Willy Wonka should really drag his carcass down here to Alabama. I could use his help in the candy kitchen. And he should bring along a carload of those little Oompa Loompa's with him. I have discovered that actual skill is required to make candy. And I do not possess it.
Those little orange faced dudes in Wonka's candy factory have it all over me when it comes to their secret chocolate making skills and I'm not afraid to admit it.
At first, I thought it was my lack of sufficient estrogen that was the problem. Then, after my good friend Sophie came over to lend a hand, I realized there were hidden steps to creating chocolate snacks that eluded me completely.
Martha Stewart doesn't have to put up with this crap!! Come to think of it, neither does Willy Wonka. I'll bet not one single Oompa Loompa has ever had a chocolate meltdown over candy catastrophe. That's because from the moment they were saved from the rotten, Vermicious Knids and snozwangers they have been entrusted with Wonka's most dear candy making secrets. And Oompa Loompa's are notoriously tight lipped unless they are singing about how bratty your kids are when they come to visit the factory with their Golden Ticket and their attitudes.
Alas, I seem to be missing my Golden Ticket. I've checked all of my pockets. So far, I have come up with a lint ball the size of New Jersey, three gum wrappers from a flavor I don't chew (who has been using my jacket?) and a sticky residue that I am just not willing to contemplate. Therefore the unmistakable conclusion bears down upon my tired mind. I'm now reasonably sure that the fine art of edible chocolate goodness will always have to be purchased instead of made by my pitifully unskilled hands. Why didn't my genealogy reveal Oompah Loompa ancestry? Or that Willy Wonka is my 4th great uncle twice removed?
The good news is that every single failed chocolate that gave its life in the attempt at creating wedding candy didn't die in vain.
We ate them. It was the kindest thing to do. Really.
To have thrust their mangled forms onto wedding guests would have been both unnecessarily cruel and also put a serious pall on the joyful events as the guests would be compelled to create complementary phrases to describe said candy without creating offense.
"Yes, the candy was . . . uh, a form of . . . art. Yes, ART!"
"Oh, I don't eat candy. Ruins my teeth..."
"Don't you hate it when the caterers make a mistake on such an important event?"
We shall accept their pity without reservation. I'll be the one wearing the shopping bag over my head because they won't be able to look into my eyes and KNOW that I am the candy murderer.
The Candy Man can . . . so where is he when I need him?
WILLY WONKA! WHERE ARE YOU???
April 25, 2012
April 18, 2012
What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Stronger... or at least you smell that way
Gym time is both a blessing and a curse.
A blessing because I can't hear the phone... my music is up WAAAAAAAY to loud...LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA can't hear yooooooooooouuuuuu... and I refuse to leave until I am sweaty. At least in the gym. It's really hard to tell if you are sweating in the pool.
The curse part comes in when you are really gunning it to see what you can accomplish in the least amount of time and trying to work in the muscle toning/building circuit to make sure the old bod doesn't collapse into a pile of goo.
The ideal is, of course, to work enough to feel like you have accomplished something, but not so intensely that they must call for Med-Flight.
Today was a good day.
According to folk wisdom and Kelly Clarkson, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. I may or may not be stronger for the efforts but I certainly SMELL that way. And isn't that half the battle? If you smell like you worked out, surely that translates into some tangible proof down the line that you haven't spent your entire day sitting on your ass doing nothing of substance. Doesn't it?
Modern lore and wisdom decries anyone who doesn't fit the fitness mode. A little cellulite here or there or a paunch over your belt means somewhere along the line you must have "given up" on yourself.
Au contraire, mon ami!
Sometimes those precious bits of flab, fat and cellulite are markers of a life's passage. Shifting gears to do what is essential often means that the reasonable person puts themselves on the back burner in order to care for the needs of those unable to care for themselves.
But getting back into the swing of things and being able to 'walk and not be weary, and run and not faint' is not an exercise for the faint of heart.
Thighs jiggle and shake in a most unbecoming fashion and seeing the reflection of your changed self is hardly an appealing way to see yourself first thing in the morning. We all tend to have a body image of ourselves that is out of date and reflects us at our absolute best. Sadly, what we tend to portray is the reality of our circumstances. Tired, not quite ready for prime time and booted from the Olympic trials even for consideration as a scorekeeper.
But today was pretty good. Although my body shape doesn't reflect the effort, it does have a shape. I am "round". I'd like to go back in time and paste this head and brain on the body I left behind a couple of decades ago. It was the one that still played racquetball a couple of times a week, the one that could still run and the one that hadn't been smashed up by a drunk driver.
All in all, I'm rather thankful to just be here in ANY shape... even if that shape is round.
The assumption that all I do is eat is kind of frustrating. I have a bowl of cheerios for breakfast with a small glass of OJ. Most days, I have some fruit about mid morning. And since my morning starts at 5:20 a.m., mid morning is most people's late breakfast. Then I try to have something sensible for lunch. The other day, I splurged on myself and had a sandwich from Subway. It was whole wheat, turkey, mustard, provolone cheese and all of the vegetables they could shove in there minus the banana peppers and onions. Of course, there were a few extra black olives. I drank water to wash it all down.
As luck would have it, that night for dinner, we simply feasted on leftovers du jour. I had the homemade Chinese sweet and sour. It was mostly oriental vegetables, broccoli and a few oriental noodles. I also had a glass of chocolate milk. Skim milk, or 'nekkid milk' as it is called around here, should count as some kind of bonus because it doesn't seem like much even with a spoonful of chocolate whipped into it.
Sad.
I realized as I was racking up the five miles today on the bike that there are people who can and do accomplish a lot more. Rather than being jealous, petty or angry that I'm not there yet, I've often wondered if my lack of success is a combination of a lifetime of various injuries added to a dead thyroid for which I now take medication or if some folks are just born with more physical ability and haven't learned to see both sides of the coin yet.
SIGH.
I keep doing what I am able to do as I am able to do it. Maybe one day, I'll get to go back and pick up that more vibrant and youthful body.
I think that day is about 10-ish on resurrection morning.
I'll let you know how that works out.
Meanwhile, I'm offending myself with the smell from the gym, and I have things to do besides marinating in my sweat.
Happy trails.
A blessing because I can't hear the phone... my music is up WAAAAAAAY to loud...LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA can't hear yooooooooooouuuuuu... and I refuse to leave until I am sweaty. At least in the gym. It's really hard to tell if you are sweating in the pool.
The curse part comes in when you are really gunning it to see what you can accomplish in the least amount of time and trying to work in the muscle toning/building circuit to make sure the old bod doesn't collapse into a pile of goo.
The ideal is, of course, to work enough to feel like you have accomplished something, but not so intensely that they must call for Med-Flight.
Today was a good day.
According to folk wisdom and Kelly Clarkson, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. I may or may not be stronger for the efforts but I certainly SMELL that way. And isn't that half the battle? If you smell like you worked out, surely that translates into some tangible proof down the line that you haven't spent your entire day sitting on your ass doing nothing of substance. Doesn't it?
Modern lore and wisdom decries anyone who doesn't fit the fitness mode. A little cellulite here or there or a paunch over your belt means somewhere along the line you must have "given up" on yourself.
Au contraire, mon ami!
Sometimes those precious bits of flab, fat and cellulite are markers of a life's passage. Shifting gears to do what is essential often means that the reasonable person puts themselves on the back burner in order to care for the needs of those unable to care for themselves.
But getting back into the swing of things and being able to 'walk and not be weary, and run and not faint' is not an exercise for the faint of heart.
Thighs jiggle and shake in a most unbecoming fashion and seeing the reflection of your changed self is hardly an appealing way to see yourself first thing in the morning. We all tend to have a body image of ourselves that is out of date and reflects us at our absolute best. Sadly, what we tend to portray is the reality of our circumstances. Tired, not quite ready for prime time and booted from the Olympic trials even for consideration as a scorekeeper.
But today was pretty good. Although my body shape doesn't reflect the effort, it does have a shape. I am "round". I'd like to go back in time and paste this head and brain on the body I left behind a couple of decades ago. It was the one that still played racquetball a couple of times a week, the one that could still run and the one that hadn't been smashed up by a drunk driver.
All in all, I'm rather thankful to just be here in ANY shape... even if that shape is round.
The assumption that all I do is eat is kind of frustrating. I have a bowl of cheerios for breakfast with a small glass of OJ. Most days, I have some fruit about mid morning. And since my morning starts at 5:20 a.m., mid morning is most people's late breakfast. Then I try to have something sensible for lunch. The other day, I splurged on myself and had a sandwich from Subway. It was whole wheat, turkey, mustard, provolone cheese and all of the vegetables they could shove in there minus the banana peppers and onions. Of course, there were a few extra black olives. I drank water to wash it all down.
As luck would have it, that night for dinner, we simply feasted on leftovers du jour. I had the homemade Chinese sweet and sour. It was mostly oriental vegetables, broccoli and a few oriental noodles. I also had a glass of chocolate milk. Skim milk, or 'nekkid milk' as it is called around here, should count as some kind of bonus because it doesn't seem like much even with a spoonful of chocolate whipped into it.
Sad.
I realized as I was racking up the five miles today on the bike that there are people who can and do accomplish a lot more. Rather than being jealous, petty or angry that I'm not there yet, I've often wondered if my lack of success is a combination of a lifetime of various injuries added to a dead thyroid for which I now take medication or if some folks are just born with more physical ability and haven't learned to see both sides of the coin yet.
SIGH.
I keep doing what I am able to do as I am able to do it. Maybe one day, I'll get to go back and pick up that more vibrant and youthful body.
I think that day is about 10-ish on resurrection morning.
I'll let you know how that works out.
Meanwhile, I'm offending myself with the smell from the gym, and I have things to do besides marinating in my sweat.
Happy trails.
April 14, 2012
Adversarial Combat
As Christ followed the Father under any circumstance, we should follow His Son. If we do so, it matters not what kind of persecution, suffering, grief, or “thorn in the flesh” we face. We are not alone. Christ will assist us. His tender mercies will make us mighty under any circumstance. - Walter F. González -
Mere mortals we who attempt to navigate our way through the storms of life and hope that our little ship of faith is durable enough to carry us aloft on the tempest tossed.
Sometimes the tossing of the waves swamps our ship of faith and smashes us to emotionally drained bits on the rocks of adversity and pain. Such are the present circumstances for some people whom I love with all of my heart.
Circumstances can be temporary or they can be a permanent "thorn in the flesh" from which we can pray and petition for relief throughout our mortal sojourn. We don't get to pick and choose our trials, if so, we could simply pray away the pain, the sorrow and the hurt that comes from the agony pressing in upon us during those times of trial and torment that only the Master can fully comprehend.
The Atonement is so meaningful to me in ways I hadn't contemplated before. We are taught from the time we are small children that we can pray for forgiveness of our sins and transgressions, repent of our poorly chosen actions and receive forgiveness through the Atonement of Christ.
What is lesser focused upon, but every bit as valuable and far reaching, are the deeply held blessings that come from that same Atonement to carry the burdens of life that are part of each individual Child of God's mortal trial. The sorrow and the ache deep within for the burdens we personally carry ... as well as the burdens we share with those whom we love, but for whom we are powerless to intervene other than with our tears and our prayers.
God sent His Only Begotten Son to heal the world and the entirety of creation from the effects of the fall of Adam. Surely that includes the brokenhearted and those wounded by the pricking of the thorns in the flesh that create disease, havoc and fear. After all, the Savior was prophesied to carry our sorrows and our griefs. Gethsemane was not all about sin.
As the blood dripped from every pore in the Savior's body, those healing drops were being poured upon us all for those times when we are helpless to change the trial of ourselves... or of another. His wounded and broken heart felt every heavy beat of our own as He suffered with us through every ache and pain that can only be endured and maybe never completely overcome in this life.
We are commanded to be perfect even as Christ is. But absent His Atonement to bear the full weight and measure of the agony of our souls for our issues and the issues of those whom we love, we couldn't possibly manage it alone. It is likened to someone who seeks the advice and counsel of a physician, then refuses the aid and comfort because they are in their own mind unworthy to be helped and healed.
Surely our greatest nemesis must be laughing at our distress during those times of confusion and darkness! It is in his best interest to keep us feeling that if we only did more on our own that we could be better, stronger and perfect in and of ourselves. That is the biggest lie Satan deals out... and combined with his favorite tool of discouragement, it creates a storm of confusion in our lives that shuts and locks the door to the only One who can truly heal us at all.
During the times of my greatest struggles, I have often felt so inadequate to the tasks of life that I have wished to be gone. Surely that emotion is felt by many who struggle. It is asking so much of us to continue in pain - either physical, emotional or spiritual or any combination of them all! The hurt is often so great and the weight of circumstance pressing in so closely is a smothering thing. Like gasping for air after being underwater, yet always just beneath the surface so no air is obtained, we keep soldiering on through our torment trying to "handle it alone" as if so doing makes us better or stronger or somehow more capable to the eyes of God yet failing miserably to handle it at all.
This was not EVER God's design for us!
We were never meant to be alone.
God placed Adam and Eve in the garden together so that they would have another living soul to help them each carry the burdens that would be placed upon them. Because God also knew that the time would come when they must choose to leave that paradisaical state, He planned for us to have a way to endure all that would come to pass upon this entire creation... the Savior. One who could and would redeem. One who would heal, One who would bind up the wounds with the healing Balm of Gilead. One who would weep with us when we weep and rejoice with us when we rejoice. In short, One who would Atone.
Fear is a tremendous enemy. It turns our hearts into a quivering mass of "what if's" and leaves our faith on the doorstep. Fear comes from worrying how our family will manage if we die from the malady that has afflicted our body or our mind or our soul. Fear comes from the struggle between desiring perfection and knowing that we fall so very short in every caption that we are overwhelmed with the pitiful struggle against self. Fear can keep us from looking up in faith and tells us we are not good enough to save. It tells us that we must be unworthy because our "thorn in the flesh" may never be removed, but simply endured. Fear makes us turn our back on the very people in mortality who are the mortal angels who can aid in our rescue. Fear makes us shun the love of those who desire more than anything to just hold us close and help us through our turmoil.
The devil most certainly has powerful weapons in his arsenal of violence against our eternal progression.
Sometimes, as the brokenhearted kneel to pray, heaven feels very distant. That is a feeling of loneliness and darkness akin to no other. The absence of the tether to God is so isolating! The sorrow of all that is to be borne is so very painful!
During those times, the Atonement of Christ provides the answer, though we may not see it until in retrospect. Into His very body, the piercing agony of our struggle has been indelibly stamped and scarred upon His very person and within His soul. He, even Jesus the Christ, bears the marks upon Himself of every wound, every hurt, every struggle and every moment of agony we have endured... yet His precious blood is the salve for them all.
Many times, I have prayed to have my own particular "thorns in the flesh" removed. The answer has painfully come time and again "No".
Though I often struggle to understand, God isn't cruel and Jesus isn't capricious. The world and those who refuse to honor God would have us burn down our own ship of faith to spite God, the truth is that we NEED our trials in order to become those whom God and Jesus call their "friends". Sometimes truth hurts in ways that we cannot fathom and can scarcely endure alone.
Friends can carry the weight with you and sometimes they carry it for you. They weep when you weep over health circumstances, kids gone astray, family members who flounder in the darkness of emotional turmoil or whatever the agony is named with which a mortal Child of God struggles... they, God the Father and Jesus Christ, weep with us from the heavens and ache with us as the struggle continues through whatever timetable. They are mindful, they are close and they are there with us wrapping their arms around us to carry us through it... we are just not always attuned to their presence.
Many times when I have come out of a desperately trying circumstance, I can see the evidence of God's love for me. The invitation to sing in the Stake choir is often one of those evidences that God knows me and that I matter... the feelings of the Holy Spirit, of Christ and of God seem to come so much stronger through music than any other medium. The trials don't depart, but they are, in a measure, made easier to bear.
Jesus Christ knows us as individuals. He already knows and has felt all of our brokenness. He isn't shocked, disappointed or angry. This was all planned from the beginning... for each one of us to come here and through our mortal experiences make the choice to return with our battle scars from this part of our eternal journey. He is standing with His arms outstretched to receive us all one by one... the same way He has Atoned for us.
On that lonely night in Gethsemane as He poured out all that was pressing upon Him in His intercessory prayer to His Father and to Our Father, Jesus Christ had us in mind... one by one. It truly humbles me to think of my sinless Savior kneeling there and pleading with the Father for all of the trials my life would bring - each one taking full measure in His thoughts and emotions as Jesus knelt there for me.
Sometimes, that is hard to remember. Satan wants it to be hard. He wants to distance me from the only way that I can ever get back home. He wants me to give up just at the very moment when the greatest blessing could be mine for all eternity. Simply put, he is miserable and the only way he feels anything at all is by making every single Child of God feel the full measure of their personal life's misery as if we had to carry it all alone.
Thankfully, Jesus says otherwise. "Depart!". And Satan along with those who work for him must flee. They cannot endure the light of the Divine Presence of the Only Begotten of the Father.
During the darkness of those nights where I am spiritually alone with the weight of who I am versus who I should be, the enveloping presence of Christ comes... sometimes through prayer and sometimes through the priesthood blessings that I have begged to receive. Those feelings of total love and compassion are the only things that keep me from dying from the panic that surrounds me and the imperfection of self that overwhelms my soul.
Jesus knows that, because He has endured it for me and with me, hour by hour. He has willingly shed His blood for the agony of my soul. What a Brother He surely is! He not only is by me, but takes my place in harms' way bearing my stripes on His body.
I am thankful for family and friends in the gospel who likewise feel the majesty and grace that Jesus Christ has granted. They shore me up when I am feeling capsized and tempest tossed. They remind me of all that has been done for me and help me focus on something that brings temporary peace to my soul.
It is the same for others, too.
I don't have any answers for why we endure and struggle and suffer some of the things we do. Maybe it's part of what we agreed to take upon ourselves as a condition of mortality... for the privilege of coming here to receive the opportunity to have the good experiences that would come... we would be willing to accept those unpleasant things and hurtful things because our Elder Brother promised us that He would be there every step of the way, walking with us, carrying us when we were too wounded to go on, suffering, bleeding and dying for us one by one... and, with healing in His wings, rising on that third day to open the door for all of us to go home.
There is a way... and the path is often steep and rocky and thorny. But we are never alone. For that I can testify and I am truly indebted to my Savior. Upon His mercy, His grace and His Atonement I can call any time of the day or night.
I close with a poem shared with me during a particular time of great distress and agony in my own life. Though our prayers are our heartfelt communications with our Father, sometimes we tend to make our prayers more 'shopping list' than talking over our lives with our Father. I hope it will help anyone who needs it.
INTERRUPTED PRAYER
Today Dear Lord, I knelt to pray for one afflicted -
But paused with words unsaid
For I (in my limited wisdom) Had been about to ask,
As always, That the sick one be healed;
That all suffering cease In short,
That all should have
A happy ending
All the time.
Oh, dear Father, instead I give thanks
That Thou, (in Thine Infinite Wisdom)
Art able to Edit my prayers,
Lest, in my well-intentioned concern
I should shield those I love From the very trials
They may need To bring them Close To thee.
-- Teresa Spring --
Mere mortals we who attempt to navigate our way through the storms of life and hope that our little ship of faith is durable enough to carry us aloft on the tempest tossed.
Sometimes the tossing of the waves swamps our ship of faith and smashes us to emotionally drained bits on the rocks of adversity and pain. Such are the present circumstances for some people whom I love with all of my heart.
Circumstances can be temporary or they can be a permanent "thorn in the flesh" from which we can pray and petition for relief throughout our mortal sojourn. We don't get to pick and choose our trials, if so, we could simply pray away the pain, the sorrow and the hurt that comes from the agony pressing in upon us during those times of trial and torment that only the Master can fully comprehend.
The Atonement is so meaningful to me in ways I hadn't contemplated before. We are taught from the time we are small children that we can pray for forgiveness of our sins and transgressions, repent of our poorly chosen actions and receive forgiveness through the Atonement of Christ.
What is lesser focused upon, but every bit as valuable and far reaching, are the deeply held blessings that come from that same Atonement to carry the burdens of life that are part of each individual Child of God's mortal trial. The sorrow and the ache deep within for the burdens we personally carry ... as well as the burdens we share with those whom we love, but for whom we are powerless to intervene other than with our tears and our prayers.
God sent His Only Begotten Son to heal the world and the entirety of creation from the effects of the fall of Adam. Surely that includes the brokenhearted and those wounded by the pricking of the thorns in the flesh that create disease, havoc and fear. After all, the Savior was prophesied to carry our sorrows and our griefs. Gethsemane was not all about sin.
As the blood dripped from every pore in the Savior's body, those healing drops were being poured upon us all for those times when we are helpless to change the trial of ourselves... or of another. His wounded and broken heart felt every heavy beat of our own as He suffered with us through every ache and pain that can only be endured and maybe never completely overcome in this life.
We are commanded to be perfect even as Christ is. But absent His Atonement to bear the full weight and measure of the agony of our souls for our issues and the issues of those whom we love, we couldn't possibly manage it alone. It is likened to someone who seeks the advice and counsel of a physician, then refuses the aid and comfort because they are in their own mind unworthy to be helped and healed.
Surely our greatest nemesis must be laughing at our distress during those times of confusion and darkness! It is in his best interest to keep us feeling that if we only did more on our own that we could be better, stronger and perfect in and of ourselves. That is the biggest lie Satan deals out... and combined with his favorite tool of discouragement, it creates a storm of confusion in our lives that shuts and locks the door to the only One who can truly heal us at all.
During the times of my greatest struggles, I have often felt so inadequate to the tasks of life that I have wished to be gone. Surely that emotion is felt by many who struggle. It is asking so much of us to continue in pain - either physical, emotional or spiritual or any combination of them all! The hurt is often so great and the weight of circumstance pressing in so closely is a smothering thing. Like gasping for air after being underwater, yet always just beneath the surface so no air is obtained, we keep soldiering on through our torment trying to "handle it alone" as if so doing makes us better or stronger or somehow more capable to the eyes of God yet failing miserably to handle it at all.
This was not EVER God's design for us!
We were never meant to be alone.
God placed Adam and Eve in the garden together so that they would have another living soul to help them each carry the burdens that would be placed upon them. Because God also knew that the time would come when they must choose to leave that paradisaical state, He planned for us to have a way to endure all that would come to pass upon this entire creation... the Savior. One who could and would redeem. One who would heal, One who would bind up the wounds with the healing Balm of Gilead. One who would weep with us when we weep and rejoice with us when we rejoice. In short, One who would Atone.
Fear is a tremendous enemy. It turns our hearts into a quivering mass of "what if's" and leaves our faith on the doorstep. Fear comes from worrying how our family will manage if we die from the malady that has afflicted our body or our mind or our soul. Fear comes from the struggle between desiring perfection and knowing that we fall so very short in every caption that we are overwhelmed with the pitiful struggle against self. Fear can keep us from looking up in faith and tells us we are not good enough to save. It tells us that we must be unworthy because our "thorn in the flesh" may never be removed, but simply endured. Fear makes us turn our back on the very people in mortality who are the mortal angels who can aid in our rescue. Fear makes us shun the love of those who desire more than anything to just hold us close and help us through our turmoil.
The devil most certainly has powerful weapons in his arsenal of violence against our eternal progression.
Sometimes, as the brokenhearted kneel to pray, heaven feels very distant. That is a feeling of loneliness and darkness akin to no other. The absence of the tether to God is so isolating! The sorrow of all that is to be borne is so very painful!
During those times, the Atonement of Christ provides the answer, though we may not see it until in retrospect. Into His very body, the piercing agony of our struggle has been indelibly stamped and scarred upon His very person and within His soul. He, even Jesus the Christ, bears the marks upon Himself of every wound, every hurt, every struggle and every moment of agony we have endured... yet His precious blood is the salve for them all.
Many times, I have prayed to have my own particular "thorns in the flesh" removed. The answer has painfully come time and again "No".
Though I often struggle to understand, God isn't cruel and Jesus isn't capricious. The world and those who refuse to honor God would have us burn down our own ship of faith to spite God, the truth is that we NEED our trials in order to become those whom God and Jesus call their "friends". Sometimes truth hurts in ways that we cannot fathom and can scarcely endure alone.
Friends can carry the weight with you and sometimes they carry it for you. They weep when you weep over health circumstances, kids gone astray, family members who flounder in the darkness of emotional turmoil or whatever the agony is named with which a mortal Child of God struggles... they, God the Father and Jesus Christ, weep with us from the heavens and ache with us as the struggle continues through whatever timetable. They are mindful, they are close and they are there with us wrapping their arms around us to carry us through it... we are just not always attuned to their presence.
Many times when I have come out of a desperately trying circumstance, I can see the evidence of God's love for me. The invitation to sing in the Stake choir is often one of those evidences that God knows me and that I matter... the feelings of the Holy Spirit, of Christ and of God seem to come so much stronger through music than any other medium. The trials don't depart, but they are, in a measure, made easier to bear.
Jesus Christ knows us as individuals. He already knows and has felt all of our brokenness. He isn't shocked, disappointed or angry. This was all planned from the beginning... for each one of us to come here and through our mortal experiences make the choice to return with our battle scars from this part of our eternal journey. He is standing with His arms outstretched to receive us all one by one... the same way He has Atoned for us.
On that lonely night in Gethsemane as He poured out all that was pressing upon Him in His intercessory prayer to His Father and to Our Father, Jesus Christ had us in mind... one by one. It truly humbles me to think of my sinless Savior kneeling there and pleading with the Father for all of the trials my life would bring - each one taking full measure in His thoughts and emotions as Jesus knelt there for me.
Sometimes, that is hard to remember. Satan wants it to be hard. He wants to distance me from the only way that I can ever get back home. He wants me to give up just at the very moment when the greatest blessing could be mine for all eternity. Simply put, he is miserable and the only way he feels anything at all is by making every single Child of God feel the full measure of their personal life's misery as if we had to carry it all alone.
Thankfully, Jesus says otherwise. "Depart!". And Satan along with those who work for him must flee. They cannot endure the light of the Divine Presence of the Only Begotten of the Father.
During the darkness of those nights where I am spiritually alone with the weight of who I am versus who I should be, the enveloping presence of Christ comes... sometimes through prayer and sometimes through the priesthood blessings that I have begged to receive. Those feelings of total love and compassion are the only things that keep me from dying from the panic that surrounds me and the imperfection of self that overwhelms my soul.
Jesus knows that, because He has endured it for me and with me, hour by hour. He has willingly shed His blood for the agony of my soul. What a Brother He surely is! He not only is by me, but takes my place in harms' way bearing my stripes on His body.
I am thankful for family and friends in the gospel who likewise feel the majesty and grace that Jesus Christ has granted. They shore me up when I am feeling capsized and tempest tossed. They remind me of all that has been done for me and help me focus on something that brings temporary peace to my soul.
It is the same for others, too.
I don't have any answers for why we endure and struggle and suffer some of the things we do. Maybe it's part of what we agreed to take upon ourselves as a condition of mortality... for the privilege of coming here to receive the opportunity to have the good experiences that would come... we would be willing to accept those unpleasant things and hurtful things because our Elder Brother promised us that He would be there every step of the way, walking with us, carrying us when we were too wounded to go on, suffering, bleeding and dying for us one by one... and, with healing in His wings, rising on that third day to open the door for all of us to go home.
There is a way... and the path is often steep and rocky and thorny. But we are never alone. For that I can testify and I am truly indebted to my Savior. Upon His mercy, His grace and His Atonement I can call any time of the day or night.
I close with a poem shared with me during a particular time of great distress and agony in my own life. Though our prayers are our heartfelt communications with our Father, sometimes we tend to make our prayers more 'shopping list' than talking over our lives with our Father. I hope it will help anyone who needs it.
INTERRUPTED PRAYER
Today Dear Lord, I knelt to pray for one afflicted -
But paused with words unsaid
For I (in my limited wisdom) Had been about to ask,
As always, That the sick one be healed;
That all suffering cease In short,
That all should have
A happy ending
All the time.
Oh, dear Father, instead I give thanks
That Thou, (in Thine Infinite Wisdom)
Art able to Edit my prayers,
Lest, in my well-intentioned concern
I should shield those I love From the very trials
They may need To bring them Close To thee.
-- Teresa Spring --
March 18, 2012
Bowing before the porcelain god
Really?
Can my life suck any more right now??
Food poisoning is not for wimps.
I have been so sick, I swear I have thrown up food I ate when I was 5.
During the break between runs to the bathroom, I tried to sleep. Hypothermia and chills alternated with fever and sweating. At one point, I considered simply sleeping in the bathroom on the floor, but the fact that the little lights in the bathroom beneath the cabinetry stay runway bright would have prevented any sleep from occurring at all.
Wisely, I opted to skip church as the sight of my gagging and barfing while directing the hymns might have been a bit off-putting to the congregation. Kari filled in for me to whip the music up into a proper tempo and get the singing moving along.
Just a bit before Rick and Jared left to pick up Daddy for church, I thought a shower might make me feel better. Wrong!! Oh, so very wrong. How stupid can I get? I threw up on my feet. DANG IT!!! And EEEEEEWWWWWW GROSS! Since I was already wet, I cleaned up whatever needed cleaning, dried, donned clean PJ"s and lay on the couch to die. At this point, death might just have been preferable. When your entire body has a cramp in it from barfing, it's time to call it a day... possibly a day and a half.
I remember saying goodbye to Rick and Jared, then lying down. I read a little bit then fell asleep. The next thing I remember was waking up in a start when Beth knocked at the door, which was locked. I tried to get up and wound up massaging a cramp out of my leg because I more than likely threw up every speck of electrolytes that my body once held.
Gatorade! Where are you when I need you?
I am still kind of queasy even all these hours later, but at least I have been able to keep a little food down. I hope this sensation passes from me. It's just not fun to be this sick.
I'm going to bed. I hope for all night long.
Pray for me... the porcelain god has seen enough of my "worship" for a while... and I sure don't wish this food poisoning on anyone else. I don't think I hate any other living creature that much.
Can my life suck any more right now??
Food poisoning is not for wimps.
I have been so sick, I swear I have thrown up food I ate when I was 5.
During the break between runs to the bathroom, I tried to sleep. Hypothermia and chills alternated with fever and sweating. At one point, I considered simply sleeping in the bathroom on the floor, but the fact that the little lights in the bathroom beneath the cabinetry stay runway bright would have prevented any sleep from occurring at all.
Wisely, I opted to skip church as the sight of my gagging and barfing while directing the hymns might have been a bit off-putting to the congregation. Kari filled in for me to whip the music up into a proper tempo and get the singing moving along.
Just a bit before Rick and Jared left to pick up Daddy for church, I thought a shower might make me feel better. Wrong!! Oh, so very wrong. How stupid can I get? I threw up on my feet. DANG IT!!! And EEEEEEWWWWWW GROSS! Since I was already wet, I cleaned up whatever needed cleaning, dried, donned clean PJ"s and lay on the couch to die. At this point, death might just have been preferable. When your entire body has a cramp in it from barfing, it's time to call it a day... possibly a day and a half.
I remember saying goodbye to Rick and Jared, then lying down. I read a little bit then fell asleep. The next thing I remember was waking up in a start when Beth knocked at the door, which was locked. I tried to get up and wound up massaging a cramp out of my leg because I more than likely threw up every speck of electrolytes that my body once held.
Gatorade! Where are you when I need you?
I am still kind of queasy even all these hours later, but at least I have been able to keep a little food down. I hope this sensation passes from me. It's just not fun to be this sick.
I'm going to bed. I hope for all night long.
Pray for me... the porcelain god has seen enough of my "worship" for a while... and I sure don't wish this food poisoning on anyone else. I don't think I hate any other living creature that much.
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