A new endowment on the twin-tracked roller coaster of my life

Last weekend was delightful. My daughter was endowed, her next step in preparing to enter the MTC in just about a month.

Last weekend was awful. My 15-year-old son announced (again) that he no longer wants to attend church, that he does not believe.

I remember a year and a half ago when my oldest daughter was endowed. En route to the temple we learned another of our children was in the middle of a situation that we could neither prevent nor mitigate, but that has resulted in significant issues for him and for our family.

I remember the day of my own endowment. I went alone to the Provo Temple (well, not really alone; I was with my freshman roommate from BYU; we were both entering the MTC in a day or two). My parents were half a world away living in Nigeria (where my dad was on a foreign assignment for work). It hadn’t occurred to me at the time that he might have actually wanted to be with me on that special day, and it hadn’t occurred to me that I might have wanted to be with him, either. But upon reflection, I realize that conditions were not ideal.

I remember the week our family was sealed in the Salt Lake Temple. It was just under a year from our baptism, and we drove the 1,800 miles to Salt Lake straight through. As we arrived in “the valley,” there were no roses blooming beneath our feet, and there seemed to be little love in that old blue station wagon; exhaustion fed bickering and sniping in the car.

They say that when someone goes to the temple that the adversary does what he can to disrupt the day. And I suppose that is true, though I suspect the adversary plants the seeds of destruction early and cares for them over time, rather than just trying to fowl things up on the big day. (That said, I have read a history of the Logan Temple, written for its centennial, which reported that early settlers of Cache Valley sai that they did better at getting to the temple if they didn’t announce their plans out loud. If they announced their plans, farm machinery seemed to break or cattle got out of pens and prevented attendance on the intended day. If they simply laid down their tools and went, they seemed to get there more easily.)

I don’t know why my life seems to be on diverging tracks of a roller coaster some days. Except for this: there must needs be opposition in all things. And the Savior has already descended below everything that I might endure in my life. It seems there needs to be that equal and opposite force in our lives. And the adversity of this life works for my experience.

And I know this: the peace that I feel in the temple –- from that first visit before I was 10, to my own endowment, to attending with my daughters for their endowments –- is real. And it is at the heart of my testimony of the gospel, come what may.

For some, the Book of Mormon is the keystone of testimony. If the Book of Mormon is true, they say, then Joseph was a prophet and the church is true. That is not my calculus, but I understand how some people make that connection.

For me, the calculus is similar, but different. The temple represents, according to President Hunter, the supreme mortal experience:

Let us truly be a temple-attending and a temple-loving people. We should hasten to the temple as frequently, yet prudently, as our personal circumstances allow. We should go not only for our kindred dead but also for the personal blessing of temple worship, for the sanctity and safety that are within those hallowed and consecrated walls. As we attend the temple, we learn more richly and deeply the purpose of life and the significance of the atoning sacrifice of the Lord Jesus Christ. Let us make the temple, with temple worship and temple covenants and temple marriage, our ultimate earthly goal and the supreme mortal experience (“A Temple Motivated People,” Ensign, February 1995).

Elsewhere, he taught that the temple is the great symbol of our membership in the church.

I have had enough spiritual experiences there to know for myself of the divine influence of that ritual. I have shared some of those experiences with a select few people in my life. Some I have shared with no one. But because of what I have felt and experienced in the temple, I can comfortably speak of knowing its divine roots and impact.

Like President Hunter, I wish that all members – especially my children -- might find the peace of the temple that I have found, and yet I know not everyone will (not even everyone who attends the temple will). And so I also hope that in His grand design, the Lord can sort this out in the eternities. And that hope is borne by my faith that He will.

Any day without a kidney stone is a great day

Monday was a great day this week. Because I didn’t have a kidney stone on Monday.

Of course, there are many, many days I don’t have a kidney stone. But Monday was especially sweet.

Why?

Because Sunday I had a kidney stone. And Monday I didn’t.

Sunday: Pain. Monday: No pain.

Sunday: Wondering if I should go to the ER. Monday: Not worried about the ER.

Sunday: More pain. Monday: No pain.

Sunday: Lots of ibuprofen. Monday: No ibuprofen needed, thanks.

Sunday: Eight glasses of water in two hours without any, er, relief. Monday: Water (and relief) when I wanted it.

Sunday: Grumpy dad. Monday: Dad's back at work so no one at home can see if he's grumpy.

Sunday: Worrying if this is ever going to end (even though I know it will). Monday: No worrying. (Being happy.)

This was my third kidney stone in nearly 15 years. Fortunately, I know it when it happens thanks to a patient doctor’s instruction (and corroborating evidence on WebMD and the Mayo Clinic website) the first time around. I had no fever or nausea, so there was no need to go to the hospital. Just lots of fluids and waiting. I know that I’m luckier than some who have a much tougher time of it.


Lehi had it right when he said

For it must needs be, that there is an opposition in all things. If not so, my first-born in the wilderness, righteousness could not be brought to pass, neither wickedness, neither holiness nor misery, neither good nor bad. Wherefore, all things must needs be a compound in one; wherefore, if it should be one body it must needs remain as dead, having no life neither death, nor corruption nor incorruption, happiness nor misery, neither sense nor insensibility (2 Nephi 2:11).

All those things I wrote about Monday were also true on Tuesday. But Monday was something special because it was juxtaposed to the misery of Sunday. The way things are can be defined by what they are not. Comparing and contrasting is the way we see things, the way we learn things, the way things show up in life.

Yes, any day without a kidney stone is a great day. But the next day after the kidney stone passes is especially sweet.

Something you probably won’t hear in General Conference: "Be the coffee"

An object lesson I heard in a stress reduction class I attended with my lovely wife yesterday evening:

There are three pots of boiling water. One pot of boiling water has carrots in it. One has eggs. The third has coffee grounds.

After a period of boiling, what has happened?

The carrot, which started out straight and strong has become soft.

The egg appears the same on the outside, but the inside has become hardened.

The coffee grounds have not changed, but instead have changed the water.

If the boiling water is adversity, which do we want to be? Do we want to be the carrot that weakens its resolve in the face of adversity? Or the egg, that hardens its heart? Or do we want to be the coffee which changes the boiling water into something useful?

Of course the story works – like so many object lessons – if you don’t think about it too hard. Yes, we could change the coffee to herbal tea to make it more palatable to a Mormon sensibility. And we could argue that maybe we need to be more flexible in adversity so that cooked carrot may be a good thing. And we could argue that a firm cooked egg is more useful (and durable) than a raw one.

The fact is, in any case, that adversity will change us. It will draw things out of us that we did not know we had in us – good and bad. And it’s likely it will come to all of us. And it just might (if we let it) make us better.

In the quiet heart is hidden sorrow that the eye can’t see

I am grateful for quiet answers to fervent prayers.

Answers that come as whispers, barely perceptible, but still essential to discovering a next step.

Answers that provide just a shade of comfort in the glaring light of adversity.

Answers that come in the form of a phone call, an otherwise casual conversation, a hand offered in fellowship that turns out to be a rescuing hand.

Answers that come in an expression of love from a church leader.

Answers that provide someone to comfort me when I stand in need of comfort.

Answers that illuminate possibilities that had previously been hidden.

Answers that reveal just one next step in the darkness, even when I’d prefer to see a lighted path.

Answers that are only clear in retrospect, which, when taken together, make clear that God is in His Heaven.

Answers that, while they do not solve a problem, still ease the burden.

Answers that come in familiar strains of music and oft-quoted verses of scripture when I need them the most.

Answers that prepare me to be aware of others so that I might comfort those who stand in need of comfort.

I am grateful for Him who sees my heart even when others cannot.

Why adversity?

I’ve been thinking about adversity recently. It’s not that things are going particularly poorly, but it’s been on my mind. Some random thoughts and quotations that have been bouncing around in my head:

Alma 7:11-12:

And he shall go forth, suffering pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind; and this that the word might be fulfilled which saith he will take upon him the pains and the sicknesses of his people. And he will take upon him death, that he may loose the bands of death which bind his people; and he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities.

From Neal A Maxwell’s biography, A Disciple’s life:

In March 2000, when he was in a pondering mood about his illness, with its implications both dreadful and miraculous, Neal had a sacred experience… The soul voice of the Spirit came into his mind to whisper, "I have given you leukemia that you might teach my people with authenticity” (562).

Not that I can compare myself to the Savior or to one of his apostles, but perhaps to show that I can learn from them: when I was called as bishop years ago, my family was struggling in a variety of ways (some of which we would not know for years). For instance, the day I was sustained and set apart was my 16-year old son’s last visit to church (and he attended that day as a token of kindness to me). Other trials would come, and I found myself wondering why I should serve instead of one of the other dozen men who could easily have been called. But I learned much later it was precisely the imperfection of my family that allowed certain of my ward to find comfort in my words.

Is one of the reasons we have adversity in our lives so that we can learn how to mourn with those that mourn?

It dulls the pain of days

As testimony fills my heart,
It dulls the pain of days.
For one brief moment, Heaven's view
Appears before my gaze.
("Testimony", Hymns, 137)

A friend quoted this verse in her testimony yesterday in our sacrament meeting and it resonated with me.

Given enough time our hearts heal. That healing may be aided by the support of loving friends and family. And by the help of professional counselors or even medication. But also by the growth of testimony in the Lord Jesus Christ and in His gospel – the good news of His atoning sacrifice and its implications for us in this life and the next.

We spoke about Exaltation in our Gospel Essentials class yesterday. It was a lesson that brought together a year of study of the Lord's Plan for us. That Plan of Redemption, of Happiness, of Salvation is our Father's gift to us, a means of our returning to His presence. And a testimony of that Plan helps my heart to heal. It gives me hope, even in the face of what otherwise might seem like crushing burdens in my life.

In this past two weeks I've had incredible spiritual highs and lows. I've seen the positive effect of great choices that one child has made, and I've also seen at the same time lingering negative effect of the choices of another child. The contrast has been exhausting, frankly. I love both of these children, and I want the best for both of them. And I know that I am powerless in both cases and must simply follow Alma the elder's example and rely on the Lord to sort things out.

For me, testimony dulls the pain of days. I'm grateful for a deep enough spiritual well to sustain me. And that deeper well comes specifically because I've learned more in the last few years about the atonement than I thought I could.

The Story of Job

I attended a musical performance at my stake center last weekend, a musical performace (the program called it a "concertized musical") about the life of Job. The choir who performed was an all-volunteer choir called the Michigan Concert Choir (they are mostly, but not all, members of the church), and they performed quite well. The piece was written by a member of our stake (who said this had been in the works for twenty years!). It was certainly ambitious.

And it caused me to reflect on Job, which was the whole point.

Job, as you know, was successful – he had a large family, lands and wealth. The devil complains that of course Job praises God when things go well, but let's see how he does when things don't go so well. And he loses his children, his wealth, and his health. And still he praises God. He does not, as Satan would have him do, curse God and die.

I remember years ago reading a commentary on Job that wondered if the story really happened or if it was parable of sorts. The author suggested she could not believe in a God that would allow Job to be tested in the way he was just to prove a point. At the time I was almost swayed by her argument. Now I think it's ironic.

The whole point of Job's story (at least a point of Job's story) is for us to learn to take God on God's terms, to praise God come what may (or as Elder Wirthlin's mother taught him: "Come what may, and love it!"). For someone then to suggest that he or she "cannot accept a God who…" misses the plot completely.

I've known adversity in my life, but not Job's adversity. In fact, when I measure my life against the lives of many I know, I've been awfully fortunate. Just as Job's friends could not rightly claim his unrighteousness brought on his trials, I cannot claim that my good fortune is somehow a blessing for something I've done, except to be born into a family that valued education and gave me that opportunity so I could become well employed. I certainly acknowledge the Lord's blessings in my life, but I don't claim that I have done anything outstanding to be worthy of them.

Nor do I feel that the sadness that I've known comes directly from my own unrighteousness, either. I'm not perfect, so I suppose I am unrighteous. But I don't believe adversity works that way. (And Job didn't either).

In the end, of course, Job passes his test. He continues to praise God through his adversity, and all that was his is restored to him again. (Some worry about the replacement of his dead children, but if we look from a gospel perspective, we can assume those children who died are his in the eternities, as well.) As a metaphor for our earthly existence, we know that if we stay close to God and do as He has taught us that we can be with him again, and what we enjoyed in the premortal existence (that is, His presence) will also be restored to us.

One of my favorite verses from Job (spoken in the midst of his affliction, not after his deliverance) has found its way into many musical settings (though was spoken in the piece we saw the other night): "For I know that my redeemer liveth….In my flesh shall I see God" (Job 25:19-20). May we remember Job's testimony and take comfort in it.