In Other News.

I didn't get a single comment on my last post, and nothing could make me happier. Which is odd, since I usually enjoy comments but in this particular case, I've heard quite enough on the topic from every side, including mine.

We have two daughters that are just under 2 years apart in age, and they shared a bedroom for most of their growing-up years and enjoyed similar interests and shared friends and generally had a grand old childhood. Except every now and then, we would hit a period of a few months where they seemed to drive each other crazy and would snipe endlessly. Put them in the back seat together and within 5 minutes, you'd want to drop them both off on the nearest curb. Preferably a highway.

Well, the past week in Mormon-internet-land has felt a lot like a long car trip with Chelsea and Hannah, ca. ages 8 and 10, and in rare arguing form. If I were President Monson, I'd be saying "Don't make me pull this car over!" It's been tiresome...exhausting, in fact.

Who knew that there were two kinds of Mormons and that they actually could hardly stand to be in the same room together, let alone in a worldwide church? The big sticking points seem to be: Unconditional Love, Infallibility Of All Our Leaders All The Time, What Women Want, How To Ask Questions Appropriately, and What Constitutes Apostasy.

The bloggers on both sides have put out an admirable amount of heart-felt, persuasive material. But it's the commenters...oh, the commenters!...who have really done the heavy lifting in keeping the argument going.

So I'm delighted that nothing I said inspired anyone to have a barroom brawl right on my blog. That would have made me quite unhappy, and since I reject the notion that there are only two kinds of Mormons, I would have hated to see 257 pieces of hostile evidence piled up here to prove me wrong.

There are as many kinds of Mormons as there are Mormons. And I have proof.

We have this great vintage picture book, The Mormon Story, that a non-member friend gave Russ as a gag gift once but that we actually love. It serves as a really marvelous snapshot of the Church, ca. 1964 and it feels like such a tangible little time capsule of my youth. Everything about it makes me smile, and very little about it is terribly accurate or applicable today.

Things have changed, folks.

I taught Relief Society this past Sunday and one of the things I did was ask the women in the room to give us a quick snapshot of their own Mormon Story. I wanted to get a sense of the diversity in the room in terms of how people came to the Church, how long they had been members, where their geographical roots were, etc. And it was really wonderful, because in just a few moments I found out that we had a whole roomful of women who were each looking at the Church through a very individual lens, a result of their own personal Mormon journey.

We are not cookie-cutter Mormons! And if it feels like we are, then it just means we're not sharing WHO we actually are. Because we are different. So we can stop trying to fit inside the cookie cutters, because guess what? We're already baked. 

And our story has an impact on the way we interact with our faith.

Someone who joined the church last year is not in the same place as someone who has been in it for 86 years. They have a wholly different context. And the woman from Bulgaria is coming at it quite differently from the one from Provo.

It was the best news I've received in the Church arena all week. (Especially now that the News news has recently gotten worse! But we're not covering that ground again. I've said my piece. Mistakes on both sides, blah blah blah blah. I'm going to just sit with my sadness for awhile here, if that's okay. If you'd like to sit quietly beside me, please do. I can show you how to make a "hankie baby" with the hankie out of my mom's purse...that's what I did for most of Sacrament Meeting during the years 1968-1973...she usually has a roll of Certs, too... just dig around in there...we can all share.)

We don't need to believe the same, or think the same, or question the same, or doubt the same, or do anything the same. In fact, we can't. We can embrace common goals and ideals and desires. But we're never going to hit that mark in exactly the same way. So we should quit worrying about that right now. 

Everyone customizes our religion to fit themselves. Everyone customizes their personal Savior. They can't help it. They're individuals. And that's why He's Their Personal Savior.

And it doesn't matter what you or I think about how Christ truly felt (feels) or thought (thinks) about any or all of the hot-button topics du jour. Doesn't matter a bit. Because basically your guess is as good as mine, and we both belong to His Church, along with our heads full of peculiar ideas and our suitcases full of Mormon stories.

And thank goodness! It makes it a truly vibrant, interesting place. Exactly like the world we ought to be increasingly reflective of as we grow, come to think of it.

- S. 

All is Well...But! One last thing...

The people to fear are not those 

who disagree with you , 

but those who disagree with you 

and are too cowardly to let you know.  

-- Napoleon Bonaparte

It has come to my attention through the grapevine (I have lunch with my sister once a week, in case you want to know what constitutes a grapevine in this scenario) that my parents are worried about me, and more specifically, about my testimony. You know, it's a result of that last post. The one I said I didn't want to write? Well, why do you think I didn't want to write it? 

Because as a Mormon, when you write posts about stuff like that, your parents get worried.

So now I guess I'll write another post, so that they can hear through the grapevine (in this case the grapevine being the internet, on which they obviously do read my blog...thanks for reading, btw!) that they should Stop. Worrying. Please.

Fat chance of that, I know, because as Mormon parents it's their job to worry about their children's testimonies. But I'll put it out there anyway, for what it's worth. (And then go back to worrying about my own children's testimonies.)

The thing is, and I said it in my very first post when I opened up this overflow to begin with: 

...when I question, wonder, chafe or complain, be assured that it's not because I'm in the process of leaving. It's because I'm in the process of staying.

Why would I be working so hard to make a place for myself here, to get more comfortable, to find increased peace and make a greater effort to share what I have to offer, if I didn't care? Or if I weren't committed to all of it? I'm putting my love and my effort and my heart into building something right here where I'm sitting. Not only that, I'm trying to encourage others to sit down with me.

Besides that, in my entire lifetime, I've never once just not shown up to perform my callings. (And like everyone else, I've had a few thankless ones.) So Mom, Dad, and Everyone: relax. You're not going to get rid of me that easily.

But I do feel strongly about things, and about things relating to last week's aforementioned difficulties. I feel sad about it. I think mistakes were made on both sides. And let me pause here to say that I also think it's perfectly okay for me to say that I think mistakes were made on BOTH sides. We can acknowledge mistakes made by the church, its members, and its leaders too. 

I think President Uchtdorf actually acknowledged that in the same talk I referenced in my last post. I think the church has done it recently too, in some of the Gospel Topics essays it has published. So it's okay. 

The church is an imperfect vehicle for trying to do perfect things. There's a disconnect inherent in that somewhere. Sometimes the wheels come off...which means it's bound to fall down now and then. And it's okay to feel sad when that happens, or mad, or disappointed, or confused, or anything else that you (or I) may feel about it. And to say so, if we're the type of person who needs help working through it.

And now we've gotten to what is my biggest concern about the whole sordid affair. I've seen and heard an awful lot of "About time they kicked people like that out!" going on. Also, "If they don't like it, they should leave!" Which makes me wonder if those folks have been hearing the same gospel messages at church that I have all my life. Because that kind of talk bewilders me. Any excommunication represents a sadness, a loss, a failing somewhere along the line by one side or by both, and a domino effect. 

It is bigger than the one. This is literally, and figuratively, a family affair. And we're all the family.

Worse still, when we hear things like that, it galvanizes the fear mechanism that leaves people like me feeling unsafe in expressing our future doubts, needs, beliefs or concerns. Now if that was the desired consequence of the action to begin with -- if the Church indeed intended to send a silencing message by taking orchestrated action against these members -- well then let me say publicly right here that I have some real difficulty I'll need to work through surrounding that.

(Which is perfectly acceptable! Stop hyperventilating! Breathe...) 

I think doctrinal questions stir up strong, defensive emotions in people. So when someone attacks our doctrine, we immediately throw up our guard. That's fine and good, defending what's sacred to us. But when this current kind of finger-pointing atmosphere starts to brew, suddenly policy and doctrine can start to feel blurred and questioning ANYTHING is construed by some people as being heretical. That's just plain silly.

I feel that, as a church, we have a relatively slim volume of concrete doctrine. Accompanied by a mighty tome of policy that has grown up as a result of said doctrine, but more often culture, pragmatism, tradition, a response to inside and outside challenges and forces, logistics, etc. Our policy changes all the time. And there is a tremendous amount of room there to make an infinity of future changes that can improve things and ease the sticking points around our sacred doctrine. Women praying in General Conference is a prime example of that. Or the Priesthood Session being broadcast to all. 

I hope people will keep calling out possible changes to policy that they feel would be beneficial, and I hope the Church will keep listening. There should be a large and always-open suggestion box. Why not utilize all of our great minds?

There's not a single General Authority who has ever been a Young Women's leader. But I worry that if, for instance, I were to point out some of the things I've been thinking about that I feel could use reexamining with regard to the inequities in our programs for Young Women vs.Young Men, in this current climate I would probably get slapped down with "If the Lord wants the policies changed, He will change them!" Not by leaders in high places, they would probably be interested to hear ideas if we were sitting across the table enjoying lunch...but rather by the people sitting next to me on the pew.

As with most things, I think the Lord expects us to figure that stuff out and do it for ourselves. We don't need to be commanded in every little thing. Just the big ones. And we can talk about a million of the little things without ever touching those. 

Most importantly -- all of that talk should not constitute a challenge to your testimony, nor should it be viewed as a reflection of mine.

I have a number of social media friends who report having been called in to their Bishop's office as a result of something a ward member has seen them post online. Really? You mean like a BYU Honor Code violation? 

In real grown-up life? Really?! That worries me on just about every level. I'm not one to wax overly patriotic, but we can back up and just begin with free speech, if we don't want to get into religion.

I don't think the entire Church needs to become a Jr. High as a result of any of this. So if we're considering moving that direction, please let's not.

I'm all for letting the healing begin from this divisive chapter, and figuring out productive, strengthening ways forward. "Agree to disagree" is a place that I'm very used to inhabiting, and a place in which I'm quite comfortable. (Probably a result of growing up a Democrat in a Republican church, for starters.) Some of my best friends are people I don't see eye-to-eye with on just about every topic. And who cares?

We show up together on Sunday because somewhere, underneath all the noisy disagreeing, we're standing on a little piece of sacred, common ground together. And that's enough for me. 

So yes, I'll see you Sunday. 
(Whoever gets there first, save a spot.)

- S.

Speaking Up.

Here's a post that I didn't want to write, and still don't, but I feel I need to say something. And that's my stated purpose in this whole project -- to open my mouth in a church context when I feel I need to, even if it is just to help myself.

Mormondom is in an uproar over the possible excommunications of John Dehlin and Kate Kelly (plus some other bloggers, from what I hear). I wish to make no comment about any of them. I don't know them. I know a bit about the whats and the whys of the situation though, and that's what causes me to speak up here. Because suddenly I am back in 1993.

1993 was difficult for me, a result of the infamous "September 6" excommunications. The events felt exactly as if the Church had appointed a hit man and the agitators were going to be silenced. I'm only describing the way it felt to me, watching it unfold, and I'm entitled to that description, whether it contains any shred of accuracy or is a figment of my own agitated mind. That's not important. As a member of the church, that's how I felt.

Suddenly I was in a struggle to remain faithful. I felt the boundaries shrinking and it made me incredibly uncomfortable and fearful for the future.

And then, President Hunter arrived, olive branch fully extended. It saved me, really. I was able to make the determination that choosing the gospel was more important to me than anything that the organization of the Church might say or do. I began to untangle the two, for the first time. I designated one as essential in my life and the other as something that I might always be at odds with in some way or other, but that I would not let detract from the first. I found a place for myself, and I worked very hard to do so. And over time, I healed and became much stronger than I had been before.

Which was a good thing, because a few years down the road I was confronted with the biggest challenge to my faith that I had yet endured and the only reason I survived is that I had hit bottom and had to make the choice once before. That fire prepared me for the more devastating, more personal one to come. Which thankfully I survived as well. Although it was a very close call. For the first time in my life, I came to the place where I saw clearly how and why people leave the church.

I remember the moment exactly. For some reason, in my mind, I was suddenly sitting in a tree, under a leafy canopy of green. And I was looking down on a little village, off in the distance, and I felt very removed from it, and it made me sad but there was relief too, that at last I was far enough away to get a true bird's eye view. And I realized that when I came down from this tree, I would have a choice as to whether to return to my village, or walk away from it. It's a strange visual, I know, and I'll never know exactly where it came from. Just a glimpse I had in a pivotal moment, but it made a lasting impact. I sat in the chapel one night at my absolute lowest, feeling there was not a place for me and that everyone would be happier if I were to go, and suddenly there it was, and I could see that I had to make a choice.

And when I came down from the tree, I walked back. Because it was where I lived.

So when I saw the announcements yesterday, I had a tremendous sinking feeling. My immediate reaction was, "Here we go again." One of my daughters was very upset also, so we chatted, and shared links to things that we each thought might help and commiserated. And cried. She at her keyboard, me at mine. This is her first time witnessing this particular kind of war, and I could truly empathize with her pain and feelings of bewilderment and betrayal.

I once had a Dr. explain to me why church things felt so personal and so difficult for me. He said, "We're talking about your spiritual home. We're talking about the things that are very nearest and dearest to your heart. And when those things turn on you, and act in ways that are contrary to everything you have believed and perceived, and when they are no longer safe places for your spirit, it quite literally breaks your heart. It goes right to the core of who you are. You should be crying, so go ahead. The church you love is breaking your heart."

But the answer was in that last line there, because he was right. At those points, the church was breaking my heart, not the gospel. The gospel was the way to survive the breaks.

And the thing that is breaking my heart this time is that I see this action as yet another strike against diversity in our church. I have tried and tried to reconcile anything about these excommunications with President Uchtdorf's conference address in which he entreated all to "Come, join with us." Despite sins, or shortcomings, or doubts, or questions, or beliefs, or anything we might bring to the gospel table his invitation was clear. But it rings a little hollow in the face of these actions.

And as a person who feels the personal call to ride border patrol, to be continually watching the exits and rounding up the strays -- the church is suddenly making that job seem very hard. We can't ask people to leave and expect them to stay at the same time.

I know faithful members of the church who run the belief/doubt spectrum from one end to the other. All contribute to the richness of my experience in my chosen spiritual home. All are essential. None are expendable. It doesn't matter one whit to me where someone sits in their personal testimony, if they desire to be on the benches on Sunday, I want them to be there with me. If they feel worthy to partake of the sacrament and want its influence in their lives, I want to pass them the tray. That's the entire point of the thing, after all. It doesn't matter how much we each understand or where we agree or disagree on gospel (and more especially policy) topics. I long ago came to be comfortable with the fact that I probably don't agree with the majority of any class I'm in, and I'm even beginning to value that a bit. Sometimes others enlarge my perspective. Sometimes I do the same for them.

Please, always allow me to grow. I want to allow you to do so as well.

I was lamenting the news of these excommunications to a friend who is not a member and his immediate response was, "They burn a lot of vitality out of their own fabric when they do this." It was a perfect description. He's right. And is that what we want? To become a church completely lacking in the vitality and intelligent discourse and spiritually awake, inquisitive nature that led to the Restoration to begin with? I can't believe that anyone thinks that would be the better path. No matter how safe it feels.

My mother in law quoted someone to me once, and I have no idea who it was, but I loved the line: "Oh, to be safely dead."

Well of course. But is that where we want to be? I thought we were looking to fill the whole earth.

And if the argument is that those deemed offenders are going to endanger the spiritual health of others, I say hogwash. I just won't put any stock at all in that argument, now or ever. We're all entitled to, even tasked with, our own journeys of faith. There is not a single person in the world who can make that journey piggy-back on another person and get anywhere meaningful or lasting as a result. These people have their sticking points, I have mine. You have yours. And I'm pretty darn sure every single one of the general authorities has his own too. There's not a member in any church that doesn't. Unless they've ceased thinking altogether.

Bottom line is, I feel strongly that we need to stop asking people to leave. And especially the ones who care enough to ask out loud the questions that matter to them, who are willing to risk so much for what they believe, and who keep showing up no matter how insurmountable their personal sticking points may feel. It seems to me that theirs is just another way of being valiant in their testimonies, and I thank them for speaking up. Whatever they feel the need to say.

- S.

Promissory Notes.

My mom took all of my behavior personally. 

Everything I did, she thought it was an act 

of rebellion against her. But it was just me being me.  
 -- Pink

I got a wedding invitation in the mail yesterday. It was a lovely thing for an outdoor, summery affair, sprinkled with fireflies. It was from my daughter.

It was strange, getting a wedding invitation from my own daughter, seeing it in the mail for the first time just like everybody else. The other weddings I've been involved with as a mother have been hands-on from start to finish. But then the other brides weren't in their 30's and living on a different side of the country, being grown-up school teachers, planning their second weddings. It changes the dynamics of things a bit. 

I guess it never occurred to me that I'd have a 30-something. I mean, we're talking about my original little valentine...a baby girl who pulled me off the fast-track and caused me to reevaluate all my sure directions and my loud opinions. I don't say that as a martyr (I sense my daughters rolling their eyes) -- I say it because it's true. I had other things in mind and I was moving toward them at a good clip, but then almost on a whim, I made the decision to have a child, thinking it wouldn't change much, and instead it changed everything. Mostly, it changed me. For one thing, I could see clearly and immediately that here I had an opportunity to really do something. 

Suddenly I was tasked with building the world for someone, and I wanted to do it right. And that seemed much more important than all my fast-track goals. So I made some new goals.

I had silly ideas, at first. Of course she was brilliant, so I decided to teach her to read. She was clearly ready. She was three. I know, ridiculous when I see it written there, but you had to know her. She had the verbal skills of an 8th grader. No matter, because she had no interest in reading. She was interested in being three. 

So we wrestled over guaranteed mail-order flash cards and such nonsense every day for more than a year, and then I gave up. I sent her off to kindergarten still not reading. By the end of the year, I started to worry. Because I knew she had been ready when she was three. 

And then magically and with no assistance from me or anyone else, in the first few weeks of 1st grade, she started reading. Within a week she was reading at a second grade level. Before the end of the year, 6th grade.  I knew it! I did! But of course, she'd had other ideas. As it turned out, she was in charge of quite a few things about her own life from a very young age. 

That's hard for a parent to understand. We all learn it, of course. But we don't like it. We dutifully order the flashcards and believe the money-back guarantee. We use them faithfully every day. But it still doesn't make us in charge of anything for someone else. Not really.

I'm not exactly sure where my daughter got her rebellious streak, but I have a feeling we shopped at the same store.

I believe that Chieko Okazaki said (yes, this is hearsay, but it doesn't matter -- I love it regardless of who said it) that we "get a lot of promissory notes at church." 

I think that's a great description of what we get. It feels a lot like IF....THEN, pretty much all the time in my opinion. "If we are obedient, or if we do this thing, we will have, or be ____________." Fill in the blank with whatever you like. 

Some of it seems to actually work, but none of it is guaranteed. Because nothing about earth comes with a guarantee. And that's a bit of wisdom that I think really only comes with age. And even achieving age is not guaranteed. You see the problem.

The bottom line is that eventually (and it didn't take that long, really) I reduced pretty much all my parenting goals into one. I made the goal that my girls would feel loved, every single day of their lives. I went after that goal from a lot of angles. Love comes in as many forms as there are minutes, and that's a good thing.  Because as a mother, some minutes you are able to love more readily than others.
 
And sometimes the love means cookies and sometimes, as a parent, it just has to mean broccoli.

The other thing I've figured out is that my love can not save them from the pain of the world. It can't. This daughter who is getting married had a pretty charmed life, until she didn't. And I couldn't stop her from making the decisions that started her on the path that led there, and I couldn't save her from someone bent on damaging her, and I couldn't fix it once the trouble began, and it is only by some miracle that we were able to help her at all while the world blew up around her and then as the dust settled.

But there's where I'm really glad that I stopped trying to make her read when she was three and decided I would try to just love her every day instead. That was a goal that ended up serving me well when the bad stuff came raining down. I remained a safe place, and she sought that safety.

That's really the only thing I know for certain about raising kids, or about human interaction in general. That we get much further by making ourselves a safe place for others.

I think that's the entire point of the gospel, actually. Christ made himself our safe place, and we're supposed to go there when we get lost or need help or screw up or don't have any idea what we're supposed to be doing. I know there are a lot of other rules and directions and to-do lists at church too, and I try to pay attention to them and follow along as best I can. I remind myself to have faith that it will be enough. But I also try really hard not to look at them as promissory notes.

My daughter told me, after she emerged from the fiery furnace, that she was actually glad for her terrible experience. She's a graduate of a prestigious art school, and she said that she always felt she had showed up at school armed with nothing but a pencil, while the other students brought baggage of all kinds packed with material from which to draw. She felt her pain enhanced her art in ways that her loving home couldn't. And knowing what I do about art, I think there's probably a lot of truth to that. But I believe the loving home offered a great foundation on which to set up her easel.  

I can't wait to attend the wedding at which I only have to show up. What a pleasure! I won't have to be stressed or sleep-deprived or anything else. I can just be present and enjoy the firefly light of mid-July, and the glow of my little girl getting a do-over that's going to heal her wounds in ways that I never can.

And I'm not giving up on my goal. I know they don't live with me anymore, but my three charges are still with me every minute and I have a long way to go before I've finished showing them why they are the best thing I could have done with my life. I'm happy every day that they've become themselves, even though not one of them is exactly the way I thought they'd be. They're the only thing I've done that will really make much difference in the world, in the end. 

I can't control a thing about them, but I can promise to always give them the best love I've got and also have the faith that somehow, it will be enough.

- S.

A Thank You Note.

"If you experience the pain of exclusion at church from someone who is frightened at your difference, please don't leave or become inactive. You may think you are voting with your feet, that you are making a statement by leaving. Some may see your diversity as a problem to be fixed, as a flaw to be corrected or erased. If you are gone, they don't have to deal with you anymore. I want you to know that your diversity is a more valuable statement."

--Chieko N. Okazaki, 

General Relief Society Presidency

This quote popped up on my Facebook feed today, and it reminded me of just how much I loved Sister Okazaki. I attended a Midwest Pilgrims retreat in IL many years ago at which she was the keynote speaker. A friend and I somehow lucked into having an intimate dinner with her at a restaurant, and going for a run with her too. 

We actually laced up our tennies and took a green, hilly jaunt on a late spring afternoon with Chieko Okazaki! I don't know how old she was at the time, but much older than I will be when I stop running. We chatted about the kinds of things women chat about when they run. She seemed so regular. 

And then I heard her speak and wanted to record every word so I could replay it forever. Because her particular brand of faith was mesmerizing to me. I found her to be so completely gracious, so accepting, so intelligent, so strong. Utterly original, confident and comfortable in her individual skin. Intimidating in the depth of her scriptural knowledge, yet so good at weaving them into the everyday workings of a modern woman's life. She seemed to easily gift others with glimpses, tiny tidbits of her wisdom and understanding. Just knowing that she was in the Church somehow enlarged it enough that I suddenly could breathe a bit more freely in it too. 

She saved seats for people like me.

I can't help but contrast the way I feel reflecting on her with the feelings I had a few days ago when something from Mormon Women Stand popped up in my news feed. Because when I clicked over to get a peek at the discussion going on there, I found that all the seats were taken. And they didn't seem to remember to set any up in the overflow. 

I just mean that it didn't feel good. The comments seemed harsh and divisive, strident and judgmental and it gave me a sick feeling. It was more than plain that I wouldn't be welcome there. I sensed a line in the sand. I had to click away.

If you're a fan of Mormon Women Stand, I apologize. I don't mean anything personal by it. A thing that uplifts and binds together is inherently good, right? So I may have dropped in at just the wrong moment. I could see they're trying to do something worthwhile there. But I could also see they really don't like my type. 

They wouldn't want me asking my endless questions, or expressing the things that are hurting me, or dissecting the conference talks that chafe, or agitating for increased diversity, or any of the things that have been an integral part of my lifelong journey as a woman in the Mormon church. I make them nervous.

And that just doesn't make sense at all. Because really, we're working for the same things in our lives, I think. We're committed to the same organization. Our children sing the same Primary songs, and it brings the same joy to us when we hear their voices. We're serving in callings together. We're passing the sacrament trays back and forth between us every Sunday.

Those unwieldy parts of my spiritual side came with me when I popped up on this planet. I was born smack in the middle of a Mormon family tree. I didn't wander into a meetinghouse one Sunday by mistake and then start complaining about the program. I've been here all along.

I guess it's okay, because I don't have to hang around there. Facebook groups are similar to Jr. High. They're all about "liking." 

But the gospel isn't about liking at all. The gospel is about loving. And since the Church is our vehicle for the gospel, I'd really like everyone to feel loved. No matter which clique they bump into in the halls.

I know, I'm an idealist in that. It's not realistic. But then I think Sister Okazaki must have been a bit of an idealist too. Thank goodness someone once heeded the inspiration to put her in a high place. And thank goodness she's still shining her light there. She's illuminating a vast room of open seats. And I hope she never stops.

- S.
 

Looking Ahead.

 I tramp a perpetual journey.

 -- Walt Whitman, Song of Myself

If you've been hanging around The Overflow lately, you may wonder what I have against Elder Holland. The answer is, not a thing in the world. In fact, I have a warm fuzzy memory of him speaking at a fireside at my home when I was a child. I remember sneaking down in my nightgown, crouching outside the hushed living room...and thinking there was something about him there, something in the sound of his voice that was quite remarkable. 

On top of that, he's given a couple of the talks in recent conferences that have been my favorites. So I think it would be fitting that we should look at those too, starting with the one from April 2013.

I felt a personal connection with his talk, Lord, I Believe, because of the second half of the famous scriptural line from which the title is taken..."Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief." 

For me, that second part is key.

The idea reminds me of the opening paragraph of a book by (who else?) Anne Lamott -- re-reading her work this summer has it on my brain. She begins her book Traveling Mercies like this: 

"My coming to faith did not start with a leap but rather a series of staggers from what seemed like one safe place to another. Like lily pads, round and green, these places summoned and then held me up while I grew. Each prepared me for the next leaf on which I would land, and in this way I moved across the swamp of doubt and fear. When I look back at some of these early resting places, I can see how flimsy and indirect a path they made. Yet each step brought me closer to the verdant pad of faith on which I somehow stay afloat today."

A series of staggers...sounds about right to me. Or two steps forward, one step back. Or a roller-coaster ride of faith. It goes up, but it can also rush downhill with breathtaking speed. This is because it's subject to the crazy, unpredictable path of our life experiences. And the resulting challenges to our faith can be dizzying and discouraging. Rather than enduring to the end, some days it sounds easier to just step off the ride.

But as Elder Holland says, "Remember, in this world, everyone is to walk by faith." Darn.

His talk begins with the well-known scriptural account of Jesus being approached by a man seeking a blessing for his teeth-gnashing, foaming-mouthed son. 

"'If thou canst do anything,' he said, 'have compassion on us, and help us.'
Jesus said unto him, 'If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth.'
And straightway the father of the child cried out, and said with tears, 'Lord I believe; help thou mine unbelief.'"

Elder Holland explains, "Observation number one regarding this account is that when facing the challenge of faith, the father asserts his strength first and only then acknowledges his limitation. His initial declaration is affirmative and without hesitation: 'Lord, I believe.' I would say to all who wish for more faith, remember this man! In moments of fear or doubt or troubling times, hold the ground you have already won, even if that ground is limited...The size of your faith or the degree of your knowledge is not the issue -- it is the integrity you demonstrate toward the faith you do have and the truth you already know.'"

A brilliant discussion of faith and its relationship to knowledge is found in the writings of gospel scholar and educator Lowell Bennion. He compares the two, readily admitting that knowledge is superior and when it's available, should always be used. For instance, when driving a car, it's better to know by the gauge how much gas is in the tank than to merely have faith that fuel is there. But he describes faith as the means of reaching out to gain additional knowledge, like a searchlight casting its beam into the darkness ahead. While knowledge looks back, faith looks forward. 

In Alma's famous discourse on faith, found in Alma 32:14-43, he encourages us to experiment upon his words, exercise a particle of faith, even if we can do no more than desire to believe. He compares the word to a seed, asking us to plant the seed, tend it carefully (there's the important part -- we cannot neglect the seed after it's planted!) and pay attention to what grows and to how it makes us feel. Alma's object in recommending this experiment with faith is that it will lead us to knowledge.

When scientists gain knowledge, they begin by asking a question. They research. They experiment. They control the variables carefully and then pay attention to what happens. Then they take that knowledge and use it to project a light further into the future, to formulate another hypothesis, to take another leap. 

Sometimes they learn what they wanted to know. Sometimes it's back to the drawing board, re-examining the facts, looking for things they might have missed or searching for other possible ways forward. Sometimes they have to wait for knowledge in other areas to catch up with them so they can supply missing components in order to take the next step. Basically, science is lily pad to lily pad. Just like faith.

The use of the word experiment suggests that we may need to keep trying. When one looks at the innovators who succeeded in creating the world's modern miracles, the most striking thing is how often they failed. Turn on a light, take a photo, fly in a jet, watch TV, talk on a cell phone...the inventors who gave us these life-altering advancements found their way to success through a maze of wrong turns.

Thomas Edison, for instance, failed repeatedly before succeeding with the light bulb. Prior to that magical moment in October 1879, Edison had worked out no fewer than 3,000 theories about electric light, each of them reasonable and apparently likely to be true -- but in only two cases did his experiments work. "Many of life's failures," he said, "are people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up."

Hence the value of that difficult little phrase, Endure to the End. Unfortunately, faith is not a destination. Even if it sometimes seems that the other folks on the pew have already arrived, it's simply not true. Because faith is an ongoing experiment in which we are required to engage daily. 

Lowell Bennion asserts that, "No matter how much knowledge a person gains, he is increasingly aware of how much of his life is lived by faith. Faith is an hypothesis, suggested by the existence of some facts, but projecting beyond these to the realm of what might be or could be. Faith then is not cut and dried, is not fixed and static, but is something as dynamic as life itself."

If faith is a product of one's total life experiences, as such it can never be one-size-fits-all. My faith doesn't look like yours. It looks like me. We can borrow a bit and lend a little, but in the end we all have to grow our own. We have to engage in our own experiment upon the word. We have to hope and work and ask and want and wait. And then do it all again.

All of this made me think about running. In my life, running is probably the number one thing I love to hate. Running is inherently about progress, but also about never arriving. Basically, it's a hamster wheel, but one that throws off enough positive results to trick people into doing it. I started running about 15 years ago when I got tired of walking. I wanted to get there faster. Over the course of the years, my running has changed. Due to injury, joint problems and age, I'm no longer able to run as far or as often as I once could. But the challenge and the process remain the same, and the rewards I find from engaging in that process compel me to keep at it. That and my love of baked goods. 

Of course, some days I am just too tired to imagine running, or trying to stay in shape, for the rest of my life. I simply know I can't do it -- it seems ludicrous to try. Why bother when there are donuts in the world and I know darn well I plan to keep eating them? On those days, I have to shorten my vision. Because sometimes the big picture is just too big, and makes me want to kick my sneakers into a corner and nap.

One of my favorite literary characters says that if a woman could see all the dishes she would do in her lifetime piled up in one heap, she would lay down and will herself to die on the spot. Sometimes that's how I feel about running -- like I'm looking at a mighty big pile of dishes. But running happens a day at a time. That's the only way it's sustainable. Luckily, life comes to us in one-second increments. Our progress can be measured in single steps. 

On whole-sinkful-of-dirty-dishes days, we can make the goal be running up the street to the next mailbox. Sometimes when I really think I'm going to die and I must stop NOW, I tell myself I'll just run to the next mailbox. Almost always when I reach that mailbox, I'm able to press on to the next mailbox. I've been known to run 5 miles from mailbox to mailbox. Because if I don't break it down that far, I won't move at all.

Knowledge is the mailboxes in the rear-view. Faith is that next mailbox. The experiment is putting one foot in front of the other. The goal is to keep running to the finish.

Elder Holland draws a second observation from the scriptural account in his talk. He says, "When problems come and questions arise, do not start your quest for faith by saying how much you do not have, leading as it were with your 'unbelief.' Let me be clear on this point: I am not asking you to pretend to faith you do not have. I am asking you to be true to the faith you do have...Be as candid about your questions as you need to be; life is full of them on one subject or another."

Did you hear that? We need not fear our questions or doubts! As with science, they can serve a useful purpose in propelling our faith forward.

Lowell Bennion describes it like this: "Faith is adventurous and creative. It not only is the sphere of the possible, but is also the power which often makes the possible come into being. Faith is that remarkable quality of the human spirit which first envisages the possibilities of life, then lives as though these possibilities were realities, and by this action often makes them real. In the realm of knowledge, one conforms to what is; in the realm of faith, one creates life after the image carried in his heart. Faith adds another dimension to life. Recognizing the borders of knowledge, it transcends them."

In other words: Fake It 'til You Make It. Act as if you have it, live faithfully, and...Bingo! I love that idea, because it makes it seem like I may have just a bit more control over the state of my own faith. 

If I want a testimony of prayer, pray.

If I want a testimony of tithing, pay it.

If I want to love others better or more, show more love to others.

Get work done by working.

Move forward by taking steps. 

Sound easy? It isn't. But it isn't rocket science either. I know how to get there. I just need to begin. And tomorrow, begin again.

No matter how tough the road gets, I can always desire to believe. I can use that desire to fuel my experiment, thereby progressing through faith toward knowledge. 

And yes, even I probably always possess more than I think I do.  Mailbox to mailbox. One lily pad to the next. Throwing my own puny light ahead into the darkness, but then following it with a step forward.

As Elder Holland concludes, "Hope on. Journey on. Honestly acknowledge your questions and your concerns, but first and forever fan the flame of your faith, because all things are possible to them that believe."

Bingo.

- S.