome any suggestions that might speed things up. I hate feeling this way.