Faith to Love

From a talk I gave at church Jan 8, 2011:

The last several weeks--I spent a lot of time with family and have had several interesting experiences running into and catching up with friends and acquaintances. One of the results is that I have spent a lot of time thinking about relationships and the impact they have on both our daily lives and our spiritual development.

Christ has told us that the greatest commandment after loving God is to love our neighbor. Further, in the LDS faith, our belief that through temple ordinances families can be together forever, and that those eternal relationships are central to the process of returning to our father in heaven places relationships centrally in our faith. At the every least, we understand that the way we treat others and the relationships we form are very much connected to our relationship with God.

People often say that the key to any relationship is trust--certainly that holds true in romantic relationships, not to mention family relationships, friendships, and even relationships we form in our communities and professional lives. In my experience, however, trust is often a difficult concept to really understand let alone to build and maintain. When misunderstood, “trust” can make doormats of some and cynics of others.


I trust--or if we can use its more common religious synonym, faith--must always be centered in Christ if it is to truly transform our relationships.

Elder Dennis E Simmons, in his April 2004 General Conference Address explains,
“Faith is not bravado, not just a wish, not just a hope. True faith is faith in the Lord Jesus Christ--confidence and trust in Jesus Christ that leads a person to follow Him.”

Of course, we often quote the fourth article of faith--that the first principle of the gospel is faith, and more importantly, faith in the lord Jesus Christ--but, what does that really mean and how does having faith enable our ability to love and to trust and to built eternal relationships with others.

When I was a student at BYU, I took a religion class from a professor who had also spent 2 decades as a professional family therapist. One of the comments he made has stuck with me over the years and had a dramatic influence on my life. He explained, that faith is the key to loving others people. But, we don’t put our faith in people so much as in Christ. you see, people are imperfect. Despite our best efforts--and in many case, we may not even be able to muster best efforts--we will inevitably make mistakes that hurt those we love. Thus, even in the best of circumstances, our faith in people may fail. However, faith in Christ allows us to trust him in two ways. First, it allows us to believe that the Lord is in control of our lives. That all of our experiences, good and bad, though maybe not dictated by the Lord are at least consecrated (made holy) by the Lord. And secondly, that when we are inevitably hurt from opening our hearts to others, his Grace is sufficient to heal the wounds that cannot be fixed by those who caused them.

Over the years, I’ve spent a lot of time studying pondering this idea and I have found that the scriptures and the words of modern prophets not only support its validity, but provide meaningful insights on applying this principle to real life relationships. There are a lot of things I could share--and probably a lot of better things that other people with far more experience and wisdom than me could say about it. But, I’d like to share two ideas that have been particularly meaningful in my own life.

Trusting in the Lord doesn’t mean giving up our hopes and dreams.
Often, when life doesn’t go the way we planned, we talk about trusting in the Lord’s plan and in his timetable. Now, don’t get me wrong, I whole-heartedly believe this. But, I think sometimes we misinterpret the idea, believing that God’s will is somehow intrinsically opposed to our own desires; trusting that there is a magical alternative--that God will change our desires.

I think the word desire is interesting. Often, in a religious context, we associate it with impulses that are carnal or contrary to God’s commandments. However, one of my favorite scriptures talks about the value of righteous desires. D&C 6: 8 reads:  “Verily, verily, I say unto you, even as you desire of me so it shall be unto you; and if you desire, you shall be the means of doing much good in this generation.”

I am impressed that the Lord trusts and honors our righteous desires.

I had a life long desire to serve a mission, assuming I made it to 21 still single. When I turned 21 I was not nearly as surprised as I thought I might be that I was still single. So, I put a lot of thought and prayer into making the decision to serve or not to serve a mission. Despite my desires I never felt at peace with the idea. Even when I would consult with family and friends their response was not nearly as supportive as I thought it would be, along the lines of: “Oh, that’s a nice idea... Really?!?” As I prayed for direction in my life I came across this scripture in 1st Nephi:  And the spirit said unto me, Behold What desirest thou? (1 Nephi 11:2:)

The more I looked the more I found that the Lord often asks that we reveal our desires. The Lord is not asking to find out what we want to do but rather what is it that we want to receive from the opportunities we desire. So I made a list of what I wanted from a mission and brought that list to the Lord, asking again, if I should pursue those desires. The answer that came to me in a moment of quite reflection was very clear, very pervasive: If what I really wanted was to go on a mission then I could go and be happy. But if I was willing to have a little faith the Lord would reveal other things He had in store for me.

I didn’t go and continued on with my life. After some time had passed I had the chance to catch up with an old friend who had gone through a similar experience but decided to serve a mission. Over lunch I was able to realize that everything that I had put on that list had come to pass, that I had realized all that and more; and such a way that I would say that I received exponential returns on my desires by following the path that I choose.

We are terribly short sited, and so when we offer our heart and desires to the Lord we can be guided in ways that will bless us and the people around us. The path that is laid out by the Lord may be unintuitive but it will get us where we want to go with the added benefit of filling our hearts and making our relationships stronger.

The second idea relates to the power of faith to heal our hearts.

The second idea relates to the power of faith to heal our hearts.  As I prepared for today, I came across a passage in Psalms I had never taken notice of before. In the first verses Psalms 13, King David laments:

How long wilt thou forget me, O Lord? for ever? How long wilt thou hide thy face from me?
 How long shall I take counsel in my soul, having sorrow in my heart daily? How long shall mine enemy be exalted over me?

I am certain that many, if not all, of use here today have faced moments (and sometimes very long moments) in life where we have felt as David did--forgotten, alone, having sorrow in our heart daily.

Sometimes, we feel frustrated by daily challenges—even small ones like my laptop cord disappearing yesterday and we have to take it in stride. But other times we face really big trials, so big that we can’t say things are ok; trial I call “conditions of mortality”—such as illness, death, loss and physical, emotional and mental disabilities that often emerge regardless of our choices and actions.

Sometimes our trials we face are the product of our own poor choices, bad judgements, or individual weaknesses. And sometimes, it is the failings and actions of others that bring us suffering and pain.

But, what I love about Psalm 13 is not just the relatability of the first few verses, but the contrast of those all-to-familiar pleas with the final few verses.  You see, David begins “sorrowing in his heart daily” but a few short lines later, his tone changes and he concludes:

“But I have trusted in thy mercy; my heart shall rejoice in thy salvation. I will sing unto the Lord, because he hath dealt bountifully with me.”

Now, unless you’re Pollyanna (which am not), happiness, beauty and joy don’t always spring forth instantly from pain and sorrow. Sure, there are times when we can easily see the silver lining of life’s storm clouds in our lives. But, at least for me, the days I find myself pleading with the Lord--wondering if I really am as completely alone as I feel--are the days when the entire sky seems dark.

In his Oct 2008 conference talk, Elder Joseph B. Worthlin quotes his mother who was known to say, “Come what may, and love it.” Elder Worthlin goes on to explain,

“How can we love days that are filled with sorrow? We can’t--at least not in the moment. I don’t think my mother was suggesting that we suppress discouragement or deny the reality of pain. I don’t think she was suggesting that we smother unpleasant truths beneath a cloak of pretend happiness. But I do believe that the way we react to adversity can be a major factor in how happy and successful we can be in life. If we approach adversities wisely, our hardest times can be times of greatest growth, which in turn can lead toward times of greatest happiness.”

Certainly, pain and sorrow can build character and can provide opportunities to develop and discover strength we did not know we had. But I think the ultimate source of joy comes out of sorrow comes when we hand our heart to the lord. When we lay our heart at the lord’s feet and acknowledge that, though we may be powerless to overcome the pain that life has cause, HIS grace is sufficient.

I can’t say that I know how to explain why the simple act of opening our heart to the lord allows us to be filled with his love and grace--and certainly we don’t have time to explore the subtleties of the process. But, I can speak to you from experience, that one of the greatest blessings of the atonement is that it allows us to sorrow but not despair.

As I sat, overwhelmed by the grief of loosing a friend, and talking with my mother she said: “Some days you just have to honor your grief. Later it will be ok. For now just lay your heart at the feet of the Lord and He will eventually heal you.” That we can walk through the trials of life, we can allow ourselves to pass through the dark times and feel the weight of sorrow and grief, because we trust that it will not last--we know that ultimately, his grace is sufficient.

That’s not to say that we should be reckless with our hearts--that we should allow those who cannot or will not hold sacred the trust we give them to perpetually harm us--certainly not. But, I think we can enter and navigate relationships from a position of realistic hope instead of naive idealism or overwhelming fears when we recognize that it is the Lord’s grace the fills in the gaps.

I think as we struggle through life and we engage with those around us and fill our life with those relationships that are meant to be eternal it becomes apparent that all this is only possible through the atonement of Christ.

I think one of the most beautiful experiences is to be able to look back on pain and feel at peace--to know that it was real and yet to know that our hearts are whole. In that miracle we find the strength to forgive, to change, to allow others the opportunity to change, and when necessary, to make difficult decisions about our life and our relationships that ultimately bring us closer to God.

Lessons from Law School #1

Always double check the edition of books purchased online (before ordering and then again after they arrive). You see, different editions may have nearly identical content, but are likely to have different page numbering. So, while you trudge through the latter half of the dissenting opinions in an obscure bug bite case from the early 1900s in the 3rd edition, your classmates may be reading through a fairly clear, complete, and historically significant case from the civil rights movement that appears on the same pages in the 4th edition. You, however, may not discover this divergence until the professor starts dissecting the case in class and you are forced to madly google summaries so as not to be completely and totally lost during your very first class of law school.

Lesson 1A: Voluntarily responding to questions that are based on passages read collectively in class allows you to impress your neighboring classmates without admitting to your general cluelessness. Unless, of course, you lack the ability to resist disclosing your general cluelessness when complimented on your insightful comment, in which case, you simply resurrect your status as Queen of the Cliff Notes. This may or may not be something you should take pride in...I'm just sayin'.

Confessions of a Non-Blogger

So, clearly, if anyone were to stumble upon this page and notice the timestamps of the heretofore one and only post, it would be clear that I am not a blogger. I like to claim that it is because I shun the exhibitionist tendencies of cyberspace--I'm simply too cooth and self-respecting to put my personal life on display for the masses. I also like to tell myself that I lack certain levels of narcissism--that I am clearly objectively aware enough to recognize that my opinions are not worthy of granting prophetic status via the interwebs. 


The truth is that I'm a lazy, terrified writer. While I love having written something, writing sucks. It's painful and exhausting. Given the opportunity, I simply stop writing right after the, "hey, that would make a good essay/story/poem/etc." moment. Unfortunately, in my little heart of hearts, I am a writer. And, despite my fears and utter lack of creative productivity, I find it increasingly difficult to hide from that reality.


Perhaps more detrimental than laziness, I'm also a pansy. While i certainly support the shunning exhibitionism as a general tendency, as a writer, I recognize the value of honest self-disclosure. Philip Lopate voices the paradigm I adopt (albeit, usually only in theory): In focusing on the honesty of personal essayist, I do not mean to imply that they are relentlessly exposing dark secrets about themselves. We learn more about their habits of thought than about the sorts of abuses and crimes that spice our afternoon TV talk shows." 


Of course, self-disclosure--true honesty--has always been rather terrifying to me. I don't really like putting my soul, even a small part of it, on display. I suppose that is precisely the reason that I stopped writing creatively around 7th grade. Professional and technical writing allows the same play with words, the engineering of a complex structure, but it allows the author to divorce herself from the impact of honesty.


And so, after nearly a decade of encouraging students to put in the hard work to write and to be painfully honest, I suppose its time to take my own advice and actually start writing. And, in the spirit of authenticity and honesty, I will admit, that having a whole new realm of potential procrastination (yay, law school!), I certainly have found increasing motivation to escape into my happy world of musings and linguistic acrobatics.


So, i'm not going to make too many promises, but my goal is to post something...anything...at least weekly. We'll see how that goes :-)

No Apologies Necessary

About 10 years ago, I opened a bottle of Fruitopia. Leaning on the edge of my desk, I twisted off the cap and glanced at the one-liner printed on the underside of the bottle lid. In simple, fixed-space font, it read: Is there enough purple in your life?

Alone in a stark, windowless office, I shook my head and offered the lid an audible confession, "No...There's not."

Thirst had serendipitously exposed a small but poignant tragedy. See, I love purple! If I really think about it, purple is my favorite color--its aesthetic appeal accented by its philosophical undercurrent. Purple is bold and undeniable. Even in its muted shades, purple leaves little room for timidity. It doesn't blend into the shadows or attempt neutrality. Purple is pretty much always purple--genuine and authentic and without apology.

But, as I toyed with the waxed-aluminum lid, I couldn't think of a single piece of clothing or personal affect that I owned in purple. Pondering the inconsistency, I supposed that when given the option, purple was easily deemed just a bit too bold, a little too intense for whatever purposes an item was destined. And, at the moment when deliberation turned to purchasing, I simply deferred my passion for the safety of pragmatics.

The otherwise benign marketing ploy gazed back at me, recasting my life as a study in subtle, chromatic cowardice. And so, as I sipped on the watered-down concoction of all-natural fruit flavors, I resolved to fill my world with a lot more purple. I suppose a juice lid is not the most sophisticated catalyst for personal epiphany. And, on the surface, the choice to include a little more purple in everyday life is cursory at best. But, perhaps what etched that moment firmly into my mind was that it marked a conscious commitment to authenticity.

I once heard someone remark that children are born knowing who they are, and we spend the next eighteen years trying to talk them out of it. Of course, authenticity is a tricky game. While we may have once possessed an untarnished sense of self, it quickly oxidizes into narcissism without the requisite addition of empathy and interdependence. And far too often, who we think we are, who we wish we were, and who we believe we should be make collateral damage of who we truly are.

The grand irony of our ongoing adolescences is that we often claim authenticity to avoid the very act. "I'm just not that kind of person. It's just not me, " we tell ourselves and whoever else will listen. Because, for some reason, being ourselves is scary. In those rare moments of stark honesty, perhaps we can admit that part of our fear stems from the realization that authenticity has a natural tendency to preclude excuses. We fear it will leave us holding the bag of our inevitable failures with nothing to blame but our personal lacking.

Its true, of course, but silly just the same. The irrationality of our fear is not that it miscalculates authenticity, but that it judges the whole on the merits of a single part. Our fear has built a case on a faulty assumption. Dare we ask, Who cares if we fail? Who cares if we are found wanting? When our actions and thoughts and words are genuine, at worst, we are guilty of unbridled humanity.

See, the truth is that there is no such thing as a pristine assent to untarnished accomplishment. There is no color that is both universally unoffensive and boldly individual. My favorite purple purse will inevitably clash with far more than it will compliment. But there in lies the beauty of being purple. Purple is bold and intense and unapologetically so.