Spiritual Mentors

The kernel of the idea for this post came from a comment over at Real Intent. In response to a discussion about asking the right questions, commenter Brenda wrote, “In conversation with a spiritual mentor I was asked to…”

I was intrigued with the idea of a spiritual mentor and began to reflect about my own life and to wonder if I had spiritual mentors, and if those mentors would even know who they were.

I have never had a formal mentor in any setting. At work I’ve had a few people that I call on occasionally for advice on career development matters, so I feel like they mentor me, but we don’t have a formal relationship around that mentoring. Similarly, at church I have not consciously entered into a formal mentoring relationship with anyone, though there are those I have looked to for guidance and counsel on spiritual things. Those have included over the years:

1. Ecclesiastical leaders – I’ve counseled with bishops and stake presidents, particularly in relation to my callings or when I’ve had specific questions (usually about my family) for which I wanted their counsel and advice.
2. Family members – I have gone to my parents when they were alive and to my siblings for advice on specific matters. My father and my father-in-law were particularly valuable sounding boards when they were still alive.
3. Friends – once in a while I’ve felt close enough with someone – usually someone with whom I’ve served – to ask for advice on a spiritual matter. It may have been a gospel question or a particular decision I’m trying to make an with which I’m struggling to get an answer.
4. My spouse – I value my wife’s view very highly. She is thoughtful and actively seeks the Lord’s influence in her life; she actively seeks the guidance of the spirit as a parent and in her callings. I will talk to her about questions I have or thoughts I’m considering to get her point of view.

Interestingly, missing from my spiritual mentors list are home teachers. I’ve never felt that closeness, and I’ve always felt my home teachers are for my family, not for me alone. That’s probably not completely reasonable thinking on my part, especially thinking back on the quality of my home teachers (excellent!) and their dedication (also excellent!) over time.

I’ve thought about why I haven’t had specific spiritual mentors, and I can think of a few reasons, some cultural and some more doctrinal:

1. We value self-reliance. For as long as I can remember we’ve taught self-reliance in the church. We teach Moroni 10 and D&C 6, 8 and 9 – we can get our answers to prayer, our own revelation. We were actively taught for a number of years in our area to “get off the bishop’s worry list,” which most of us translated as being spiritually self-reliant. While I agree it’s good for the bishop to have fewer people on his worry list, it’s probably not accurate to think in terms of spiritual self-reliance since we all are reliant upon the Savior and his atoning sacrifice for our redemption.
2. There’s no calling of mentor. In the church we are happy to sustain people in the positions to which they have been called. We answer assignments from priesthood leaders because we sustain them. We prepare for Sunday School class because we sustain the teacher. We sing in the choir because we sustain the choir director. If someone is called to lead us, we follow. But rarely do we follow someone who is not called to lead us. We don’t appoint ourselves over others, and we don’t appoint others over ourselves. As I mentioned above, a home- or visiting-teacher might naturally fit in a mentoring role, but I’ve never had that experience, either as a home teacher or a home teachee.
3. We’re all alike. Because we are a lay church, we accept that we’re more or less all the same. Some of us are called to lead the rest of us from time to time, but otherwise we’re pretty similar. There are obvious differences: new members may feel less prepared than more seasoned ones. Members returning to activity after a long time away may feel more like new members. But except for temporary differences in callings, we’re all pretty much cut from the same cloth, so we don’t naturally assume that we can be mentored by someone else or that we could mentor someone else.
4. Those who do have more experience or wisdom (read: who are older) are also busy. There are some wise folks in our wards, people who have been around the block, who have been where we are at one point of another. But often they are the busy ones, either serving in high-pressure callings or having high-pressure situations at home. So we’re reluctant to reach out and seek their mentoring wisdom. Or maybe we’re just embarrassed to ask for help and we use their potential busy-ness as an excuse.

That said, I think there’s potential value in mentors in the church. Certainly for new members or members in transition (think Young Women moving into Relief Society or Young Men moving into the Elders Quorum), a mentor fills that role of Friend that President Hinckley said we all need. But even more established members can benefit from a listening ear, an understanding heart and wise experience.

Sometimes we draw that wisdom and counsel out of general circumstances to apply to our specific situations. We apply the teachings of a conference talk or a Relief Society lesson to our own lives.

But sometimes it would be nice to have that relationship that a mentor could provide – a regular sounding board as we navigate unknown waters, a voice of experience as we face new things, an alternate point of view as we evaluate options.

Of course there are some risks. A mentor cannot and should not take the place of personal revelation. Nor should the mentor replace the inspired counsel of a loving priesthood leader who has keys and responsibility. (I heard that second idea reinforced in recent seminary teacher training I attended. We were reminded that seminary teachers are not to replace bishops in the lives of their students, but should point students to their priesthood leaders. I’m aware that the professionals at LDS Family Services are trained to do the same.)

Have you had spiritual mentors in your life?

Mourning with those who wear pants

I had no plans to write about pants. In fact, were it not for the internet, I would know nothing about the pants thing from this past weekend.

But after church as we drove to my BIL’s home for a second thanksgiving dinner, my 16-year old son brought it up. He had seen it on Facebook and read gazillions of comments.

My 12-year old daughter was totally flummoxed. Why would women want to wear pants to church anyway? So we talked about some of the issues they were trying to address and what we all thought about this issues and how they were being raised.

What irked my son is what irked me, and that is how supposedly otherwise faithful Latter-day Saints were talking to one another about the issue on line. The vitriol, while no longer shocking to anyone who spends more than 10 minutes reading comments on anything online, was disappointing among those who covenant to mourn with those that mourn and comfort those who stand in need of comfort.

He was the first to acknowledge that any online discussion seems to attract the highly opinionated and the trolls, and that most people who argue in those forums have no interest in listening to another point of view. They seem instead to seek support for whatever viewpoint they bring with them to the fight.

My lovely wife had some interesting observations from her own experience. She’s served in a number of Relief Society presidencies, and is now in our stake Relief Society presidency. She’s been a part of ward councils in wards on three continents, and has consistently felt her voice has been heard by the bishops and stake presidents with whom she’s served. Furthermore, she knows that the Relief Society presidents in our stake are key to the successful running of their wards; their bishops seek their counsel and listen to it.

She also acknowledges that not everyone has the same experience she does.

As for pants in our ward? I have no idea. We often have one or two or three sisters in pants anyway for one reason or another. But I don’t really pay much attention. As I mentioned in another conversation on the subject, I tend to pay attention to what my lovely wife and my daughter are wearing, and I don’t pay attention to others.

When I think about those who feel like they are standing on the outside looking in, I hope we treat them with love and kindness. I’m reminded of an experience I had as a young married man:

We lived in a Provo family ward just after we were married. I was soon called to be the Sunday School president (at the time that Sunday School opening exercises was done away with), and I felt my calling to be increasingly less important. Still my counselors and I made a good effort to attend classes, provide feedback, hold in-service meetings, and so on. I never could, however, figure out the value of the stake Sunday School organization. The one stake training meeting I attended seemed totally useless to me, and I felt we were doing just fine on our own.

I’m fairly certain I was not shy about my contempt for the stake organization (since I wasn’t shy about much in those days). And yet, every time the stake Sunday School president visited out ward, he’d put his arm around me, give me a warm handshake and tell me how much he loved me and appreciated the work we were doing in our ward.

I don’t remember anything I taught in our in-service meetings, but to this day I remember the warmth and kindness I felt from this man who was doing his best to magnify his calling, despite my hubris.

I hope that if I met any of the pants-sympathizers (or any of the pants-haters, for that matter), that I would respond to either with love and kindness, just as my stake Sunday School president did with me.

(Photo credit: SL Tribune)

Saving Marriage -- Part II

A second in an occasional series (Part I here).

It may come as a shock to some of you, but when we marry, we marry humans. Flawed, imperfect humans. I know that’s hard to believe. People who are courting tend to see fewer flaws (and work very, very hard to hide their own). And in those early honeymoon years of marriage, we tend to work hard to hide them, too.

But sooner or later it will dawn on us: my spouse is as human as I am. Yikes! (Of course this thought, if we are lucky, might be tempered by the realization that our spouse has already figured that out about us.)

Since we’re human, we will make mistakes. All sorts of mistakes. We’ll do the wrong thing, say the wrong thing, think the wrong thing. We’ll hurt one another’s feelings (whether we mean to or not), and we may take offense, even when none is intended. We’ll be judgmental. We may even try to change one another.

How do good marriages survive those kinds of mistakes? I certainly don’t have all the answers, but I have one: Charity.

Before you hit the delete key, thinking you’ve stumbled on another Sunday School answer, let me explain. If ever there were a place for charity (that is, the pure love of Christ) it is in our homes with our spouses. And (if my experience is any measure) it may the hardest place to have charity.

Why should we have charity? Well, we’ve spent weeks, months, maybe years trying to convince our spouse during the courting years that we were in love. That love should not peter out after the wedding, but should continue to grow. And that love should grow beyond the romantic and sexual love that are so prevalent during courting. (And if we nurture it, it does grow!) We’ve made covenants with that spouse of ours and part of honoring that covenant is to foster the development of love in the relationship.

What good does charity do in a marriage? Plenty! I have a friend who signs off her emails with the words “Assume the best.” Not a bad motto, and especially not a bad motto within our families. In a family with charity, I could assume that whatever my lovely wife says to me is said with love and concern for me. If I choose to hear everything that way, I am much less likely to take offense or feel the need to defend my position. And if I am always assuming the best about my spouse, then I am much less likely to offend in the first place, because I’m more likely to put her needs above mine in the relationship. (The fact that I understand this intellectually should not lead you to a conclusion that I actually do it all the time; I fail often, because I’m human.)

President Kimball taught that the best marriages are not 50:50 affairs in which each partner loses half the time. Instead they are 100:100 unions in which each spouse looks out for the good of the other, and each spouse finds joy in helping the other to succeed. That’s a risky proposition if the relationship is unhealthy, because one spouse who gives 100% to another spouse who gives nothing is a recipe for therapy at best, and maybe even ending the marriage or worse. But in a healthy relationship, giving ourselves to one another is a valuable component of a successful marriage.

But even in the most charitable marriage, there may be some moments that are not perfect. In those instances, charity leads to forgiveness. (Forgiveness is my letting go of the offense, not my excusing the other party from the consequences of that offense, by the way.) I’m grateful for the charity that my lovely wife shows toward me when she overlooks my flaws and forgives me for mistakes. Interestingly, that does not mean she suffers silently while I do things that annoy her. It means that she has learned over the years to speak to me in a kind, yet assertive, way that communicates her needs in our relationship, so that I have an opportunity to step up and do my part. She speaks from her point of view (which is all she can do). She does not dictate how I respond, and she does not demand that I do certain things. But she tells me what she thinks, what she sees, and what she needs. And she does it kindly.

It’s up to me, then, to determine how to respond. When I respond with charity, I seek to understand her point of view, to understand her needs and to sort out where I’m not meeting those needs. And to change what I’m doing. Our marriage is one where we seek to support one another and to meet one another’s needs. I win when she wins. And she wins when I win. (Some days the kids win, but that’s a whole different kettle of fish.)

In the next installment (whenever that is) I’ll talk about how we get people to change.

Anti-Nephi-Lehis as Peacemakers?

In a Gospel Doctrine class the other Sunday our instructor led a great discussion about the choice by the Anti-Nephi-Lehis to bury their weapons of rebellion. We discussed what our modern-day weapons of rebellion might be, and we discussed the value of the Anti-Nephi-Lehis’ act of burying their weapons. It was a really good lesson, and I left with lots to think about.

Including this: Our instructor suggested that one of the qualities of the Anti-Nephi-Lehis was that they were peacemakers. I took exception to that idea in the class (and I still do). Another class member jumped in to focus on the individual peace that must have led the Anti-Nephi-Lehis to their choice to bury their weapons as token of their covenant with God. Not wanting to derail the lesson, I let it go.

But what ran through my mind was this (despite my own anti-war pre-disposition): by burying their weapons of rebellion, they also buried their weapons of self-defense, as they then almost immediately (in the account, anyway) demonstrated. The Lamanites soon fell upon them and slaughtered over 1,000 as the Anti-Nephi-Lehis bowed on the ground and called upon God. Whatever else they did, they did not create peace.

I thought how today we might not encourage such devoted behavior, opting instead for a more pragmatic approach, sort of a hate-the-sin-and-retain-your-weapon compromise. But the Anti-Nephi-Lehis were more committed than that. They were ready to give their lives as a token of the covenant they had made to repent of who they had been.

The real cost of that covenant became more clear in subsequent chapters as the Nephites welcomed them into the Land of Jershon, renamed them the people of Ammon, and then sent armies to defend them. What follows next is an account of a huge and bitter battle between the Nephites and Lamanites (more non-peace). Perhaps the battle would have come without the people of Ammon, but the Nephite armies did defend them. And losses on both sides were huge.

Two lessons for me:

1. What is the token of my covenants with God? How much am I really willing to bury the weapons of my rebellion? And what cost am I willing to incur?

2. Am I willing to support others who bury the weapons of their rebellion? At what cost am I willing to protect my brothers and sisters in the gospel who are choosing to honor the covenants that they have made?

For me the second lesson brings new meaning to the Savior’s injunction that I should not judge. It is not my place to determine whether another person has overestimated what he must do to honor a covenant. Indeed, it is my place to love and support him or her as part of my faith community (and perhaps to learn faith from him or her, as well).

Hand sitting progress...

A while ago I posted about sitting on my hands -- in church classes, that it. I thought I'd let you know know that's going.

I'm relieved that not every idea I have is bad. (One bad one here...)

I have tried to be more measured in my participation in class. I am happy to read, and volunteer to do so. And I'm trying (for now) to limit myself to just one comment. My reasons:

1. To avoid "teaching from the fourth row" -- I want to respect that the instructor has a point of view, a message he or she has prepared, and I want to hear what that is. If I keep interrupting with my great ideas, neither the rest of the class nor I get to hear what the instructor has planned.

2. To avoid monopolizing the conversaton -- more than once I've been in a class where someone comments so much that others kind of shut down and let the instructor and the verbose commenter carry on their dialog. Recently I've realized that sometimes I'm that guy, and I didn't want to be.

3. As much as I like to hear myself talk, I'm trying to limit my pontification to my blog and to my home, where I'm king. (Oh, strike that second part...)

So over the last few weeks, I've been pretty good about it. I substituted for two weeks in my son's Sunday School class, so I got to talk all I wanted there (guided by the lesson manual and the Real Manual (aka, the scriptures), of course).

In priesthood the first week of hand sitting, I responded to a question early on, and the stake president, who was visiting our ward that day, commented on my comment. I was anxious to answer his thoughts, but even as I was putting up my hand, I remembered to sit on it, instead. As it happens, someone else commented on what he said. The conversation did not go in the direction I would have taken it, but the instructor was happy to have several people participating, and that was good.

In Sunday School yesterday, I was a little late to the discussion because I had to follow up with the bishop on another matter. When I joined the class, they were discussing one of my very favorite chapters of all scripture, Mosiah 4. There we learn about our need to serve others, about how our attitude in service is at least as important as our actions, and about how caring for the poor and needy is the way we ensure that we retain our sins' remission that we receive in baptism and in taking the sacrament.

Our teacher had me read verses 21-26. For me, the key is verse 26:

And now, for the sake of these things which I have spoken unto you—that is, for the sake of retaining a remission of your sins from day to day, that ye may walk guiltless before God—I would that ye should impart of your substance to the poor, every man according to that which he hath, such as feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, visiting the sick and administering to their relief, both spiritually and temporally, according to their wants. (Emphasis mine.)

As our teacher reviewed key verses, he had me read through verse 26, but he did not discuss it. My hand was itching to go up, but I sat on it again. He clearly had somewhere he was heading. After class, he told me that he was going to spend some time on that subject, but because I'd read the verse with the emphasis I marked above, he felt like his point had been made and he moved on.

All in all, so far so good. I am noticing, particularly in my HP group, more participation when I curb my dialog with the instructor. And I'm getting to hear some other points of view besides my own. That can't be a bad thing.

"I'm doing the best I can!"

When our family lived in Taiwan a few years ago, my wife and I were restricted service ordinance workers when our English ward attended the temple. It was my first (and only) opportunity to serve in the temple as an ordinance worker, and I really enjoyed the experience. I would gladly serve again if the opportunity presented itself.

One of the bits of training we received was on “correcting” temple patrons. We were taught basically not to do it, with a couple of very specific and limited exceptions. Instead, we were told we should assume that each patron is doing the best he or she can.

It made sense, really. People who come to the temple are already declared by their bishops and stake presidents worthy to come to the temple. They are faithful members of the church who are there to serve. Many come to the temple at pretty great sacrifice of time and sometimes distance. In our ward, some members who attended did so instead of working, so they sacrificed income in order to participate.

Knowing that these folks really were trying to do what is right in most areas of their lives made it easy to assume that they were also doing their best in the temple.

I mentioned this idea in a comment on another blog last week and someone responded what a great thing it would be if we assumed this in all our interactions – that the other person is doing the best he or she can. I say Hooray for that idea!

What would be gained from such an approach? Would we treat others with more or less charity if we assumed they are doing the best they can do? More, I suspect. Would we be more supportive of positive changes we see? I suspect so, especially when compared with the alternative, namely finding the next flaw for someone to work on.

It’s caused me to reflect on people who have helped me to succeed. The ones who have done it best are not the drill sergeants of my life. They are the cheerleaders. My father almost never offered direct criticism of something I did. He did compliment me a lot. And I don’t think it was my stunning awesomeness that drove his behavior. I think he learned that a dad can draw more flies with honey than vinegar (despite the fact that I could probably have used a vinegar bath from time to time).

Shortly after I was married, I was called as a Sunday School president of my Provo ward. This was the time that Sunday School presidents were becoming pretty irrelevant as far as I was concerned. Opening exercises had been done away with. And during my tenure, monthly in-service meetings were done away with, too. I found our stake “training” meetings to be dull and uninspiring. And if I had a hard time figuring out how I could be relevant, imagine how hard it was to figure out how the stake Sunday School president was relevant. Yet our stake SS president would visit our ward, put his arm around me and tell me how much he loved me, and how much he appreciated what we were doing in our ward’s Sunday School. He talked about the quality of teaching in our ward, and how we met the needs of our newlywed / nearly dead diversity (ok, he didn’t call them nearly dead…). Despite my best efforts to the contrary, I actually liked it when he came, and I always had one more idea of something we could do to improve teaching in our ward.

Our bishop now regularly talks about the good things our ward is doing. We do have an awesome ward, by the way. But I have been bishop in this ward. I know that bishop doesn’t sleep well many nights. I’m sure he worries about the youth, the underemployed, the poor, the disaffected, and probably his own family. But he doesn’t lecture us. He doesn’t give us his top three things we ought to be doing. He thanks us for our service and accepts that we are doing the best we can.

What are the risks of such an approach? Few. Once in a while we’re in a position where we need to offer instruction or correction. Parents, teachers, youth leaders, bishops all might need to do it sometimes. But instruction can certainly be given with the attitude that people are doing their best. Correction may be a little trickier, but even correction need not be given in anger or with contention. Think D&C 121 – when we reprove betimes with sharpness, we do it with the clarity of a photograph, not the cutting edge of a knife. And we surround that clarity with love.

The only other time that we might try to justify a different approach is when offering a cautionary tale to our children -- that is pointing out someone else’s mistake in the hope that our children won’t replicate it. I think this is our greatest chance to assume the best in others. Even if there was a mistake, we can teach the mistake and its consequence without condemning the person involved.

The Savior’s injunction not to judge applies. Even our “righteous judgment” ought to be limited to actions, not people, remembering that whatever judgment we use will also be reserved for us. I, for one, hope the judgment applied to me assumes I’m doing the best I can.

"As the gospel requires"

On the way to seminary each morning, we listen to scripture mastery songs to help my high school freshman memorize them. This week’s scripture is D&C 88:123-124. Verse 124 (“Cease to be idle; cease to be unclean; cease to sleep longer than is needful…”) is well known to me as it was the subject of my very first talk in church, a “concert recitation” in Sunday School on a Fast Sunday several months after our family’s baptism back when I was about nine.

But what has caught my ear this week came from verse 123: “learn to impart one to another as the gospel requires.”

What does the gospel require us to impart one to another?

The injunction follows the charge to cease to be covetous, which also intrigues me. Does that suggest that when I fail to share my substance with another that I am coveting? I believe so. And do I relieve my responsibility to impart one to another by paying my fast offerings and tithing? I believe I do not.

To be sure there is one element of sharing which includes putting my surplus in the storehouse (like fast offerings). The welfare principles of the church teach that the storehouse from which the bishop may draw includes the Bishop’s Storehouse where food orders may be filled, but it also includes the pool of talents and resources available in the ward. My contribution to that storehouse may include my time to help unload the moving van for a single mom or it may include counseling with a widow about options for dealing with her home she can no longer afford.

Another welfare principle of the church is to help our families before they go to the church for help. Some years ago, my wife’s family established a family emergency fund to which family members contribute. Over time this money has been used to help specific family members in times of need.

King Benjamin’s great speech about retaining a remission of our sins reminds us that the gospel also requires us to help the poor when they ask, if we are able (see Mosiah 4:14-20).

I’m encouraged by the injunction in D&C 88:123, however. I am to learn to impart one to another. It has taken me quite some time in my life to learn the principles I have, and I continue to refine their application to my life.

How about you? What have you learned about imparting one to another as the gospel requires?

I know you have a problem

You've got a problem. I know you have a problem. Your family knows you've got a problem. Everyone seems to know you've got a problem. Everyone, that is, but you.

What does one do in such a situation? How do we help someone who does not want to be helped? In Mosiah we learn that we are to mourn with those that mourn and bear one another's burdens. How do we live that teaching, especially when the person who needs help won't get it?

The issue is that you are likely to come to me for help. But it will be help for problems that you could solve if you'd solve your core problem. But you don't see the core problem. Or you see it and won't do anything about it.

King Benjamin teaches we ought to offer help whenever it is requested without judgment of the person seeking help. Does that mean I give the help I'm asked to give, or I try to solve the root problem?

At least one of the reasons King Benjamin gives for his direction to help everyone without judgment is that we're all beggars. We're all in the same boat (or at least similar boats) and we all need help. And that means I probably have a bigger root problem that someone else sees better than I do, too. Related to that reality is that I may not be in the best position to judge what your real problem is. I can't see into your heart. I'm not a trained professional counselor. I'm not your religious leader. I'm just a parent or a friend, or even just a guy you ask for help.

When we do things for people that they could and should be doing for themselves, we are at risk of enabling behaviors that are not healthy in the long run. People in "Anon" program like Al-Anon or Families Anonymous or the church's Family Support Groups (a companion program to the Addiction Recovery Program, but not yet available everywhere) learn the dangers of enabling alcoholics or addicts, since enabling typically does nothing to encourage change in the addict. (Stopping the enabling is also no guarantee that an addict will seek change, by the way. But, as the slogan goes: If nothing changes, nothing changes.)

Enabling goes beyond cases of addiction. Enabling behaviors could also slow the preparation of young people to enter the adult world. They can hide the true effects of abuse in a family. They can allow a co-worker to work less than he's paid to. And more.

So, how do I decide how to help?

What do you do when your ward doesn't work?

First, a point of clarification: I don't intend to gripe, nor do I want to encourage griping.

But sometimes things don't go the way we'd like them to in our wards and branches. Maybe there's that member who gushes the same testimony each fast day. Maybe our home teachers haven't come in a year and a half. Maybe we wish the scouting program worked better for our kids. Maybe we worry that we need to talk with the bishop but we worry that he doesn't have enough time. Maybe we tire of poorly prepared and delivered lessons. Maybe… Well, you get the idea.

I think how we respond to these situations has a lot to do with how we feel in a particular ward. If we are constantly noticing the things that upset us, if we always have a better idea than those in charge, I suspect we're less likely to feel comfortable in the ward. On the other hand, it can be challenging to face the same issues week after week and ignore our own feelings.

I have an acquaintance who attends church in an inner city ward in a large US mid-western city. That ward is fortunate to have lots of converts. But that brings challenges as those new converts are invited to give talks or teach or serve in other ways. Often the opportunity to serve comes before lots of church experience, so sometimes non-LDS doctrine gets taught in sacrament meeting or in Primary. Sometimes people show up late and the order of speakers in sacrament meeting has to change on the fly. My friend is ok with all of that, saying that if we're going to be a missionary church we need to roll with the punches, and the fact that we have those issues is a great blessing because it means we have new members, and those new members will learn in time.

My own experience is that I need to be careful about how I share my views about what goes on at church around my kids. If they perceive that I complain, they complain. If they perceive that I'm judgmental, they are, too. If I find a more charitable way, they seem to, also. I'm sure they'll have plenty of examples of complainers in life, so I'd like to teach them a better way.

But having the more charitable attitude is helpful to me, too. When I have served in leadership positions in the past, I've been very grateful for the charity of members who looked past my flaws and saw my good intentions instead. And I was grateful for those who came and spoke frankly about concerns they had; sometimes I was unaware and needed feedback, and sometimes I was able to offer them new perspective that helped them understand differently than they had before.

I have an acquaintance who often uses the expression, "Assume positive intent." I think that's a good motto when it comes to fellow church servants. The church is remarkable in that one day you could be serving as bishop or Relief Society president and the next you can be leading the singing in Primary, or just the reverse. We fully expect people to rise to the callings they receive, and we believe that God will help them to do just that.

And faithful Latter-day Saints believe people serve because God has called them to do so. Griping about what so-and-so does as bishop seems to many to be taking God's role in the calling of so-and-so lightly. It is one of the wonders of the church in my mind that my normal good friend one day may be my bishop or quorum leader the next. And while he's still my good friend, I need to show him proper respect (and faith), too. Doing so helps me as much as it helps him.

And, of course, if there's egregious behavior, there are remedies. We can always appeal to presiding authority if we need to. I have done that in the past, having written about a particular situation to my stake president. In my letter I explained my concern, and I invited him to correct me if he needed to. He didn't contact me, so I assume he handled the matter. He mentioned the letter in an interview a year later, but only in passing, and we never discussed the matter after that.

In the end, it's probably not too pleasant to go to church where we feel uncomfortable. We ought to be refreshed and uplifted in church. For me, that process is easier when I approach others there with charity.