I See a Light! Part I

I gave a talk in Sacrament Meeting last week, and I had so much fun preparing for it that I thought I'd share some of my insights from it here on my blog. The idea behind it and the story about Sailor come from a talk by Elder L. Whitney Clayton in last October's General Conference. I'm splitting this up into two parts because it's really long (#Miriamlikestohearherselftype)

There is a story told of a mother and a father travelling with their daughter across the country in a private airplane. Looking forward to spending time together as a family, they played games, they shared jokes and stories and riddles, they tried to sleep as day turned into night. And unexpectedly they found themselves gripping their armrests in terror as the plane suddenly veered downward and they realized the pilot had lost control and they were in danger of losing their lives. As the plane smashed into the ground and the dust and debris cleared, the only survivor struggled out from the wreckage: the daughter, Sailor, age seven. Leaving behind the shattered remnants of the plane, along with the bodies of her parents, Sailor started walking. In 38 degree weather, wearing a ripped-up t-shirt and shorts, with one shoe lost and numerous scratches all over her body, this brave young girl walked through the dark night towards a light she saw in the far-off distance. She walked up and down hills, through briar patches, whatever it took to get to that light. When she got there, she discovered that the light belonged to a house, and the house belonged to a middle-aged man. This compassionate man took one look at her and sprinted towards his phone. He called an ambulance, he called whomever he could think of so that this little girl could get the medical attention she needed. Sailor’s refusal to stay where she was and wallow in despair enabled her to get the help necessary for her survival. When her whole life came crashing down around her, she walked toward the only light she could see, and thus saved her own life from going up in flames.

Spiritually speaking, our lives are like Sailor’s journey. There’s darkness, there’s coldness, there’s confusion and isolation, maybe we feel ill-prepared to cope with the specific challenges that are given us, maybe we have no idea where to go to get the help that we need – maybe we’re not even sure what it is that we need. Sometimes we feel too tired and worn-out to keep going. But we can’t just stay there besides the pain and hope to thrive. We have to get up and move. And where we head towards is just as important as the fact that we are moving in the first place. Sailor didn’t have to head towards the light; she could have set off in a myriad other directions. Would she have found the help she needed? Maybe, but it would have taken her much longer, and in the meantime she would have used up valuable energy that her body and emotions needed to help her heal.

Sailor had a middle-aged man to help her find healing. We have something even better: our Savior, the Son of God. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that the Savior and His Atonement (including the Resurrection) truly is the center of the restored gospel, but as we study the scriptures and the words of modern-day prophets it becomes more and more clear that this is what the prophets from Adam to Thomas S. Monsen have always based their personal testimonies on. Whatever we talk about in the church, the Savior is always at the center of everything we believe. Our light is the Savior. And while it is possible to find good in other places, I personally prefer to go straight to the source. The Savior isn’t just one way to find good; He is the source of all good (see Moroni 7:16, 22). I want the purity that comes from drinking from the source. I want joy and peace and understanding undiluted, and the more I head towards the light the more of it I find.

But, like everyone else out there, I have yet to master perfection at anything, including staying on that light-filled path. If the light is the source of everything worthwhile, then why do we so often stray?

Room to Make Mistakes

To be honest, the mission was hard.

To be honest, I’m overjoyed to be back.

To be honest, I don’t know if I could do something like that again.

To be honest, while I want to always serve my Savior with all my heart, sometimes I want to do it in my own way, at my own pace.

Sometimes my way is not the mission’s way. Not my district leader’s way. Not my companion’s way. It’s never against Heavenly Father’s way – but it also never forces me to be someone I’m not.

The thing with the mission field is that you’re constantly surrounded by people who expect you to act a certain way. Be a certain person. From random people you tract into who are not afraid of speaking their opinion of what you’re doing and how you’re doing it, to mission leaders who it sometimes seems are merely there to remind you how low your numbers are or the many aspects of being a missionary that you haven’t quite perfected yet, to companions whom you can never quite convince of the strengths that do exist deep down inside you – always always it seems that there is someone who is not quite satisfied with all your physically emotionally mentally demanding efforts.

And sometimes you worry that that someone is God Himself. Are you sure you’re doing your best? You notice all the problems in this area, this teaching situation, this companionship – why haven’t you fixed them yet? Why can’t you do things right? And always always you feel the pressure, the infinitely high expectations, emanating from your district leader your fellow district members the ward members – from everyone – everyone, including yourself.

I could give specific examples of missionaries that I love and respect putting what I thought was unfair pressure on me to be someone I’m not – but I won’t, because that would be me putting pressure on them to be perfect missionaries, perfect leaders, and I don’t expect that from them. At least, not anymore. You see, on the mission I realized: Everyone needs to know that they have room to make mistakes, permission to speak even when they’re not sure that what they have to say will come out perfectly, permission to act like someone different than the stereotype, permission to still be in the middle of the learning and growing process. There were transfers where I felt that if I sneezed wrong in front of an investigator, my companion would be on my case – and I’ve forgiven those companions since then because I understand that they too were experiencing intense growing pains. But during those transfers, I had no room to breathe, no room to cry, no room to be myself – because who I am is so far from perfection. When I’m myself, I make mistake after mistake and sometimes, with a lot of unconditional love from others and even more determination from myself, gradually I begin to make fewer and fewer mistakes, until mistakes are the exception rather than the norm. That’s where we all want to be. But none of us start out that way. And to be able to progress, we need to know that it’s okay to make mistakes along the way. When we’re constantly being reminded that what we’re doing is so far from perfection, discouragement sets in. We freeze up. What’s the point of going on if what I do is never good enough anyway?

While we do need to know what we’re doing wrong in order to make it better, we also need to know that we can mess up and still be loved. Mistakes are vital part of life. They’re an essential part of Heavenly Father’s plan for us. He gave us agency and the Light of Christ but no practical experience of how to use those two tools. And then he made us all unique, so that what works for one person may not work for another. Of course he doesn’t expect us to go through life without making a few mistakes along the way! Exploring, seeing what works and what doesn’t, learning from experience and knowing that it’s okay that you don’t have everything figured out right away, this is what makes life rewarding. This is what leads to growth. Each of us needs permission to be imperfect, and we need to give each other that same permission as well. Otherwise, self-esteem plummets and it’s hard to convince yourself to do something new. You’ll probably fail at it anyway, so what’s the point? When we have unrealistic expectations for others, then instead of helping them grow, we’re cutting them down, hindering their growth. We need to look at people the way the Savior does – look into their hearts, see their strengths, what makes them them, and work from there to encourage them to f

flourish in a way that’s true to them.  

And we need to treat ourselves the same way. Don’t have as many baptismal dates as the next companionship over? As good of grades as your classmate? As many dates as your roommate? As spotless a house as your next-door neighbor? How hard are you trying, how far are you progressing? Those things matter more to Heavenly Father than the outward results. The Savior’s life, from the outside, looked a failure: born in a stable, raised a simple carpenter, hated and mocked and eventually killed even though He claimed to be a God – He did not come to earth to impress the world with His power, but to teach us forgiveness and healing and love. To teach us that, just as He never does anything to impress us but merely to show us of His love, so to we need never do anything to impress Him, but merely to convince Him that He can be as sure of our love as we are sure of His. If Heavenly Father wanted us to make perfect choices all the time, He would have gone with Satan’s plan. But He believes in freedom, and with that freedom comes mercy and patience and room for experimentation and growth. And I am grateful for a church and a gospel that emphasizes sincerity and love and growth over anything else this world has to offer.

Pre-Mission Worries

I feel drained. Not enough sleep last night, and I’m trying too hard today to . . . to be the person that everyone else wants to see. I want to be liked, to be admired, and I don’t understand how that works if I’m not who other people expect me to be.

I need a long bike ride along a tree-lined path, the trail curving along with the stream heading out to sea, taking my anxieties with it.

I need a quiet place, away from buildings and people, a place where it’s just me and nature, a place to be and rediscover who I want to be; who I am; who pure, no-influence-from-anything-or-anyone-else Miriam is.

I need to sit and let nature and the Spirit heal my broken expectations, the broken ideals of perfection I once had. Let it heal my heart and my mind and leave me feeling whole.

I need to stop trying to be perfect. Will the world collapse if, heaven forbid, I slip up? More importantly, will my life collapse? Will my support system of friends and family and random acquaintances who for some reason (their devotion to Christ?) seem to love me just for being me –will they leave me in a flurry of righteous indignation upon learning that I, strong tough devoted goody-two-shoes Utah Mormon girl that I am, am not perfect? If I’m not funny enough? If I’m not nice enough? If I’m too shy?

Strange musings for someone who will soon – in twelve days! – leave on a mission to preach God’s love and forgiveness to “a strange people in a strange land.”

Because what does it matter that I’m imperfect if this life is a growing process, if I was never expected to become perfect overnight, if my Savior has already atoned for my sins?

What does it matter what other people think if I know that my God loves me?

What does it matter if I know that my blood can be washed clean through the Savior?

"Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool."

As Jesus told the Pharisees:

“They that be whole need not a physician, but they that are sick/But go ye and learn what that meaneth, I will have mercy, and not sacrifice: for I am not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.”

I was never expected to be perfect.

And yet . . .

And yet the anxiety persists. It’s a disease of the mind, I know, but doesn’t faith also have to do with the mind? Can I drive this demon out, or will it always be there when I start in a new place, when I’m about to start in a new place, when I’m stressed or things aren’t going how I think they should?

Will these insecurities always attack when I most need my confidence?

Through the Savior we find healing, but where is mine?

As I type that, I know the answer. My healing has come through the tender mercies of the Lord, through loving parents who have spent so much time listening to me talk – listening to me cry – always, miracle of miracles, being home to answer the phone when I needed it most – and researching foods and techniques and natural remedies that help with stress and anxiety, paying for my counseling and my medication, telling me that they love me, that they will always love me, that I am a good person even when I’m not so sure.

It has come through friends who have also listened to me cry, who have acted as counselors for me, who have, quite literally, saved my life (I hope you know who you are); through home teachers (and their roommates) who always responded immediately to my requests for a blessing, who listened to me explain what was making my life so difficult and dark, who cared, who asked pointed questions and expected an honest answer.

It has come from roommates who listened when I said that sometimes the anxiety was so bad I wanted to hurt myself and responded, not with revulsion, but with love and concern.

It has come from the progress I have seen myself make throughout this past year, from the strength I know I have shown and will show again, from my stubborn, determined spirit that every day I thank God for because I am convinced I would not have made it through the worst of my anxiety without it.

It has come through not thinking I would ever be able to serve a mission because of my unpredictable anxiety to, eight months after having my call rejected, realizing that the timing was now right and God was giving me permission to try for it again.

It has come through receiving my call to serve and realizing: this is real, this is really happening, and realizing that it is good that I did not go when I first wanted to, realizing that I needed this time to mature and grow and deepen my desire to serve the Lord and his people. And now here I am, about to set out, and while I don’t know how my anxiety will be, I know that God has reassured me a myriad times since I first submitted my papers that going on a mission is what I need to be doing now.

So no, my healing is not complete, but I know that things will be okay. They will also be hard, I might scream and cry and ask God why (heck, who am I kidding? I will do all those things) – but it will be okay. Why? Because God loves me, my family, my wonderful supporting eternal family, loves me, because I am stubborn and determined and I will not give up.

Because my family and my God and my friends, so many wonderful friends, believe in me. More than that, they believe in what God can do for me and through me.

So yes, I still have my insecurities. Yes, some days – most days – I still doubt myself. But God has promised me that everything will work out, and that I do believe.

This mission will not bring me down, like a sapling in the wind. I will not let the storminess of mission life lay me flat. Bring me to my knees, yes, then raise me up higher than I have ever been before.

I am determined, and God is on my side.

*All images stolen from Google images

My Articles of Faith

*I stole the idea for this from the essayist Brian Doyle, who is one of the most beautiful authors I have read (and I read a lot). The essay I patterned this after is called "I Believe," from Doyle's book Leaping. 

The Mormon prophet Joseph Smith wrote the thirteen Articles of Faith to explain succinctly what his people believed. As a practicing Mormon, I also believe in these Articles of Faith, but as I have grown older I have discovered that there is more to what I believe than just thirteen paragraphs of doctrine.

I believe in families, in the love and warmth that can permeate a home on the coldest of winter nights, in laughter and hugs and unconditional love, on the way a parent’s or sibling’s love can steady uncertainty even when far away.

I believe that no one is perfect, but that we are all still worthy of love, that we have a Heavenly Father and a Savior who love us all perfectly no matter what, and that despite our imperfections it is still worth it to get up and try again, that we can try again and become better and more loving and pure, and that above all we need to love each other and ourselves, even when things happen that make us angry or hurt or confused or sad, and maybe especially then.

I believe that bad things happen to everyone, often for no reason that we can see, and even looking back sometimes we don’t understand how we made it out of that hard time alive, but God is always there, watching over us, and if we turn to him he will always help us, although often in ways we can’t see.

I believe in seasons, that sometimes life is cold and dark and wintery and we are like a tree bereft of leaves, standing naked and shivering in the wind and snow, but that also sometimes it is summer and we stand, warm branches raised, drinking in the sun as our leaves grow stronger and greener than they did before the storm.

I believe in love, that it can heal the deepest wounds, that it has healed – is healing – my deepest wounds, that it can be found in the words of the scriptures and the feeling of comfort after a heartfelt prayer, in the arms and empathetic tears of a friend, a sibling, a roommate, a mom, a dad, a passing stranger sensitive to the sorrows of others.

I believe that nature is necessary for a happy life, that getting away from everyone helps us to better connect with them upon our return, that the most peaceful activity in the world is swimming in the waters of a cold mountain lake.

I believe in laughing, long and hard, over inside jokes and stupid comments, laughing so hard you can’t breathe and tears stream down your face.

I believe that there is humor in everything, in missed busses and lost money and people teasing you for silly things, that when you know that you are loved and worthy of that love that even the rudest of people will find it hard to bring you down.

I believe in the endurance of the human spirit, that inside every soul lives something intangibly strong that says “Keep going” when everything outside the body is telling us to quit. I believe, as well, that it is worth it to keep going, that there is purpose to this life, however difficult it may be to see the purpose of skinned knees and crushed hearts, that if we turn to God we will find comfort and growth and he will make of our pain a purpose.

Specifically, I believe in the endurance of my spirit, that when things get dark, I keep on going and will continue to keep on going. I believe that my stubbornness is a gift, not a curse, and is one of the reasons I do keep on going no matter what, the other reason being God’s love for me, and even on the darkest nights when I can’t feel that love, he shows it to me in ways I don’t recognize until later, through thoughts and truths and knowledge, and that is why I am still here to fight another day.

I believe that love is what makes this vale of tears worth it.

Solitary

These are some of my favorite memories:

An evening spent paddling a canoe on a solitary mountain lake, the water clear and motionless beneath me, the setting sun making the trees seem dark and casting shadows on the mountain peaks, the only sound that of the water as I draw my paddle past it.

Mornings spent riding my bike along the dirt road next to the Elk Refuge, the sun peeking over the mountains and warming my wind-cooled skin.

Evening hikes to Leigh Lake, the dirt hard beneath my bare feet, the conversation with the people I’m with relaxed and comfortable, the water invitingly cold.

Riding in the back of a truck on a dirt road, my best friend next to me, lakes and pine trees passing by in the valley beneath us, cool wind blowing through my hair, thinking, “What more is there to life?”

None of these memories are recent. All of them belong to a world that is no longer mine. And yet I have no memories of which I am fonder.

What happened in the year between then and now? Yes, I went from small town in the middle of nowhere (by which I mean the middle of everything worthwhile) to a university town crowded with people and buildings, but I was always taught that our happiness is not dependent on our environment.

But somehow, my emotions, at least in part, seem to be inextricably connected to my surroundings. Wide open spaces and endless areas to explore make me feel alive and free. Being able to get away from people and buildings and everything that stresses me out makes me feel whole. Unpolluted air and long bike rides next to clear-running streams with mountains in the background make me feel alive.

Lots of buildings and lots of people make me feel cooped up. I can’t get away; I have no room to be myself. I am contained, with no room for my soul to soar. It is harder for me to find that peace, that wholeness, when there is no place for me to be alone in nature.

One day last summer I rode my bike along the Provo River Parkway Trail. Thirty minutes into my ride, I saw a dirt trail heading off the main path. I pulled up along it and followed it down to the river. I sat down and realized I had found my solitary place. I stayed there for a while, doing nothing in particular, content to merely be. I rode home feeling more relaxed than I had in a long time.

This is what solitary places surrounded by nothing but nature do to me: help me relax, help me reconnect with myself and what I want from life. Without them I get cranky. I get insecure. I worry that I’m not doing enough, that I’m not good enough, that I don’t measure up to what everyone else expects of me. With them I realize that it doesn’t matter what everyone else wants of me. What matters is if I’m getting what I want from life. These places help me put my life and my priorities in perspective.

A couple of weeks ago, while riding my bike as I am wont to do, I came across a park filled with trees and – miraculously enough – free of people. I dropped my bike beside a tree, made sure I was as out of sight of the relatively unused road as possible, pulled out my journal and began to write.

Suddenly I felt alive.

            

Hands Off

*I debated for a long time about posting this because part of me feels that it is just me overreacting. Which it is. But writing it helped me to get over my tendency to overreact, at least to an extent, and I'm sure that there are girls out there who feel the same way for some deep-rooted reason, whatever it may be, and so I am posting it. Also because I think that it's beautiful and forceful and emotional and that is how I wish I always wrote. And because a part of me will always be very non touchy-feely, so in a way I still relate to this piece.

This is what I did during my Introduction to the English Language class today while the TA, who is engaging, taught us about phonetics, which is interesting, and I felt bad for not listening but my mind and my heart had something they wanted to say, so they did, and here it is.

Why I Freak Out At Touch

I can’t focus because the thoughts are flowing around in my brain, a lake filling up with words words words until they have no choice but to burst through the dam that is my mind and as they channel down through my pen the water channels out through my eyes and I am crying, great splotches that blot my words as they appear on the page, and my teardrops merge with my words and they are one, just as my emotions merge with my mental abilities merge with my spirituality merges with my physical body and they all swirl together and are one.

And to the man who wants only part of me, who wants my body but not my soul, know that you cannot connect with my body without also yanking on my emotions, my mind, my relationship with my God, and if you try to pull me apart like that you will not leave me whole.

So I am sorry I will not cuddle with you, I am sorry that I freak out when you press your hand against my back and leave it there a moment too long, but my body is mine and I will not give even the tiniest bit away without you promising me in return the tiniest bit of your heart.

And when you have given me that sliver of your heart, when I have come to trust that you will not pull mine apart (at least not without tears and even then only if you think it is for the best for the both of us) then we can cuddle and hold hands and yes, maybe even we can kiss.

But until then? Hands. Off.

Guest Post: Dealing with Depression

The following was written by a friend of mine. I learned a bit about his struggle with depression when I told him about my anxiety. He said that he wanted to use his experiences to help others who were likewise struggling, so I asked him to write a guest post for this blog. He very kindly agreed and has put a lot of time and effort into writing this post. If it helps even one person, it will have been worth it.

My Story

I was in China studying and having the time of my life when one morning my world completely changed. I was suddenly sapped of all my strength, and everything seemed pointless. Rather than go out, I chose to stay inside alone.  Rather than interact with friends and teachers, I tried my best to avoid them. Happiness was replaced by nothingness.

Eventually I mustered up the courage to apologize to my roommate for my behavior. He was surprisingly very understanding of my situation and suggested that I meet with a counselor when I get back home.

After a few weeks I returned home to resume my studies. At that point I thought I was finally free of the emptiness that plagued my last few weeks in China, but within a short amount of time it returned and escalated.

Getting out of bed to go to school was a struggle, and as soon as I came home I withdrew myself into my room, where my thoughts tortured me. “You’re ugly. You’re worthless. You’ll never amount to anything.” These words consumed my mind, and before long I believed them. I felt like a giant anvil constantly crushed my chest, suffocating me. It became so unbearable that soon not a day passed that I wished to disappear from this existence.

To make a long story short, about half way through the semester I decided enough was enough, and started meeting with a counselor. At first I was extremely skeptical about everything, but over time I slowly opened up. From my weekly counseling sessions I learned that I had been suffering from depression for several years, and more importantly, I began to understand who I really am.

Dealing with Depression

Did counseling “cure” my depression? No, but it did give me tools to be able to deal with it. Although depression will always be a part of my life, I now know that I ultimately have control over how large of a role it will play. Despite this fact, I would be lying if I said the past few years have been easy; however, I’ve been truly fortunate to have had some experiences that have helped me cope with depression.

The first was before counseling when I was serving as a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. There was an extended period of time when I was depressed, exhibiting several of the symptoms I outlined above. At the time I had no idea what was wrong with me, and thought whatever was weighing me down would soon subside. It did not, and continued to severely hinder my ability to work. I remember one morning while praying I had the distinct impression that I could choose how I feel. Suddenly all feelings of despair were replaced by feelings of joy, and for the rest of my mission I was depression-free. Perhaps this change came from within, but I believe it came from God. This is one of my most treasured experiences, because at that moment I experienced a small portion of the healing power of Christ’s Atonement. While I may still struggle with depression today, I know one day I will be free from its chains.

       

My second experience was during the depressive episode after I returned from China. Every day after school I would come home and play online computer games for hours on end. By playing I was able forget about the pain. However, this was only a temporary solution, and every time I finished I would be left with a feeling of emptiness. It was during my online gaming that I met an individual who reminded me of myself. After several long conversations, one day she revealed that she had a difficult life growing up and now was all alone at college. Hearing her story made my heart ache, and I wished I could take all the pain away. I can’t recall the exact words I said, but I know I tried to comfort her to the best of my ability. I also encouraged her to give counseling a try (I had already had several sessions before this conversation). To my joy she later did seek help and was feeling a lot better. From our conversations I found renewed purpose in life. I learned that I can draw from my experiences with depression to help those around me.

       

The final experience I want to share is a simple one. When I found myself falling into another depression last semester, I decided to start taking evening walks in order to counteract the symptoms. The walks proved to be extremely therapeutic and helped me take my mind off things. I will never forget what happened during one of those walks. As I was nearing home I had the sudden realization that I am a unique individual in this world, and that while I am nothing in the grand scheme of things, I still help complete God’s creation. At that moment tears streamed down my face, and I knew that God loves His children.

Conclusion

Perhaps you are struggling with depression and feel things will not get any better. My advice to you is to hang in there. During my most trying times I chose to remain in this world, and discovered that that no matter how bleak life may seem it still has meaning. Even as I write this I find that fact hard to believe, but deep inside I know it is true. While you may share different beliefs, I am confident that everybody is entitled to similar experiences that I’ve shared above. The road ahead won’t be easy. In fact, as life goes on we will still face many challenges. Sometimes it may feel like we are trapped in a sea of darkness with nowhere to go and no one to turn to, but I know as we endure it well we will discover glimmers of light that pierce even the thickest of darkness.