What My (Almost) Thirties Would Say to My Twenties: Grace, Religion, and Mental Health

    As my thirtieth birthday quickly approaches, here are three things I would say to my younger self.

    "Things are going to be okay. You are loved."

In October 2016, when I was 23, I sat down to take the Optometry Admissions Test. As I got to my exam chair and waited for the computer to finish loading, a sense of pure dread and hopelessness came over me. What had I gotten myself into? I had only been studying for three weeks and had just switched to a pre-med major a year earlier. The only study resource I had was a twenty-dollar, used Kaplan book I’d purchased off the internet. I hadn’t even taken organic chemistry yet, but somehow, I had the audacity to sign up for this extremely difficult, hours-long exam.

I was paralyzed with a fear of failure and shame at being so woefully underprepared. Knowing I couldn’t take the test in this state of mind, I bowed my head in prayer. The following phrase came to my mind.

“Look at how far you’ve come in just one year.”

Immediately, the fear and shame were gone, replaced by feelings of grace and love which I knew came from God. I calmly took the rest of the test and scored just enough to be considered competitive for optometry school.

I know reading about that experience is probably frustrating for some. Most people spend months studying and thousands of dollars to prepare for that exam, and that’s what should be done. If I ever have a child and she wants to pursue a doctorate or a master’s degree, you better believe I’ll be getting her every resource available. I don’t believe God will bail us out of situations we willfully choose not to prepare for. He does not. Trust me, I learned that the hard way once I started optometry school. No, what I was taught in that moment was that God will meet us where we are, all we need to do is trust in him and follow the path he places before us. His Grace is sufficient for all of us. I was a first-gen college student, riddled with anxiety and flying by the seat of my pants, who decided he wanted to become an eye doctor. I had no idea what I was doing, but I was doing the best I could with what I had.  I know God saw me for who I was in that moment and offered me some grace and mercy to help push me along my desired path.

"Speaking of anxiety, please get that treated.”

If the fact that I got such clear communication from God seems strange to you, that’s because it is! When I remember that I think, “Wow, was I really that tapped in with God that I received an answer to prayer like that? What am I doing wrong now, because I never get answers like that anymore?”

While I think part of the answer probably lies in me not being as invested in my spirituality as I could be during optometry school, the biggest reason I no longer get such clear answers to prayer is I no longer need them as much.

I used to get crazy answers to prayers all the time. My journals from that stage of life are filled with similar experiences! I was told where to go to school, where to live, who to date/break up with, even what direction to walk on campus so that I’d have an inspired encounter with someone.

For the longest time I thought this was because of me being faithful, but as I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned the exact opposite was true. I was just so anxious all the time that I wouldn’t make any decisions until God gave me direction. A famous scripture from my religion states:

26 For behold, it is not meet that I should command in all things; for he that is compelled in all things, the same is a slothful and not a wise servant; wherefore he receiveth no reward.

27 Verily I say, men should be anxiously engaged in a good cause, and do many things of their own free will, and bring to pass much righteousness;

28 For the power is in them, wherein they are agents unto themselves. And inasmuch as men do good they shall in nowise lose their reward.

29 But he that doeth not anything until he is commanded, and receiveth a commandment with doubtful heart, and keepeth it with slothfulness, the same is damned. (Doctrine and Covenants 58)

Yep, that was me! The slothful servant. Although, I don’t think I was losing my reward or being damned. God simply understood how severe my untreated anxiety was, and he gracefully provided me with the help I needed to navigate a crucial part of my life. He eventually led me to therapy and medical treatment, which completely changed me.

God still guides my life today, especially with important choices. The difference is I now move with confidence in my decision-making, trusting that God is in the details of what I do, and I don’t need to hear his voice or receive a sign to know I’m doing the right thing . The power and knowledge to do the right thing is already in me and has been all along.

“The Grace of Jesus Christ is the end all, be all.”

Deeply interwoven into the fabric and culture of my religion is the false idea that only our righteous acts can bring about God’s love and mercy, and it wreaks havoc, particularly, on the minds of those with anxiety. I spent so much of my early twenties trying to be good enough, and I wish I could go just back, shake my younger self by the shoulders, and yell “You don’t need to be good enough! Jesus already was. Just be happy, please!”

While there are a few verses in the Book of Mormon that get interpreted (incorrectly, I believe) as us needing to earn God’s grace, the next two scriptures speak eloquently to what our true doctrine is and what our culture should reflect:

17 And it came to pass that as I was thus racked with torment, while I was harrowed up by the memory of my many sins, behold, I remembered also to have heard my father prophesy unto the people concerning the coming of one Jesus Christ, a Son of God, to atone for the sins of the world.

18 Now, as my mind caught hold upon this thought, I cried within my heart: O Jesus, thou Son of God, have mercy on me, who am in the gall of bitterness, and am encircled about by the everlasting chains of death.

19 And now, behold, when I thought this, I could remember my pains no more; yea, I was harrowed up by the memory of my sins no more. (Alma 36)

25 Adam fell that men might be; and men are, that they might have joy.(2^nd Nephi 2)

The minute we cry out to Jesus and turn our minds towards him, His Grace begins to heal our hearts. There’s nothing we need to do to earn that. And we are here to have JOY. That’s it. Younger me would have benefitted so much from truly understanding this.

            I am the happiest I have ever been, and I attribute that greatly to understanding these three principles. I look forward to my thirties and continuing to grow in joy and happiness, and to hopefully sharing that with others along the way.

 Left: Me with my forever companion at (almost) 30 Right: Me with my mission companion at (almost) 20

 

Faithful Deconstruction

“I’m pretty sure it’s because the leaders of the Church were racist.”

I remember saying this during a conversation with other missionaries at the Provo mission training center back in 2012. The discussion had been centered around the LDS Church’s infamous ban on people of African descent holding the priesthood or receiving temple blessings. A few different theories had been discussed up to that point, but my simple explanation was met with blank stares and one missionary nervously sputtering out, “Uhh, I’ve never heard of that before.”

Perhaps it’s because I didn’t grow up in the church, so the idea of perfect, infallible leaders was not continuously drilled into my head; or perhaps it’s because being a person of color in America necessitates a certain level of cognitive dissonance. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking. Whatever it is, I’ve never really had a problem admitting the wrongs of leaders of my Church while also continuing to faithfully believe in the parts I feel to be true. In my mind, two things can be true at the same time.

For example, the early leaders of the Church (cough cough* Brigham Young) could have been extremely racist and implemented racist policies, but they also could have been chosen by God to lead the Church and be otherwise inspired men.

Joseph Smith may have lifted much of the temple ceremony from freemasonry while also being inspired by God to restore sacred covenants to the Earth through that same ceremony.

Leaders of the Church can spew rhetoric and implement policies that harm people in the LGBTQ community, and I can still believe that someday the church will receive further revelation regarding them that will bring healing and peace to all. This last one may be hard for my friends from the LGBTQ community to understand. How can I continue to attend and monetarily support an institution that causes so much harm to people I care about? I struggle with that one myself. All I can say is I believe what I believe for a reason, but at the end of the day I will always choose those I love over the Church. If it’s really God’s plan that gay couples will be excluded from heaven, then I don’t want to be a part of that plan. I don’t believe that is His plan, of course, and I hope and pray that someday the Church and its doctrine will reflect greater inclusion and love for all.

There’s many other examples I could name, but I think you get the point. I don’t believe it’s possible to be honest with oneself or God without acknowledging that the Church and it’s leaders are not always right. I’m sure anyone on the outside of the Church just read that statement and thought, “Well, duh.” For a lot of people on the inside, though, it’s not that simple!

I want to share an experience here that I’ve only ever shared with a few people. It is sacred to me and I would just ask that it be respected, even if you don’t believe it or have a different interpretation than the one I give. I hope that it can help someone.

In January of 2017 I knelt down to pray after reading my scriptures. During the prayer I decided to ask, as I often do, if the Church was true and if I was on the right path in life. An answer came in the form of a voice in my head, as much a feeling as it was words, which said. “Don’t put so much emphasis on the men who lead the Church.”

I was shocked! At the time I thought it meant the Church wasn’t true, but over the years I’ve come to learn that it was a calling for me to live on a higher spiritual plane than I had been. God needed me to be a more independent thinker and seek personal revelation more often in my life. I needed to find out what God wanted my life to look like, and it was okay for it to look different from the “typical” Mormon. On the outside I’m sure it sometimes looks like my beliefs suddenly changed and that I’ve become hostile to the Church (I even had someone bear their testimony to me online recently, which was a weird experience), but in reality that revelation gave me permission, in my own mind, to begin living my life more authentically while still following God’s covenant path.

As I’ve allowed myself to examine and honor my own thoughts more fully, I’ve found I honestly do agree with the Church on many topics. I’ve also discovered my views on other topics have evolved, to the point where l, at least personally, stand completely at odds with the Church. Gay marriage and abortion are a couple examples of this for me. As I’ve examined my deepest personal feelings and weighed real-world experiences with the teachings of the Church, I believe the Church has done more harm than good with its stances on these topics. Even though I believe its wrong in those instances, I still believe the Church has real authority from God and is lead by a modern-day prophet. Both of those things can be true for me.

Me having those beliefs doesn’t mean I’m definitely right or that everyone should believe that way, and I do not try to claim authority over the Church in any way. I’ve come to be at peace with the fact that my beliefs are different than most members. I still attend the temple. I still read my scriptures. I haven’t suddenly turned into a Godless heathen, rather, I now feel the freedom to explore my beliefs and feelings without the fear of punishment from God. I believe what I believe, and I try to be true to that, and I know that God honors that authority within me.

One last story that’s always stuck with me. During the 2012 general conference, President Thomas S. Monson announced a lowering in age for missionary service. It seemed pretty earth-shattering at the time, and I instantly accepted it as God’s will. About a year later, however, a general authority came and visited us in our mission, and he asked us if we had prayed to know that the the age change had come from God. The thought to pray about something that had come directly from the prophet had never occurred to me! After all of us said no, he said something to the effect of, “That is not how this Church works. We are not to blindly follow. We are built on personal revelation.”

Long story short, you might disagree with the Church sometimes, and that’s okay. If no one ever did we might still be living with polygamy and the priesthood ban. You are God’s most powerful creation, and he created each of us differently. He wants us to keep covenants, prayerfully follow the Prophet’s counsel, obey the commandments, AND he honors the diversity of thought and personal authority we each bring to the table. I believe the Church, and the world, will become a better place as more people embrace this part of themselves.

To My White Friends

Dear White Friends,

First, I want to say thank you. Thank you to the people in my life, especially those who are white, who have been brave enough to speak out against racism and injustice over the past year. Seriously, I appreciate you and I understand how much of a sacrifice that has been. Many of you have lost followers, friends, and even business over your activism, but you have stayed strong. Even if all you did was post a black square last June, I appreciate you. I did not personally see the value in participating in the black square posts, but if you did, I saw it and it changed my perspective of you as a person in a positive way. Thank you.

Second, I want you to know that I am exhausted. Watching Ahmaud Arbery get shot in the chest at point blank range with a shot gun and then a few weeks later watching George Floyd lay motionless on the ground was quite a blow to my psyche. I felt helpless and that things would never change, and Black people would never be viewed as equal by much of our population. I had already been writing and speaking out for a few years and it felt like nothing was ever going to be enough to change people’s hearts. I found, however, a lot of hope in America’s response last year. I started writing more, posting more, having tough conversations with friends and family, starting new initiatives at school, and protesting in the streets. I found a lot of new motivation, mostly because a lot of you finally started taking this seriously.
It was a long hard year but a year where a lot of progress happened. Now, as we are getting further into 2021 though, I feel absolutely worn. I try to keep up with Derek Chauvin’s trial, but I almost feel numb to it. As if the emotional wounds have already scabbed over and if I get too invested, I will open everything up all over again. I feel the same towards the shooting this past weekend in Minneapolis and then the video of the young Black army officer in Virginia almost ripped that scab off completely. I am so tired. So tired of these things happening and so tired of fighting with other white people about whether we even have a race problem in this country. I think most Black people who have been heavily involved this past year would tell you the same.

Lastly, I want to invite you to keep fighting. I am not giving up the fight and neither are other Black folk, not by a long shot, but the continued trauma of fighting for people who look like us and our family members to simply not be murdered has begun to take its toll. That is where we need you. Please keep posting, keep fighting, keep calling out injustice when you see it. Do not take mine or your other Black friends’ silence as a sign of complacency or an indication that all is well, rather take it as a sign to do more and to get involved. Take it as an opportunity to give your voice in proxy for those who cannot quite find theirs right now. We need you.

 

Sincerely,

Your (Exhausted) Black Friend

Contemplating Our Blessi-... Whoops, I Think I Mean Privilege

Since our earliest days of dating, Jenny and I have enjoyed house “hunting.” I place hunting in quotations because, lets be real, we’ve been nowhere near affording a house for most of our relationship, and especially not the types of houses we used to tour. Did that stop us from daydreaming about the future? Nope! As undergrads in Tucson we used to get out of church on Sunday and head right up to the Catalina Foothills to scour the nicest neighborhoods for signs and and boxes with arrows directing us to open houses. Still being in dress clothes from church, we found it quite easy to slip into the façade of a well-off attorney and her eye doctor husband searching for their first home. And no, I don’t consider that lying. More of a, uh, dressing for the job you want type of thing. Either way, the realtors usually started off by giving us a suspicious once over, likely noting we were much too young to be who we said, and then hesitantly taking us on a tour of the colossal homes they were attempting to sell. We giggled and awed as we toured showers bigger than our small hybrid, closets bigger than our entire studio apartment, and houses that often looked roughly the same size as the Tucson LDS temple looming in the background. We became so adept at using these personas we’d created while house hunting that we could tour a home worth well over five times the cost of my childhood home, and then casually turn our noses up at it for being ugly. The pinnacle of our house hunting surely came when we found ourselves standing in a home with an asking price north of nine million dollars. We had a lot of fun, and those Sunday afternoons are among the fondest memories I have of our early relationship. We still love “hunting” for houses, but now we drive to slightly more realistic neighborhoods and walk around, discussing and planning a future that isn’t as far away as it once was when we started this tradition in Tucson. Occasionally, when we leave those neighborhoods and return to our small on-campus apartment I find myself pierced with a small twinge of sadness, wishing we were already in that near future we’re always talking about. Those moments pass quickly to be honest, because I love having Jenny as my partner and we really don’t need much to be happy. It’s also easy to recognize how much privilege we have, and that there’s something we possess that many in this world don’t and maybe never will:

Hope for a better financial future.

I’m not talking about hope in the sense of positive thinking or having faith. Anyone could have those things. I’m speaking of the objective reality of poverty lines, generational and otherwise, that are nearly impossible to overcome without outside help. I often think of my time in optometry school as a time of struggle, but when I really think about it there's no struggle at all. We live in a small apartment because we choose to, not out of necessity. Jenny has a good job, we both have college degrees, we have savings, and we both have numerous family members who would be there at a moment’s notice if things really went south. Our times of “struggle” sound laughable when compared to those of families I know from Puebla, Mexico or many of the people struggling right here in the United States to stay afloat. Recognizing that privilege has helped me better understand what the Savior expects of me in regard to His children.

I was reminded of my privilege again yesterday when Jenny and I drove to downtown Phoenix and walked around some neighborhoods there. We passed homeless people both asking for money and sprawled out on the streets, some of them just a block or two away from houses worth half a million dollars or more. I'm sure all of them would love to live through the "struggles" we have right now. It was an interesting sight, one I've seen many times before of course, but I was left much more pensive than usual. I think most people with a Christian background will be familiar with these Bible verses:

34 Then shall the King say unto them on on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world:

35 For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:

36 Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.

37 Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?

38 When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee?

39 Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?

40 And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.

The pure religion taught by Jesus here is hard to misinterpret. When we help those in need, we are really helping Christ. The beauty of this doctrine and what it could and should mean for all of humanity cannot be understated. If we all strived to live as Jesus taught, I’m confident many of life’s most trying challenges could be solved.

I do, however, see a potential point of conflict in these verses for anyone afflicted with a tendency for anxiety and religious scrupulosity, as I often am. Exactly how much am I expected to give? How can I know that I’m doing enough? What if I’m poor? I’ve found the following verses from a Book of Mormon prophet named King Benjamin to be quite helpful:

24 And again, I say unto the poor, ye who have not and yet have sufficient, that ye remain from day to day; I mean all you who deny the beggar, because ye have not; I would that ye say in your hearts that: I give not because I have not, but if I had I would give.

25 And now, if ye say this in your hearts ye remain guiltless, otherwise ye are condemned; and your condemnation is just for ye covet that which ye have not received.

26 And now, for the sake of these things which I have spoken unto you—that is, for the sake of retaining a remission of your sins from day to day, that ye may walk guiltless before God—I would that ye should impart of your substance to the poor, every man according to that which he hath, such as feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, visiting the sick and administering to their relief, both spiritually and temporally, according to their wants.

27 And see that all these things are done in wisdom and order; for it is not requisite that a man should run faster than he has strength. And again, it is expedient that he should be diligent, that thereby he might win the prize; therefore, all things must be done in order.

Basically, if you don’t have enough to give, don’t give. There’s no sin in that, as long in your hearts you remain charitable. Additionally, if you do have enough to give you should do it in order and wisdom. You don’t need to give away all your money and it’s okay to buy yourself and your family nice things! At least that’s how I interpret it. I also believe it’s important to help people get on their feet in more ways than just financial assistance, and that helping teach self-reliance principles can be just as life-saving as any other substance we can impart.

A word of caution is important at this point. Growing up in a fairly conservative area and spending the last ten years in a conservative church culture, I’ve occasionally seen judgement and cruelty justified in the name of "wisdom and order." I think on some levels it goes against our human nature to give up what we feel we’ve rightfully earned, otherwise Jesus wouldn’t have needed to teach this principle so much, but we could all do better in this area. We’ve all heard, and perhaps even uttered ourselves, comments like “they’ve brought this upon themselves, I have no sympathy for them” or the less forward but equally judgmental “I would never ask for help from the church or the government.” To those who feel that way about beggars and charity, King Benjamin had this to say:

17 Perhaps thou shalt say: The man has brought upon himself his misery; therefore I will stay my hand, and will not give unto him of my food, nor impart unto him of my substance that he may not suffer, for his punishments are just—

18 But I say unto you, O man, whosoever doeth this the same hath great cause to repent; and except he repenteth of that which he hath done he perisheth forever, and hath no interest in the kingdom of God.

19 For behold, are we not all beggars? Do we not all depend upon the same Being, even God, for all the substance which we have, for both food and raiment, and for gold, and for silver, and for all the riches which we have of every kind?

Any judgement of how or why someone has gotten themselves into a certain predicament should be left to God. He has only commanded us to help where we can. We would also do well to remember that while the old ‘Give a man a fish’ proverb holds some wisdom, it isn’t an actual teaching from Jesus or any scripture at all for that matter. Jesus simply taught us to love our neighbors as we love ourselves, and we could all do a little better at that.

Jenny and I will continue to go on our leisurely strolls through nice neighborhoods for the near future and and someday we'll finally move into one of those neighborhoods (probably not the nine million dollar neighborhood, of course). I hope I can do so, however, while always remembering the privilege and fortune that got me there, and also doing my best to lift up those who haven't been as fortunate as me.

Kobe Bryant: Death and Tragedy Can't Win

Each day we hear or read any number of declarative statements, and most of them are easy enough to accept or at least ignore. However, there are some pieces of information that our brains immediately reject as falsehoods, as imposters:


“2 + 2 = 5.”


Lies that are so atrocious, and so painfully inaccurate that the idea that someone would even repeat them fills us to our core with indignity and unbelief:


“The Earth is flat.”


Some things simply are not true. They can’t be true! If they were reality as we know it would be shattered:


“Kobe Bryant died.”


There’s no w- wait, what? That one is true?


“Kobe Bryant dead at 41.”


Indignity.


“Helicopter crash kills 9.”


Unbelief.


“Kobe is gone.”


Reality shattered.




I don’t have a whole lot to say, except that I’ve felt pain and sadness on a level that I didn’t know I could for someone I’ve never actually met. Kobe Bryant has been the most influential public figure in my young life. I want to cry every time I see a picture or video of him, especially those where he is smiling or talking about his future plans and his family. I feel a void in my life that I’m sure won’t be filled by anyone quite like Kobe ever again.


Mamba’s passing should serve as a reminder to all of us that tragedy can strike anytime and death is no respecter of persons. Kobe Bryant was the most invincible human being I can envision, and now he’s gone. We should hug our loved ones close everyday and live our lives to the fullest. We should follow our dreams and do the things that scare us, because we never know how long we have left to seize those opportunities. Kobe left us a legacy, and all of us can find inspiration in him to be better and do better at the things we love.




In parting, life is fragile, and terrible things can and do happen all the time. The good news is, even though hard to remember when we’re hurting, is that God sent His only begotten Son to make things right. We will all live again with perfect, resurrected bodies free of pain and suffering. Even on the worst days imaginable, hope and happiness lie ahead because of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Death and tragedy will never win.

Tender Mercies: Dealing With the Loss of a Loved One

September 25^th, 2012:

“The setting apart was very peaceful. I said good-bye to my great-grandparents for maybe the last time. I hope not, but they’re getting old. That was hard.”

(My great-grandpa and me)

These somber words from my journal were written the night before I left to serve a two-year mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I would guess a majority of the population has barely known their great-grandparents, if at all, but I was fortunate to coexist with mine all the way into my early adult years. My early memories are filled with my grandma cooking breakfast for me as I watched the early morning news with my grandpa before they took to me to school. I used to call my grandma the “grape” grandma because she always gave me grapes and well, I didn’t quite understand the concept of what a great-grandparent was. I vividly recall receiving a stern lecture from my grandpa after throwing a baseball through my mom’s window. Even now, I can feel his penetrating expression burn an everlasting hole in my conscience. It wasn’t anger, but it was genuine concern and worry for what was to become of the 12-year old boy sitting in front of him. My stepdad had just left, and my mom was struggling to figure out how to raise my sister and me on her own. My grandparents knew someone had to intervene and help us, and that’s exactly what they did. Along with many others, they essentially helped raise us. Years later when I was baptized and decided to serve a mission, my grandpa served as my escort through the Mesa temple for the first time. Even though his health was failing, he refused to take the elevator. He walked all the way up the grand staircase, right next to me, out of breath the whole way. That’s just who he was, and my grandma was much the same. Albeit blatantly stubborn sometimes, they taught pure and virtuous principles, which they backed up with the lives of integrity they lived. Their example and memory influence my life in meaningful ways to this day, as I’m sure they do for all of their four children, eighteen grandchildren, and fifty-two great-grandchildren. That night before I left, the possibility that I’d never see them again was a daunting reality I felt I’d soon be facing.

Once I was on my mission though, I didn’t think too much about not seeing them again. With every month that passed it became less and less likely that one of them would pass away while I was gone. By the beginning of 2014, a year and a half into my two year mission, I had chalked that journal entry up to me just being dramatic (which is a far more common happening than I care to admit). It was only reasonable to believe I’d be home in the fall and everything was going to be just fine. Unfortunately, things didn’t turn out exactly how I thought. They rarely do.  In early March I received word that my great grandpa was very ill. Although the doctor gave him a month or two more to live, he passed away on March 19^th, 2014, just six months before I came home. It was so much harder than I had anticipated and I know my head was bursting with emotions at the time, but for whatever reason my journal entries are scarce during this time period. I only wrote about it once on March 5^th, 2014:

”…on Monday I got some bad news. My great-grandpa is doing really bad right now. They’ve only given [him] 6-8 weeks to live. It’s weird. It obviously hasn’t been totally unexpected, he’s been sick for a long time. But I’m having kind of a rough time. Really having to try and dig deep on my testimonies of the Atonement and the Resurrection. I love him a lot, and he’s been such an amazing example my whole life. I will of course miss him, and it hurts that I may not get to see him again in this life. But that’s where the gospel comes in 😊”

Losing a loved one is so hard, even when it is at least somewhat expected due to their age or health. It’s unfathomable to me that people can lose those closest to them in tragic and unexpected ways. It feels impossible, yet it happens all the time. When tragedy occurs, it is difficult for me to say that it was “part of God’s plan” or that “God works in mysterious ways.” I believe those statements for the most part, but it never feels good enough to me. It can’t be that simple, and it sure doesn’t help those left behind feel any better. No, the grief and pain will most assuredly come, no matter what we believe in. We are on this earth for a reason, and a part of that reason is to learn from the trials and setbacks that are common in mortality. Life is meant to be hard sometimes, and God will not spare us from that pain because he knows what we can become if we endure our hardships faithfully. Usually there isn’t a clear-cut answer or reason that can be given to explain things, and that is extremely frustrating.

Knowing that God lets us suffer, it can be easy to feel that God is impersonal, ambivalent, or doesn’t even exist at all. I know I’ve felt that way before, but at the end of the day I know that God exists and that he loves us. I know that he has given us an amazing opportunity in mortality to learn and grow from our experiences, even from the ones that hurt us the most. He knew from the beginning that we would pass through hardships, and he knew that some of them would push us to our breaking points. He knew all of this, but he never intended for our pain and suffering to be permanent. From the beginning he set in motion a plan that would place his Son in between us and death. Because of Jesus Christ, all of us can hope to live with and cherish our loved ones again someday. He died and rose again in order to give every person that has ever lived the power to come forth in resurrection, never to experience physical death. Likewise, he took upon himself the sins of us all to give unto us the power of redemption, or the chance to be completely clean and free of guilt before him one day. The Atonement and the Resurrection of Jesus Christ give us hope for the future. I know that he lives and that he has power to make right everything that is wrong in our lives. I know that every injustice or painful experience we confront in our lives will be laid at his feet in a coming day. I know that we will be freed from the thorns of our flesh, and that because of Jesus Christ we may hope for a better world.

I also know that God is deeply personal, as is Jesus Christ, and that they know each of us individually. Knowing about the Atonement and Resurrection is essential to having faith, but when tragedy actually strikes, the fulfillment of their promised blessings can seem too distant in the future to provide any true solace. Heavenly Father and His Son know this, and I know they will provide us with small blessings to help carry us through our hard times right here and right now. We don’t have to wait until we get to heaven to feel the power of heaven in our lives. If we’ll look for it, we can find the evidence of God’s love and comfort all around us. He will always give us something to hold on to, something to remind us that we’re not alone. The Lord’s prophets have frequently referred to these small blessings as “tender mercies.” I witnessed a tender mercy when my grandpa passed away, and I hope that by sharing it I can help others to recognize similar tender mercies in their lives.

God’s help for me in my time of need began about two months before my grandpa died, on January 24^th, 2014. My companion Elder Melaerts and I were attempting to visit a referral we had in a small town a few miles outside of the city we were serving in. Neither of us had ever been to the town, so we were pretty excited to have an experience different from the norm and hopefully gain some new investigators. When we arrived, however, the woman we were looking for wasn’t available, so like any good set of missionaries we asked if there was anyone else who would be interested in our message. We were informed that a woman down the street had just been diagnosed with cancer and her family was having a hard time with it. Upon visiting the family, however, we learned fairly quickly that the term “just been diagnosed” was used rather liberally. The reality is I had never seen someone that close to death. We walked into a room full of people crying and in obvious pain, everyone of which looked at us with eyes that longed for some form of comfort. As we came further into the room, we saw a severely emaciated woman lying on the bed, with her head shaven and the most impossibly empty expression gliding across her face. The family quickly ushered us in and allowed us to give her a blessing. I was terrified when we went to place our hands on her head, but once my companion started to pronounce the blessing we felt peace come over us. He didn’t bless her that she would live, I distinctly remember that, but the words he spoke emanated hope. We knew whatever blessings he felt impressed to impart would most likely be fulfilled in the next life. After the blessing concluded, we shared a very short message about Jesus Christ, and the woman who was sick strained herself to softly whisper “thank you.” Her attempt to speak was as powerful and inspiring as it was painful and heartbreaking. The family thanked us also and we let ourselves out, leaving them in peace. The woman passed away the next day on January 25th.

(Elder Melaerts and me the day after)

I don’t think that either of us were really the same after that night. It had put everything we did in a different perspective, and the purpose behind our work felt much deeper and much more important than it had before. Unfortunately, that wasn’t our last experience with death together. In the next month I was confronted with more death than ever before in my life. Just a couple days later we met and taught a woman who had been diagnosed with what was most likely a terminal brain tumor. Also that week, I found out that one of our best friends in the ward also had a terminal illness, and then just a little bit later another member of the ward actually did pass away. We ended up being a part of the funeral for the latter and the sister missionaries even had to help dress the body. It was rather bizarre! We even came home one day and one of the dogs that hung out in front of the house was dead in the driveway. It really felt like we just couldn’t get away from death.

Running into so many encounters with the end of life must have had me thinking about what happens after death. I know it must have been heavily on my mind, because on February 28^th I thought more deeply about what we call the “plan of salvation” than I ever had before. On that particular morning we were riding a bus to the city of Puebla at five o’clock in the morning. It was too dark outside to see anything so I couldn’t read, and it was too early in the morning for the bus driver to put a movie on. I was literally left to my own thoughts. During this time of peace and quiet, I decided I would ponder and recite the entire plan of salvation in my head. Something very special happened that morning because in my mind I saw and felt God’s plan for us so strongly that I could not deny it. In my thoughts I journeyed through our premortal existence, the creation of the Earth, the fall of Adam and Eve, the Atonement of Jesus Christ, death, the spirit world, the resurrection, the final judgement, and the kingdoms of glory. It felt amazing, and my thought process and feelings towards the plan of salvation completely changed after that bus ride. It wasn’t just one of the lessons we taught anymore. It was real, and it was the most important reason I wanted to teach others about Jesus Christ.

(The second half of a plan of salvation drawing I used on my mission)

Later that day, our mission president sat us down in front of a painting in his living room in Puebla. He reminded us who we were and where we had come from, or rather that we are Heavenly Father’s children and we had come to Earth at this time as an important part of his plan. He quoted section 138 of the Doctrine and Covenants and bore testimony that we were spiritually much more than we could see right then. His words had a deep effect on me and I felt even stronger about the plan of salvation than I had that morning. So much so that when I returned home later that weekend I decided to dedicate my scripture study to section 138, the same one President Reeves had shared with us. Section 138 is a revelation received in 1918 by President Joseph F. Smith, the sixth president of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and it deals extensively with what happens to our spirits after we die. I read the section, and I also studied the footnotes at the bottom of the pages as I read. One of the footnotes took me to Ezekiel chapter 37, a chapter I had never read before:

“1 The ^ahand of the Lord was upon me, and ^bcarried me out in the ^cspirit of the Lord, and set me down in the midst of the valley which was full of bones,

2 And caused me to pass by them round about: and, behold, there were very many in the open valley; and, lo, they were very dry.

3 And he said unto me, Son of man, can these bones ^alive? And I answered, O Lord God, thou knowest.

4 Again he said unto me, Prophesy upon these bones, and say unto them, O ye dry bones, hear the word of the Lord.

5 Thus saith the Lord God unto these bones; Behold, I will cause ^abreath to enter into you, and ye shall live:

6 And I will lay sinews upon you, and will bring up flesh upon you, and cover you with skin, and put breath in you, and ye shall live; and ye shall know that I am the Lord.

7 So I prophesied as I was commanded: and as I prophesied, there was a noise, and behold a shaking, and the bones came together, ^abone to his bone.

8 And when I beheld, lo, the sinews and the flesh came up upon them, and the skin covered them above: but there was no breath in them.

9 Then said he unto me, Prophesy unto the ^awind, prophesy, son of man, and say to the wind, Thus saith the Lord God; Come from the four ^bwinds, O breath, and breathe upon these slain, that they may live.

10 So I prophesied as he commanded me, and the ^abreath came into them, and they lived, and stood up upon their feet, an exceeding great army.

11 ¶ Then he said unto me, Son of man, these bones are the whole house of Israel: behold, they say, Our bones are dried, and our hope is ^alost: we are cut off for our parts.

12 Therefore prophesy and say unto them, Thus saith the Lord God; Behold, O my people, I will open your ^agraves, and cause you to ^bcome up out of your graves, and ^cbring you into the ^dland of Israel.

13 And ye shall know that I am the Lord, when I have opened your graves, O my people, and brought you up out of your graves,

14 And shall put my ^aspirit in you, and ye shall live, and I shall place you in your own land: then shall ye know that I the Lord have spoken it, and performed it, saith the Lord.”

-Ezekiel 37:1-14

Jesus Christ gives all of us the power to live again. These verses struck me with power and authority, and I knew that the resurrection was real and that I could take comfort in that thought. According to my study journal, I found these verses on March 2^nd, 2014. On March 3^rd my mom emailed me and informed me that my great grandpa was sick. I was able to skype him and call him twice before he passed away, which helped, but losing him tore a piece out of me that’s never been replaced. My emotions are still so raw when I think about it, but because of my experiences with scriptures in the days leading up to it all, I know that I will see him again. I know that he will have a perfect body free of pain or illness and that, as Joseph Smith taught, we will enjoy the same sociality that we enjoyed here, only it will be infinitely more glorious and happy.

There are some things that I only believe and others that I know. I know that the resurrection is real. I know that because the Holy Ghost guided me through my experiences, my thoughts, and the scriptures to be ready for my Grandpa’s passing. It was a tender mercy from the Lord, and I will forever be grateful for it. Even after I found out about my grandpa the Spirit continued to bless me with knowledge of God’s plan of salvation. I’ll end with an excerpt from an email I sent on March 17^th, 2014, two days before my grandpa passed away:

“This week, my studies brought me to Ezekiel chapter 37. In this chapter the prophet Ezekiel is shown a vision concerning the resurrection of the dead. Ezekiel sees a valley full of dry bones, and the Lord asks him if the bones will live again. Ezekiel says yes and the Lord tells him to prophesy to the bones. As he does the bones come together, and it says that all the sinews and flesh returned to the bones. Finally the lord "breathes" life into the bodies so that may live again. Later in the book of Mormon Alma chapter 40 through 42, the prophet Alma testifies of and explains the resurrection even more. Later, in 1 Corinthians 15, the apostle Paul goes into great detail about the resurrection and how it will be. Many many years later, the prophet Joseph smith increased our understanding of the resurrection even more through the temples and ordinances performed there.

The prophets and apostles of old saw our day and rejoiced. We live in blessed times, when the priesthood and temple ordinances that our performed through it are in full effect here on the earth. The sacred ordinances performed in the temples are divine, and truly seal us as family members forever. When one has been sealed in the temple to their family, and they have been true to their covenants, death is sweet. They can rest assured that the very same priesthood power that created the universe and everything in it, will be binding them to their loved ones throughout all eternity.

I know that's true. I know you can know too. prayerfully read and study the scriptures I have shared today, then pray and ask God if these things are true. The spirit will testify to you with power through feelings of peace, surety, and warmth. I promise.

I love you all and hope you have a great week.

Love,

Elder Wilson”

(My great-grandma and great-grandpa)

In December 2017 we also lost my great-grandma. I know that they were reunited in love and glory, and I can't wait to see them again. I know that Jesus Christ is the savior of the world. I know that the temples of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints represent heaven on Earth and we can be close to our loved ones when we participate in the ordinances there. Because of Christ’s authority given to us through the Atonement that is used in the temples, we can live with our families forever, and any pain we feel here will not be permanent. 

May we all find peace and joy through Jesus Christ this holiday season. If you are struggling with the loss of a loved one, please know that God loves you and you don't need to belong to any church or be perfect to feel that love. If you turn to him, I promise that Heavenly Father will provide his tender mercies to help you through the pain. With Him, all things are possible. You can and will overcome your grief with Jesus Christ by your side.

Merry Christmas!

 

(The Mesa, Arizona temple at Christmas time)

Jocelyn's Miracle

Woken by the relentless hum of cicadas in the nearby palo verde, Jocelyn forced herself to open her eyes. Her head throbbed as if her heart had somehow relocated itself inside her skull, and she almost passed back out as the nauseating stench of hydrochloric acid entered her nasal passages.

She was lying in a pool of her own vomit.

She managed to pull herself up enough to escape the vile substance but collapsed in a messy heap just a yard or so away. She tentatively reached her hand up to touch the crown of her head, which seemed to be the source of the heart-like pounding. With a sickening squish she pressed her middle and index finger into the mangled mess of blood, brown hair, and scalp.

She had split her head wide open.

Surveying the area directly in front of her, she tried to make sense of what had happened. She recognized where she was almost immediately; she was in the drainage ditch between her neighborhood and the US 60 highway. It was her favorite spot to come and skateboard.

I must have hit my head skating! Jocelyn thought. Painfully she twisted her head around, and sure enough, she saw her Plan B skateboard lying about twenty feet away from her.

Ugh, she thought, you’ve done it this time Jo. Mom is going to kill you.

Her mom’s blonde hair and blue eyes flashed into her mind, anger and disappointment evident in her expression. When Jocelyn’s mother saw what had happened she would most assuredly yell something along the lines of, “Look what you’ve done! Do you know how much these medical bills are going to cost me? This wouldn’t have happened if you just came to church with us on Sundays!”

Lately Jocelyn’s mother had woven religion into every conversation they had, and she was getting sick of it. Jo loved church as a kid, but since the divorce three years ago everything had changed. A place that had once been a place of refuge and comfort had become nothing more than a glorified prison every Sunday. Sermons that were meant to encourage and uplift only reminded Jocelyn of how much her own family fell short.

She definitely didn’t want to deal with her mother right now, but even more she didn’t want to sit in the heat until she either cooked to death or bled out, so she forced herself to her feet. She would walk right up to her mother and tell her what happened, no mat-

Crack!

Jocelyn screamed in pain as she felt her leg snap, and the jagged remains of her fibula tear through her flesh. Her leg was horribly broken, and for the first time during the ordeal Jocelyn felt fearful. She was alone, her head was bleeding profusely, and it was more than 115 degrees outside. Without any water or medical attention, it was a very real possibility that she wouldn’t last more than an hour or two before she passed out again. Just this morning she had seen on the news that a hiker had died from heat exhaustion on Camelback mountain. She did not want that to be her.

Jocelyn kicked herself as she contemplated her predicament. Why didn’t you bring your phone? What are you going to do?

She tried to yell for help, but was too far for anybody to hear her, especially with the deafening sound of freeway traffic coming from just behind her. Darkness enveloped her mind in fear, and Jocelyn felt totally alone.

At the peak of this abysmal darkness, a strange memory flooded Jocelyn’s thoughts. It was a story she had been told as a young girl at church. The story spoke of a young man stranded in the desert. After hours of being stuck in the middle of nowhere, an old man had appeared seemingly out of nowhere and taken him to safety at the nearest hospital. When the young man turned to thank his rescuer, however, no one was there. In fact, no one in the hospital had even seen anybody enter with the young man. It had been an angel or something like that, a complete miracle.

Gee, I could sure use a miracle like that right now, Jo thought to herself.

She quietly bowed her head to pray, “Dear Heavenly Father,” she was surprised at how easily the words came to her, she hadn’t prayed in years. “I know I probably don’t deserve this right now, but I’m hurtin’ pretty bad. Can you please send me an angel? I promise I’ll be better. Maybe I’ll even come back to church.”

A very strong maybe, she thought.

Even though pain still seared through her shattered leg and her bloodied scalp, peace rolled over Jocelyn. It was the same type of peace she had felt as a child when she sang at church. It was a peace she knew came from God, and she believed deep in heart that she would be okay that day. She smiled, closed her eyes, and waited for her angel to arrive.

She didn’t know what time it was when she woke up, but judging by the position of the sun she knew the day was drawing to a close. Her head had stopped pounding, but her leg hurt worse than it had when she’d fallen asleep. She could taste blood in the back of her mouth, and her lips had started to crack from the lack of moisture. She needed water, and she needed it fast.

Are you kidding me? She thought miserably, Some miracle, I’ve been laying here for hours. I guess I’ll have to be my own angel today.

Slightly frustrated at God for not sending an angel, but more frustrated at herself for believing such nonsense, Jocelyn agonizingly pulled herself into a sitting position. She would have to crawl her way out of the drainage ditch. It was a seemingly easy task, but with the impairment of her injuries, she may as well have been climbing Mt. Everest.

She had no choice.

Using only her arm strength, Jocelyn painstakingly hauled herself onto her stomach and began the slow climb up the steep incline. Putting both arms high above her head, she dragged the rest of her body up the pavement. Even though her limp left leg was nothing more than dead weight, Jocelyn was making progress. After about ten minutes she had made her way up about three fourths of the embankment. In just a few minutes she would be at the top, and she would able to crawl herself to the safety of her neighborhood from there.

“You see that God?” She yelled with a sense of pride. “I don’t even need your stupid miracle!”

Drip.

Jocelyn felt the drop of rain run down her cheek, the unexpected moisture bringing refreshment to her parched skin. She looked up and saw that dark black storm clouds were moving in from the east. She wasn’t surprised, all Arizonans were familiar with the mid-summer monsoons that showered the valley most evenings for two to three weeks every year. No, it wasn’t a surprise, but the timing of this particular storm couldn’t have been worse.

A few minutes later when the storm hit in full force, Jocelyn couldn’t tell which was louder; the booming sound of lighting cracking in the distance, or the thunderous patter of rain as came down in sheets all around. Her face stung with pain as powerful gusts of wind turned raindrops into pricking needles against her skin.

Now you’ve done it. You should’ve just kept your mouth shut.

She clumsily reached out to pull herself up, but a rogue gust of wind caught her under the arm and knocked her slightly off balance. Slapping her hand against the pavement, Jocelyn attempted to find her grip, but the water-slicked incline yielded no such mercy. Her face twisted itself in horror as she slid swiftly down the embankment, hitting the ground with a thud.

Lying on her side at the bottom of the drainage ditch, Jocelyn watched as the water around rose slowly. The water was coming down so heavily the ditch was beginning to flood. Jocelyn couldn’t believe that after everything she had been through that day, she was going to drown in a stupid ditch not even half a mile away from her house. She couldn’t believe that God hadn’t sent her a miracle. She had felt so sure. She had felt so much peace. Was he really just going to let her die, broken and alone at the bottom of that ditch?

At that moment Jocelyn remembered another church lesson from her youth, only this one had been read to her from the Bible. It was a story about a man named Job or something strange like that. Job had lost everything meaningful in his life, including his children, his money, and even his hair. Job had no reason to thank God, and he definitely didn’t see any miracles like the one the man stranded in the desert had seen, yet at the end of the story he still praised God.

As much as this sucks, she thought, its still not as bad as Job’s situation. I still have my family who loves me. At least, I did…

For the first time in many years, Jocelyn began to cry. Tears flowed freely down her face as she remembered the awful way she had treated her mother. When Jocelyn’s dad had left with another woman, she had blamed her mother. Jo resented her mom for everything that had happened, and she made she sure to let her know with every possible opportunity.

“I’m sorry.” She whimpered, her tears now almost instantly mixing with the rising rain water.

Jocelyn remembered the times her mother had screamed at her, was emotionally distant, or shamed her for not going to church as often as she’d like. She no longer saw the angry, raging tyrant she had made her mom out to be in recent years. She saw instead a woman doing her best to raise decent children, while simultaneously dealing with incredible heartbreak. She saw a woman who should have been able to look to her eldest daughter as a source of comfort that was instead emotionally berated every time she tried to reach out.

“Mom, I’m sorry!” She screamed, nearly loud enough to rival the sound of pounding rain and crackling thunder.

Struggling to keep her head above water, one last image was impressed upon her mind. It was a picture that her mom set near the Christmas tree every December, one that Jocelyn had never paid much attention to. Now however, the picture had such an impact on her mind that she could not think of anything else. It was a baby. Jocelyn knew this baby was important for some reason, but she couldn’t remember why exactly. As the she stared at the baby, lying in the manger, the baby seemed to stare back at her. His eyes were penetrating, and they conveyed a message more powerful than could have been spoken by the most eloquent adult. She knew that everything was okay, whether or not she made it out of that ditch alive. Life was hard sometimes, and people made lots of mistakes, but those mistakes didn’t define them. Somehow, this little child would take care of all the unfairness life could dish out. Somehow, he would make it all alright in the end.

“I love you mom. I really do.” Jocelyn closed her eyes and let herself fall limp in the water.

She was barely coherent when the rescue team pulled her out of the ditch. Passing in and out of consciousness, Jo saw fragments of the world around her. It all happened so fast. She was taken in an ambulance to a nearby hospital. She could hear bits and pieces of the conversation around her, and it sounded like she was going to be okay. A doctor came in to tell her she was lucky to be alive. Apparently, a young family near the ditch had been taking pictures of the storm from their backyard when they saw Jocelyn crawl out of the ditch and fall back in when the rain started.

Huh, that is pretty lucky I guess, she thought, not exactly the miracle I was looking for God, but I’ll take it.

She smiled softly and leaned her head back against the pillow. She opened them a few minutes later when the hospital door room burst open, and her mom came rushing in. Jocelyn braced herself for the inevitable lecture but was surprised when her mom just hugged her. Neither one said a word for a long time. They just held each other.

Jocelyn’s physical healing would take months, but the more important healing between mother and daughter had already begun. She couldn’t help but picture the manger-bound child, his penetrating eyes seeming to speak to her once more.

Everything was going to be okay.