Facing the impossible

I was reading Timothy Dyches' talk from last October recently.  I was struck with his examples of the Savior healing.  He describes the scene at the pool at Bethesda:

As the Savior raises the edge of the cloth with one hand, He beckons with the other and asks a penetrating question: 'Wilt thou be made whole?'
The man replies, 'Sir, I have no man, when the water is troubled, to put me into the pool: but while I am coming, another steppeth down before me' (John 5:6–7).
To the man’s seemingly impossible challenge, Jesus provides a profound and unexpected answer:
'Rise, take up thy bed, and walk.
'And immediately the man was made whole, and took up his bed, and walked' (John 5:8–9).

To me, it seems like the impossible challenge wasn't the man explaining why change is impossible; it was Christ's response.  What is more impossible than telling an infirm man to take up his bed and walk?

This isn't the only time that Christ asks someone to do something impossible.  He asks Lazarus to come forth.  He commands the daughter of Jairus to arise.  He asks Peter to walk on the water.  Each time, He then provided the ability. Each time he healed them and blessed them and gave them all that was needed to fulfill his commandments.  But each time, the miracle isn't clear until they trust and try.

I'm reminded that often when I pray for help or guidance, the answers seem impossible.  Whether it be to have another child or to share a personal experience or not get angry at my children or move to a huge city or forgive a careless (or not so careless) remark or even to find time for scriptures each day, I am often like the man at the pool of Bethesda, patiently explaining to the Lord exactly why it is impossible for me to do more or be more.  "I'm broken," I explain.  "There's not time."  "I'm not talented like that."  "I don't know how."  "I'm exhausted and scared."  "I can't even do my current responsibilities."

I'm learning to trust and move forward.  I'm learning that, yes, it is all impossible.  And yet as I strive to do the impossible, miracles happen.  The power of grace fills in all the gaps, and then some.  Through his power, things work out eventually in beautiful ways.

Maybe someday I will be able to hear an impossible invitation from the Lord and rejoice in the miracle that is about to happen.

Groundhog minutes

In the movie Groundhog Day, the main character relives the same day over and over.  Slowly the day changes as he changes his choices.  I've realized I have minutes that feel like that.

Having a little one again has put me back in situations I've been in before.  My response to some of these situations is not something I like or am proud of.  (For example, waking up angry after a bad night with the baby; feeling like somehow, the Professor and the children should automatically know how tired I am; and thinking that I shouldn't have to get up--someone else should do whatever needs to be done.)  The frustrating thing has been that I thought I had learned to to better.  After all, I wasn't responding that way anymore.  Then I find out that it is just that the situation wasn't that way anymore.

It is so discouraging to over and over again find myself back where I hated to be, in my relationships or my choices or my parenting or my outlook on life.  And it feels like I can't easily start over.  I pick up where I left off.  It may have taken me months or years to get into a dysfunctional pattern, but I slip back into it in mere seconds.

I've finally realized that these minutes are opportunities to keep working on my automatic responses until I slowly get it right.  It probably won't happen quickly or soon.  I will mess up over and over again as I learn what works and what doesn't.  But, eventually, maybe I can learn enough to change how these situations play out.  And in doing so, just as happens in that silly movie, I will change.  That hope makes the frustration less overwhelming and possibly worth it.  Isn't it amazing?  I can eventually change until I no longer do (or think or choose) those actions (or thoughts or choices) that I am most ashamed of (or cause the most damage to my relationships or hurt those around me.)  Once again, I am reminded of the miracle of the atonement.  We can become better than we hope to be.

Trees

I wrote this back in December.

I'll admit it. I tend to whine at Life. I don't know why there always has to be something crazy going on. Some days it's sick kids. Some days it's interpersonal relationships, sometimes work related stress, other times testimony related stress. I've been quite frustrated with this. When President Uchtdorf talked about simplifying life during times of stress, his message resonated with me. And yet his example of the trees slowing down their growth during difficult times frustrated me. Aren't we here to grow? So why do we keep getting more and more challenges slowing us down?

The answer is in those trees. For some trees, when they slow down their growth, they become much stronger.

Joy

This was written at the beginning of December.

The last few months I've had some gray days, days where the mundane seems endless and everything feels harder. One morning as I awoke to yet another day, I wondered if I really believed the scripture that "Men are that they might have joy." Was this joy supposed to be now or only after the judgement? And if joy was something we work hard for, how are children so joyful when all they do is play?

I've learned a few things since then. A friend taught me that "Joy is hard bought." I knew that, but had forgotten. Then Isaiah taught me, "Therefore with joy shall ye draw water out of the wells of salvation." (Isaiah 12:3) I finally started to understand. For, we "are bought with a price" (1 Corinthians 7). Christ himself has paid a high price for us and our salvation. True joy comes from redemption and salvation (bought by Christ). Despair comes from sin. As I turn again to Christ and again welcome his Spirit into my life, joy returns.

I know that what I wrote then is true, that obedience and the Spirit bring joy. I also know that it isn't always easy for me to feel the joy in life, even when I'm doing what the Lord requires. I'm slowly learning how to take care of my body and mind so that I can feel the joy the Lord sends. But knowing that true joy comes from the Spirit helps me to not give up on the hard days. As the Professor learned from his brother and then taught me, doing what you ought to, but don't want to, may not make today feel any better, but it sure makes tomorrow better. Someday, my body will work, and I will be glad I didn't give into the despair.

The Good Samaritan

Recently, I heard a radio segment that I really enjoyed. John Welch talks about an allegorical reading of the parable of the good Samaritan. In it, the traveler is like us. We leave Jerusalem, the one city with a temple, (God's presence) and start traveling toward Jericho, (the world). The robbery and assault is like our own fall and disobedience, and we are left for dead. Along comes the priest (Law of Moses) and the Levite (the prophets) but they cannot help us. Then comes the Samaritan, Christ. And he binds our wounds and carries us to the inn (church) where we can heal. Most of all, he pays for everything. Then he promises to return later.

I've always liked the good Samaritan and the lesson of love we learn from it. But the day I heard it, I especially loved the idea that we have such a loving reminder of the care Christ takes with us. It is so easy to feel the weight of my struggles, the impossibility of all I want to become and do, for it is truly impossible. While I can't do it, someone else can. Being reminded of this brings peace and faith. And the image of having the Lord heal my wounds, carry me when I can't walk, and pay my debts that I can't afford brings a secure comfort I've seldom felt since I was a child.

I later found a more in-depth article here (which I probably read three years ago and promptly forgot. Thankfully, I was reminded when I was ready.)

Stretching

Earlier this week I got to bed late, only to have Young T wake up in pain maybe an hour later. After an hour I finally clued in that he wasn't going back to sleep without some out of the ordinary help. I fought him to get the magic Tylenol down. He started settling within maybe ten minutes. And after another hour, he could finally relax enough to sleep. Three and a half hours later, the medicine wore off, but I slept for those three and a half hours.

Every time I think I'm getting things under control and can finally start to dig out of the exhaustion, another bad night comes or a new crisis, and, again, I am running on sheer willpower mixed with a dose of grace from above. I am again stretched past my own abilities to the point where help from above is vital to getting through the next five minutes. The Lord is determined to help me grow. I just wish it was more comfortable.

Faith

There seems to be a theme of faith running through my life right now. I am being reminded on all sides how much difference it makes to move forward with the Lord.

One dear friend prepared for a sudden, surprising, yet exciting move without realizing that was what she was doing. Because she followed the gentle guidance of the Lord, when an opportunity arose, she and her family could accept it quickly.

Another dear friend (here) has recently been given much more opportunity and responsibility at work. And as she looks back at her past, she finds the Lord's hand preparing her for this. As she looks forward at the near future, she feels his assurance that he will be with her in the details that are coming.

Yet another dear friend has been telling her story (here) of creation this past week. She had a great opportunity to paint pictures for a beautiful book by another friend. As the project progressed she experienced both impossible roadblocks and improbable miracles. The end result is a gorgeous, spirit infused Christmas book (here). But more than that, it is a changed heart, a consecrated gift, and an experience of walking with the Lord.

Lately I have felt the Lord guiding and preparing me. There are minutes I wish I didn't. While the experiences that require such close contact with the divine are full of joy and peace, they often also bring pain, grief, and agony. My little faith trembles and shrinks as I consider the possibilities. But then I think of a loving Father, of my friends and of their faith. Their ends are better than their beginnings and better than they could have created alone. They were never left alone. When things seemed impossible, the Lord had already prepared their way. I remember how much better off they and those around them are because they had the faith to walk with the Lord. My faith burns brighter and the Lord's will is not as terrifying. It becomes easier to believe that he won't leave me without the help I so desperately need. I find the faith to take his hand and move forward without answers hoping the Lord is creating something of beauty.