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.
