Ahem.

If the talk turns to Thanksgiving, one of my daughters will invariably tell you the story of the time we were forced to eat Thanksgiving dinner in a McDonald’s. I think it sticks out in her childhood as being so glaringly the way it isn’t supposed to be, she just can’t help herself. Of course the part of the story she doesn’t tell you (without being prodded with a glare and an *ahem* from her mother) is that we were at that McDonald’s because we were going to Disneyland the next day, our flight had landed late on Thanksgiving evening and there wasn’t a thing in the world open. So we went to McDonald’s.

To me, that’s always seemed like a rather large part of the story to leave out. But for some reason, it’s not the first thing that comes to her mind.

That’s probably the way it is for God most of the time, too. He’s probably resisting the urge to glare and ahem at us all day long. We’re forever telling our stories and leaving out the parts that, to Him, seem rather important. We focus on the small bits that itch or chafe, irritate or trip us up instead of on the big picture in which it probably all fits pretty comfortably because things make a lot more sense.

I’m guessing that’s human nature, but it’s probably also a function of not having a very clear view of the big picture most days. We see minutes ahead and behind. If we squint hard, days. Whole years don’t tend to stay clear in our sight and an entire lifetime, taken at once, is really a blur when you’re running to the next stop. So it’s those minutes that seem wrong or hurt us that we remember. The sharp little pebbles in our shoes.

This Thanksgiving I’m going to find myself in Panama, at a beach resort, without all of my children. I’ve got two with me, but of course my thoughts are equally with the one who’s not here. Plus I can’t help wondering why on earth my life has taken me to Panama and yet continues asking me to feel at home. And why being together with my husband has become a luxury rather than the mundane. And why it seems like it’s been years since I’ve cooked a good ol’ Thanksgiving dinner surrounded by a large noisy crowd of the people I love.

I find myself with plenty of pebbles in my shoes these days, and yet if I stop to consider the whole story, my life is remarkably sweet indeed.

I’ve got a large cast of amazing characters in the drama, for one thing. Some have joined recently that I can’t imagine ever having gotten along without. I seem to keep encountering those types, and while they don’t replace the ones I’ve not been allowed to keep in an active role, they show up miraculously knowing their lines and keep the holes from gaping. I love more people than I ever imagined I could. Even if I can’t seem to get everyone in the roles I’d really like them to have, everyone does their parts so well, and usually right on cue. It all suggests that Someone Else must be directing my whole production.

I’ve got good health, and I get to run and walk and eat and worry and write about it all – basically, do the things I love to do – to my heart’s content.

I’ve got starkly beautiful desert taking my breath away daily out one window, and a gorgeous, teeming jungle to explore out the other. It’s all much more than I deserve.

My dad gently suggested to me the other day, right when I most deserved to hear it, that happiness isn’t having everything but rather believing that you do. Something like that.

Of course, it was the kind of thing that can make a kid roll her eyes but as usual, my eye roll was because he was exactly right. And he should know, since at this late stage I do believe he’s got that figured out. He’s completely satisfied with his McDonald’s meal, even if it falls on Thanksgiving. He never seems to forget there’s also been Disneyland, and he’s remembering to say thanks every day just for being allowed to be in the scene with any of his supporting cast around at all.  

He’s probably still looking at me wondering if I’ll ever actually get the story right, and it’s a valid concern. So I’ll just keep telling it in hopes that someday I do. 

-S.

Warp Speed

A friend from our old ward shared a post on my Facebook page recently with a quote from Chieko Okazaki. She explained it by saying, "This is for you. Thanks for helping me know it's okay to have questions."

She's a somewhat recent convert, to whom I was not close. In fact, I'd served in the stake and hardly been a presence in our ward at all since she joined the Church. I've enjoyed getting to know her a bit more by observing her pics and posts on Facebook since we moved away. I know more about her now than I ever did when we lived in the same ward. But I guess she's read my blog, and something I've written must have been a help.

Anyway, at first her note made me very happy. Then it made me a bit sad.

I was sad to think that I have been any kind of lifeline for her. I, who moved away two years ago, not that long after she joined. Whom she hardly knew, and has barely ever interacted with. It made me sad for the missed opportunity, of course, but also for the fact that I've given her hope yet feel that I've done almost nothing.

Which means it's pretty simple to make the way easier for others in the Church. And as members, having covenanted at baptism to bear one another's burdens, why wouldn't every one of us want to do that?

That's why when these Chieko quotes pop up on Facebook, so many of my friends seem to rejoice. It doesn't take much.

That's why when Pres. Uchtdorf speaks at conference and shares his open door and his wisdom with even a hint of a fresh slant and candor, it feels like a way out of the mire. We grab it greedily and begin looking immediately for more.

Because it doesn't take much.

That being said, it's a fascinating time to be a Mormon. The changes are happening, and they're happening fast. We're moving at the speed of the internet. I go to sleep at night, and when I wake up and log on it's clear that I'm the only one who slept. I feel like we're all on the bridge and Capt. Kirk has just ordered warp speed.

There's plenty of Church talk these days about "hastening the work." I'm not really sure what that means, but I feel we've got to hasten everything in order to just keep pace.

The Church's CIO recently shared interesting demographic statistics about our current makeup. He said if we were to think of the Church as a ward with 100 members:

• 48 would live in the United States or Canada
• 36 would live in Latin America
• 3 would live in Europe
• 3 would live in Africa
• 3 would live in Oceania
• 7 would live in Asia
• 48 joined after The Proclamation was written (first read by President Gordon B. Hinckley on Sept. 23, 1995).
• 79 joined after the revelation on the priesthood in 1978

So - 1) We're really young. 

(It's official, I'm one of the older members of this ward. I do, after all, still call it "the new hymnbook." I also know the term "Sacrament Gem." Which, incidentally, I always thought was "Sacrament Gym", an understandable mistake for a child growing up in a church where basketball seemed to be as important as anything else that went on at a ward building. Ahem.)

And - 2) We're not all living in Utah.

How can we be expected to think in the same ways?
Or to hear in the same ways?
Or to obey in the same ways?

Outside of our most core doctrines, there's got to be a good deal of tolerance for personalization of our understanding, and our approach to assimilating gospel principles into our daily lives. Because many of our daily lives barely resemble each other's.

Hastening has got to include an acceptance of those differences and a willingness to embrace the fact that this is no longer your grandfather's church. Nor mine.

Gospel principles may be timeless. But the Church exists here and now. And we're here too, and given the charge to move this thing forward together.

Sure it feels a bit like a lurching three-legged race, but that's okay. We're still staggering toward the finish line, and as long as we're moving together in the right direction, we're hastening.

But we might need different things. 

I believe, for instance, that this is why the Church is releasing those pesky Gospel Topics essays. You might not have a problem with polygamy. It might have been happily collecting dust on your faith shelf for years, and it can be a bit annoying to be forced to take it down and examine it when you don't feel any need to give it a thought. But lots of folks are still struggling with it. So we need to address it.

Same with gay marriage. You might think The Proclamation took care of any gray areas that might have been hanging around. But lots of folks in the church have gay people in their families. Younger people have grown up with openly gay friends they love and are intimately connected with. Some members live in places in the world where gay marriage has been legal for so long, it's not even an issue they think about. So we need to continue the conversation.

It's all been neither said nor done. We believe that He will yet reveal many great and important things. That's why we call it "continuing revelation." So we should keep asking.

Speaking of gems and Chieko and Facebook, just today my newsfeed brought this:

“When it comes to ideas, I’ve always enjoyed Wilson Mizner’s credo. He said, ‘I respect faith, but doubt is what gets you an education.' It’s crucially important to be able to turn a different idea around, examining it three-dimensionally, in the context of your own intellectual field and values system, cataloging the differences and noting the points of contrast, but without bringing them into conflict until the process is complete. Reasonable, healthy, needed change cannot occur if we aren’t willing to go through this process. If we hurry through the process, we may end up junking a very valuable idea without seeing its merit; or we may prematurely decide that our own system is flawed and throw out parts of it that we may later discover were not only the bath water but the baby as well. I sometimes think that we Mormons, because we belong to the true church, sometimes are very dismissive of anything we don’t remember hearing in seminary or Sunday School class. That’s wrong. We should be the most intellectually alive and curious people on earth.”

-Chieko Okazaki, What a Friend We Have in Jesus, pp. 57-58

Reasonable, healthy, needed change cannot occur if we aren't willing to go through this process.

Yes! But change is hard. Remember growing pains? Lying in bed at night as a kid, feeling your leg bones ache?

I think that's what we're experiencing now.

You know what kind of testimony meeting would be helpful to me? A meeting where everyone who got up said, "This is what I don't really know. This is what I'm not sure about." Because then I'd think, "Hey! I'm not the only one! And there's someone I can talk to about it!" I'd also note that they were still showing up, so the plot would thicken. And I'd be interested. But besides that, someone else would be sure to get up and say, "Here's what I believe about that. Let me tell you why I believe it," and then I'd get a genuine piece of their personal story. Suddenly it would become a dialogue rather than a monologue. And it might help.

And then they could add, "But I really struggle with _______." And BAM! There we'd all be. Talking.

For me, that would go a long way toward giving me strength. Hearing everyone else in the room say, "I know the Church is true" doesn't really do me much good anymore. I've heard it approximately a million times during a lifetime of meetings.

If it is still helpful to you, I'm glad. Like I said, we can't all have the same needs because we're living a worldwide churchful of completely original lives.

Personally, what I want is a conversation with you.

We could listen to each other, lend our strength and experience, comfort each other in our doubts and weakness, sit together in our sorrows, and all grow in love and faith as a result.

To me, that would pull me along. That would feel like hastening.

That would maybe even feel like moving toward Zion.

-- S.