Not Belief: I Know It

I do not remember the first time I knew that God was real. It seems to me that knowing Him is something I've come to over a life of fighting to reach out to Him, an infinite series of small miracles and preponderance of evidence. I know He has spoken to me, typically, through thoughts and feelings, sometimes through the actions of others, sometimes in still and mighty words.

Debate over the authenticity of the Book of Mormon has been rampant since before it was even removed from the stone-covered box in the side of a hill. I've read and heard it all, how it "cannot be true" because of ABC, and how it "cannot be explained as a lie" because of XYZ.

Despite many people saying "no one can know," I assert that their declarations are useless, for under their definition, no one knows anything. I know that it is true because after extensive testing, after seeking knowledge and pitting that knowledge against the hard rock of experience, I have heard the "song of redeeming love," and tasted God's power.

Elder James A. Cullimore spoke about "The Importance of a Personal Testimony" in each of our lives. One quote caught my attention more than any other.

"The Twelve Apostles are special witnesses of the Savior. I don’t know how many of them have actually seen a personage. They don’t talk about it. But they don’t have to, to receive their special witness that can come by the Holy Ghost."

Power to Change

"For the fulness of mine intent is that I may persuade men to come unto the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, and be saved." —1 Nephi 6:4

I've been thinking a great deal of conversion, of what it really means to change a life around, purify yourself, and come to the God of sacrifice. Many times in my life, I've had reason to doubt myself, my conviction, and most especially my capacity to be saved.

So often, we think about missionary work, conversion, baptisms in terms of trackable numbers. Goals. I spent most of my mission wearing myself out against this perception of what it means to proclaim the gospel. And I get it. Numbers can be measured, goals can be set, failure or success can be determined. But the older I get, the more I live through, and the more I come to terms with having to live with my own imperfections, the more I realize that numbers can never measure the capacity of a human heart to change. And none of us have a right to decide whether or not a heart can change—not even when that heart is our own.

Departing Doctrine

I am in the awkward position of not knowing my position. Increasingly, I find myself disagreeing with almost all the ideology of both the liberal and conservative bloggers' side, and ideology of the mainstream members. It leaves me with the very real possibility that I am the one going wrong.

Increasingly, the things said over the pulpit do not resonate with me. But neither do any of the things from other perspectives. Maybe I'm just overstressed and finding myself incontrovertibly rooted in the right-now, physical world. Maybe having lived in survival mode, in fear for so long makes me utterly unlike the rest of the world, without the capacity to gnaw over the past, politics or religion. But maybe my constant tension means I'm losing touch with the Spirit.

I find myself hungry for doctrines that resonate with me, thirsty for the Waters of Life. And, as in prophecy, I do not know where to find them. My prayers consist mostly of "I don't know what to ask for, but please help." My list of Things I Need to Repent From grows longer daily, and I still haven't the least clue how to change any of them. Repentance is easier when you know what you are doing wrong, or know how to change it when you do.

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.

A Man, A Woman

When I was a missionary, I was not a very good senior companion. I drove myself very hard, and my companions were along for the ride. This is probably why I never trained anyone. My failures as a senior companion—the "presiding" role in a companionship—illuminate principles of divine leadership and power. What does it mean to preside? What does it mean to nurture, provide, protect? What does it mean to be a good wife, or a good husband? How is the Lord's power different from mortal power?

My thoughts on this topic are a product of my marriage, my dating, the Family Proclamation to the World, some feminist mores, conversations I've had with people, and my observations of others' approach to romantic relationships, divorce, leadership, and parenthood. I talk a lot to people. I'm interested in them, in learning how they deal with life, God, and others. My opinions do not come only from my own experiences, though they are of course filtered through my understanding of others' experiences.

I know most feminists and liberals read the Family Proclamation to the World (the Proclamation) with a critical eye. To them, words such as "preside" conflict with "equal partners." But I have learned to delight in the balance it strikes. It is a remarkable document, especially considering when it was issued. In a recent conversation with my brother about dating, I realized it is what I want out of marriage.

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.

Having a Hard Time

I've been thinking a lot about toxic people and negativity. If it isn't already obvious, I've had a really hard time the last five years. I've been that toxic person everyone tells you to stay away from.

I destroyed myself trying to become the wife my husband wanted me to be, dealing with having to abandon my child every day and work while watching our money vanish without knowing why. I found out my husband had a vasectomy after "trying" for several months to have another baby and fearing our failure was my fault. I subjugated all my hurt and insecurities in order to support him through our couple's counseling, thinking our marriage was getting better and healing, finding out his surgery worked and I was pregnant again, only to have it all blow up in my face beyond any redemption. I went through a divorce that completely undermined any shred of self-esteem I pretended to have.

I made a nuisance of myself to the few friends who would listen...until it got too much for them and I learned to shut myself up. I fought far beyond the limits of my own strength to preserve my faith, pretend to be strong for my children, stabilize my finances, deal with stress-related health issues during my pregnancy, try to heal from that, and finalize the divorce. Once I got through that, I had to navigate the leftover effects of fear, and the attempts at emotional onslaught through and to my children.

By a little over a year ago, it mostly settled out and I thought my efforts finally met some success and peace. But then my job went crazy, and I lost it, tried to take that loss and turn it into a chance to go back into my first field, discovered that wasn't possible, and found a (very good but not dream) job, where I have been ever since. I haven't even touched on the emotional turmoil I have gone through with trying to overcome my fear and open my heart to dating.

Now that I'm on the other side of all of it, it feels a little easier to forgive myself. It also seems impossible that most of that could have happened in only five years. No wonder the last year has found me almost completely without motivation to try with ANYTHING any more. There isn't one aspect of my life that hasn't been a fight.

Listing it like that shows me the amazing protection I have had from my Father in Heaven, the support I have had from my mom and a couple of friends, and my inner strength that I can't see when I just look at today. I am very aware of how much of a burden I have been to people in my life, how events and my struggles have left me largely stripped of all close friends but my parents, and how my normally slightly cynical but ultimately optimistic personality has really taken a beating.

It has also given me perspective to reanalyze everything I believe about God, and my relationship with Him and His children.

Ritual Storytelling

"Mommy, can you tell me the story of when I was born?"

As I smiled and sunk into the familiar story, which I have told each of my children dozens of times, I watched their little faces. As I told of the pain of labor, little worry lines would appear between their eyebrows. They laugh at me as I reenact my groans of pain going over small bumps in the road and my ogre-like hollering as I went through active labor. But then comes the important part, for them, as I describe what it felt like when they finally entered the world, the look in their small dark eyes as they opened for the first time, how it felt to hold the perfect, tiny, new human being. I tell them what their eyes said to me, the way they smelled, how it felt when they took them away from me for the first time. I tell them how special they were to me, how I felt to be a mother. I watch their eyes light up, their faces relax in satisfaction at knowing how loved they have always been.

They know how the story ends. They don't ask me to tell it because they want to hear the story. Rather, they need the message in the story and what it means regarding my connection to them, and theirs to me.

The Church has its stories, too.

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 True Power of the Atonement

This post isn't about one person in particular. It's not even about solely romantic relationships. There are several experiences I have in the past and present which combined led me to these thoughts. Some of the specifics I have healed from, others still trouble me from time to time.

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I have had a lot of practice in the more recent part of my life exploring forgiveness. Some of the things I have had to forgive have been huge and blatant. Others have been quieter, but specifically designed to attack my personal weakness. Some have been forgiving myself for that weakness.

I am not even sure I know exactly what forgiveness is. Where is the balance between learning to distinguish good and evil and judging unrighteously? How can you learn from your mistakes without becoming calloused? Is forgiveness not being hurt any more, or is it simply not wishing the offender any harm? The latter is incredibly easy for me, but I have struggled mightily to achieve the former.

I've been pretty beat up and I'm not healing the way I feel I should be. I know that those who have offended me don't care one whit about it. They have moved on, and are completely unscathed. So why am I left holding the hurt? Why am I having such a hard time letting it go when that is what I want more than anything?

Pure Religion

I have been pondering the next step in my discipleship for some time. Now that my healing is as complete as I can expect it to be in this stage of my life, I feel a tender, growing urge to be for others what the Savior and others were for me when I needed it. In studying the scriptures, it is undeniable that the purpose of every disciple of Christ is to serve His children. But I have a problem. I'm a deeply selfish, self-centered person.

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?

Faith: A Loss or a Gain?

As I sat through the Primary program yesterday, I realized that I really don't belong in Primary. The ways that these children are taught to believe in eternal families, in the power of the scriptures, listening to the prophet, are not so simple for me. I believe in celestial marriage, in the power of listening to scripture. But it's not a fairy tale with a happily ever after.

We teach that families can be together forever but not how personal agency can affect that family. We teach reading scriptures by excising scripture bites that highlight what we want to say, but we don't teach our children how to delve into the scriptures, how to rely on scripture for answers they need. We teach following the prophet, but we forget to teach spiritual discernment of the prophet's words for personal application.

I don't feel like I am qualified to teach the kinds of lessons that are in Primary. I feel like I am lying by teaching such a fluffy, empty version of my testimony. And yet, it is those very things such as the temple, scripture study, and listening to the prophet which have been my lifeline.

One of the first paragraphs of "Lectures on Faith" asks the class to reflect on their lives, and ask themselves the question, "Would you have ever sown if you had not believed that you would reap?"

What Is Real(?)

I put the phone down and lean my head against the steering wheel. Rachel* from DCFS just told me that my five year old needed counseling because of the story she told about seeing an inappropriate movie at her dad’s house. Either way, true or fiction, the “dynamic” between my ex-husband and me was probably causing her stress that she needed to talk out.

Despite my best efforts, I feel the tears in my eyes, the familiar tight burning of fear. I want to tell her that it isn’t a dynamic. His abuse. The ugly, dirty word that has transformed my life from that of a rather selfish, but well-intentioned young adult to a thirty-two-year-old woman who has learned to accept that there will always be fear in her life.

Don't Marry Me for Who I Am

I hear so often the advice, "Marry someone who loves and accepts you for who you are."

It sounds like great advice. With abuse in my past I know better than many that you shouldn't change yourself to impress or please another person. But the more I think about the entire meaning of that phrase, the less I like it.

Who am I right now? Well, I have a temper. I'm emotionally awkward. I repeatedly fail at charity. I often don't know the Lord's will, and I often misinterpret it. I could stand to lose some weight, certainly. I'm unhappy with my job, and not particularly pleased with the path my life has taken. I haven't accomplished any of the things I want to accomplish. The old wounds of emotional abuse still pull at times. I have a very hard time knowing when to shut my mouth. I'm impatient. Sometimes I yell. I have a hard time listening.

Conditional Love

A discussion over on FMH really got me thinking about some of the choices I've made in the last decade, as well as how relationships and love work. They began talking about unconditional love in conjunction with some discussion on marriage and divorce. Some thoughts came to me which I felt were worth reproducing here.

Everyone’s love is conditional in one sense or other. True unconditional love in the sense that most people mean it—that I can do anything I want and not suffer loss of intimacy—CANNOT exist. That’s one thing I learned from my experiences in my marriage. I stayed with my ex-husband through some pretty scary times over the years because I believed in unconditional love like that.

But true unconditional love does not exist without boundaries or limitations. Conditions on love are different than boundaries. To set a condition on love means, “I will only love you if you do this.” That was something I experienced up close and personal in my marriage. Unconditional love really looks like, “I will always love you, but I’ll not be close to you if you engage in behavior that is destructive.”

I still love my ex, in the sense that I want what is best for him. I would love it if he would repent, become a good father and maybe even a good husband some day to someone else. But to the extent of my power, I will not let him hurt me or the children any more.

So I love him unconditionally, but I will not stay close to him unconditionally.

I think most of us have a pretty twisted sense of what real love is. I imagine this is what makes it hard to understand a God who wouldn’t just forgive all and let us all come back to live with Him no matter what we do. We conflate love and intimacy. I imagine that God will always love us, but we cannot be close to Him if we engage in destructive behaviors.

Stop, and Stand Still

I am, by nature, a doer. I work hard for whatever goal I find at the moment. Right now, I'm not able to work for the goal I want, a goal I know the Lord wants for me. This is why particular words spoken by the Lord to Joseph Smith struck me deeply. The Lord tells Joseph that there are those waiting to destroy him, and "for this cause I have said: Stop, and stand still until I command thee, and I will provide means whereby thou mayest accomplish the thing which I have commanded thee."

When I read it, the Spirit jumped in my heart, and I knew that commandment was also for me. It is perhaps the hardest thing the Lord has asked of me: to not do. To stand by while I watch much of my efforts to fulfill other commandments He has given me crumble around me.

But He goes on to reassure me and Joseph, "if thou art faithful in keeping my commandments, [including the commandment to be still,] thou shalt be lifted up at the last day. Amen."

Faith is a hard thing, indeed.

Obedience Despite Disagreement

I want to share a story. I apologize, but it is a mission story, I can't help that. It is something quite personal and sacred to me, but at the urging of a friend I shall share it here.

My mission president was the sort of man who was able to see straight through you and into your soul when he shook your hand. He was wise and patient, and able to interview and teach missionary work on levels suited to the individual missionary. He was quite strict, having inherited a somewhat chaotic mission. He was roughly halfway done with his mission when I entered the mission field. He also loved sisters and sister missionary work.

I was in four areas during my first nine months, transferred nearly every transfer, until I was sent to the most remote sisters' area in the mission. The nearest member priesthood wielders were in a town 10 minutes away by train. The nearest missionaries were 30-40 minutes away by train. We were effectively alone in our work. Moreoever, the ward did not like missionaries. They had some bad missionary experiences in their fairly recent past, and still largely thought of the missionaries as parasites with no benefit to them.

The work was difficult there. We were remote, and had no car. We walked and used public transit. The terrain was fairly hilly, and communities were spaced relatively far apart. With little member support and no other missionaries, it was lonely. We struggled to teach and bring investigators to church, only to have them shunned and ignored. It was difficult. After praying about it for some time and receiving strong Spiritual confirmation, my companion and I decided to recommend that the area be closed to missionaries for a time. It would give the members time to rest. Eventually, our desires were granted.

I was sent to a place I had always felt I would be sent. I felt I had some specific work to do. It was four and a half months before the end of my mission, as I had decided to take the later return home. Also, two weeks after my transfer, we were to change mission presidents and merge with another mission. I was placed in a companionship which was amiable for about two hours, but then fell apart when I looked over the book and, as the senior companion, prepared to direct our companionship's work.

My companion of the time was very headstrong, and though she was junior companion in her previous companionship, she made all the decisions. In the brief time observing the companionship before the other sister returned home, I saw a rather emotionally abusive relationship. This sister resented my outlook on missionary work, as I thought we should spend our time teaching and tracting, and not lounging around members' houses, having come from an area which was still suffering from such behavior. She felt the best way to do the work was to buddy up with the members.

As those who have been in these sorts of relationships know, when the parties agree, it is as if there is no senior and junior companionship. When the parties do not agree, however, it is the job of the senior companion to prayerfully and considerately make the decision. I admit I was not as considerate as I now wish I had been. To me, the mission was about work, not play, and I was still young in my position as senior companion. The companionship quickly became completely unbearable, and we spent more time split with the office sisters in our apartment next to the main office, and not together as companions. In this personal climate, we gained a new president and merged with the other mission.

The new president knew our previous president fairly well, as they had served missions together. Purely in speculation and feelings I gained, as they made little to no outward sign of it, I feel they did not particularly get along before. They were completely cordial to each other, however, and our beloved mission president left the mission in the hands of his successor. Perhaps because there had been some history behind them, perhaps because all new presidents feel they need to change things, perhaps because of the merger, our work quickly changed. The new president felt that triple companionships were a waste of resources, and since there were two sister companionships of that nature in the mission, within a week my previous companion and I were sent back to the area we had been relieved to leave.

I couldn't help but feel that it was a personal failure on my part. If I had been a better senior companion, had known how to deal with my angry junior companion, perhaps I would have been allowed to stay where I felt I should be and do the Task I thought the Lord wanted me to do. My failure, in my eyes, was spectacular. My companion was transferred out of the area in the next transfer and I was paired with a senior sister.

She was in her seventies, but extremely fit, especially for her age. It was good that she was so, because the terrain had not changed and we still had no car. Feeling like a failure, I redoubled my efforts to work hard and frankly pushed her far too hard to learn the language and keep up with the work. I was perfectly horrible to her. I felt completely crushed by my situation, and at a loss to know what to do. Each transfer I prayed to leave, each time I stayed I knew I was still a failure. I knew I had messed up beyond repair, and I was banished to a place I could do little further harm, paired with someone who could not help me prove I was worthy.

During this time of angst, the president decided that as a mission, we were not working hard enough and doubled our goal numbers. He strongly favored the other mission we had merged with and constantly lauded their efforts and their successes. They were a much smaller mission and had not been transferred very often. Most missionaries there would serve in one or two areas before going home, our average was more like four or five. They were the golden children, and resentment was building in our half of the mission. As the most senior sister remaining from that mission, I was the recipient of a great deal of complaining.

The resentment only grew worse as rumors began to circulate that the new president's favorite sister missionary was calling her previous Zone Leader (across two countries) after curfew. Other similar rumors began to fly. As telephone records came out, so did the truth. This sister and the elder involved were sent home honorably, from what I remember, as it was time for her to return home anyways. That was not the end of it. Perhaps because of the infrequent transfers or smallness of that mission, most of the rumors were true. It quickly became common knowledge that the Golden Child was in a state of decay, and the whipping boy was boiling in anger over it.

I thought it would be a good idea to let the president know the state of feeling among many of the missionaries, including myself, before it boiled over. I was recalled from my remote area, riding 5 hours alone to return to the area I felt I was supposed to serve in. I had no idea what was going on. When I got to the office, I sat for some time before being invited in. There followed a long, tearful, emotional interview in which I was informed that the Mission President was sending me home in the next transfer. I was to be given an honorable discharge, but was not to stay the extra month I had felt strongly I was to serve, despite my personal difficulties.

He felt I was breaking under the stress of the mission and could not handle another month. I plead with him as I have never done so with anyone else. I knew I was supposed to stay. I promised I would no longer complain and would do all I could to disperse the ill feelings of others. I can't remember everything I said in that interview, but by the end, he let me stay (on probation.) I returned, completely humiliated and broken. I served my last month without the zeal and energy I had before depended on.

In my time after being sent back, we had completely ceased doing member meals. At first this was only our companionship's choice, but the president had meanwhile told the missionaries that member meals were to be done on their free time and were not to count as missionary work, unless a nonmember was present. We tracted. Fairly early in my return, a referral came in from a member in another mission. This lady had gone through a divorce and had one son, about two years old. She was utterly sweet, and lived in the furthest reach of our area. We had to travel an hour and a half by train to teach her. We had been teaching her every week when I was recalled to the office, and after I returned, she set a baptismal date and ended up being baptized the Saturday before I left for home. She was the only baptism of someone I had taught which I saw in the course of my mission.

Gradually, during my last month, my humiliation became mixed with humility. I began to see all the many things I had done wrong in the latter course of my mission. I began to understand that I had no right to take upon myself the responsibility of informing the mission president what he was doing wrong. I certainly should never have participated in all the ill feeling towards him. Even if I had felt it, I should have kept it to myself.

I believe his efforts, though misguided, were deeply sincere. He had been trying to do the right thing. It was some time after my mission that I saw that his situation was not so different from what mine had been as senior companion to a girl who resented me. In my own small way, I had been in a leadership position I was ill prepared for. I had made serious mistakes, despite trying to do what I felt was right and trying to follow the Spirit with all my energy of soul. How wonderful it would have been, and how much more I could have learned, had my companion chosen to support me with gentle discussions of how she felt I was wrong. If she had given me time to grow and learn, we could have been a stellar companionship.

I'm sure the new president learned some life-changing lessons in the course of his service, despite its stormy beginnings. I still cherish him and his wife, and wish I were better at keeping up with them. I know he is—and was—a man of God, called by Him to be there in that place and time, despite his imperfections and insecurities.

There is a time, place and manner in which to disagree with our priesthood leaders. They are imperfect, but I have never once met one who wasn't trying to do the right thing according to their understanding. It is so vitally important to treat them with charity and understanding. Love them, even if you don't agree with them. Realize that the Lord has called them to their position for reasons you don't know. Through their leadership service, they will learn charity and humility. In the meantime, support them with a whole heart, even if you cannot agree with them. Disagree respectfully and lovingly. You never know when you will be in a place of leadership where you will wish that you had one person willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.

If There Were a God

"If there were a God, there would not be so much suffering." "If there were a God, He would show Himself to me." "If there were a God . . . ." These phrases echo through the history of mankind, sometimes getting louder and more commonly uttered. I find it interesting to note that most of the time, those who feel this way do so in reaction to some perceived injustice.

As I have observed and lived the way the Father deals with me, guiding me carefully through slowly increasing paths of knowledge, I have gained a deep trust in Him and in my Savior. I do not know them as well as I wish, but I know them well enough to trust them. God has said that His entire purpose is to bring us eternal life. There is nothing greater! Although I do not understand all that this entails, I trust Him that it is glorious and wonderful beyond all imaginings. I don't worry about what exactly the Celestial Kingdom will consist of, because I know that if I humble myself to accept in gratitude the offer made to me, I will bask in it, whatever it may be. If I work, I will work in the glory of God and it will be beautiful. If I sing His praises in the choirs of heaven, it will be because my soul cannot contain my joy and gratitude. If I am married to one or to many, it will be in the spirit of perfect love and perfect communion. All that matters to me is to be with Him again, and to help as many of my brothers and sisters enjoy the same.

I am willing to trust Him in how to bring me to Him. If He says I must be baptized to apply forgiveness of Adam's sin, I will do so. If He says I must humble myself and love those I would rather avoid, I will put every effort into doing so. If He says I do not need to hold the Priesthood or anything like it now, than I will serve in the way He has asked me to. If He says I must be patient and allow Him to run His Church through men who also yearn to be with Him, that is fine by me. I have chosen to subdue my will under His will. If I am to be labeled a blind follower, than so be it. All that matters to me is how He feels about me.

I trust Him to guide me in the paths which I most need to follow. I have felt His strength pushing me down paths I would rather not have taken. I have felt His love help me be joyful in walking these paths. I do not need to listen to the "wisdom" of others who rail against the Church and her current doctrines. I feel no need to second guess the Lord.

I trust His ability to work through imperfect vessels, male and female, to bring about perfect purposes because I have felt Him work through me. What utter joy! I wish with all my power that I could share with others what lies down the path of discipleship and beyond the veil of uncertainty, pride and confidence in one's own intelligence. All must find that path in their own way. So, I am left with nothing but pleading and testimony. There is nothing in the philosophies of (wo)man that can compare! Find it. Go just a little further than you think you can. Try just a little harder to trust God. He is there, and He loves.

In the end, I know that if there were a God, He would know better than I what His children need.