There are three causes for suffering. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
The first is that it's your fault. You did something wrong, and now you're paying the consequences for your own stubbornness, stupidity, or what-have-you. This kind of suffering ideally gives us wisdom to avoid it again.
The second is that it's someone else's fault. Someone else exercised their right to choose in a way that has led to your suffering. This kind of suffering is often an opportunity to exercise compassion and empathy - to see why that person made the decision they did, to help them learn from it, to exercise patience with them as they learn, or in any one of a number of things.
The third is the one most overlooked. The third cause for suffering is that life and this world are imperfect. Every day, in more ways than we can imagine, things go wrong with life. Cells divide improperly. They attack things they shouldn't, and ignore things they should. Bacteria, mold, fungi, and a host of other things - animate and inanimate - are poisonous to us. Lightning strikes at just the wrong moment. Fires get out of control. It rains at the wrong time, or not at all. Tornadoes take homes and lives. Crops fail. The earth shakes. The list goes on.
No one is to blame for these things. Nobody can be blamed for them. They're just sheer, dumb luck. Somewhere along the line, everything went perfectly wrong, and in a terrible turn of events, you happened to be right there when whatever shouldn't have happened in an ideal world went right ahead and happened to happen to unlucky you.
It's this third category I've been thinking most about, and for a very simple reason: I hurt. A lot. All over. And some days I can't really walk. The cause? Autoimmune disease, which I was recently diagnosed with. And to add insult to injury, the current treatment has only made my already-existing depression worse.
So in this moment's scenario, "unlucky you" happens to be me, and in addition to already feeling physically bad, I feel emotionally bad for no good reason. Whine, whine, whine.
With all this in mind, I've come to a conclusion that is not nearly as pessimistic as it sounds: the quicker you understand that life isn't fair, the quicker you'll be happy.
I am not saying to be content with the way things are, never challenge yourself or the status quo, or to simply give up. Bear with me.
At a very basic level, fairness means two things: every mistake has a price that must be paid, and every interaction is mutually beneficial (a.k.a. everyone gets what they want). More on this later.
In a fair world, when it comes to suffering, if you've done something wrong, you deserve it. That's the price you pay for your mistake. If you happen to not suffer for your mistake, either it simply hasn't arrived yet, or someone else is doing it for you because you passed the buck. But if life is truly fair, you can't just pass the pain along to anyone, because that's obviously not fair.
In a fair world, if you're suffering for someone else's mistakes, it's because you willingly choose to do so, either in their place or to take a part of their suffering. There's nothing fair about multiple people paying the same price for a single thing. Either the cost is divided or it's not; price doesn't get multiplied as it's divided.
In a fair world, there is no imperfection, because even though on a grand scale tragedy technically is just as blind as justice, it isn't in response to any mistake, and it isn't mutually beneficial. The very nature of the word arbitrary requires that the arbiter be executing a judgement call of some sort, and since judgement entails guilt and innocence, and hence punishment, we find ourselves looking at cause one, and here we're just begging the question. Even in the case where someone truly believes they deserve to suffer, they must be carrying someone else's load, because there's nowhere else it could come from - in a fair world, any and all suffering is human-caused and willingly shared.
So no, life isn't fair.
That is, until God steps in and offers to make it fair.
The first thing to understand is that God will only step in if we are willing participants. It's only fair.
The next thing to understand is that somewhere out there, if you believe God, He has a son who said, in essence, "I'm willing to take all the suffering anyone has - ever," and for a whole host of reasons that I'm not going into right now, God made it so that son could do just that, and in English, we call that act the 'Atonement' - the at-one-ment of humanity and deity.
This Atonement doesn't just cover 'sin' - the breaking of some cosmic law - but also pain, sickness, sadness, death and a whole host of other things.
Not just the sorrow we feel at the death of another, but death itself - death is inevitable for each of us, but every bit as arbitrary as other forms of suffering. It has no purpose; it simply is, and it usually happens to us very much unwillingly. And so, death must go.
Not just the pain of enduring our own just punishment, but the pain of enduring an unjust one. The pain of a broken bone; a broken heart; a broken mind. A broken life. The offer is to take it.
The pain of watching a loved one sink into addiction. The pain of being falsely accused. Of betrayal. Of a hundred thousand million other things. The offer stands.
Somehow, the Atonement offers the promise of making it all right. What is lost will be found. What is dead will rise. What was broken will be made whole.
I don't claim to even begin to understand how it's all supposed to work. At times it makes no sense, or not work at all. And especially during times of suffering, it's easy to feel that relief can't, or won't, come. And so God asks us to be patient with Him.
I can't claim to have an answer to when, either. Relief isn't always immediate. And yet God asks us to trust Him.
Trust doesn't come easy to me, for a number of reasons. But trust is a choice, and trust is one of the most important elements of faith. Faith doesn't simply "happen" to us. We choose it. Without that conscious choice on our part, it can't be fair, because we can't be a willing participant. Either we're passively participating, or we're outright unwilling.
Sometimes, even when we choose to believe, the pain still doesn't go away when we want it to. Often, these moments are to show us what we're really capable of or teach us how to bear the burdens of another. While paradoxical, it's important to remember that this is called an Atonement - the implied subtext being that we in some small way come to be part of God, God's work, and who God is - in short, to make us like Him. If His work involves the bearing of our burdens, it makes no sense to expect to not bear burdens by joining in that work.
Pain will be a part of the journey, but it will pass. Life isn't fair, but God is. Suffering will still come, but relief will come as well. Things will make sense, and all will be made right - somehow, somewhere, someday.
And so I sit here, tired, exhausted, and still very much in pain, but with some semblance of an answer to questions I didn't even realize I had three hours ago when I started writing this.
And if you're reading this, choose to believe. Press on. If you are struggling along your journey, remember your choice to believe, and choose it again. This struggle will end. If you are lost, choose to believe. You are not alone; you have a guide. As you pass through the fires, choose to believe. You can make it through this. Don't trust me on this; trust Him.
Friday, February 10, 2017
Tuesday, October 11, 2016
Small decisions and big consequences
Things are feeling a bit more normal now around here. As usual, though, I've somehow managed to get horribly behind in my classes. I'm trying not to make excuses for myself and just press on, but it's tough when things like being verbally abused and threatened by a tow truck operator set off my PTSD. There was a week or so where I was pretty much useless and just spent the day in bed - that's a big part of what's put me behind.
But no sense dwelling in the past. It is what it is, and nothing's going to change it. We just need to pick ourselves up and move along.
I've been giving a lot more thought to forgiveness these past days, partially because of a talk I heard while I was driving to church on Sunday.
W. W. Phelps is well known among Mormons as s being a friend of Joseph Smith, and author of many of the hymns contained in our hymnal - a dozen, to be precise. I haven't checked, but he may be the author with the most works in our hymnal, among which are "Praise to the Man", "The Spirit of God", "Adam-ondi-ahman", "Now Let Us Rejoice", "If You Could Hie to Kolob", and the modified version of "Redeemer of Israel" still used today.
But there were some rough times in his life. He was excommunicated three - one of which was for testifying against Joseph Smith in a trial that ultimately led to his incarceration in Liberty Jail.
Shortly after Joseph's release, however, he begged forgiveness from the prophet, to which Joseph famously replied, "Come on, dear brother, since the war is past, for friends at first are friends again at last."
It is that first hymn I mention that always strikes me when I think of Phelps's life - though at times very much at odds with those he worked with, even so much so as to be willing to testify against his friends in court, he recognized the error of his ways and returned. Were it not for Joseph's willingness to forgive - in spite of the many hardships that he had had to face as a result of what he surely felt was a betrayal - we would very likely not have many of the lyrics Phelps wrote - in particular "Praise to the Man", as this was penned shortly after Joseph and Hyrum were killed.
What a little thing, to forgive.
And what great blessings have come to millions because of that choice.
Well, it's 12:20 on October 12th, so I suppose that means I'm 27 now. The other thing I've been giving a lot of thought about is the lessons I've learned over the past year. At some future point I'll probably write them out, but for now, it's time for me to go to bed and wake up older.
Peace,
Mark
But no sense dwelling in the past. It is what it is, and nothing's going to change it. We just need to pick ourselves up and move along.
I've been giving a lot more thought to forgiveness these past days, partially because of a talk I heard while I was driving to church on Sunday.
W. W. Phelps is well known among Mormons as s being a friend of Joseph Smith, and author of many of the hymns contained in our hymnal - a dozen, to be precise. I haven't checked, but he may be the author with the most works in our hymnal, among which are "Praise to the Man", "The Spirit of God", "Adam-ondi-ahman", "Now Let Us Rejoice", "If You Could Hie to Kolob", and the modified version of "Redeemer of Israel" still used today.
But there were some rough times in his life. He was excommunicated three - one of which was for testifying against Joseph Smith in a trial that ultimately led to his incarceration in Liberty Jail.
Shortly after Joseph's release, however, he begged forgiveness from the prophet, to which Joseph famously replied, "Come on, dear brother, since the war is past, for friends at first are friends again at last."
It is that first hymn I mention that always strikes me when I think of Phelps's life - though at times very much at odds with those he worked with, even so much so as to be willing to testify against his friends in court, he recognized the error of his ways and returned. Were it not for Joseph's willingness to forgive - in spite of the many hardships that he had had to face as a result of what he surely felt was a betrayal - we would very likely not have many of the lyrics Phelps wrote - in particular "Praise to the Man", as this was penned shortly after Joseph and Hyrum were killed.
What a little thing, to forgive.
And what great blessings have come to millions because of that choice.
Well, it's 12:20 on October 12th, so I suppose that means I'm 27 now. The other thing I've been giving a lot of thought about is the lessons I've learned over the past year. At some future point I'll probably write them out, but for now, it's time for me to go to bed and wake up older.
Peace,
Mark
Thursday, October 6, 2016
For You
I hadn't expected to ever write this out, you know. But for the past week it's been bothering me every single day, even if I didn't realize it. And so here I am, just after midnight, writing you a letter to say this:
I forgive you.
It's taken nearly five years to reach a point where I can say that and mean it. I'm not sure if that's a testament to the damage you've done or to my own stubbornness. Probably a bit of both, I'd venture.
A wise man recently told me, "Forgiveness doesn't mean forgetting. Forgiveness requires remembering, and in remembering, deciding it doesn't matter any more." I realized that I'd reached that point with you when he said that, and right there, I started crying. It was something unexpected, and I found myself at once embarrassed and slightly angry - both of them because of how long it has taken me to understand.
I ran into an old friend of ours at a wedding reception for her sister. Her hair's not as red as it used to be, and I didn't recognize her at first - thankfully she still recognized me. She's doing well. Their whole family is. She mentioned my writing, and that's what got me thinking - in spite of all of the reasons to write that I've found, I keep putting it off.
It made me realize how much time I've wasted these past years holding on to being angry, and that it's that anger that's kept me from writing, because, much as I know I shouldn't be, sometimes I still am.
There's the friendships you destroyed and bridges you burned. There's the damage done to my family. There's the hurt at being completely helpless on the other side of the continent as they suffered. But above all that there's the loss of trust, and my own refusal to trust again.
I think I've burnt more bridges in my own inability to trust than you ever could have, and that's part of what's made me so angry - not that I let it all get to me, but that I felt helpless to not let it get to me. I felt like an observer watching my own life fall apart, and now I'm living with the wreckage.
And so a lot of that anger was really directed at myself, much as I told myself it was at you, and blamed my problems, my social anxieties, my refusal to see old friends, my inability to make new ones, and my constant self-defeating behavior in virtually every aspect of my life on you.
I often told myself, "There's no point in dating someone if it just means dragging them into the train wreck that is my life," - it's hard to love someone else when you're having trouble finding a reason to love yourself and your own life, and on top of that having trouble finding a reason to trust them at all.
And so I blamed it on the fallout of everything you and your family did.
I don't blame you any more though. It's pointless, really. Assigning blame doesn't change anything. It's only been a convenient way for me to have a crutch to keep me crippled. Blame doesn't fix anything. It doesn't make things better, or even anything close to right. It just makes you bitter.
So here's me forgiving you. Maybe one day you'll really stop and see the awful magnitude of what you did. Somehow, though, I doubt it. And more than anything, that makes me feel sorry for you, because, "at some point, all of us must sit down to a banquet of consequences".
I certainly hope that I'm wrong, and being able to say that and mean it is something that truly surprises me. But I've been surprised before by stranger things, so maybe I am wrong.
If you were looking for some sort of pithy lessons and sage advice in all of this, or for answers to some deep question, well, I have none to give. I don't expect you to ever read this - in fact, I don't particularly care whether you do or not; I'm writing this for me, not you.
This is just me being honest and open about where I am. Maybe someone somewhere will find something in all of this of use to them - that's the only reason I'm sharing this: so others can learn from my mistakes, and forgive early and often.
I remember. but it doesn't matter any more, and so I'm letting go now. I'd rather be happy and go on living my life.
Goodbye and good luck,
Mark
I forgive you.
It's taken nearly five years to reach a point where I can say that and mean it. I'm not sure if that's a testament to the damage you've done or to my own stubbornness. Probably a bit of both, I'd venture.
A wise man recently told me, "Forgiveness doesn't mean forgetting. Forgiveness requires remembering, and in remembering, deciding it doesn't matter any more." I realized that I'd reached that point with you when he said that, and right there, I started crying. It was something unexpected, and I found myself at once embarrassed and slightly angry - both of them because of how long it has taken me to understand.
I ran into an old friend of ours at a wedding reception for her sister. Her hair's not as red as it used to be, and I didn't recognize her at first - thankfully she still recognized me. She's doing well. Their whole family is. She mentioned my writing, and that's what got me thinking - in spite of all of the reasons to write that I've found, I keep putting it off.
It made me realize how much time I've wasted these past years holding on to being angry, and that it's that anger that's kept me from writing, because, much as I know I shouldn't be, sometimes I still am.
There's the friendships you destroyed and bridges you burned. There's the damage done to my family. There's the hurt at being completely helpless on the other side of the continent as they suffered. But above all that there's the loss of trust, and my own refusal to trust again.
I think I've burnt more bridges in my own inability to trust than you ever could have, and that's part of what's made me so angry - not that I let it all get to me, but that I felt helpless to not let it get to me. I felt like an observer watching my own life fall apart, and now I'm living with the wreckage.
And so a lot of that anger was really directed at myself, much as I told myself it was at you, and blamed my problems, my social anxieties, my refusal to see old friends, my inability to make new ones, and my constant self-defeating behavior in virtually every aspect of my life on you.
I often told myself, "There's no point in dating someone if it just means dragging them into the train wreck that is my life," - it's hard to love someone else when you're having trouble finding a reason to love yourself and your own life, and on top of that having trouble finding a reason to trust them at all.
And so I blamed it on the fallout of everything you and your family did.
I don't blame you any more though. It's pointless, really. Assigning blame doesn't change anything. It's only been a convenient way for me to have a crutch to keep me crippled. Blame doesn't fix anything. It doesn't make things better, or even anything close to right. It just makes you bitter.
So here's me forgiving you. Maybe one day you'll really stop and see the awful magnitude of what you did. Somehow, though, I doubt it. And more than anything, that makes me feel sorry for you, because, "at some point, all of us must sit down to a banquet of consequences".
I certainly hope that I'm wrong, and being able to say that and mean it is something that truly surprises me. But I've been surprised before by stranger things, so maybe I am wrong.
If you were looking for some sort of pithy lessons and sage advice in all of this, or for answers to some deep question, well, I have none to give. I don't expect you to ever read this - in fact, I don't particularly care whether you do or not; I'm writing this for me, not you.
This is just me being honest and open about where I am. Maybe someone somewhere will find something in all of this of use to them - that's the only reason I'm sharing this: so others can learn from my mistakes, and forgive early and often.
I remember. but it doesn't matter any more, and so I'm letting go now. I'd rather be happy and go on living my life.
Goodbye and good luck,
Mark
Saturday, June 4, 2016
"The path of salvation has always led...through Gethsemane"
Dear all,
I've been thinking a lot about faith, trials, and the nature of God of late. This past week marked five years since coming home from Santiago, and has been cause for a lot of reflection on my part. Between that and the sudden passing of some dear friends, both stateside and in Chile, I've had plenty to dwell on.
A lot has happened since I stepped off that plane in Manchester, NH, and if ever there were a contest for "World's Biggest Overgeneralization", that last sentence would have a good shot at winning. Life has not been particularly kind, but then again, it has no real obligation to do so, and complaining doesn't change the circumstances.
Over the past few days, I've read my way through two of the books in my collected works of C. S. Lewis, and they've been immensely helpful in reframing everything that's happened and putting it into proper perspective.
In mourning the death of his wife, Lewis wrote, "You never know how much you really believe anything until its truth or falsehood becomes a matter of life and death to you." How very true this is!
God requires faith of us, and expects us to act in accordance with it. But why? Isn't God omniscient? Doesn't He already know what we believe, how we'll act, and what choices we'll make in life?
Yes.
The temptation to follow that line of thinking is strong, but it doesn't lead anywhere particularly useful without a proper framing of understanding.
Ultimately, God's knowledge of our nature isn't particularly relevant to our existence here - at least not in the eternal scheme of things. What matters far more is our own knowledge of ourselves and our nature, and the only way to learn that is through experience.
For me, this is a huge part of the reason why faith requires action - we have absolutely no way of knowing how strongly we believe in something until we choose to move beyond passive trust and into the realm of active faith. That's a huge part of what Lewis meant.
The trials we face are those moments of "matters of life and death" - in some cases very literally, and in others, more metaphorically. But in the moment, the sense of deep, drastic, even frantic searching are very much real, and can lead us to question whether or not God is there, if He listens, or any one of a number of things.
But faith is first and foremost based in trust. We cannot trust in what we do not know or understand - this is why Christ so often invited others to come unto Him and learn of Him. There is no other way to gain the kind of trust and faith that truly transcend mortality.
We must trust in God; that He is true to His nature, and will keep His promises. That He has all power, and that, in the end, "all things work together for good to them that love God".
Time after time, the Bible testifies of God as a refiner and purifier. How often do we talk about the beauty of this, and yet leave out the reality that the refiner's fire is in no way painless? Could there be growth without pain? I don't have an absolute answer to this, but I'm drawn to think of our own sense of physical pain, and how necessary it is - if there were no feedback to tell us that standing in the middle of a blazing fire, how long would it take us to realize that the decision we made is literally killing us?
Physical pain helps us to recognize danger, errors in judgement, and things that are causing us harm. Without that, we would never learn to not touch a hot stove, or walk on broken glass, or eat a prickly pear whole, or any one of a number of things. Pain is part of what helps us learn, every bit as much as pleasure and joy.
Pain and joy each have their place in life, and are necessary - indeed, they teach us that we truly do "need [God] every hour". If you are passing through trials and pain, no matter where your path along the road of life may be, remember that there is a God - your Father - who knows you personally and loves you deeply. Press on in faith. Trust in what you know, and strive to learn and know more of Christ. These present pains will be as a small moment, and looking back along the trails and trials, we will each understand the purpose and plan behind every turn, dip, and detour.
God has shown that He will preserve us even in the midst of our trials, time and again, and that out of our humble and imperfect lives can and will come the miracles He desires to work. Shall we not go on in so great a cause?
Con amor,
--Mark
A lot has happened since I stepped off that plane in Manchester, NH, and if ever there were a contest for "World's Biggest Overgeneralization", that last sentence would have a good shot at winning. Life has not been particularly kind, but then again, it has no real obligation to do so, and complaining doesn't change the circumstances.
Over the past few days, I've read my way through two of the books in my collected works of C. S. Lewis, and they've been immensely helpful in reframing everything that's happened and putting it into proper perspective.
In mourning the death of his wife, Lewis wrote, "You never know how much you really believe anything until its truth or falsehood becomes a matter of life and death to you." How very true this is!
God requires faith of us, and expects us to act in accordance with it. But why? Isn't God omniscient? Doesn't He already know what we believe, how we'll act, and what choices we'll make in life?
Yes.
The temptation to follow that line of thinking is strong, but it doesn't lead anywhere particularly useful without a proper framing of understanding.
Ultimately, God's knowledge of our nature isn't particularly relevant to our existence here - at least not in the eternal scheme of things. What matters far more is our own knowledge of ourselves and our nature, and the only way to learn that is through experience.
For me, this is a huge part of the reason why faith requires action - we have absolutely no way of knowing how strongly we believe in something until we choose to move beyond passive trust and into the realm of active faith. That's a huge part of what Lewis meant.
The trials we face are those moments of "matters of life and death" - in some cases very literally, and in others, more metaphorically. But in the moment, the sense of deep, drastic, even frantic searching are very much real, and can lead us to question whether or not God is there, if He listens, or any one of a number of things.
But faith is first and foremost based in trust. We cannot trust in what we do not know or understand - this is why Christ so often invited others to come unto Him and learn of Him. There is no other way to gain the kind of trust and faith that truly transcend mortality.
We must trust in God; that He is true to His nature, and will keep His promises. That He has all power, and that, in the end, "all things work together for good to them that love God".
Time after time, the Bible testifies of God as a refiner and purifier. How often do we talk about the beauty of this, and yet leave out the reality that the refiner's fire is in no way painless? Could there be growth without pain? I don't have an absolute answer to this, but I'm drawn to think of our own sense of physical pain, and how necessary it is - if there were no feedback to tell us that standing in the middle of a blazing fire, how long would it take us to realize that the decision we made is literally killing us?
Physical pain helps us to recognize danger, errors in judgement, and things that are causing us harm. Without that, we would never learn to not touch a hot stove, or walk on broken glass, or eat a prickly pear whole, or any one of a number of things. Pain is part of what helps us learn, every bit as much as pleasure and joy.
Pain and joy each have their place in life, and are necessary - indeed, they teach us that we truly do "need [God] every hour". If you are passing through trials and pain, no matter where your path along the road of life may be, remember that there is a God - your Father - who knows you personally and loves you deeply. Press on in faith. Trust in what you know, and strive to learn and know more of Christ. These present pains will be as a small moment, and looking back along the trails and trials, we will each understand the purpose and plan behind every turn, dip, and detour.
God has shown that He will preserve us even in the midst of our trials, time and again, and that out of our humble and imperfect lives can and will come the miracles He desires to work. Shall we not go on in so great a cause?
Con amor,
--Mark
Tuesday, September 22, 2015
Doubt Not, Fear Not
I suppose the title of my site merits some explanation, and in light of the fact that I lost the entire draft I wrote up on Sunday - the second time that's happened - I think it's as good a place to start as any for what I'd like to say.
While serving a mission for the LDS Church in Santiago, Chile, my mother had a plaque made for me that was hung in the hall of the chapel where our congregation met every Sunday. It had a photo of little baby Mark in a suit, alongside an image showing more or less where I'd be serving in South America, and a short scripture of my choosing.
Okay, I lied about the baby photo. The photo was taken with my senior portraits in high school, and I looked very different then, courtesy of having surgery on both of my jaws shortly after graduating.
In any event, the scripture I chose was Doctrine and Covenants 6:36 -
According to the Online Etymology Dictionary:
But I'd like to speak more about the latter half of that scripture today - the idea of "doubt not, fear not" - because it strikes at the core of why I started this blog in the first place.
While serving my mission, I was diagnosed with dysthymia, now more commonly known as Persistent Depressive Disorder. For those unfamiliar with it, it is a type of chronic, low-level depression, less severe than Major Depressive Disorder (aka depression), but much longer lasting.
To make a long story short, for most of my young and adolescent life, I dealt with this chronic low-level depression. Unlike "regular" depression (if anything about it could ever be called regular), it comes and goes - the root cause is lower than average serotonin output from my brain, and so it's something ongoing, and not triggered by any one particular event, or weather, like seasonal affective disorder (SAD, which is in my opinion the worst acronym ever).
Of course, I didn't know this until more than halfway through serving a mission. Compounded by the stress of serving a mission, poor physical health from catching a lovely bout of dysentery, and serving in an incredibly tough area, I found myself having serious doubts about pretty much everything you can name.
Well, not gravity, or my hair color, but you know what I mean: I experienced a serious crisis of faith.
For about three months, I was almost entirely incapable of leaving our apartment and doing a full day's work. I would get exhausted and dehydrated extremely quickly, and was extremely prone to heat exhaustion, so much so that half an hour of walking in 90-degree weather would put me in bed for the rest of the day.
I was in what is one of the poorest and most dangerous parts of the city, and had spent a long time in the area. I loved the congregation I was assigned to, and knew the roads better than the back of my hand. To this day, nearly five years later, I can still close my eyes and walk down large stretches of that area, and remember which houses had members, which we'd talked with and visited, where we stopped to buy snacks from a street vendor, and where the street dogs would always sit in the summer heat.
The ward, if you could call it one (in truth it should have been a branch), averaged less than 50 members in attendance each week, and when I first arrived, there was no bishop - just a first and second counselor for the congregation. This changed soon after, thankfully. When I first arrived, I assumed it would be similar to other areas I'd served in, with maybe three or four hundred members on the roster. Chile, unfortunately, has a huge problem with inactivity in the Church.
Imagine my surprise and sadness when I discovered that the abbreviated ward list was 35 pages long, and contained nearly 1500 names - enough to be an entire stake if they were active.
After talking it over with my companion, we decided it was best to focus heavily on reactivation, and thus began a 6-month extravaganza of fixing the ward list. It was three months in, and after seeing only minimal results, that I began to get extremely sick.
It was frustrating in the extreme. I had already been so sick I thought I'd die (dysentery is so bad I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy), and now, when I was placed in an area where the need to work was so great, my body was the single biggest impediment to helping the people I cared so much about.
Have you ever been in a place so dark you can't even see your hand when you wave it in front of your face, less than an inch away? That was how I felt, spiritually. There was no sign of relief, no indication of an ending, and no hope that my health problems would magically go away - after numerous blessings, it was obvious this was a trial I'd just have to grin and bear.
Every time I'd try to go out, I'd get even more sick. The house had no air conditioning (in fact, no central air at all), and in the dead of summer, the sweltering heat would sit in the apartment and slowly burn away whatever energy I had left. I don't think I've ever slept so much in my life.
I felt useless: completely incapable of doing anything to help others, let alone myself. I felt worthless - I was called to serve others and help them come to Christ, and I was completely incapable of getting out of bed. For a while, I didn't even do that on most days. I felt betrayed and abandoned; the only thing I wanted to do was help people, and I was completely unable to, even though God had promised to come and help in that very effort. I felt alone. I felt that others were judging me as lazy, proud, and entitled, based on their perceptions.
All the self-doubt and self-questioning of years piled up during that time, and I began to wonder: would it ever end? Was I just going to spend my life in this rat-race cycle of pretending to be happy, failing, breaking down, and spending time picking up the pieces of the past, reassembling them, and repeating?
I sat in the shower, sobbing uncontrollably, letting the sound of the water falling mask it. I'd stay awake at night, staring at the ceiling over my bed, planning out everything that would need to be done, realizing I'd never get it all done, tossing all of it aside, and repeating, all the while more and more angry at my own weakness, and tired of having to deal with it for so long. I often slept in 'til noon, despite the best efforts of all of the missionaries I lived with during that time, and on days I did get up, I'd fall asleep seconds after sitting down to study.
I was in the deepest, darkest hole I'd ever found myself, with no indication that anyone was ever going to help, and no sign that anyone was ever going to understand.
While serving a mission for the LDS Church in Santiago, Chile, my mother had a plaque made for me that was hung in the hall of the chapel where our congregation met every Sunday. It had a photo of little baby Mark in a suit, alongside an image showing more or less where I'd be serving in South America, and a short scripture of my choosing.
Okay, I lied about the baby photo. The photo was taken with my senior portraits in high school, and I looked very different then, courtesy of having surgery on both of my jaws shortly after graduating.
In any event, the scripture I chose was Doctrine and Covenants 6:36 -
"Look unto me in every thought; doubt not, fear not."The more I've thought about that scripture, the more I've come to realize how much it encompasses everything that is at the heart of Christianity: to remember, and to trust. Spencer W. Kimball once said:
“When you look in the dictionary for the most important word, do you know what it is? It could be ‘remember.’ Because all of [us] have made covenants … our greatest need is to remember. That is why everyone goes to sacrament meeting every Sabbath day—to take the sacrament and listen to the priests pray that [we] ‘… may always remember him and keep his commandments which he has given [us].’… ‘Remember’ is the word”. (From Book of Mormon Gospel Doctrine Teacher's Manual: Lesson 33)The idea of remembering is so important because it is the act of of remembering that allows us to reflect both on our own actions, but also those of our Savior.
According to the Online Etymology Dictionary:
remember (v.) early 14c., "keep in mind, retain in the memory," from Old French remembrer "remember, recall, bring to mind" (11c.), from Latin rememorari "recall to mind, remember," from re- "again" (see re-) + memorari "be mindful of," from memor "mindful" (see memory). Meaning "recall to mind" is late 14c.; sense of "to mention" is from 1550s. Also in Middle English "to remind" (someone). An Anglo-Saxon verb for it was gemunan.Remembrance, in short, is intimately tied in with the idea of mindfulness, and the notion of "pondering" that is so often talked about in reference to how we ought to study the scriptures.
But I'd like to speak more about the latter half of that scripture today - the idea of "doubt not, fear not" - because it strikes at the core of why I started this blog in the first place.
While serving my mission, I was diagnosed with dysthymia, now more commonly known as Persistent Depressive Disorder. For those unfamiliar with it, it is a type of chronic, low-level depression, less severe than Major Depressive Disorder (aka depression), but much longer lasting.
To make a long story short, for most of my young and adolescent life, I dealt with this chronic low-level depression. Unlike "regular" depression (if anything about it could ever be called regular), it comes and goes - the root cause is lower than average serotonin output from my brain, and so it's something ongoing, and not triggered by any one particular event, or weather, like seasonal affective disorder (SAD, which is in my opinion the worst acronym ever).
Of course, I didn't know this until more than halfway through serving a mission. Compounded by the stress of serving a mission, poor physical health from catching a lovely bout of dysentery, and serving in an incredibly tough area, I found myself having serious doubts about pretty much everything you can name.
Well, not gravity, or my hair color, but you know what I mean: I experienced a serious crisis of faith.
For about three months, I was almost entirely incapable of leaving our apartment and doing a full day's work. I would get exhausted and dehydrated extremely quickly, and was extremely prone to heat exhaustion, so much so that half an hour of walking in 90-degree weather would put me in bed for the rest of the day.
I was in what is one of the poorest and most dangerous parts of the city, and had spent a long time in the area. I loved the congregation I was assigned to, and knew the roads better than the back of my hand. To this day, nearly five years later, I can still close my eyes and walk down large stretches of that area, and remember which houses had members, which we'd talked with and visited, where we stopped to buy snacks from a street vendor, and where the street dogs would always sit in the summer heat.
The ward, if you could call it one (in truth it should have been a branch), averaged less than 50 members in attendance each week, and when I first arrived, there was no bishop - just a first and second counselor for the congregation. This changed soon after, thankfully. When I first arrived, I assumed it would be similar to other areas I'd served in, with maybe three or four hundred members on the roster. Chile, unfortunately, has a huge problem with inactivity in the Church.
Imagine my surprise and sadness when I discovered that the abbreviated ward list was 35 pages long, and contained nearly 1500 names - enough to be an entire stake if they were active.
After talking it over with my companion, we decided it was best to focus heavily on reactivation, and thus began a 6-month extravaganza of fixing the ward list. It was three months in, and after seeing only minimal results, that I began to get extremely sick.
It was frustrating in the extreme. I had already been so sick I thought I'd die (dysentery is so bad I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy), and now, when I was placed in an area where the need to work was so great, my body was the single biggest impediment to helping the people I cared so much about.
Have you ever been in a place so dark you can't even see your hand when you wave it in front of your face, less than an inch away? That was how I felt, spiritually. There was no sign of relief, no indication of an ending, and no hope that my health problems would magically go away - after numerous blessings, it was obvious this was a trial I'd just have to grin and bear.
Every time I'd try to go out, I'd get even more sick. The house had no air conditioning (in fact, no central air at all), and in the dead of summer, the sweltering heat would sit in the apartment and slowly burn away whatever energy I had left. I don't think I've ever slept so much in my life.
I felt useless: completely incapable of doing anything to help others, let alone myself. I felt worthless - I was called to serve others and help them come to Christ, and I was completely incapable of getting out of bed. For a while, I didn't even do that on most days. I felt betrayed and abandoned; the only thing I wanted to do was help people, and I was completely unable to, even though God had promised to come and help in that very effort. I felt alone. I felt that others were judging me as lazy, proud, and entitled, based on their perceptions.
All the self-doubt and self-questioning of years piled up during that time, and I began to wonder: would it ever end? Was I just going to spend my life in this rat-race cycle of pretending to be happy, failing, breaking down, and spending time picking up the pieces of the past, reassembling them, and repeating?
I sat in the shower, sobbing uncontrollably, letting the sound of the water falling mask it. I'd stay awake at night, staring at the ceiling over my bed, planning out everything that would need to be done, realizing I'd never get it all done, tossing all of it aside, and repeating, all the while more and more angry at my own weakness, and tired of having to deal with it for so long. I often slept in 'til noon, despite the best efforts of all of the missionaries I lived with during that time, and on days I did get up, I'd fall asleep seconds after sitting down to study.
I was in the deepest, darkest hole I'd ever found myself, with no indication that anyone was ever going to help, and no sign that anyone was ever going to understand.
I remember standing on a seventh-floor balcony, staring down at the dark street below. Months had gone by with no change. I remember realizing there was nothing stopping me from taking a few steps back, running, and jumping over the short barrier in front of me.
I seriously contemplated it.
After six months of dealing with my present problems, and nearly a decade of dealing with my own depression and doubt, I was tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of losing. Tired of waking up every morning and knowing it would be another day of feeling like dirt for no reason at all, and having to put on a smile anyway. Tired of wasting everyone else's time, energy, patience, and talents in a futile effort to proverbially flap my wings into the sun and fall apart and into the sea below.
A jump would have been an acceptable ending.
There was no disembodied voice that changed my mind. No friend that intervened. No companion came to grab me mid-stride and tackle me to the ground. I was free to choose.
Standing on that balcony, thousands of miles from home, I was completely capable of leaving. I could walk off the ledge. I could call home, hop on a plane, and be done with it. I could disappear and never be found. I could be done.
In the end, it was nothing grand that changed my mind. Standing there, wondering at the worth of my own life, my place in some great plan that was and is beyond my understanding, for the first time in more than a year, I felt peace. A peace so complete that the fears, doubts, questions, perceptions, anger, and frustration were completely wiped away. It was, for me, the answer to months of questions about my place in life. It wasn't everything, but it was something: in the deepest moments of my despair, there was a light. A light that did not belong, and yet was undeniably there.
I remember looking up, and trying to see the stars, each in their own way tiny specks of hope in an empty void - I'd always watched them growing up, but here in the city, it was impossible to see anything but the orange glow of a million sodium street lamps illuminating the horizon, reflecting off the faint haze of smog that hung over the city.
I went inside, and went to sleep.
Things didn't get better. At least, not immediately. But they did. I still have my ups and downs, years later, but even with everything that's happened, I haven't had to visit my own little piece of Gethsemane again.
I've often reflected back on that moment, not out of some morbid fascination with it, but wondering why my own path in life took me to that particular rooftop balcony on that night. I don't have an answer, really, but I've learned a lot from it, and I'd like to share it with you.
If you're going through hell, keep going. Life will always move in cycles, and have its ups and downs - just as the heat of day yields to dusk, the dark of night, and the gleam of the morning star; as summer fades into sleepy autumn, turning to the dead cold of winter nights, and bursting to life again every spring. There will be valleys of death and despair. But waiting on the other side is a sure promise of joy; Christ will not leave us comfortless.
If you're wrestling your demons, and they seem to be winning, keep fighting. Help may not always come when we want it, but help will come. It was not until the eleventh hour of the watch that Christ came to his disciples, walking across a stormy sea to them - they had spent the whole night wrestling with the storm and fearing for their lives.
If you're lost and alone, keep praying. You may feel that your words don't even make it through the ceiling, but the God of all creation knows you - personally, individually, and completely. The comfort, guidance, and friendship you seek may not come immediately, but it will come.
And now, to bring things back to where I started: doubt not, fear not. As we become mindful of God in our lives, we begin to see His hand in the everyday occurrences around us. Each sign, each miracle, each personal moment of peace in the dark of night, serves as a reminder of the promises God has given to those who trust him. Romans 8:28 says,
We know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.
Read that again. All things. Not some things. Not just "the nice things". Not just "the things we want to happen". Not just the crappy things. There is no exception in that statement. Homelessness is not an exception. Loss of a loved one is not an exception. Betrayal is no exception. War, famine, family troubles, and even fire are not exceptions. Physical and mental health issues are not exceptions.
Perhaps you are saying to yourself, "That's ridiculous. There is no scenario where what I've been through could ever be good for me. And don't try to convince me otherwise. You don't know what I've been through."
And of course, you would be right about that last bit. But that said, you don't really know what I've been through, either. Words really can't convey the weight of the burdens we bear, but they're all we have. All I can say is that I know that this has proved true for me, time and time again, and invite you to come and try, and trust, and know for yourself.
There is One who does understand what you and I have been through, and He is the one who made the promise, not me. And it is for that reason that He invites us to come unto Him, so that we can come to understand that the trials, hardships, and burdens we face are not ours to bear alone, and that all things truly can and will work together for our good if we choose to love Christ by keeping his commandments. As we learn of Him, and remember Him in thought, word, and deed, we will come to trust Him, and His promises; our doubt and fear will be replaced with faith and peace.
There is hope, and there is help. Both will come in time. Don't give up on yourself - Christ did not, has not, and will not give up on you, no matter what you may feel about yourself or what you have done. There is an end to every night. Press forward, trusting in the God of light, life, love, and mercy. Don't be afraid to face the dark; you are stronger than you feel, smarter than you think, and you are never alone. Remember the promises that God has made to those who choose to believe.
Doubt not. Fear not.
Wednesday, September 16, 2015
New beginnings
This summer, my great-uncle passed away.
But that's not humility. I'm not even sure what you could call that.
According to The Guide to the Scriptures, humility is
The Online Etymology Dictionary says (emphasis added),
Looking at it from that perspective, the example in Alma 24:21 seems emblematic of that ideal (my emphasis added):
In that sense, humility represents a key part of repentance - the turning of the heart from sin, and a key part of the atonement - the unifying of our wills with God's (the at-one-ment of our desires). Humility represents one of the clearest and purest evidences of the workings of God in our own lives.
Realizing all of this, I've come to understand that my unwillingness to write out of an effort to be humble has wound up being an ironic case of pride in myself. The particular experience I had in that email home, and in that introductory paper, coincidentally enough, was the most blatant and awkward moment of public attention I've ever had, and came in a moment and as an answer I hadn't expected. While I'm somewhat hesitant to share it, this is that original letter:
Have you ever chosen not to reach out and help someone because you thought someone else would be watching, and judge you? Have you ever chosen not to share a talent simply because it made you uncomfortable to do so? As saints and followers of Christ, we are commanded to share our blessings and help others along their way - this could be through a hug, a song, a pie, or even taking the time to simply sit and talk with them. The choice is ours.
Look to God in every thought, and though the path may not always be clear, it will be sure. We know that all things work together for the good of them that love God, not just some, most, or only the things that happen to be good. Even the bad, ugly, and downright awful will work together for your good. Trust in the promises given, and don't hesitate. Go and do.
Now, under normal circumstances, that might not be the best of ways to start off a whole new blog, but give me a moment to explain how it's relevant to this new project.
My grandmother came out for the funeral, and a few days later we were at her sister's house in Lehi, sitting on the back porch, and somehow the topic came up of my mission emails - one in particular.
Now, I'm not a believer in coincidence - to a certain extent, everything happens for a reason, and sometimes it's God's way of telling you to pay attention. This was one of those moments.
I'd just wrapped up a Spanish composition class where I actually wrote about the events I shared in that email, and my professor loved it. By the end of the semester we'd had several good talks about my life, my plans, and writing in particular, which several times ended with her telling me I need to keep writing.
My grandma said the same thing.
On and off, I've tried to, failed, and tried again to get into a good writing habit. This is another attempt at such, and I hope it will be different, for a few reasons.
I've given some thought as to why I've been so bad at consistent writing, and the honest answer is that I know that if I write, it will end up being really personal, and I really haven't been in a position to share personal details for several years - or so I've been telling myself. I'm not a perfect judge, but over the course of my posting, I hope I can paint an honest picture of what I've been through and how it's shaped me. About the only thing I'm really sure of is that I've been prompted to write several times, which isn't a coincidence.
To an extent, I chalked it up to my efforts to be humble as well. I'm not the kind of person to revel in the limelight, and public attention isn't something I've ever sought after. If anything, I've tried to avoid it.
On and off, I've tried to, failed, and tried again to get into a good writing habit. This is another attempt at such, and I hope it will be different, for a few reasons.
I've given some thought as to why I've been so bad at consistent writing, and the honest answer is that I know that if I write, it will end up being really personal, and I really haven't been in a position to share personal details for several years - or so I've been telling myself. I'm not a perfect judge, but over the course of my posting, I hope I can paint an honest picture of what I've been through and how it's shaped me. About the only thing I'm really sure of is that I've been prompted to write several times, which isn't a coincidence.
To an extent, I chalked it up to my efforts to be humble as well. I'm not the kind of person to revel in the limelight, and public attention isn't something I've ever sought after. If anything, I've tried to avoid it.
And yet, somewhere along the line in that conversation with my grandma, we talked about humility, and what it really means. To be perfectly honest, I don't remember much about what was said, but I remember what it made me think.
In practical terms, we tend to think of humility as being the kind of person to not take center stage and avoid drawing attention to oneself, let other people take credit, and to tend to refuse to accept compliments. I know for a long time, I did.
According to The Guide to the Scriptures, humility is
To make meek and teachable, or the condition of being meek and teachable. Humility includes recognizing our dependence upon God and desiring to submit to his will.In other words, humility consists of reaching or desiring to reach a state of teachability and obedience.
The Online Etymology Dictionary says (emphasis added),
humble (v.)
late 14c., "render oneself humble" (intrans.), also "to bend, kneel or bow;" late 15c. "lower (someone) in dignity" (trans.); see humble (adj.). Related: Humbled; humbling.
humble (adj.)Humility is a relational verb - you can't be humble in a vacuum. For one to be low, another must be high; and for one to obey, there must be one to command.
late 13c., of persons, "submissive, respectful, lowly in manner, modest, not self-asserting, obedient," from Old French humble, umble, earlier umele, from Latin humilis "lowly, humble," literally "on the ground," from humus "earth," from PIE root *dhghem- "earth" (see chthonic. From late 14c., of things, "lowly in kind, state, condition, or amount," also "of low birth or rank." Related: Humbly.
Looking at it from that perspective, the example in Alma 24:21 seems emblematic of that ideal (my emphasis added):
21 Now when the people saw that they were coming against them they went out to meet them, and prostrated themselves before them to the earth, and began to call on the name of the Lord; and thus they were in this attitude when the Lamanites began to fall upon them, and began to slay them with the sword.Understanding it as "lowly in manner" we come to understand better what Matthew 11:28-30 says, "for I am meek and lowly in heart" - Christ truly was submissive to the Father in all things. He was not self-asserting; his self - his desires, wants, and wishes - were swallowed up in the desires of the Father.
In that sense, humility represents a key part of repentance - the turning of the heart from sin, and a key part of the atonement - the unifying of our wills with God's (the at-one-ment of our desires). Humility represents one of the clearest and purest evidences of the workings of God in our own lives.
Realizing all of this, I've come to understand that my unwillingness to write out of an effort to be humble has wound up being an ironic case of pride in myself. The particular experience I had in that email home, and in that introductory paper, coincidentally enough, was the most blatant and awkward moment of public attention I've ever had, and came in a moment and as an answer I hadn't expected. While I'm somewhat hesitant to share it, this is that original letter:
Hola todos!
Primero que nada, pido disculpas a los que no hablan inglés...mis cartas a casa, obviamente, estarán en inglés siempre, pero no les voy a dejar solos jaja. De vez en cuando tendré unas cuantas cosas para ustedes especificamente.
Originally, I had not wanted to share this experience with everyone, but I feel that I should.
We had changes, and Elder Bench and I stayed together. I had a very unique experience today that helped me feel a whole lot better than I have of late. (Please, don't share this except with close family)
The past few weeks I've felt like I've been in a rut, and didn't really know how to get myself out, so I've been pressing along and trying to do the best I know how...as always. What I want to share with you is the experience of how I got my answer to all of my doubts.
Anyway, today before change conference, there was a homeless person who was sitting outside of the chapel where we meet up for conference, and he was in really bad shape. I mean, I've seen homeless people in El Castillo, and I'm saying he was in bad shape.
Imagine what looks and smells like a moving trash heap standing outside of the chapel, covered in a thick wool blanket in the 80-degree Santiago heat and smelling for all the world like dead animal with a bottle of vinegar poured over it, with uncut hair and random dead leaves and twigs in that hair. That's what I saw walking down the sidewalk, barefoot, and limping.
I went over and talked to him a bit. He told me his name was Juan Carlos...and that he felt really, really cold. We talked for a little, but he didn't say much, and what he did say was pretty nonsensical...like incomplete sentences and such. I offered him a pamphlet of the Restoration, and he told me "No leer...yo no leer." Which would be like saying "No read...I no read." I told him I'd get in touch with the missionaries that worked there so they could help him, and he took it the pamphlet. I bore my testimony, and from there, I left to the conference.
He came into the back of the room, and President Laycock invited him to come sit up front for the conference. Another Elder helped him come up, still limping and smelling horrible.
President talked about service and the importance of loving and serving all, and read a few scriptures. Then he read Matthew 25:40, which talks about the final judgment and the words of the wicked and the righteous to Christ:“inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me”.
Then he asked this man to come up and help him read something. He stood up, took off his disguise, and proceeded to read the following (Matthew 25: 34-40):
Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand,
Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world:
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:
Naked, and ye clothed me:
I was sick, and ye visited me:
I was in prison, and ye came unto me.
Then shall the righteous answer him, saying,
Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee?
or thirsty, and gave thee drink?
When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in?
or naked, and clothed thee?
Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?
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.
And then, in front of the entire mission, he said that I had been the only missionary who had talked to him, out of all of the ones who had walked by.
Well, you can pretty well imagine that I was floored, but it answered my question as to whether or not I was in a rut, about as directly as you can hope to get an answer haha.
I want to bear my testimony to all of you: if you have problems, trials, difficulties, questions, doubts, or whatever you may have, look around and see who you can lift up, because I guarantee you're not the one who's farthest down a dark hole with no way out. There is something you can do for someone around you. Do what you can to help them, even if you don't know how it's going to be received. Do every good thing you can, and you will see, somewhere down the line, the miracles that come.
I'd been telling myself for weeks now that I wasn't doing my best and there was so much more I needed to do, and that everything was wrong. God took the time to pretty straightforwardly tell me that I was dead wrong, so now I turn to tell you all the same thing: if you think you're bad off, quit complaing and get to work! Someone out there will show you you're wrong, and what you're really capable of.
Doubt not. Look to the light.
Elder Mark David Hansen
Have you ever chosen not to reach out and help someone because you thought someone else would be watching, and judge you? Have you ever chosen not to share a talent simply because it made you uncomfortable to do so? As saints and followers of Christ, we are commanded to share our blessings and help others along their way - this could be through a hug, a song, a pie, or even taking the time to simply sit and talk with them. The choice is ours.
Look to God in every thought, and though the path may not always be clear, it will be sure. We know that all things work together for the good of them that love God, not just some, most, or only the things that happen to be good. Even the bad, ugly, and downright awful will work together for your good. Trust in the promises given, and don't hesitate. Go and do.
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