I have spent a good majority of my life afraid. It
has nothing to do with physical danger or of any threat to me, or anyone I
love. In my youth I was afraid of looking dumb, of being made fun of (and trust
me, I was a chubby redhead with freckles, glasses, AND braces – there was
plenty to make fun of), or not having any friends. As I grew the fear became
not having any guy like me, of disappointing my parents, of not being good
enough. Upon becoming a wife and a mother I began to fear for my family. Was I
a helpmate to my husband? Was I a good mother? I also feared hurting others. Having been made fun of
and chastened while growing up, I knew the damage an unkind word or correction
done incorrectly could do. Looking back there are so many things I wish I could undo, but that would also take away all the lessons I learned from my mistakes.
For the most part I’ve gotten over
many of those fears, in particular through the last few years. I have grown to
know myself better, and appreciate my foibles as well as those things that make
me awesome. I can see myself more and more through the eyes of my Heavenly
Father, and know He has a plan for me. One big part of that plan is to preach
the Lord’s gospel, as is my duty as a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day
Saints, or the Mormon Church.
Therein lie my greatest fears of
today. Several months ago during a Fast and Testimony meeting I stood to bear
my own testimony (or express the witnesses I had received from the Holy Ghost
as to the truthfulness of the Lord’s gospel). The Holy Spirit had been working
on me so hard during that entire meeting and I finally could not ignore it any
longer. Before bearing my testimony I spoke of what I felt the Lord was asking
me to say. You see, a trend had begun of telling many a story or experience
before bearing the testimony, and often the story was longer than the
testimony. One person was so focused on relating his experience by the time he began to speak
to us of the testimony he'd gained he actually said the words, “Blah, blah, blah” to help
relate what was supposed to be the entire point of standing up in front of the
congregation.
On that Sabbath morning I stood and
tried, in my imperfect way, to express the Lord’s desire: that the hour
appointed to bearing one’s testimony return to it’s purpose. Stories and
experiences are beautiful things, as they are what help to bring that special
witness to us. But there is a time and a place for the stories, and we had
forgotten this. Though the feeling in the chapel was warm, and sweet, and
loving, the Spirit had to wait through the stories before it could do what it
was meant to do: bear witness to the truths told by those who felt inspired to
relate them.
How important is that special
witness to our church? I would imagine just as important as it is in any
church. Vital, even. In fact, once a month our main meeting is set aside from
having regular speakers to allow those in the congregation to bear their
testimonies as they feel inspired to do. Once a month! When done suitably the
Holy Spirit is allowed to witness to all who are willing to listen, which not
only strengthens the one standing at the microphone, but all others in the room
as well. It is a beautiful, marvelous experience. One our Heavenly Father knows
we need.
Let us go back to the day I stood,
as prompted by the Spirit, to remind everyone of this. I know my words, my
actions, did not sit well with many, and as the bishop’s wife both he and I are
under major scrutiny. I also knew my husband might not be so happy with me. I
even knew I might hurt those who had been at the microphone before I got up.
Which is why it took me until almost the end of the meeting to finally obey,
for it came down to this: whom was I more prepared to disappoint – my husband
and people I love, or my Heavenly Father and my Savior?
I was terrified of the moment my
husband got home, not because he’d yell or anything, but because I knew he’d feel let down by my actions. We chatted for a few minutes until I couldn’t take it
any more.
“Did I do bad?” I asked.
“I don’t know, honey. I just don’t
know.”
My heart broke. I began to doubt
that I’d really been listening to the Spirit. Was it just me? Had I made a
horrible mistake? We talked a little more and I agreed to at least apologize to
those who had born their testimonies that day. Unfortunately in doing so I made
one of them feel worse than if I’d just left it alone, which preyed on my more,
and placed me on a cycle of self-recrimination I could not work my way out of.
I was a horrible person. I couldn’t
differentiate between my own feelings and that of the Lord’s. I hurt people I
purported to love. I disappointed my husband and placed him in an awkward
situation that could get him in trouble with his own leaders. These thoughts
and more circled through my head for days and days.
I began to try to make up for being
such a wicked person. I kept telling myself, “If I just do this then it means
I’m not bad.” “If I get this done then maybe I’m not so horrible.” “If I give
up this and that it means I might be a good wife and mother.” By the end of the
week I had myself so worked up I even had thoughts of harming myself. Because
who was I to tell anyone else what they should or shouldn’t do? I. Was. No one.
Satan worked me over thoroughly
that week. It didn’t help that my doctor had toyed a little with my depression
meds to see if it would help with my constant exhaustion, but they were not the true cause of my turmoil. Things came to a head
Friday evening. I’d gotten some pizza for the kids for dinner and stood in the
kitchen washing dishes. My husband, who’d just woken from a nap, came in and
told me I didn’t have to do those. He’d do them later. In my mind came the thought, "But if you have to do them it means I'm not doing my job. I'll have failed you again."
I couldn’t stop. My headed shook no
and I refused to look him in the eye. All week long I’d been able to hide the
torrential storms of emotion I’d dealt with, but no longer. When asked why I
wouldn’t come eat dinner I finally admitted, “If I can just get these dishes
done, maybe it’ll mean I’m a good person.”
It took some doing but he finally
got me into our room and we began to talk. I still couldn’t look him in the eye
and I know I frightened him with my ramblings. At one point he asked, “Does
this have something to do with what I said on Sunday?” He sounded horrified,
which only confirmed in my mind that which I already knew: now I’ve hurt my
husband. I really was horrible!
Because we hadn’t discussed my
actions since Sunday I didn’t realize he’d been thinking about it too. Granted,
it was not to the extent my guilty mind had done, but he said something that offered a tiny sliver of hope in my overtaxed mind: Did you ever think the Lord
asked you to do it because I didn’t have the courage to do it myself?
It was the first mention that
maybe, just maybe, I hadn’t goofed up as royally as I’d convinced myself. My
husband, the sweet, remarkable, amazing man, then picked up the phone and
called my parents to come down. My mother held me in her arms as we discussed
what I’d been through that week, and gave voice to the words that maybe, just
maybe, I was simply a soft-hearted woman who didn’t want to hurt those I love.
When I’d calmed down more my father placed his hands on my head, along with my
husband, and gave me a priesthood blessing.
Therein was my grace, the balm to
my aching soul. I was told, in words that could not be mixed up, twisted, or
doubted, that I had done exactly as He had wanted me to do.
I honestly don’t recall anything
else from that blessing, but it’s okay. That was all I needed. Turns out I
wasn’t a horrible person. Turns out I wasn’t imposing my own thoughts on Him
and attempting to pass them off as His. Turns out I had done what was right.
What I’d done wrong was fearing man more than I feared God, once my task had
been done.
Since that time I’ve been learning
more about what it means to do that which the Lord asks of me without fearing
the outcome. I still struggle with what is me being a passionate person, and
what is of the Lord or the Father. Perhaps I always will.
This morning I had the opportunity
to attend one of the sacred temples here in Utah. From the moment I awoke there
was an intense feeling of happiness at the thought of going. In the car on my
way there I couldn’t stop tears from forming, my happiness was truly so
complete. A part of me knew there was Someone who loved me deeply by my side,
though I could not say whom that Someone might have been. Nothing grand occurred during my time at the temple, no angelic visitations or life-changing revelations as I might suppose would occur
with such remarkable feelings. It’s more what I walked away with today that has
reaffirmed what I need to do with some of my time spent here at home now that the
kids are all in school.
It is time to teach. I was blessed
with a desire to learn, a desire at times so intense I can hardly gobble up
books fast enough to quench the thirst for knowledge. I was also blessed with a
gift for teaching, something I love to do and am able to accomplish in my
Primary class every Sunday. But more than this I was given a gift to express
myself through writing, and it is this gift especially I have been told to
concentrate on.
There has been a mighty focus on
the Mormon Church with Mitt Romney running for the office of President of the
United States. Media, much as it may try to keep from doing so, is biased and
more often than not it is biased in the negative when it comes to this church.
So be it. Many out there will choose to believe what they are told by the
media, or what they hear by word of mouth, much of which is not, and has not,
been kind.
There will also be those who will
want to know more, and it is for them I am to begin teaching in earnest about
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. This is what was confirmed to
me today while at the temple. It is time to stop being afraid. No more fearing
I might offend or hurt someone by what I have to say, so long as those words I
put down are inspired of the Lord. No more fearing I might disappoint anyone
but my Father and my Brother, and if I am doing what I do in faith then there
is no need to worry.
There are three particular subjects
I’ve avoided as much as possible, due to fear, that I will attempt to address in my
limited ability over the course of the next few…well, however long it takes me.
Those are polygamy, blacks and the priesthood, and homosexuality. My sincere
hope is that in knowing where we come from, light might be shed as to why we
believe as we do, and why and when things have happened as they have.
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