Practicing the Music - Atonement Part 2

 Look at this! two weeks in a row! I'm on a roll... probably won't write again now for another 2 years... ;)

We all have our individual sins and temptations which do so easily beset us. Addictions, bad tempers, selfishness, coveting, money lust, sexual lust, that less than compassionate response to that guy on twitter, using a selfie stick... whatever it is, we all have one or more that seems to creep up on us and we screw up again and again with the same thing over and over. Each time we swear we are done with it for good. We may even set up our lives to try to avoid the triggers that lead us into the temptation or we have sought support from others. And still, we somehow find ourselves again in that place we swore we'd given up forever. Well, I have some of those moments anyway.

Last week when I shared about my feeling of "little faith" and feeling warmth and love from a Heavenly Father who loves to see me growing just as much as He will love to see me grown.

And, then I messed up with my own personal struggle. The one that keeps coming up again and again for me. But having messed up while still in this feeling of being loved as I am, young, growing, and not yet mastered much of life, I experienced it so differently. Usually I have a few minutes (or days or weeks) where I silently beat myself up and try to punish myself enough that it will stick and I won't do it again. I know it never works and I even try to be positive but there's always this sense of shame even when I try not to beat myself up. It's culturally programed and I can't escape the effects of my exposure to shaming. But this time, there was no shame. Disappointment, yes, but not shame. I had never experienced this response of no shame in the context of "messing up" before and I stepped back from myself and was like, "whoa... this is different. How do I make sense of what this is? Where have I felt this before?"

And I remembered where I felt this non-shaming response to a mess up before. Naomi. Naomi is a cute little girl, daughter of my bishop. I went over to their house one day to help their mom with the homeschooling that she had to do on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. The kids, understandably were not really into doing school when they could be playing at home. I was the novel motivator to get them to do their schoolwork because homeschool is way better with a special guest, even if it is just me, who has no experience with kids and is a total stick in the mud. 

It worked. The kids finished their schoolwork within a couple hours! Then, Naomi needed to do her piano practice. Since I play, she wanted me to come help her with it. I can't read base clef and my treble clef is, well it's there but only if really slowly on the piano. I learned to play piano by ear and watching my older brother. Now she is quite young and used the old little kid's piano book so I thought, "no big deal."

Naomi sat down at the piano and pulled out her favorite song. She said she had to play the song 5 times to mark it off as practice for the day. She began to play. The title was something like, "In my cool convertible." It was a catchy little song using chords on both hands in a sort of ragtime blues rhythm. It was actually a really fun simple song. She played the first line, and she played the second line the same, she played the third line the same as the previous 2, and the last line, the fourth line, the same phrase. It was a fun phrase for sure and didn't sound bad to play over 4 times, but I was looking at the notes in the piano book and though I couldn't tell you exactly how it should have sounded, I could certainly see that the second and fourth lines definitely should have been different. The end of the second line, the notes went up while the first and third lines stayed the same. At the end of the fourth line, the notes when down... But Naomi played them all like the first and third lines, totally missing the up notes and the down notes in the second and fourth lines. So I pointed this out to Naomi, "Hey, I think these two lines are a little different from each other, and the other two, right? Let's try it again, only this time, I want to hear what it sounds like when you play those notes different." 

So Naomi tried it again and she did the same thing. I stopped her, "Wait, remember, right there, it goes up!" And she repeated the second line over, this time she played the notes that went up and it sounded awesome! Way better than the one funky line twice. In fact, the notes that went up in the second line made the first funky line sound even cooler like it was setting the stage for the second line. Then she played the third line like normal, and then the fourth. And she did it again, she played the fourth just like the first and third. So I stopped her again, "Oohp, hold on. Remember, these notes go down, here." And Naomi backed up and tried the fourth line again, this time, she made the notes go down and it made the entire song cooler, not just it's own line! The way these notes went up and down in the second and fourth lines made the first and third lines have more meaning because the second and third lines kind of played with them a bit like they were a home base to play from. And the song was way more groovy than the original first line played 4 times! 

"Okay," I said, "that sounds way more awesome, let's play it again. This time, remember those notes on the second and fourth lines!" And guess what, she knew full well about the notes up and the notes down, and she still missed it and played the second line just like the first. I stopped her again but didn't have to say anything because she knew. "Ohp..." I said, and she corrected mid-measure. And she did that again in the fourth line. "UhUh..." And she corrected and played the measure over again correctly. And I could tell, she had been practicing this song the "old" way 5 times everyday until the day I was there to catch what she couldn't see and have her try it again a new way. I knew this because we played it five times, and she missed the phrase changes in the second and fourth lines every single time! She even would say, "okay, I'll get it this time!" and we'd get to the second line and, "uhp," her fingers just went on autopilot despite her best efforts to manage them! On the sixth time that I convinced her to do, she finally made it through the entire song with the much cooler sounding phrases without playing the old way, but she had to slow waaaaaayyy down at the end of the second and fourth lines to get the notes right.

And THAT is what it felt like to me when I had messed up without beating myself up. It was just this sense that I knew I wasn't proud of the "notes" I had played, and that Christ and I had a mutual understanding that those were not the notes I was meant to play, and weren't the notes that sounded best together. It felt like Christ saying, "Ohp..." and He didn't need to tell me because I knew. And I just backed up and tried again. There was no judgement. There was only an acknowledgement of the mistake, a reassessment, a desire to "hear the right notes," and an understanding that with so many forces reinforcing the "old way" it is going to take a while before I "play the notes I'm meant to play" without "messing up". It was not a sign that I'm a "bad pianist." It didn't even matter that I KNEW the "right notes" and still played the wrong ones. It was just an, "Uhp," and then course correction. 

Beating myself up would have been more like smashing the keys on the piano in rage to remind myself of how bad it sounds to mess up and then looking at the notes I played incorrectly and playing them over and over and over in my head so that I knew not to play them.... it kind of has the opposite effect! It sounds silly as a strategy for learning to play the right notes on a piano, but somehow we thing it will work when it comes to our own spiritual growth.

Making mistakes are excusable, if they were, we'd lose the sense of the music our soul was meant to play. But, mistakes ARE understandable. The only way to respond that actually makes any sense is to go, "uhp," and back up and try that phrase again. 70 X 7 if we need to. 

It also gave me insight into what a mistake actually is and how the Atonement works. Since I don't really read music, the notes on the page of the piano book was helpful to know the direction the sound needed to go in pitch, but honestly, once Naomi played it I knew it was correct by the sound of it. I couldn't actually tell if she played it right when she payed closer attention to the notes and she tried the notes up in pitch on the second line, and down in pitch on the fourth. I just knew it was right when I heard it. I was just like, "Oh, yeeeeeaaaaahhhh... groovy, Naomi! Way cooler than the first line X 4. That has to be it!" Sometimes you can just hear the way the song is meant to go. You can even sometimes do it with songs you've never heard before. Stop it right before the last note. Guess what note it is... and the fact that you can tell it's probably going to be the last note of the song... It's just this internal sense that the music has to have a certain sense of closure... like coming home.

Personally, if a sin is described as "anything that creates distance between us and God" then it sounds like sins are not some abstract list of don'ts. They are dependent on a subject, God. More specifically, a relationship with Him and a knowledge of what He is like. And the truth is not a list of dos. The truth is a living breathing being! More specifically, Christ. This sense of knowing Christ and God are the Spirit and the Light of Christ. It's just this sense of the "music" when we can tell what's right when we "hear" it, and we know a "wrong note" when we "hear" it too. And the note itself isn't wrong.... it just doesn't fit right then in that part of the song. A sin isn't a sin because "ITS A SIN." It's a sin because it doesn't fit with a relationship with Christ of God. There's a discord in our soul that we know once we have heard an angelic chord in it's place.

But sometimes it's not even really sin that keeps us from God. It's not even discord... it's just... well... the first line of a great song played over and over. It sounds fine. We had to learn it. It was good to learn. But there is so much more to the song and we are missing out! Have you ever heard a song and it just totally spoke to you and you were like, "Oh, yeah... this is my song!" I think that is what it feels like when we follow God's plan for us. And we know it by both the Spirit, and through the words of prophets and scripture.

Sometimes we have been playing this line that we know really well and have been practicing over and over and are really comfortable with and God says gently, "okay, on this next line, see this, the notes go up." 

And we're like, "Um... are you sure... because it sounds fine to me to just play it the old way." And we try it and play the wrong note, and we try it and play the right one and then we're like, "Ohhhhhhh. I get it. Yeah. That does sound better. It even makes the first line even more important now."

Or we are playing and someone gently points out or maybe we just pay closer attention and notice that in the "piano book" the notes go up... Reading the scriptures and words of prophets and apostles takes practice to get good at, but with the Spirit confirming when we've gotten it right and when we've gotten it wrong, we learn to read the notes better.

A "note" on Heaven and Hell: Have you ever had a day where you are trying to find the right song for the moment and with every start to a new song, you hit skip, and you know there's a song out there that perfectly fits your mood and your situation, but it's just not coming..... I think this is basically a mild version of what hell is like. We don't get sent to hell because we disobeyed the rules and played the wrong notes... It IS hell to not play the song that perfectly fits us. It's like endlessly searching when we've taken the song we are longing for off our playlist.

The Atonement: Christ bought this piano for you. You don't need to pay Him back. You are just a little kid taking piano lessons so your meager lunch money isn't really going to cut it anyway. He bought this piano so you could practice. He also learned how to play your song perfectly so he could teach you how to play it and how cool it can sound. He knows about all the tricky parts and the sneaky sharps and flats and where the time signature changes, and when getting louder or softer or faster or slower is going to totally accentuate the beauty of the notes you play. He knows how much time you have to practice and he doesn't care how much you mess up. It isn't a front to Him... it's more of an anticipation for you to finally get it and hear the music he's been wanting you to hear since He decided to buy the piano for you. There is no sense in punishing you. That doesn't motivate people to play the piano, it teaches them to be afraid of piano practice! Not feeling the music or feeling a discord is truly punishment enough. The only thing to do is to go, "uhuh. look there." "Wait, remember?" "Ohp. There's that tricky measure again, those fingers just doing what they've been conditioned to do... start here again."

I once had a teacher who used to say that "practice doesn't make perfect, only perfect practice makes perfect." I used to think that was a totally rigged system and not fair, because how can you practice perfectly right from the start!? But then I thought about what practice means... it means trying, failing, correcting, trying again. The only way to practice imperfectly is to Only play the things you don't need to practice because you've got them down already. So maybe perfect practice is to always be working on something new and something we haven't quite mastered yet. Perfect playing doesn't make perfect. Perfect practice makes perfect.

He bought this piano and is giving piano lessons so that one day, you can play the song you've learned at the recital eventually. There WILL be a recital. And it isn't like if you didn't practice enough you will be punished and kicked out or made fun of... it's like if you didn't practice, you won't hear your music. That's punishment enough.

We utilize the Atonement every time we sit down at the piano. Not just when we hit the wrong note and have another chance to try again, and again. Though as we have to try again and again, we may particularly grateful that the piano is all ours for eternity at those moments... A gift, not a loan with limited time. We use the Atonement when we hear our music and we know we are in the right place at the right time doing the right thing with the right people. We are using the Atonement whenever we sit down on the bench. The only time the Atonement isn't in use is when we are afraid to try, afraid to make mistakes, afraid that there is no music for us and stop trying to find it. That would be a music-less existence. That lost, scrolling through the playlist, kind of life and death. 

If someone gives you a piano and wants to hear your music as much as you do, that's how you "repay" Him. You sit down at the bench and you practice. The song He has heard for you and hopes that you want to trust Him to teach you through book and lessons is more beautiful than your 3rd grade piano imagination, I promise! The Atonement was not plan B for when you botch plan A. It IS plan A! The Atonement is not about cleaning up after your mess. It is about the ability to practice perfectly through Him.

Little Faith - Atonement Part One

 I had an interesting experience from which I learned a lot about the Atonement of Christ and wanted to share. It is two-part, but they both are sort of stand-alone ideas as well. So I'm posting this Part One and next week I'll try for Part Two.

I have been feeling rather perfectionistic as of late. It might have to do with my extreme relapse into Impostor Syndrome triggered by internship applications. So I listened to General conference with these struggles in mind, seeking both reassurance and guidance to stay on track and not get swallowed up by my sense of not being good enough.

The talk that spoke to me most was from Sister Harkness. She talked about finding peace in Christ. She shared a story of her grandchild who was very young and felt very brave as she jumped off the boat with her cousins into the water but then started feeling panicked and yelled "Help me! Help me!" There was no real danger. The little girl was wearing a life jacket and it was doing it's job. Nevertheless, they helped the little girl back into the boat and praised her courage for jumping in and reassured her of their presence to keep her safe and assuage her worries. 

I feel like this a lot right now. Like God asked me to jump in the water, and I did and some of it was fun, and it was also kind of cold and murky. And now that I'm in deeper murkier water, despite my life jacket, I'm like, "Um... umm..... help! Help! I can't swim! I don't think I can swim! I changed my mind! HELP!"

They didn't pull her in begrudgingly, saying "C'mon. you're wearing a life jacket! Grow up! What's wrong with you!? Don't be a baby! You're fine!" But that's what I'm afraid of as much as the cold, deep, murky water.

I think sometimes we feel like Christ rebukes us when we get in the water and start to panic and doubt our abilities and our potential. I think we even read Christ's response to Peter that way. "C'mon Peter! Oh ye of little faith, what are you afraid of!" But I wonder he meant it differently than we read it with our self-critical eyes. 

In the eternal perspective, we are all just babies. Seriously, we've got a lot of growing up to do and this life is no small matter, but I think it's like starting kindergarten... feels like a totally new world with new things, new expectations, and challenges, and separation, and oh my goodness where did mom/dad go!? But to a grown up... it's just kindergarten. Our faith is growing. Right now it IS little. Like little kid kind of faith. Maybe that's what Christ meant as he reached out and grabbed Peter without hesitation, "Oh Peter, your faith is so young. You're soul is so little! I almost forget sometimes how young you all are since getting this mortal body! Tell me what you are afraid of and then you can grow a little more as we talk about it together..." 

I think of what Christ means when He says to be as a little child. Kids are scared of LOTS of things! They are afraid of being sucked down the drain in the bathtub and scared that ophthalmologists can read their minds when they look through the scope into their eyes... They are scared of jumping in water even with a life vest on! The faith part comes in, not in the absence of fear, but in response to it. The faith IS the "Help! Help!" The faith is the knowing "from whence cometh my help." Calling out for Christ to save us when we are scared IS faith like a little child. Knowing He IS the Help and can and will is faith like a little child. Over time, just as a child grows in experience, less faith is required for those things, but new things pop up that require faith once again, like dating... 

But the point is, we don't ridicule kids for being scared and asking for help. Or, we shouldn't... it doesn't help but makes them more scared because then they lose faith in us to help them... We may encourage them to stay in the water a bit longer, but we don't hesitate to let them know we are right there, helping. It made me feel much better about my own panicky feelings. I'm not faithless. I'm just real new to this and like a kid, I'm scared learning new things and know from whence will come my help. So I'm not ashamed to call out for help. I AM of little faith. and calling out for help and having that experience of having help is how that faith grows. Isn't it true that the Faith we need to have most is in our Savior? Only then does any other faith matter. So I have faith in my Savior when I get scared and call out to Him for help when I need it. Then through that faith always being proved well-placed, I learn to have faith in what he asks of me, and then faith in myself...

But there is a development. developing faith in self without faith in God's plan is not going to turn out well. That's like jumping out of the boat when parents are yelling that there are sharks in the water. And having faith in the plan without faith in Christ is like jumping out and being scared in the water and not calling out for help and feeling utterly alone with no sense of relationship or purpose to the jump. Developing faith. Developing is both an adjective and a verb. We all have developing faith. We've never done this life thing before. And this developing faith's foundations are in Christ first. It isn't a lack of faith, it's a bud of it when we feel panic and call out for help. No one calls the bud of a rose a failing rose or a rose falling short. It's just growing. It's still a rose inside. It just needs time. No bud stays a bud. It's not possible. Buds become flowers when given what they need. Our faith is the same. All we need for our little faith to grow is to reach out and ask for help, and feel the full experience of Him reaching out to us to let us know He is here. Then we develop more faith in His plan for us. Then we come to have faith in ourselves to conquer the challenges he gives us because we know He is there.

Christ's Atonement allows us to grow in faith, to feel scared and develop over time instead of demanding that we are perfectly doubtless about what is happening to us. He knows what it feels like to jump in the cold murky water, and he knows what faith looks like as it grows. He is patient with the little faith because it is the very gift he gives us so that little faith can grow. I imagine while we beat ourselves up for being so scared, He thinks it is rather cute. He knows there is no danger. And he knows how scary kindergarten and swimming can be to us of "little" faith. 

Light The World Day 1: Freely Given

"Freely ye have received, freely give." - Matthew 10:8

The following story is a creation story I heard from Robin Wall Kimmerer a Native American woman of the Potawatomi Nation. I may not be telling the story exactly as she does, but it is very close and then I will expand on what the story means to me about freely giving.

In the beginning there was the Sky Woman. She fell from the sky and held a bushel of sweetgrass in her hand. As she fell toward the ocean, she had no way to stop. The animals looked up and saw the Sky Woman falling and understood her plight. The geese flew together, making goose music as they pumped their wings up to meet the Sky Woman and broke her fall as she gently rested on their feathers. The geese flew down towards the water gently.

The geese could not hold her much longer so they called a meeting of all the animals to see what they could do to help the Sky Woman. A beautiful strong turtle rose to the surface of the water and offered its back for the Sky Woman to rest on. The animals knew that the Sky Woman needed land to live on. And they had heard that there was land at the bottom of the ocean. Once by one, many animals tried to swim to the bottom of the ocean to find the land for Sky Woman, and one by one, the animals could not reach it, and came back to the surface, out of breath. Then came the muskrat, the weakest of the swimmers but the strongest in heart and loyalty. The muskrat dove down into the ocean. He was gone a very long time.

After a very long time, the animals became very worried for the muskrat. Then there was a small stream of bubbles that rose to the surface with a limp muskrat body. The animals pulled the little limp body of the muskrat onto the turtles shell. He was dead, but in his little paw, he held a handful of mud. Muskrat had given his life for the Sky Woman, to find her home. Touched by the sacrifice of Muskrat, she took the mud from his paw and spread it on the turtle's back so she could stand on it. She was overwhelmed with the generosity and care of all the animals since she fell from the sky. Her deep gratitude spilling out of her, she began to dance with thanksgiving.

As the Sky Woman danced, the mud, dirt, and ground began to grow beneath her feet. The alchemy of all the gifts that were so freely given in combination with the gratitude of Sky Woman had created land beneath Sky Woman's feet expanding out in all directions! On this new ground, the Sky Woman shared what she had brought with her and planted the Sweetgrass, straight from her hand to the soil.

I am the Sky Woman, I fell from the Heavens. There are so many people who caught me gently, who kept me warm, fed me, gave me somewhere to stand, and somewhere I could begin to call home. They sacrifice time, money, and mental energy to help me grow. They gave these gifts freely. They did not give because I had deserved it or earned it, or even because they felt they had to. They loved me, for me. They didn't expect anything in return. They just gave because I was falling and needed a place to stand because I had worth to them just by my existence.

When a gift is freely given, it is very hard for me to accept and therefore also hard for me to trust. When I stay in this uncomfortable place, it feels like balancing on a slippery and muddy turtle shell bobbing in the ocean. It allows me a place to stand, but it still feels like I have no where else to go and it is shaky and slick at best. I fear it could be gone at any moment. When I don't accept the "free" part of the gift, I fear the moment I will disappoint them, use the gift too much, or need it too much, and I fail to hold the gift at all. The gifts given are powerful, and my ability to hold them feels small. However, it is in the combination of the freely given gifts AND the freely given gratitude that creates a place I can truly stand. I have to accept the gifts freely given through gratitude and celebrate them before I can really stand firm and hold them at all. It is in the gratitude that I find trust. And with the trust, I find solid ground.

I then have the opportunity to plant, grow, and share what I brought with me from Heaven: my heart, my care, my talents. I don't give back because I'm afraid I'll lose my freely given gifts. I don't share my heart because I am indebted to them. Freely given means there is no debt. I try to share what I have to offer simply because I want to be like them. You cannot pay someone back for a gift freely given. You can only freely invest in their gift and then give yourself. To give freely is to accept what is freely given. It is to be free with your gratitude and acceptance, and not limit it only to gifts I feel I deserve or earned. I want give gratitude freely.

Because of "The Fall," we needed the gifts to live, but no one was obligated to give them. They were given freely. The Atonement caught us from the fall and gives us a place to stand. A sacrifice was made to allow us to find Home. He gave the Ultimate gift, freely given. We cannot earn it. We cannot deserve it. We cannot pay Him back. Even if we could, it would be irrelevant, because it was FREELY given. That means that no one is keeping score. No one is counting how many times you messed up to see how much of the gift to take back. The Atonement was given freely.

If you get caught up in the deserving of it, you will remain on a slippery bobbing Turtle shell in the middle of the ocean. Our actions are being watched, but it is not for the purpose to see how much we have earned being saved, it is to see how much we are grateful and accept and want to be saved. In the end, I don't believe we will be at judgment day pleading to God to let us stay. I believe it will be Christ, pleading with us, to freely accept His gift, and choose to stay, want to stay.

Try accepting freely and feel the ground grow beneath your feet. THEN you can share what you came here to provide the world and others. We love Him because He first loved us. He is the reason for the hope within us. May we dance in gratitude as freely as the gift was given - with no stipulations about what we will accept. Gratitude in combination with the Atonement creates an alchemy: hope where there was despair, love where there was a stranger, confidence where there was fear, faith where there was doubt, strength where there was weakness, wisdom where there was stupidity, and truth where there was confusion. Repentance is that alchemy where grace (gifts freely given) meets gratitude and planting.

Consider this story my dance. As I wrote it, I felt the ground grow solid beneath my feet.

The Celestial Eclipse of Time and Stringing Beads

I have not posted in over two years. Part of that is about grad school. But a greater part of that is what this post will attempt to explain.

In August, I went to a beautiful isolated spot in Idaho on top of a mountain with just the sky and moon between me and the sun as the moon and sun collided right above me. It was a special 2 minutes and 20-something seconds of total eclipse that I wanted to document and remember every second of it. Problem was, I was so concerned about losing the moments as they ticked by, I could hardly stay in awe of the Celestial and spiritual event for longer than a flicker at a time. After the experience, I felt a deep sense of loss. What I was excited to write about just 3 minutes before was now a sort of dread. I could not capture the moments with my words. I could not bring that experience back. And I had failed to experience a significant percentage of it besides. And so, I never wrote about it. Until now.

I have often passively wondered how to make my journal writing more habitual and soul-filling and less guilt-ridden and overwhelming as it has become in the last two or three years. Ironically since not long after I learned about a heart condition that I was told could wreak havoc at any time, when I became very aware of every day I lived. I've also wondered how to make my entries more meaningful and enlightening like they used to be. My posts on this blog often come from my best journal entries. Maybe they are more meaningful and insightful than I think. This thought I have about my recent journal writing being motionless and shallow is not a new thought. And yet, without fail, each time I go back to entries at least 2 years old, I am impressed by my past self and wonder if I have, in fact, gotten dumber and forgotten the truths my soul articulated years before.

But each time, I still think, no, this time my thoughts actually are more dull, my ideas superficial, and my stories accurate, but heartless. This time is no exception. This time I've really gotten bad in my journal writing. It's bare minimum. Person, place, and thing. No take home. No connection. Skipped days and weeks in between. Which honestly reflects a lot of the way I'm feeling in life most of the time now days.

Anyway, I had a thought that seems to help me think and write with more purpose. It seems to have worked enough to make it up on the blog. Recently, I've been writing to capture the moment, to freeze it in time and space, to keep it from going unacknowledged or forgotten. There is an urgency to it as if trying to catch beads that have fallen off the end of a conveyor belt. But the belt is still moving and beads keep coming and my hands and arms are full and I'm overwhelmed and they are coming too fast. Many hit the ground, rolling underneath the refrigerator with that one kitchen magnet from that one trip to San Diego, never to be seen again, or lapped up by the curious puppy, stepped on at 2 am when you couldn't wait til 6 to pee. Some beads I like more than others, but with my arms so full, they are all hitting the ground, with no respect to their preciousness or the filler-status.

It feels a lot like that. I write about a moment, a conversation, a day, trying to catch it before it becomes lost. Trying to capture it before the experience leaks out of the cracks in my brain. And it IS overwhelming, trying to catch them all. The moments, the days, weeks, months, and years come too fast. I can't look. I can't face that I'm losing them, that I can't capture them all. So, several days and weeks go by without writing. I used to write every day. I convince myself that my plate is full; I cannot write. But I also cannot let it go. So I watch Netflix for a while, feeling guilty the whole time that I'm not writing, creating, expressing, capturing. But I don't want to see what is hitting the floor, what I can't stop from moving faster than I can analyze and articulate or burn into memory.

It reminds me of when Gar, my beloved dog, was about to be taken from me. I carried the video camera around with me, trying to capture every little thing I was about to lose. The sounds and sight of her snarfing down her kibble, her piggy snort when she sniffed the air, how she cocked her head when you went around the corner, playing in the yard with an orange juice jug, the shape of her walking by my side, the curly zig-zag fur down her back. I taped all day long it seemed, trying to get everything on video so I would never forget, so she wouldn't really be gone. The ordinary became so extraordinary because I knew I was about to lose it. This "live like you were dying" way of life can certainly wake you up, and also, gone about the wrong way, can induce a heart-attack from constricting your blood vessels from stress for extended periods of time and really make you die like you were living.

I think my Dad did the same thing. In all our family trip videos from when I was very little, my dad taped all the sites, the sounds, anything that he felt he might lose when we left that place. He wanted to recreate that moment when he watched the tape later. He cared about those moments, and wanted to take himself right back there anytime. Any of the family is hardly in these videos, likely because he planned that he wouldn't lose us like he'd lose that view of the ocean or the building. So I come by it honest.

But like Dad, who missed the point of the moments on our family vacations on his video camera, and I, who missed moments I could have spent truly connecting with my dog, I was doing the same thing with my journal. Trying to control time, to hold onto it, trying to protect a moment from the rust of progression, trying to own it, is to lose it in two dimensions instead of just one; the past AND the present. It is a gluttonous practice to try to keep an actual moment for yourself. It is addicting and consuming to be focused on all you could lose when you think that you could intervene if you just put in enough effort.

Looking back at my greatest writing, it was not a snapshot of life that my insecure soul ever actually craved. It was a celebration of the fact that I could not hold or articulate all a moment had to offer. It was reveling in the feeling small and vulnerable inside a moment. It was an honoring of the past with the voice of the present in a medium that extended into the future in the form of a story. It was not about saving what I could lose. It was about being grateful for what I got to keep from it as time slipped through my fingers. In those best of writings, I did not often express details or even share events in order. No, it was a sense of some divine curiosity that came from a self that seems to have existed before this time, and it craves something eternal. The most impactful writing is not about the beads of time, but the threads of truths that runs through them. Catching every bead as it comes off of the conveyor belt is not realistic or really what I need. I need the threads that can hold the beads together.

But I can't trick myself with this. Once I think of the threads as simply ways to hold onto the beads, the beads stick to the thread and can't move down it, and I can't fit anymore beads on it, and it's just like trying to hold them in my hand. I have to let the beads go and focus on the thread in order for the beads to stay with me as what Viktor Frankl would call "an unintended side-effect" or "by-product." The individual beads to get a little lost as the necklace grows. Only a few beads really stand out here and there, but a good string is strong enough to hold them all. Even if you can't see each bead or pick them out individually, you feel their weight around your neck.

I do not remember every detail of Gar now - a nightmare to my 13 year old self. But there are strings: love, loyalty, loss, longing, sacrifice, responsibility. And there are Gar beads on every one of those strings. She shaped each necklace one bead at a time whether I can pick out each bead or not. But to allow for the beauty of letting time change me, I have to let go of it. I don't want to let the beads just fall while I sit on Netflix for too long, but I can't hold onto them either. If I hold fast to strings that really matter to me, no bead is ever truly lost. If I hold fast to a truth and value, no moment properly strung, connected to a value, or seen though your truth's eyes, will ever be lost.

Maybe that's how God will forget our sins. Maybe repentance is deciding to place an ugly bead on a strong string. Maybe God looks at the strings you're holding onto more than the beads.

So I demonstrated that here in this post. My strings: Honor, Time, Meaning, Surrender. My beads: Gar, my recent journal entries, my non-entries and unwritten posts, and a solar eclipse. You see, even things I thought I lost, (like two minutes of nature's sunglasses or days I cannot remember because I did not write them down) are no longer lost to me now that I found some strings worth holding onto. I can save all that I thought was lost simply by letting them go. I immortalize a moment and make it breath to my soul by giving up the moment in a way. Maybe that is why God gave us limited memory resources, so we can learn to hold onto the strings and not get caught up in the beads so much, ugly or pretty ones. I guess time is always eclipsed for us right now. And isn't it Celestial? Someday I believe that eclipse will move on and the lights will come back on, but don't worry too much about it; it's just another bead on a string.

Found

I have talked in previous posts about feeling a bit broken, lost, and wanting to be whole, but yet being a bit afraid of it. (Never Rock Alone Post) Well, I have a story to share.

I have always believed in healing. I have been functioning fine for quite some time now. Healing and grace must be at work in my life, I concluded. I know things can't go back to how they were before. And maybe they would never be that good again, but I could still heal.

Though I believed it, I have had quite the difficult time feeling it. Since the year of death in 2013, I have felt a piece of me was lost most of the time, except for some flickers here and there. Most of the time, though, I have simply had to have faith that they were near, because it was so hard and rare to actually feel it. I didn't really feel homeless. It felt like having a home, but having lost a member of it. I felt like I put up “missing” posters on every street corner, hoping that part of me was still out there and would come back. I clung to a picture of that missing part for years, “Have you seen this girl?” I asked everyone. Once in a while, I would find a trace of myself (like a nine one thousand hug at the storytelling festival and being rocked during my Thrival) and it would renew my hope that I was still out there. Then I moved to Logan where no one knew that girl or that dog at all. There began to be more times when I wondered if that part of me that loved like I did and felt like I did was actually gone forever, that this loss was simply part of growing up. I even took down a few of the “missing” posters.

Accordingly, I was pretty unfeeling and neutral when my parents told me that my Dad had quit his job and gotten a new one in SLC and they were moving. In fact, I felt that I would maybe be okay if I never went back. I haven't been home in two years, not since around the time Gar died, and the two days I flew home to be there when Harmboy died. And one day I was there in Feb to drive to Kentucky for an interview. Going home has meant loss, and “missing” the past two years. A part of me got lost in Tennessee under the dirt, but every time I went there looking for her, she wasn’t there, or at least I couldn’t get her out, and digging had become exhausting. My parents’ moving meant even less frequent returns, so I felt no choice but to let go. I flew home to help my mom pack and say goodbye, finally accepting that part of me was gone, but that somehow, it would be alright someday, even if not until heaven. I couldn’t keep digging for that part of me. I even found that my favorite color had changed from “golden Gar fur” color to a “new leaf green,” but I couldn’t explain it, and I struggled to accept it for a while until moving to Logan.

Then, something happened when I got off the plane. Something I could not have expected. When I got off the plane, something hit me besides the humidity. It was me. I felt home without any effort. I felt alive just from breathing in and out. I went to Harm's and Gar's graves and you know what? It felt different. It didn't feel like being trapped under the ground or being in a jail, or “missing.” It felt much more like a "waiting together" or "sitting with" or “visiting.” It was liberating!

I went to the high school Homecoming (how appropriate right?!) football game and I felt more like I was home than I ever let myself feel there. I teased the old fogie club who welcomed me in like I never left. Lampley shared his famous Utah Mormon joke he made up my sophomore year, one more time. I sat with Mama Amy and told her everything. I borrowed my dad's bike and went for a ride on my favorite winding narrow roads on a Sunday morning. I nodded at people out in their fields and yards and wondered why they were all smiling so big when they saw me. I checked my own face. I was smiling so big, my eyes were all squinty, that's why they smiled back so genuinely! I was so happy that I laughed out loud down the hills with my hands in the air like wings and the fall wind in my hair, I laughed until I cried. I've not been that happy in years. I heard my own inner voice saying with joy, "I'm Back! I'm Back!" I missed me. At church, my little branch family wrapped me up in hugs and gave us a picture of the branch family all together in a frame and I cried. They said we’d always have a home there. Yep. I always will. It is so strange that letting go allowed me actually to feel closer!

I found that part of myself! I know I lost myself beneath the dirt, but I didn't find myself there! That part of me had simply been swallowed by my anguish and fear of its loss, waiting for me to let it go and realize it was still there. This last trip forced me to find closure and healing that I've been afraid of. Afraid, because closure felt like betrayal. Letting go had meant “not as important.” But when I least expected it, the closure was more an experience of Loyalty, Love, and Reuniting. I was able to step away enough to really see clearly, instead of holding so tight that I lost sight of it. I still have downs and ups of course; that hasn’t changed. I still have times I feel alone and miss Gar and others; that has not changed either. What has changed in me is that, through grace I believe, I have been able to let go of Gar and Tennessee just enough to see them and feel them better. 

          When I was absorbed in them, I could not feel them in my arms. The part of me I thought was missing was right under my nose!

The missing part of me has been freed.

          When driving back to Logan, a song came on my phone and it was just way too perfect. Have you ever heard "The House That Built Me" by Miranda Lambert? That song was pretty much my experience of going home. Go ahead and give it a listen. 

 

It's good to be found!

A Nine One Thousand Giver

Once again, I report my special moments at the storytelling festival. There were some funny ones and some hard ones, all unexpected as many great stories are. I even was able to tell a story to an audience of about 60 people. I told a story I wrote about my experiences with my grandpa who died before I was born. It is a story of learning to process and use perspective when reconciling positive and negative information about people you don't know all that well. It was powerful. I made at least 3 people cry. I guess I'll be a good therapist after all... :)

The best moment, however went like this:

I had been following Carmen Agra Deedy around for most of the day, walking from tent to tent, wherever she was performing. She's a favorite and always has been, but something was extra special this time. I was drawn to her, not only from her stories and skill, but something about her and the way she walked off stage said, "Jill, she's one of your people!"

Several of her stories from the day echoed something her spicy Cuban mother, Ester would always say, "If dju don't ask, dju don't get!" and I began thinking of things I didn't and don't ask for, and don't get, even when I need it very badly. I did a little check in with my heart to see what it needed for the day, so I could make sure it got a chance to ask during this favorite time of the year, the Timpanogos Storytelling Festival.

You see, I often speak of the great divide between my head and my heart, especially in social situations. I have even given my head and heart separate identities, because it feels that way. My heart cry for connection is one that sings poetically to the other hearts around me. And it sings most often through my writing, I mean, read that last sentence, seriously (says the other identity, my analyzing brain).

There are not many, though I am sure that there are more than I think, who hear my heart's voice and feel comfortable with it and even talk back. There are only certain times, places, and people that are safe for my heart's voice. I know this because I have suffered the consequences of choosing the wrong place, time, and/or person to sing to. I have been sorely set aside and acutely misunderstood before from that heart's voice.

But, my heart has also suffered from not having its say. Like Ester always said, "dju don't ask, dju don't get." So, my heart has become quite attuned to finding the right people, places, and times by working with my heart and head together (though it mostly feels like bickering rather than working together at times). Both parts acknowledge the others' importance and try to help each other out most of the time now. It has taken quite the road to get my head and heart to stop trying to kill each other, let alone help each other out. Throughout the story, the silent conversations between my head and heart are demonstrated in red.

So, back to the story, my heart focused on Carmen Deedy. I knew I could connect to her. The Storytelling Festival is a good place for me to find my people. The right timing and places to connect are a little harder to work around at the festival. So, what did my heart want to get? Well it wanted to sit down and chat and talk about lots of different things of the heart and stories of how Carmen has heard her stories have affected others.

My head chimed in, "She doesn't have time for a chat like that with you, though. There are thousands of people who would like that. You can want that, but you can't ask for that. Think of something else more logical with our time constraints that you could ask for."

"Fine. Then I want an 8 second hug from Carmen Agra Deedy. There is enough time for that." my heart replied.

"You weirdo," my head chuckled. "Okay, well, I agree, she might understand a heart request like that, but the thirty people standing around her waiting for their turn to talk to her after her performance may not understand such a request. We don't want them to hear you ask for an eight second hug. So you'll have to be last in line to talk to her. Or maybe, could you just settle on a quick hug and telling her you are grateful for her work?"

"No," said my heart. "eight seconds. Nothing else will say it right. Nothing else will help me hear it right. I know what I need. I need eight seconds. Besides, could you see me saying some silly cliche fan club speech? That would be so sickening to me, I might vomit from the fakeness. If I can't chat, I want eight seconds of a hug."

"Okay, but just in case she doesn't have 8 seconds for a hug, what will you do then?" My head said, planning for all the ways it could go wrong.

"Relax. She is my people. When she hears my heart, she will make eight seconds for a hug if she didn't have them in the first place." My heart felt confident.

So I hid behind a tent pole after she finished her story, and I waited to catch her as the line got shorter to meet her. But, the line never died, there were always a couple people waiting. They just kept popping up as people noticed the line was small to shake her hand or mention a connection to her story or ask her to sign their program. She began to walk away, with a couple people still following behind her. She caught my face, excused herself momentarily from the group waiting to talk to her and came over to me. "Hi," she said, "We need to chat don't we?"

"SHE IS MY PEOPLE!" My heart soared.

"I can't talk with you right now, but did you need something before I go? If you want to talk later, catch me before I leave." Carmen was giving me her full attention, despite needing to go elsewhere with other people.

"I was just going to ask you for an eight second hug." I said.

My head was panicking. "What?! You actually said it. Eight seconds? What does that even mean? Quick, why eight seconds. What is the reasoning there?"

My heart explained the best it could through analogy - the only way they can communicate effectively with each other. "Well, I need eight seconds  because sometimes broken hearts in the process of mending get wrapped up in bandages, and I just feel like eight seconds is the appropriate amount of time it takes to unwrap it so it can be touched and healed a bit more."

My head accepted that picture logically. "Ok. That makes sense, but we cannot tell her that! We don't know her well enough to tell her we've been wounded. Quick! Think of a joke or witty comment about it so that you have something acceptable to say if she asks why eight seconds!"

 "Relax," said my heart. "Look at her. She is my people - She already knows we are wounded!"

"But-" started my head, but it was interrupted.

Without a moments hesitation of flicker of a question, Carmen threw her arms around me. She whispered softly in my right ear, "One one thousand, two one thousand..."

"See!" Said my heart, beaming. "Told you so!"

"...Three one thousand, four one thousand..." 

"Yeah," replied my head, not quite believing it. "but what if eight isn't enough. We always underestimate what you really need from others."

"...Five one thousand, six one thousand..."

"Then she will know. She is my people. Don't you feel it?" my heart reassured my head.

"...Seven one thousand, eight one thousand... Nine one thousand!" Carmen said with excitement.

Tears welled up in my eyes as the last bit of bandage was unwrapped and she touched my heart softly. And it felt really good! She grabbed my face in her hands. We were almost nose to nose looking into each other's eyes. I was shocked. Nine one thousand still echoing in my whole body. "So," I said softly, "Sometimes, I guess, if you don't ask,..."

Carmen finished my sentence with a huge smile as she shook her head with emphasis, "... YOU GET!" She kissed my cheek and said if I needed to talk with her, I could find her.

I was not able to find her later. I would have LOVED that. But I certainly got what I needed most, which was more than I asked for. I guess sometimes Grace lets our heart song mingle with another, and when there is a harmony of grace going on between two people, you needn't ask to get precisely what you really need most - To know that you are worth Nine one thousand to someone when you weren't sure you were even worth eight.

I want to grow up to be a Nine One Thousand Giver. And as I thought this, my mind held hands with my heart. My heart had the power, and my brain took off with it, making plans for all the ways I could be a little better one of my people for someone else. Maybe we were all meant to be THAT kind of people.

I'll Never "Rock" Alone

Two weeks ago I left on a week long backpacking survival in Southern Utah with some new psychologist friends mostly from the BYU CAPS but also a few people from Hawaii and a theological seminary in princeton. I only knew one of the 11 people when I left. Now I have 10 new friends forever. On my trip, I trudged through swamp, river, red rock, desert, and poison ivy. I jumped off a 15 and 30 ft cliff into water hand in hand with one of them. Some very hard and sacred things happened and changed me forever especially at the top of a 40 foot cliff that I did not end up jumping from. The entire trip, each day held something profound and healing fro me. And it was divinely timely. I was in a very rough spot. And I came back home to a tougher spot. So, I don't know what I would have done without that trip. I am so beyond grateful, and also feeling some very complicated feelings.

One of my girls from my treatment center took her life while I was gone. I found out one hour after getting home.

I was alone in my room when I got the message from my supervisor. After making sure she was okay, and the other girls, and asking about the family and other staff, I hung up and I immediately found myself rocking in pain. I love my girls. I was aching for her family and my other girls, her friends, the other staff that were particularly closer to her. I was aching for her with compassion, but also so very angry, and then guilty for the anger and not wanting to understand what don't want to make any sense. I also felt guilty for understanding completely why she did what she did. But not liking that I understand, wishing I didn't, and wishing I was more angry than I was. But not. It's complicated.

Here's the gift part, though. Rocking when I'm in pain used to be a way that I could shut down and wrap up in a safe cocoon and not let anyone in. This time was different. On the last night of my trip, apparently at the time that this girl took her life, our leader led a powerful discussion among us all and then he said that it was tradition that on these trips, two people are chosen to be "rocked" by the group. Two special friends were rightly chosen and I was so honored to hold arms with my other buddies as they fell back onto all of our arms and we rocked them back and forth and sang them a lullaby. After those two, my leader began to close, but stopped and said, "No, wait. There is one more that needs to be rocked this time. Jill." I was overwhelmed with emotion and fell into them and they rocked me back and forth and sang me a lullaby. 

I took the time partly to cry and close my eyes to be enveloped in the feeling of being held. I spent the rest of the time looking into the eyes of each of these incredible divine beings that dared to reach out to me expecting nothing but the opportunity in return.

Rocking back and forth in my room was no longer a lonely way to shut out the world and the pain. Rocking was a way to feel those 11 people around me, holding me still in their hearts. And to know, the strength in their arms all comes the same One who has been holding me the whole time. It reminds me of what Elder Holland said in "The first and great commandment" Once we have an encounter with Christ, we are never meant to be the same again. I will never "rock" alone again.

Since the initial shock and pain, the road has been bumpy, and I have fallen a lot and pushed people away and sought hope and relief from the wrong places. In desperation, I fell into old patterns I've been trying so hard to kick out. But I can just turn around and walk back in the right direction. I did it before. 

 On the topic of healing, I got the incredible opportunity to listen to a fireside by Kathy Clayton, a new friend of mine. She told a story about how she was looking for a home in SLC and needed to find one within a couple days. Her mother's house was available, however, she said that her childhood wasn't sunshine and roses and she was afraid to go back to living in that house because of the skeletons that she feared were lurking in the closets. She prayed long and hard about it and decided that she didn't have to, but that it was right. So she bought her mother's house and they redid some things like the floors and the paint. She went in to that house, unsure of how she would feel or what would come up, and she opened the blinds of the front room. As she did this, the light from the sun flooded the room and flooded inside her and as she stood in the sun, she felt whole. She said she had been living with scars. They didn't hurt anymore and they pretty much healed. But when she stood in that house where she had gotten those scars, the sunlight lifted them. "There were not even any scars at all. I felt completely made whole."



I don't know how to become whole yet. I want it. I got a taste of it in her talk and it filled me and I want it for myself. But I don't know how much I want it. I have scars that have healed and don't necessarily bother me day to day anymore, but they constantly remind me and keep me from doing things I maybe should do. But when I feel like wholeness might be there for the taking, I snatch back my scars and say, "wait, wait, please! not yet," just like I do when jumping into a pool of water or right before I have to have a shot or needle poked into me. "Wait, wait, not yet.  Just let me do it. Don't do it yet." I know it is possible to "jump in" and feel and become whole, but "something" is not yet ready. Will I ever be ready? I don't know what is holding me back from embracing the feeling of being whole. I don't know what I'm afraid to leave behind, or why. Yet. I'm working on it. 

It brings me comfort to know that Kathy did not receive this wholeness until 30 years after the time she got the scars... Maybe I'll be ready someday, and I don't have to jump yet. Like I did not jump from the 40 foot cliff. Or maybe I must give up my timetable and jump when life counts to three, whether I am ready or not, like I did from the 15, and then the 30 foot cliffs. Maybe wholeness will not be an event for me, but line upon line. Or maybe it is all building up. Maybe I'm waiting to feel the hand grab mine before I jump like I did from 30 feet above the water. I just have to wait and do my best in the meantime. 

And in the meantime, sitting in fear at the top of the cliff, I don't have to rock alone.