Trying to Answer: Why Does God Allow Bad Things to Happen (part 3 of a 3 part series continued)

When it comes to dealing with pain, I'm a novice really.  I'm just trying to figure it out, so I turn to the pros.  People who have been there and done that, who have not only survived adversity but thrived.  They have much to teach us. 

The first important thing I've learned is that we must recognize that there is always a choice.  Viktor Frankl, a survivor of on of our world's most horrid injustices, a Nazi concentration camp, said, "A human being is not one thing among others; things determine each other, but man is ultimately self-determining. What he becomes - within the limits of endowment and environment- he has made out of himself. In the concentration camps, for example, in this living laboratory and on this testing ground, we watched and witnessed some of our comrades behave like swine while others behaved like saints. Man has both potentialities within himself; which one is actualized depends on decisions but not on conditions...We who lived in concentration camps can remember the men who walked through the huts comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread. They may have been few in number, but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms -- to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way."


Here he teaches that a great stumbling block in the path of every human being is to blame the results of our lives on their circumstances.  In doing so we fictitiously relieve ourselves of responsibility--which can never really be--but simultaneously, we also remove our free will, making ourselves victims of those circumstances which we blame.  It is a powerless position, and we, who chose agency in the very beginning, don't like the way it feels.  It is miserable. 

I turn to an anonymous teacher, one who chose not to be identified in an article entitled "The Journey to Healing" in the September 1997 issue of Ensign magazine.  She said this: "I am a survivor of childhood physical, emotional, and sexual abuse.  I no longer view myself as a victim.  The change has come from inside of me--my attitude.  I do not need to destroy myself with anger and hate.  I don't need to entertain thoughts of revenge.  My Savior knows what happened.  He will be just.  I will leave it in His hands.  I will not be judged for what happened to me, but I will be judged by how I let it affect my life.  I am responsible for my actions and what I do with my knowledge.  I am not to blame for what happened to me as a child.  I cannot change the past.  But I can change the future.  I have chosen to heal myself and pass on to my children what I have learned.  The ripples in my pond will spread though future generations."

She has taken back her power through the powerful tool of forgiveness, a much misunderstood topic.  Forgiveness isn't so much for the offender as it is for the offended.  Forgiveness means giving up the anger, frustration, resentment, blame, and guilt of what is past so that it no longer can affect the present negatively.  It means we trust in a God who can and will make things right, that justice will be done, and that we can have peace now.  There are things we must all forgive, and the sooner we can do it, the more happy, peaceful, and productive our lives will be.

There also seems to be a connection in her story to finding meaning in the suffering one has undergone.  To hearken back to the wisdom of Viktor Frankl, he has said, "“In some ways suffering ceases to be suffering at the moment it finds a meaning, such as the meaning of a sacrifice...If there is meaning in life at all, then there must be meaning in suffering.”  The anonymous woman, though I'm sure she would trade her past circumstances, may not trade the wisdom, insight, empathy, and self-worth she has gained because of them.  Could one exist without the other?  Could she have gained those same characteristics any other way?  I don't know, but what I do know is that God is capable of taking the ugliest, most painful situations of our lives and using them as our best teachers.  This particular woman has given her suffering meaning by becoming an agent for change and a teacher for future generations.  She provides a living example of another one of Frankl's resounding truths: "To give light one must endure burning."

Next, in one of the great ironies of life, we must use our agency to submit our will to the Fathers.  No where is there a better example of this than in the life of our Savior.  A every turn he communicated, "Not my will, but thine."   As Robert D. Hales says, "By His perfect life, He taught us that when we choose to do the will of our Heavenly Father, our agency is preserved, our opportunities increase, and we progress."  Our agency, the first gift of our Father to us, is truly the only thing that is uniquely ours to give because it is this agency that allows us to choose God or not.  He has given it to us knowing that we can wield it to turn away from Him, but if we will lay it on the alter and like Jesus say, "Thy will be done," we are trusting in a creator who dreams bigger dreams for us than we do for ourselves.  We rely on the Master who knows more than we know, even about ourselves. 

In painful circumstances, we must remember that we are always valuable, that God always loves us and believes in us, and that He will provide every needful thing.  In the LDS religion we are taught, "Verily I say, men should be anxiously engaged in a good cause, and do many things of their won free will, and bring to pass much righteousness.  FOR THE POWER IS IN THEM, wherein they are agents unto themselves.  And inasmuch as men do good they shall in nowise lose their reward" (Doctrine and Covenants 58:27-28).  What is that power He is talking about?  It must be, at least in great part, the power to choose--to choose Him, to choose His Son, to choose happiness, to choose the right, to choose a better way of living. 

Life has a way, sometimes through adversity, of questioning us.  That, I think, was always God's intent.  In response to life's questioning we get to choose, and what we choose to do determines who we will become; that is our final answer. 

In Mosiah 8:18 we read, "Thus God has provided a means that man, through faith, might work mighty miracles; therefore he becometh a great benefit to his fellow beings."  I still believe in a God that can work miracles, and I might be a little closer to understanding the real miracle of living.  I've come to a place that can dash my heart to pieces, it's true; but through my faith in our Savior's atonement it can be repaired, and while it is being sewn up again I gain patience, and wisdom, and generosity, and empathy, and understanding, and kindness, and forgiveness, a benefit not only to me but those in my circle of influence...Isn't that the miracle?  And if the miracle I seek is for him to keep my heart whole in the first place won't I miss what He is really trying to do for me?  Won't I miss the miracle altogether?

So I'm grateful for my life--all of it!  The mess, the hurt, the worry, the sorrow, as well as all the good stuff that goes along with it.  I'm grateful for the miracle that is living and for a wise Father who allows me to experience all of it and who has lovingly provided His Son to make sure I can find my way back home.  I certainly don't seek adversity, but I am beginning to understand its needful place in answering this vital question:  "Who will I be even when things go wrong?"

Trying to Answer: Why Does God Allow Bad Things to Happen (part 3 of a 3 part series)

I'm trying to answer these questions for no one but myself, but if you are interested in reading my first two essays, you can find them here and here.

In the middle of our infertility issues, I remember wondering which of all the terrible things I had ever done had caused this to happen, for surely this was some kind of punishment.  After all, I believe in a God of miracles.  I know that He and His Son can cure any affliction.  Clearly, I was unworthy of such a blessing.  Or maybe I was just so stubborn that God had to teach me the hard way.  Or maybe I just didn't have the kind of faith necessary to call forth such a miracle.  Whatever it was, whether in my past or present, obviously the problem was due to some deficiency in me, and God was just going to have to punish it out of me.  That was the conversation in my head on the bad days, even though I knew better. 

I don't, in fact, believe in a wrathful, angry, vengeful God, but when things go wrong, it's only human nature to find a reason for it, and sometimes when there is no good explanation, the one we grasp at is that our suffering must be a sign of God's displeasure.  Suddenly, God no longer resembles a loving father, but looks more like Zeus, grabbing that lightening bolt of his in rage and pointing it right at my back.  And so it was that in my late 20's I began to question the nature of God, His plan, His purposes, and my place within all of it.  Who was He, really?  And who was I to Him?  Once so sure of the answers--at least when the questions were much more simple--I was now floundering in deeper waters.

Then one day, as I turned to John, I read, "And as Jesus passed by, he saw a man which was blind from his birth.  And his disciples asked him, saying, Master, who did sin, this man, or his parents, that he was born blind?  Jesus answered, Neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents: but that the works of God should be made manifest in him" (John 9:1-3).  Never before had this particular passage spoken to personally to me.  It looked like I was asking an age old question, and there was peace in Christ's answer...but there were more questions, too.  Like, what exactly are the works of God?  And how, exactly, were they going to be made manifest in our infertility?  I still didn't have the whole answers for those.

As I have come to believe, the true answer, I think, begins in the lesson of the third of the host of heaven who in their premortal existence followed Satan and his plan for forced salvation.  Elder Robert D. Hales taught that, "Those who followed Satan lost the opportunity to receive a mortal body, live on Earth, and progress.  Because of the way they used their agency, they lost their agency."  What I find fascinating in that teaching is the connection between progress and agency.  Because they do not have the opportunity to experience mortal life, in all it's imperfection, they can not progress.  There is a direct correlation there, and it hints, I believe, at what the works of God actually entail.

His goal does not seem to be to provide a perfect life for each of us, but rather to give us life so that we might become perfected.  He doesn't seem to be so interested in clearing our path but far moreso in clarifying our hearts.  Like a good parent, He knows that what is best for us isn't that we are always just happy.  If that were the case He would give us everything we want the very minute we want it.  He would protect us from natural consequences.  He would shield us from pain.  Every real life parent knows how well that would turn out, right?  Though we want our children to be happy, we know that focusing primarily on giving them only happiness will actually end in misery.  God knows that real happiness--progression, salvation, and eternal life--come with certain costs.  Costs that seem necessary in some larger way.  In making those payments we have to opportunity to reap gread dividends, but He also knows that it is how we manage those payments that will make all the difference.

Our use of agency in responding to pain determines the outcome.  Pain does not have to embitter us.  Pain does not have to ruin us.  I absolutely know that there is a way to encounter pain so that it can be our best teacher.

(to be continued...because although I have deep thoughts, I have a life that gets in the way of writing them down.)

Trying to Answer: Why Does God Allow Bad Things to Happen? (part 2 of a 3 part series)

I am not a real time blogger.  If I were, I would blog even when I am sick, which I have been.  The kind of sick that makes me forget to put homework in my kids' backpacks, or makes me let them watch far too much TV instead of insisting that they read, or makes me take a nap in the middle of the afternoon...that kind of sick.  It's been going around here in Mesa.  Hope you don't get it while reading this.  I shouldn't be contagious anymore...

Nobody likes pain.  Most of us do what we can to avoid it because...well...it's painful.  And who wants that?  The fact that some actions result in painful circumstances is not lost on me.  I really like the commandments for the very reason that total freedom is not totally free.  God's commandments are statements of fact about natural consequences of certain behaviors.  The "Thou Shalt Nots" are shalt nots because those things will hurt us.  Every time.  He doesn't want that for us either, and because He is a loving parent, he gives us plenty of guidance about dangerous actions.

Those of us accustomed to faith get used to the idea that living with some restrictions actually makes us more free.  But I propose that some of us get a little too used to it, and we become somewhat confused in this area, assuming that by doing what is right we can--or should--be able to avoid all pain.  Then, when we are blindsided by difficulty, we find ourselves saying things like, "But I did what I was supposed to do.  Where are the blessings?  This wasn't supposed to happen to me."  This is a misconception that will lead us further away from God and from His healing power.

Certainly, obedience to the commandments saves us from the consequences of our own poor choices, but if we believe for one minute that obedience will keep us from all pain, we are bound to be frustrated and our faith will be weakened. As we have already discussed, we live in an imperfect world where we confront disease, disasters, and death. Those are givens, and they will touch us all in one way or another. But we must also come to terms with the fact that we share this earth with other millions of our Father’s children who have as much right to their agency as we do, and sometimes, sadly, their misuse of it will effect us. The outcomes of these poor decisions run the gamut from disappointing to horribly unspeakable, but always it is unjust. It is unfair. However, let us remember that we did not fight to come to a world that was fair.


In our premortal existence Lucifer stepped forward with a plan where not even one soul would be lost. Indeed, it was a plan of rebellion, not only against the Father but against the principle of agency. Marion Hanks taught that: “Lucifer had no love in his heart, no real concept of freedom or respect for it. He had no confidence in the principle or in us. He argued for forced salvation, for imposed survival, for an agencyless round trip to the earth and back again. None would be lost, he insisted. But he seemed not to understand that none would be any wiser, either, or any stronger or more compassionate or humble or grateful or more creative, under his plan.”

Then Christ stepped forward and exercised his agency to support our Father’s plan and offer himself up as a savior for us. To cover our shortcomings, our pains, our disappointments with his blood.

And we chose. A third of our brothers and sisters followed Satan, and we—here on this earth—had enough faith in Jesus Christ to choose a life that was sometimes unfair. We believed he could cover us.  Even when circumstances are unfair.  Even when we do everything right and we experience pain anyway.  Even when it is not our fault.

Pain, adversity, uncertainty, difficulty--we will experience them all here in mortality.  There is no escape route.  No easy way.  As Dr. Carlfred Brokerick said, “The Gospel of Jesus Christ is not insurance against pain. It is a resource in the event of pain.”  We will not be saved from pain because of our faith, but because of our faith we can know what to do with it when it comes.  Our faith--even in our darkest moments--can lead us to Him in whom we can trust, who is The One who can heal us.

Trying to Answer: Why Does God Allow Bad Things to Happen? (part 1 of a 3 part series)

Let me first say:  On the scale from 1-10 of "The Most Horrible Things that Could Happen" I live at a one.  Really.  I haven't known a lot of horror, lucky me.  I've had a few bummers to deal with.  All of us do.  And sometimes circumstances lead us to wonder, "Why does God Allow Bad Things to Happen?"  If he truly is God--all-powerful, all-knowing, omniscient Alpha and Omega--then why?  Why allow the innocent to suffer?  Or evil to go unpunished?  Why the needless destruction and misery?  Why, dear God, is life so unfair?

It's not a new question.  I'm not the first and will certainly not not be the last to wonder what exactly is going on up there in the heavens.  ("Hello, up there...Anybody home?")  It's a fundamental question of anyone of faith.  My own religious faith is so much a part of my guiding voice that I can not examine these questions without referring to it.

As a part of my faith, I believe that we lived with God before ever coming to earth, and I believe the answer begins there in this premortal existence.  There we were first given and exercised our agency--the ability to act according to the moral agency which God gives us and to be accountable for those choices. 

We lived with a loving Father, whose goal was and is to see us progress in light, understanding, and knowledge, so that we could become like Him and live with Him forever.  To do this we needed experience.  And Father set forth a plan where we would come to earth, receive a body, choose to act between good and evil, and progress.  Our agency was central to that plan.

The Book of Mormon 2 Nephi chapter 2 is an outstanding lesson on the gift of agency, and I'll borrow from it liberally to explain.  If we had not been given the ability to choose "we would have remained in a state of innocence, having no joy, for we would know no misery.  Doing no good, for we would know no sin."  And so God--knowing we would hurt, loved us enough to want us to grow and allowed us to act for ourselves, which would be impossible except that we be enticed by the one or the other.  Therefore, it needs be that there is an opposition in all things.  Righteousness could not be brought to pass, neither wickedness, neither holiness nor misery, neither good nor bad.  And so it needs be that all of these things--both the light and the dark--should be part of this existence.  Without this opposition there would be no choice, and without choice no agency, and without agency no progress.  And then the whole point of our existence here would be frustrated; we and the earth would be been created for a thing of naught; wherefore there would have been no purpose in the end of its creation.  It would have destroyed the wisdom of God and his eternal purposes as well as His power, and mercy, and justice.

This world was put in place to be the best learning lab for each of us. Yes, it is imperfect, and unjust, and unfair, but in all of that it is the perfect place for us to learn discernment, to practice choice, and to determine our responses to circumstances not of our choosing. I am not convinced that God "sends" any hardship into our lives, but I know that he created a place where they would certainly be encountered.


This opportunity we have been given to face opposition may be the most meaningful expression of God's belief in us.  Marion D. Hanks said that "He loves us and believes in us and has done and will do anything He can to help us, but He will not impose on our agency.  God so loved that He would not shield us from the perils of freedom, from the right and responsibility to choose.  So deep is His love and so precious that principle the He, who was conscious of the consequences required that we choose...freedom is precarious, difficult, but we had learned that the alternatives to love and freedom of choice cannot provide the climate for growth and creative capacity that can eventually lead us to a a stewardship like our Father's."

Why does God allow bad things to happen? Because he loves us. He knew we would hurt. That sometimes we would fail. That we would lose those we loved. He could keep us safe, but he loves us enough to let us go, to let us live, to let us learn, to let us grow.

(to be continuted...)

Sacrifices Unnamed

photo credit: 21centurywaves.com

In honor of the upcoming Independence Holiday, I am reading Founding Mothers by Cokie Roberts.  While the speeches and sacrifices of many men have been celebrated throughout history, and rightly so, I have been deeply touched by the quiet, overlooked, and deeply personal sacrifices of many women.

Here are a few examples from Founding Mothers:

The boycotts of English goods is well documented, what is not always understood is the day to day trials such boycotts caused, most of which fell to the ladies as they were responsible for the shopping and running of the household.  One example is the boycott of British cloth.  "American women were forced to manufacture their own, another chore added to the already onerous domestic duties of the day...In the Essex Gazette of Salem, Massachusetts, a letter of May 23, 1769 told of the Daughters of Liberty of Newport, Rhode Island, 'serving their country' by spinning from six o'clock in the morning until six o'clock in the evening (39)."

Perhaps it is because I can not imagine adding spinning to my already too long list of chores, but their sacrifice of time and energy truly spoke to me.  As did this:

"...the morning after the Battle of Lexington, about a hundred American soldiers halted in front of the house of Colonel Pond.  Though only Mrs. Pond and a couple of servants were there, they proceeded to feed all those soldiers, with the help of some neighbors who volunteered their cows for milking (43)."

What an overwhelming job that may have seemed, and yet she did it, singularly and without complaint while depleting her own pantry.  Those kinds of personal sacrifices, done alone, nobly performed in the quiet recesses of one's heart and received without pomp and pageantry--the true equivalent to the widow's mite--are sacrifices that speak of greatness.

And what of Mrs. Draper who responded to Washington's call for lead or pewter?  "Mrs. Draper was rich in a large stock of pewter, which she valued as the ornament of her house....Her husband before joining the army had purchased a mould for casting bullets, to supply himself and son with the article of warfare.  Mrs. Draper was not satisfied with merely giving the material required, when she could possibly do more; and her platters, pans and dishes were soon in process of transformation into balls (44)."

This desire to do more and give all was the power behind the revolution.  The cause of liberty was played out on the world's stage, but it began and was supported by the burning in individual hearts.

When it came time to publish the Declaration of Independence, members of Congress were hiding out in Baltimore, each with a price on his head.  There they "turned to a woman for the perilous job of printing the document, with their names attached, for the first time.  The publisher of the Maryland Journal, Mary Katherine Goddard, bravely printed her own name at the bottom of the Declaration, becoming herself a signer of sorts, firmly associating herself with the dangerous cause of the new nation (45)."

Mary Katherine Goddard, Mrs. Draper, Mrs. Pond--names relatively unknown, and yet names symbolically signed through their sacrifices for a cause in which they believed.  They make me want to be better.  They make me ask, what can I do for this country I love?  How will I respond when called upon to stretch and give for something larger than myself? 

How will I sign my name?

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

I remember quite clearly the day I lost my vanity.  It was perhaps a year or so ago.  We were out to eat, and at the end of the meal I excused myself to use the restroom.  Upon returning to the table, I had a fleeting thought about the condition of my lipstick.  And then it hit me:  I'd just been face to face with a giant mirror, and I hadn't even taken a peek at my reflection.  Not even a glance to check my lipstick or adjust my hair while washing my hands, my face a mere twelve inches away from the glass.

How often does that happen?

I am no Narcissus, gazing forever at my own reflection, but I have logged countless hours makeuping, grooming, picking, plucking,washing, and viewing this face.  I used to worry about this face, disliking my nose and always trying to cover up that pesky skin.  And the hair.  Oh, the hair.  Give me one teenage girl that hasn't thrown a brush across the room in utter frustration.

And then, last year at the restaurant I didn't even give this face a second thought.  I don't know what else I was busy doing or thinking, but it wasn't about this face.  Not any more. 

Don't get me wrong, I still make up and wash and comb and groom and fight wrinkles.  I'm a big believer in putting my best face forward, but I like this new season of life where I fix it and forget it.  This season of life where other things are more important than the physical me.

And I wonder how I got here.  Is it the children that have given me a new perspective?  Having children has certainly forced a little more selfishness out of me, that's for sure, but they've also taught me how much richer my life can be when living for something beyond myself.  My children are ever present, either physically or mentally.  They have usurped all the empty, nonsensical space in my life, and some of the already filled space as well, to be honest.  It is exhausting sometimes, but there is something freeing in it, too.  As much as I may give up of myself in this mothering gig, I've also given up some pretty petty concerns.  I see life beyond myself.  That's a gift.

Perhaps, too, it is my age.  After 40 years, I've made peace with this face and the rest of me as well.  Maybe there is something to this aging thing.  Maybe it just takes this long to settle into one's skin.

But whatever it is, that night, at the restaurant? I smiled.  Because I know one thing for sure, and that is that this face--this body--is not the essence of me.  It is simply the shell I walk around in.  The real me is much bigger and deeper than I can comprehend and vanity has no place in it.  In fact, the temptation to judge ourselves based on our outward appearance robs us.  It keeps us from knowing who we really are, for we are so much more than we see.

My relationship with the mirror is a funny balance as are so many things in life.  Sometimes I celebrate the looking--in the acceptance of this face and this body; in the desire to care for it rather than the wish to change it; in feeling gratitude for it rather than pining for something very different.  In that way I celebrate the looking.  And I think that is possible because of the not looking, and so I celebrate that, too.

I don't, actually, think it is possible for vanity, or ego, or pride, or selfishness to fall away in one night.  I think it is a process that has been a long time at work, and I'm sure I'm not done yet.  But I got a glimpse of how far I have come in not glimpsing myself at all.

Facing Transition

Transitions.  They're hard.  I'm not good at them.  And I've been struggling lately.  A heavy hearted kind of struggling. 

We've decided, I think, that our family is complete.  I don't know about the complete part, but we think we are done trying to add to it.  Realistically, it's probably the right idea.  For a lot of reasons.  And all of those reasons make sense, but my heart--oh, my heart.  It's sad.

I had to switch out baby Lincoln's 3-6 month clothes for his 9-12 month clothes, and I couldn't get past that lump in my throat.  It threw me into a dark place.  A mourning spot.  I didn't finish.  I walked away from the piles of little onsies and sleepers and tiny socks and shoes, and left them there.  Maybe when I was stronger?  More ready?  Luckily, sweet Mr. Wicke silently took over, and when I came in a day later, it was done.  All packed away into a plastic bin.  The bin is still sitting there...staring at me.

Transitions.  Leaving one stage of life behind.  Completely.  I don't like it.

I turned 39 this week, which isn't so bad, but I feel my feet planted on the inevitable road to another trasition.  Another marker of no return.  The older I get the more I feel like life is just a wisp of smoke.  Visible for a moment and then swept away by the winds of something ever so much bigger.  How quickly it passes.

Perhaps that feeling has been made more tangible this week as I have sat in a hospital with a woman facing death.  As a double mastectomy turned to the overwhelming news of stage 4 cancer, I have sat with her, prayed with her, and cried with her, but I am helpless to make this transition easier.  My heart, it hurts.   

Transitions.  They're hard.  I'm not good at them, but I guess that wrestling with them is the only way through.  Then, maybe, when we poke our heads out the other side we'll find that we've transitioned to someplace surely different, but somplace just as good, maybe even better, with a new happiness waiting for us. 

I think that's what they call faith. 

And while I struggle, I'll keep one hand grasped on that hope.  It has to be enough to pull me through the darkness until I see the light again.      

Discovery and Recovery

I mulled over that post about my dad a lot this last week.  It was all true.  But it wasn't complete.  Certainly there is the darkness that is the loss of him, but at the same time--even as it was happening--there are and were discoveries of hope, of light, and of love.  Without those the story is only half told. 

Death of a loved one is life at it's most dramatic.  For me, facing mortality had an incredibly clarifying effect.  In those moments when I had to look death in the eye and reliquish our beloved father, every peripheral, unimportant element of my life slipped away.  Things that I thought were important, things that I thought I wanted, suddenly weren't.  What I did for a living, the size of my home, the style of my car, who knows my name and who doesn't  just...didn't...matter.  What was left after the blazing heat of grief was the crystalized understanding that few things follow us into the life hereafter.  Love, faith, and the time spent with both are about all we get to take with us.

I was rehearsing the lead for a play in San Diego when I got the call that my dad was in a coma.  It was because of those rehearsals that I missed our last family gathering and my dad's 70th birthday.  I regret that.  I don't think it's coincidental that I haven't done much auditioning since.  I still love the theater, but it is not the pivot around which my life revolves.  I'd rather be with my kids.  I'd rather have the freedom to make the reunions and birthday parties.  I don't want that gypsy lifestyle.  I want roots and deep friendships.  They require time, and Daddy's passing taught me that time is a limited commodity, there's never as much of it as we would like to think, and I need to be thoughtful about how I spend it.

When I got the second call 24 hours later reporting that Dad's condition had not improved as they had hoped, that things looked darkly inevitable, my husband was 90 miles away.  Or rather, I was away from him, but I needed him.  Immediately.  Thomas told me long ago that I'm a girl that needs a wide berth.  That I don't like being held too tightly, and I suppose that's true, but when things fell apart for me, when I was confused, heartbroken, and lost, I needed him to cling to.  What a felicitous discovery to find that the one person I chose to spend my life with is truly the one person whom I need.  And because I needed him, he flew to my side and held me together. That is a moment that cemented and sanctified our marriage.  My rock.

The plane ride home was miserable.  There were still a lot of unknowns at the time, but words like "brain-damage" and "vegetative state" were being thrown around.  I felt undone in a way that I had never experienced before.  Someone from the family, I didn't know whom exactly, was going to pick me up from the airport, and I worried that I would fall apart when I saw them.  That when I saw their identical broken heart,  my own, which I was barely holding together, would tumble out in gasping shards.  I came down the escalator to find two of my older brothers waiting for me.  As I met their eyes, in that very moment I had dreaded, I was surprisingly lifted up.  I felt stronger, more understood, more myself with them at my side.  This blessing of family that I had always appreciated held new significance.  It was now a necessity.  It was my safe harbor, and it would see me home.

At some point in the days spent in the hospital, it became clear that my father was not going to return to us.  The he that he had been was already gone.  Then we had the awful decision to make regarding life support.  Mom and the seven of us, her children, sought out a quiet room, and we knelt in prayer, each of us taking a turn to pour out our hearts aloud to God, to seek His will.  It was a significant moment for me--for all of us--and when we were done, we knew what we had to do.  However, His peace had settled on our hearts and we were unified in spirit.  Never before had faith meant so much to me.  Perhaps it is only in the darkness that we can clearly perceive its brilliancy.  Without its guiding light, I do not know how I would have found my way through the grief and come out on the other side intact.  But I did.  Not only did I come out intact, I think I came out better than when I went in.

Death is the great unknown, but I agree with the author who said it is like a ship passing beyond the horizon simply out of our sight.  Somewhere I'm out on that wide ocean myself, captaining my own little skiff.  My father's life charted my course in childhood, but it was his death that pointed me in the right direction in adulthood.  In the loss, I more fully discovered who I want to be and where I want to go.  Discovering the light in the darkness is not just the rest of the story, it is the only thing that gives the story any meaning at all.

Loss

A dear friend of ours just lost his father.  From the sounds of it, the circumstances are so much like my own father's passing that I have been feeling heavy and sad.  Both for him and for me, I suppose.  Often times, the journey to another's sorrow is through our own worn paths of old pain.  What I know is that one is never ready to lose a good parent. 

It's nearing a decade that I've lived without Dad, and I still miss him, every day.  I was 29 when it happened and nowhere ready to lose my protector.  The man would have slayed dragons for me; this I know for sure, and there were some big ones waiting down my path.  When he died, we were just beginning our maiden voyage to the land of infertility, that savage, undiscovered country that stole our dreams one at a time and broke our hearts before giving us our life back.  How I needed his wisdom.  His assurance.  His humor.

And then, when we finally became parents, I missed him all over again.  I want my children to know him.  To hear his voice tell stories only the way he can.  To hear him say, "Are you going to be a straight arrow?"  To get wrapped up in one of his giant bear hugs and hear him whisper fiercely in their ears that he loves them with all his heart.  I want them to experience his faith, his mirth, his perspective, his loyalty, and his joy; knowing that their lives are poorer because he is not here breaks my heart.

I have had a difficult time talking about the death of my father.  I can tell stories about my dad, but I can not communicate the loss.  It was nearly a year before I could simply write it in my journal, and even then, my description was brief.  I do not have the words.  Not to describe the searing pain across my soul that is the missing of him.

It is with this understanding that I stand near my friend, unable to heal what hurts.  I can not take his pain, but I can share it.  Sometimes that is enough. 

Thoughts on Worship: Gathering Together Oft'

I know one thing for sure: I need to develop a personal relationship with my Savior, Jesus Christ. This requires effort on my part. Personal effort. Moments of quiet meditation. Personal revelation. Covenants kept. I know that. Can't I do that alone?Yes, in part. But I also need others, and they need me. As I've considered the importance of gathering, I have discovered three important elements of group worship.

The first is that of covenants, or two-way promises between me and the Lord. I need baptism. I need His sacrament. Both as an outward promise of my devotion and as a vehicle for repentance and obtaining His forgiveness. These I can not do alone because they require the authority given to man by God. Even Christ sought out John the Baptist because of his authority to baptise in the name of the Father. I think anyone who is a member of a religion believes that his/her religion is a vehicle of God's authority.

The second purpose of gathering together is just as clear. Man has a very short memory. Gathering together often is a way of recharging our spiritual batteries, so to speak. We are reminded of a higher purpose. Many times we get so consumed by the "have-to's" of life that we forget what is really important, and so a wise God commands us to put aside the "have-to's" for one day, to gather and focus on the welfare of our souls, the only have-to that is not temporary.

The third component of gathering together that I have been thinking on is a bit more subtle but no less important. If we take upon ourselves the name of Christ, are to follow His example, and truly become Christlike, how is that done? Can I do that singularly? No. It requires that I bump into people, because in that jostling I gain the opportunity to forgive and to be forgiven; to take upon myself another's burdens and have my own be shared; to receive mercy and to be merciful. One of my favorite gospel teachers was an LDS Apostle named Neil A. Maxwell. He said it like this,

"...the Church is 'for the perfecting of the saints' (Eph. 4:12); it is not a well-provisioned rest home for the already perfected. ...in the kingdom we are each other’s clinical material; the Lord allows us to practice on each other, even in our imperfections. And each of us knows what it is like to be worked on by a 'student' rather than a senior surgeon. Each of us, however unintentionally, has also inflicted some pain."

God in his infinite wisdom gave us first our family and then, secondly, the family of believers with whom we are commanded to gather. By doing so, he ensured that we would have plenty of practice in developing charity--the pure love of Christ. On our best days we may inspire someone. On our worst, we are lifted up by someone else.

I have been lucky in my life to be surrounded by believers--both of my particular faith and of others. I have been inspired, lifted, and forgiven. I have witnessed living testaments of charity, and I have been changed. I am grateful to gather in His name.

(For the rest of Elder Neil A. Maxwell's talk go here. )

Thoughts on Worship

Over the last month or so, I have been considering the hows and whys of worship. My thoughts are vast and varied, so in an attempt to clarify them, I thought I would pose some questions and discuss them here. If interested, feel free to post your own thoughts. No right or wrong answers here.

The history of the Christian faith clearly exhorts the believers to gather together for worship.

Acts 20
7 And upon the first day of the week, when the disciples came together to break bread, Paul preached unto them, ready to depart on the morrow; and continued his speech until midnight.
8 And there were many lights in the upper chamber, where they were gathered together.

Nehemiah 9
1 Now in the twenty and fourth day of this month the children of Israel were assembled with fasting, and with sackclothes, and earth upon them.
2 And the seed of Israel separated themselves from all strangers, and stood and confessed their sins, and the iniquities of their fathers.
3 And they stood up in their place, and read in the book of the law of the LORD their God one fourth part of the day; and another fourth part they confessed, and worshipped the LORD their God.

Psalms 26
12 My foot standeth in an even place: in the congregations will I bless the LORD.

Acts 4
31 And when they had prayed, the place was shaken where they were assembled together; and they were all filled with the Holy Ghost, and they spake the word of God with boldness.

Acts 11
26 And when he had found him, he brought him unto Antioch. And it came to pass, that a whole year they assembled themselves with the church, and taught much people. And the disciples were called Christians first in Antioch.

Hebrews 10
24 And let us consider one another to provoke unto love and to good works:
25 Not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together...

The God I know is not frivolous in the commands He gives. Moreover, I believe His purpose in any commandment is to bless us. Considering that, what is the importance of gathering together? Can one worship effectively alone? How does gathering prove a blessing to the members?

Small Things

Currently I'm reading "Mother Teresa: Come Be My Light" and I ran across this quote that has been tripping through my mind these last couple of days:

"Don't look for big things, just do small things with great love....The smaller the thing, the greater must be our love." --Mother Teresa

Isn't it true how we somehow "know" that we would be capable of the big things even though we often fail to prove ourselves trustworthy with the small things?

Truly I find that the small things are often the most difficult to do because they require so much consistency and effort for something that seems so very insignificant, and yet I am coming to know that it is the small things, done dutifully over the passage of time, that render our hearts worthy, that make the difference in our families, and create the pattern of our lives. What better place to put great love?

Families: Can We Do Better?

The other night I sat down to watch Supernanny, which I secretly call "brainwashing hour." My kids love the show--Logan has described herself as a Supernanny "fan"--and I love that for an hour I get to say things like, "Wow! That is such ugly behaviour! I'm so glad you guys don't act like that. Goodness! No one in that family seems happy. See what happens when we don't have rules?" You get the idea. And my kids are right on board: "He should not be doing that! That is dangerous! He's old enough to know better!" Ahhh...Brainwashing never sounded so sweet.

But I decided I had better preview last week's episode. The premise was that Supernanny would enter a home where the parents were determining to divorce and help the children navigate those rough waters. I thought it would be pretty heavy stuff for my kids to watch. Turns out, it was pretty heavy stuff for me to watch.

Truly, it was like watching a tragedy unfold in front of my eyes. Now, I realize I have no concept of the ins and outs of that particular marriage, but it seemed strange that neither of the adults could convey any sort of concrete reason for divorcing, not to the kids and not to each other. The dad lamely said, "I've just given everything to everyone else for so long, there's nothing left for me." My thought: Does this justify throwing a bomb into your family?

Now, I am not one to say that divorce should never be an option. On the contrary I think that there are circumstances where it is the only option. In cases of abuse, physical or emotional, get yourself out of there. And a mother who stays with a man who abuses her kids is just as liable as the abuser in my opinion. However, that said, I would argue that divorce happens too often and unnecessarily at that.

Watching these two parents on tv trying to explain to their kids how their lives were going to completely change but somehow miraculously "stay the same" was so heart wrenching I had to turn it off. I hope the best for that family; I really do. But even with the best of circumstances in a divorce, it is never the best version of family, at least not for the children.

The best family situation is for kids to live with a mother and father who love them and love each other. Yes, I know that doesn't always happen. I know that situations are complex. But I still have to ask: Is that so impossible? Can't we, the adults, do better?

It reminds me of a conversation I had a few weeks ago while at a kid's birthday party. While the children played, the moms made small talk. I spent a great deal of time talking to a mother of one of Logan's schoolmates whom I don't know all that well, but we seemed to hit it off. Somewhere along the conversation she spoke of her ex-husband, her daughter's father. I don't recall all the specifics of the conversation, but this phrase will not leave me. She said, "If I knew then what I know now we probably would still be together. He's a good man."

I do not think she is alone. I've heard versions of that phrase too many times to think that. What I really think is that maybe we, as a society, have been brainwashed a little ourselves. I think maybe we expect a fairytale when the truth is, marriage is the hardest work we'll ever do--The most rewarding, but the hardest, nonetheless. I think maybe we think if we had married a "soul mate" life would be easier, happier, more romantic, when the truth is there is no "perfect" person out there; no one can "complete" us. I think maybe the grass looks greener on the other side, when the truth is the grass over there is just different and still has issues to face.

I know this is a sensitive topic, but we are fighting for our families. There is nothing more important. It's worthy of great thought and great discussion.

Food for Thought

While writing my post yesterday, I was reminded of an article I read months ago and have thought of often since. The story of a father and his son is particularly poignant, I think, because the idea that we are responsible to our children rather than responsible for our children is an important paradigm shift in how I raise, respond, and nurture my amazing kiddos. With that new understanding, I can parent without my own ego, baggage, or stuff getting in the way. I allow them to become the person God envisions, not the person I want them to be, and isn't that so much better?

So, for today, here's a little food for thought. Enjoy!

“One definition of good mental health is the ability to give up control—to trust God, ourselves, and others—and to know that things will work out,” observes Dr. Clyde Parker, clinical director of a counseling and therapy center at McKay-Dee Hospital in Ogden, Utah. Giving up control over other people may seem contrary to our responsibility to help others find salvation. But Dr. Parker explains that we need to see ourselves as being responsible to other people, not responsible for them. “Although we may be our brother’s keeper,” he says, “our brother still has responsibility for his own life.”

Thus, we accomplish most in our relationships when we focus more on what we can control—our own attitudes and behavior—and less on what we can’t control—the attitudes and behavior of the other person. We do the most good for our friends, spouses, and children when we concentrate less on controlling them and more on being available to them.

Letting go of the belief that we can control another person’s behavior does not mean that we cease to care about that person. Instead, it means that we trust that the Lord loves that person and knows better than we do how to help him. Our task then becomes being open to the Spirit’s promptings in our relationships.

One father tells of a time when he was alarmed that his son did not seem to take his studies seriously enough. One day, while reading his son’s patriarchal blessing, he felt an impression from the Spirit: “It’s all right. Your fears about making your son a good student are getting in the way of your relationship with him and his progress. He was first my son; his heart is good. He is in my hands. Let go.”

“Since that experience,” says the father, “I have felt more interested in my son’s life and more available to him than I was before because I am not constantly worried, checking to see whether he is meeting some standard. I still set guidelines for him, but I also watch—amazed—to see the marvelous person he is becoming.”

We also have more energy for doing good when we spend less time worrying about circumstances we can’t control or fearing the difficulties of life. Trusting in the Lord and his purposes frees us of many of the anxieties that can depress and paralyze us.

As the Apostle Paul promises: “Be careful [in the Greek, this means, ‘Be unduly concerned’] for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.

“And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.” (Philip. 4:6–7.)

As we leave our burdens of worry and fear with a trusted Father, we can feel peace even in times of uncertainty.

Written my Jan Underwood Pinborough for the Sept. 1990 Ensign. For the whole article go here.

Still Thinking: What is Winning?

When I was working as a relatively new teacher at a Jr. High in CA, the school sent some of the faculty to participate in a ropes course. (A completely fabulous experience by the way!) The early morning was spent on the ground doing team-building and self-reflectory exercises, and then in the afternoon we went up, up, up. Climbing poles, walking high beams, swinging from trees, that sort of thing. What I discovered in the afternoon is that my fear of heights is more intense than I had imagined. But it was the morning discovery that has had the longest lasting impact.

In one particular exercise the instructor broke us up into teams of four. She gave each team two long wooden beams that had four long rope handles. Her instructions were that together we were to walk on the beams and cross a finish line about 50 yards away. If any part of any one's body touched the ground, we had to return to the starting point and begin again. It was kind of tricky, like a three legged race involving four people. We had to coordinate raising our feet and pulling the beam together to cover any ground. It was terrifically fun, and we became intent on not letting the P.E. staff win. Competing with the other teams made it ever so much trickier since a relative amount of speed was needed. Sometimes in our haste to catch the leader, we would bumble it and have to begin again, inevitably in more haste to make up time. While we attempted to focus on the task at hand, it was difficult not to feel behind. That feeling, that need to rush, that need to win, was most responsible for throwing us off our groove.

At the end of the exercise we gathered for a group recap. The first thing out of the instructor's mouth was, "Isn't it interesting that I never said in the instructions that it was a race? All I said was that you were to cross the finish line." As we spent the next 15 minutes talking about how that exercise often translates into life, I had a real "Ah Ha" moment.

There really is no "winning" in the exercise of life. God never said we were competing with each other. Our human frailty sets up those parameters. Sometimes our sight is so limited that we can only compare our progress with those around us. The problem, however, is that none of us start at the same point. In some areas some of us have a head start, in other areas we begin a little behind. Each of us has a set of strengths and weaknesses that make our situation unique. God doesn't require us to be better than; He just requires that we finish our specific course. None of us has the same trajectory, and we can't compare ourselves to or compete with someone else without altering that course in some way.

As per my post yesterday, nothing bad has happened as of late. I have had some interesting and thought provoking conversations recently which have bent my mind on the topic. It's true that I have run into my share of "haters" in my lifetime, but who hasn't? We all survived Jr. High and High School, didn't we?

My Junior year, in fact, was such a nightmare that I begged my mother to let me finish my Senior year in Denver, CO living with my older sister and her family. Mom said no, so I had to resort to cutting out a Nike ad and hanging it in my locker. It was my mantra for the year: "If you ain't you, you ain't nobody."

Bottom line is, I am not, nor have I ever been, interested in being a version of someone else. None of us should, but that doesn't mean we belittle the success of another. We should be inspired by another's light. We should be encouraged when they triumph. We do need heroes. We don't need cynicism. That just throws us off our groove. There is enough joy and success to go around for everyone to "win."

Thinking Out Loud

Let me explain my point of view for just a moment. Among other things, I believe:

1. We are all children of a loving Father in Heaven.
2. As his children we are endowed with qualities of the divine. Truly there is a light in each of us.
3. We have been given the gift of agency to do with that light what we will.
4. We have been given the opportunity in this life to become the best versions of ourselves if we choose to do so.

I'm not asking for agreement here. It is simply a statement about my ultimate motivation. I do not see life as a competition with anyone else; the only person I am competing with is me: Whether or not I can master myself. Whether or not I fulfill my potential.

Perhaps that is why I have long loved this quote. I don't know when or where I first encountered it, but what I do remember of the experience is thinking, "Wow. I wish I had written that." It seemed so perfectly to express the driving belief of my own life:

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.” --From Marianne Williamson's book Return to Love (often wrongly attributed to Nelson Mandela)

In moments when I find myself out of my comfort zone and am fearful of the judgement of others, I repeat parts of this statement in my head. (Now you'll know what I'm thinking before standing up in front of a group of people.)

But I have found myself rethinking this quote over the last couple of days. See, it's not entirely true. Or, rather, maybe I'm understanding it better. The problem lies in the last two lines (my favorites by the way.) It says: "And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

The difficulty comes with the word "others." Notice it doesn't say "everyone." What I'm figuring out is that there are some people that aren't liberated by another's light. In fact, they're bugged by it. I don't know. Maybe it gets in the eyes or shines through their bedroom window at night, but for whatever reason they just find it irritating.

Help me out, and share your thoughts, 'cause I'm still trying to figure it out. What gives with these people?

9 Years of Mother's Days: A Personal History

I have a long, sordid past with Mother's Day. Years 1-5 of our marriage I still loved the sentiment of the holiday. Not quite ready to be a mother anyway, it wasn't a holiday I yet applied to myself. I was content to allow my own mother that role and my thoughts on that day centered on her many, unrecorded sacrifices for me.

Something changed in year 6. Then in our late 20's, it was evident that we were lagging behind our peers in the progeny department. We had begun fielding questions like, "Are you EVER going to have a baby? When are you going to start a family? Do you guys even want kids?" The outside pressure mounted and inside the quiet walls of our marriage we had questions of our own, like, "What is wrong with us? Why isn't it happening? Have I done something wrong to make this happen? Will he/she still love me if we can't have kids?" Mother's Day became an uncomfortable reminder of what we felt was missing in our lives, but I was able to force a smile and endure.

My journal entry in year 7 is very revealing: "It is Mother's Day today. I woke up dreading it. It's kind of an awful reminder to those without children, and it's rather humiliating to see the pity in the eyes of other young mothers who give you a little extra enthusiasm as they tell you what a 'wonderful mother you'll be someday,' and then they hug you a little harder and longer than normal. The worst part is when the young women pass out the Mother's Day presents [at church]. Either they rush over to make sure you're not left out, or they look as if they don't know whether to give you one or not. Either way it is quite awful.

"I have not started my period this month, and I am haltingly hopeful. I have felt nauseous all week, but a pregnancy test showed a negative result. I dare not hope, but I can't help it. Hope springs eternal. I hate how I wait each month, listening desperately to my body, conscious of anything unusual. I don't really know what I'm looking for. It seems all of the symptoms of pregnancy are the symptoms of PMS--that's a nasty joke on women! I doubt that I am, but wouldn't it be marvelous?

"...I know [Thomas] is as impatient as I. He is wonderfully gentle with me. He loves me intensely and I am sure of nothing more than his eternal devotion. He is truly a man in all the goodness and strength which that word implies. He is 'as constant as the Northern star.' He is the only man I have given my entire trust and dependence to. I would so love to give him a child. If I can't...The thought brings tears to my eyes, and I can not think of it."

By year 8 we were in the midst of doctor's visits and unanswered questions. I had reached my breaking point. As I recorded in February of that year: "These last few months have been the most difficult of my life. There are two unfillable voids in my life: The loss of my father and my desire for children. The great emptiness I feel on both counts weighs heavily. I have gone through a myriad of emotions: sorrow, anger, disbelief, self-pity, humility , lack of faith, and then faith again. I try to fill my life with study, prayer, and good books to fill my spirit and inspire me to continue one step at a time trusting in the Lord. But my arms feel so empty. I can't describe it, but I had this visual image last night come to my mind: I'm surrounded by women, and we are bringing our offering to the Lord. Those around me raise their arms to heaven and I see one with an abundance of grain, another with wheat spilling over; it's a thing of beauty watching them offer up that which they have toiled over; that which has grown beautiful through their care, but which has also created glory in them. And I look to my own arms finding them empty. How did this happen? I want to hide them--those empty arms--and I fall on my face hoping that the Lord will be merciful.

"I can not see the Lord's will. I'm not even sure what to hope for because to hope seems frightening. But I declare that I trust in His plan for me--whatever that is. I will abide by it because I know the process will benefit me in the end. He is in the midst of creating my better self; and although I can not see the final product, I am beginning to see some refinement."

We skipped Mother's Day that year. I couldn't take it, so we got in the car and drove up into the mountains and spent the weekend in a little motel watching movies and reading. Trusting in the Lord or not, sometimes you just need break.

Little did I know, however, that His promised silver lining was just around the corner. That summer we began the adoption process and by the next Mother's Day I had this to say:

"Logan Darling, This year has been the first Mother's Day in many years where I've had something to celebrate. I had you my sweet, little darling sleeping in my arms and tears of gratitude in my eyes. I can't remember my life before you. It feels as if my life really began on the day you were born. Every part of my existence is wrapped up in you, and I love it! Logan, my love, there are no accidents. I believe in a divine plan. God is good. He is in control. He made us a family."

This year, as I tried to write an entry the only sentence I could write was: "Today I am just grateful." In the hectic drumbeat that is daily existence, when I have a moment to stop and contemplate the true joys of my life, my thoughts always center on my children. I know exactly how lucky I am. I know because I walked on the other side for a brief time. I am truly lucky and blessed to be a mother.

Yet, even as I write this, I realize that there are other women out there struggling through the sadness of lost dreams or seemingly unanswered prayers. I never pass a Mother's Day without thinking of them, the sisters of my heart. To them I would say, God has not forgotten you. He is in the midst of your sorrow, and he can create miracles out of painful circumstances. The story is long and His silver lining, in its vast and varied versions, is promised. Hold on.