Shattered Silence

Shattered Silence

Wednesday, April 14, 2021

Open Letter: I Choose Right Now

To everyone I love, and all those who love me,

With a sober mind, an earnest heart, and some measure of apprehension, I have carefully chosen this time to share with my friends and family that I am no longer actively participating in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Though I still retain my membership on official records, I have chosen to step away from the body of the Church in order to protect my own personal sanity, health, happiness, and wellbeing, which have all been immensely strained for the past several years as I’ve struggled to maintain a grip on the faith which, for so long, was the only sustaining power in my life. I have let go of what I had hoped could be, and have moved on to what I know I can have right now.

The sun has set upon who I once was, and the lifeless
landscape through which I made my tiresome journey.
Though it weighs heavily on my heart to make this announcement, nevertheless I am very grateful, honored, and overjoyed to also announce I am not stepping away from the body of the Saints with empty arms or an empty heart. For more than a year now I have been in an amazing long-term relationship with a wonderful man whom I care deeply about, and it is one of the best, most fulfilling decisions I’ve ever made in my life. We entered each other’s lives at just the right time for both of us, when we were each ready for the love and devotion that we had never before experienced, with the partner (and gender) of our choice. We could not have known then just how perfect of a match we would be, and how strong our bond would become. 

Though our relationship took root very quickly, we have been content to spend as much time as possible growing and learning together and preparing our hearts for our future life as a couple. We are both very much in love and taking our relationship very seriously; however, we know that in a local culture of quick courtships and hasty marriages, we do not want to be like our peers, and we aim to do things right the first time. He is not going anywhere, and neither am I; this is not a fling or a temporary arrangement. This is more than he and I could’ve ever hoped for in our fondest dreams, and we are lucky and truly blessed to have each other. And I hope, someday, to be able to share our joy with the world, but it will be in our own time and in our own way.

Knowing that I cannot maintain this loving relationship and my membership in the Church simultaneously while remaining in “good standing” is the primary reason why I have been forced to make the difficult decision to separate myself from the Church. I wish it were not so that giving my whole heart to a caring and adoring man who loves me and makes me happy was a spiritual death sentence—an act of apostasy according to the doctrines and teachings of the Latter-day Saint Church. But that, unfortunately, is not something within my power to change. As Gandalf the Grey once said in J.R.R. Tolkien’s epic tale The Lord of the Rings, “All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.” And the simple fact is that I have chosen love for the time that remains of my life on earth, and it has brought me newfound happiness.

Through the ensuing darkness, the light of a new hope
still shone to guide me into unknown territory.
I have witnessed many LGBTQ Latter-day Saints before me leave the Church; I have heard their stories, and I have long-anticipated the mixed reactions that will come from those who care about me—many of whom have traveled along with me on my personal path of faith, through my blog writing, social media posts, and candid, private discussions. Thus, I understand that this news will be taken in varying ways, based on your own personal feelings and experiences, and how well you feel you’ve gotten to know me. I am not asking anyone to feel a certain way about it; I’m not even asking anyone to understand, necessarily, because this is all immensely complicated. But I do wish to elaborate on three primary points that I feel are important, and at the same time set some clear boundaries for those who may want to show their support or express their love to me in the coming weeks.

Firstly, even though I’ve always spoken very openly and publicly about my life, faith, and sexuality, I don’t feel that I owe anything to anyone as I carry out these monumental life changes. Not an explanation. Not a reason. Not an apology. Nothing. Now—I know how harsh that sounds, and I don’t mean to come off as bitter and uncaring; but separating myself from other people’s feelings and opinions (something I’ve struggled to do all my life) is really the best way for me to approach this whole situation as I prepare for the mixture of positive and negative feedback from people who know me (because it will come).

I hate to say it, but I have put off my doubts and my longing for an intimate human connection for far too long, out of fear of how others would feel about it, rather than how I actually felt about it. I wanted a partner, and the Church was no longer bringing me joy; but I was afraid that others would stop loving and respecting me, and no doubt, some will. There will be those who will message, text, and call to wish me luck regardless of how they feel about my choices; some will be genuinely happy for me, and others will be unsure of their feelings. And that’s okay; this is still very new for me, too. But I know there will also be those who will contact me to express their disappointment and sadness, and will feel the need to recommend scriptures and General Conference talks, and to share their testimonies that the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true, and they will bear witness that I am making a choice with immense eternal consequences.

In the absence of the blinding light, new paths came into my
vision, and better ways were illuminated before me.
So I am telling you right now: That is not what I need or want at this time. Truthfully, my faith is largely in shreds, and I am not presently in a position to incorporate religion into my daily life, nor to consider religious beliefs to be a critical part of my future development, as I once did. Eternity is not on my radar right now, as I have much in the present to work on in order to be successful for what remains of my mortal life; not to mention preparing to share my life with another person and build a successful relationship. I am focusing on myself, my future career, and my partnership at this time, and I don’t have a place for even well-meant gestures that ultimately just foster guilt and shame related to my choice to step away from the Church. There may come a time in the future when I feel ready to delve more deeply into my reasons for leaving, the state of my religious beliefs, and the emotions that I’ve battled with over the last few years; but that time is not now, at least not on a public scale.

Secondly, I fully understand that I didn’t need to announce this publicly; frankly, I’ve felt that it was really nobody’s business. And so, obviously, over a year has passed with few but my closest friends and family members knowing that I am partnered and inactive. But it was my choice to finally announce this after lengthy and careful consideration. Over months and months I have gone through dozens of versions of this letter, and considered a handful of different ways to share it with everyone. With all the options I considered, I still had apprehensions about how my message would be received.

If I was too confidant and blatant, it could be seen as rude or inconsiderate; if I was too subdued, my sincerity could be questioned or I might not be taken seriously. Regardless of the mode of transmission, I was still letting the opinions of others direct my actions, from which I am trying harder to refrain. So I decided finally that I was not going to make it my responsibility to ensure that everyone I knew received this information at the same time, but rather that I would make access to it available to all, and let each individual choose whether they were interested in reading about my life update.

The roads were still rough, but I did not tread them alone; the
journey was still long, but I had renewed strength to carry on.
Another major motivator for me arriving at this desire for a public announcement has been the feeling like I am living in the closet again, hiding my true self from the world for fear of backlash, rejection, and criticism. That is an awful feeling; it is stifling and uncomfortable. No one deserves to feel confined to a space where they cannot be who they were meant to be. So in opening the door and coming out again now, please try to understand that I cannot and will not hold myself personally accountable or responsible for what anyone thinks or how anyone feels about this news or how I’ve chosen to share it. I dislike feeling like I have something to hide, like I did when I was young, closeted, and putting up a façade for everyone. Honestly, I’m tired of keeping track of who “knows,” and who doesn’t; who I’ve told already, and who I haven’t. I just want it to be over with already, in one swift, but quiet motion.

Even though it is for the best for me to remain somewhat detached from others’ opinions on this topic, I want you to know that I fully understand the array of emotions you may feel, because I have already cycled through them many times over in the last few months (and years) as I saw my time in the Latter-day Saint Church drawing to a close—despite my death grip on my faith. Some will feel that this public disclosure was indeed necessary, and others will see it as attention-seeking behavior, but I cannot change any of those thoughts. I spent years in the closet and remember my liberation from it very well. I am seeking that freedom again by telling everyone that I am now living as authentically as I can after finding the right time and way to make this leap.

I acknowledge the pain and sadness some of you will feel. It does make me uncomfortable to know that my choice will hurt some of you. I understand that there are those who have looked up to me and been inspired by my faith and devotion to the gospel for a long time now. But because I invite others’ feelings into my heart and mind so easily, they do not just remain personal opinions or fleeting feelings—they become scathing expectations and heavy responsibilities that I cannot help but take upon myself personally, and it causes (and has caused) irreparable damage to my wellbeing. I have chosen to be true and faithful to the truest part of myself that I know (and have confirmed) will bring me the most happiness now, not later. And I am learning to do this regardless of what anyone else will think about it—even those I am closest to, who I know care about me and just want the best for me. I’m not very good at it yet, but I keep trying, and it is getting easier to do.

With the smallest glimmer of a new day on the horizon, all
fears seemed to vanish, and I felt the warmth of life returning.
And that brings me to my third and final point, and that is that I AM HAPPY. You need to know and understand this the most. I am happy with this decision. Please do not assume for one second that I arrived at it easily; it is probably the most difficult choice I’ve ever been forced to make, and forced I was. But it needed to happen in order for me to be happy with my life and optimistic about my future—both of which seemed to be hopeless and going nowhere before the fall of 2019, when I met my partner and my life slowly began to change and take on new meaning.

After thirteen steady years as an active member of the Church, I was uncertain and uncomfortable at first, even as I was falling in love with an amazing man. But the simple passing of time within a new way of living (and loving) has brought about a solid awareness and a clearer recognition of the joy and satisfaction I feel being loved and in love. I am more certain of the happiness I feel with my partner than I was with the type of happiness I felt as an openly gay, fully active Latter-day Saint. I do not regret my time as an active member of the Church. I do sometimes wish that I had been ready to make this change sooner in my life’s timeline; but that is one more thing I cannot do anything about now. Still, my broken faith aside, I choose to believe that everything which has transpired in my life happened exactly as it was meant to.

I think it’s also important for you to know (or be reminded) that I have been to the brink of wanting to take my own life because I was so unhappy and felt so hopeless. Within the last five years, even, I have come close to ending my pain and exiting this mortal stage rather than exiting the Church. Both options seemed like a failure. And I have known and heard of many like me, LGBTQ Latter-day Saints, who approached that same dark precipice and chose to plunge over the edge to end their pain. I did not want that to be my fate when another solution seemed to be in sight: Embracing my sexuality to the fullest extent possible and seeking a loving relationship with a man. I could no longer push through the agony and anguish toward a time, somewhere beyond the veil, when I was told everything would be okay, and all would be made up to me a hundred fold. It was too far, and too lonely a path to trudge for the rest of my living days.

Challenges lay ahead on every road I had yet to travel, but my
heart was at peace and my soul was no longer weary from toil.
No one—absolutely no one—deserves to feel (or be told) that they have to wait to die in order to truly start living. Not one single person deserves that, especially those like the LGBTQ Latter-day Saints, who are so often willing to sacrifice everything to continue making costly deposits into a heavenly bank account of everlasting joy, while in the meantime living on earth in a state of mental, emotional, psychological, and spiritual poverty. That was my plight; I lived it every day for many years, waiting (sometimes wishing) for death and my ultimate eternal payoff. I was waiting to die in order to start living.

I can only say that it was a miserable state of limbo to be in when I was taught that life was meant to be enjoyed, and when I tried so hard to make myself believe that God had a plan of happiness for me that was supposed to be the entire purpose of my existence. Eventually I decided that I deserve happiness now—not at some future time, especially when my mental health struggles were so challenging at times that I couldn’t even see myself lasting long enough to reach the finish line.

And I am happy! You don’t have to believe it; but I want you to know it regardless. I am not without many of the same daily challenges; but I’m happier now than I’ve been in a long time, because I can compare and contrast my joy and my pain, then and now, and I see the difference starkly. What I thought was happiness as an active member of the Church probably was happiness according to the limitations I put on myself in order to please God and others. But this, what I have now, is somehow fuller, and more satiating to my soul. It feels different, and that is something that I didn’t think was possible—indeed, I was told that it wasn’t.

I basked in the light and warmth of a new life, as if I had never
known joy—as if it couldn't possibly exist.
In the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints I was taught to believe that true happiness comes from having the gospel in my life and by obeying its teachings; it only follows, then, that those who do not have the gospel message are not truly happy, or that their fulfillment and joy in life are fleeting, fragile, and temporary—not in their purest and most lasting forms. This is why we send tens of thousands of missionaries out into the world to spread our message and share our joy with others.

Whether intentionally or unintentionally, I was taught in the Church to believe that my satisfaction and contentment with life exceeded that of others because of the knowledge that came from my faith beliefs. Any success or joy or happiness was not of my own making, but a gift of the gospel and a blessing from God. With a collective conviction such as this, I often wondered who wouldn’t want to be a member of our church, or worse: Who would choose to leave it?

My experience has been that this overarching notion has led many Latter-day Saints, including me, to become convinced that anyone who chooses to abandon full activity in the Church or allows themselves to fall into unbelief is deliberately choosing not only unhappiness for life but spiritual punishment in death. With the abandonment of one’s membership willfully comes the loss of potential blessings, the loss of conscience (through the separation of the Holy Ghost), as well the eternal consequences of breaking God’s commandments. This is the message I received, and it is truly what I believed as I sacrificed my health and life for God, believing that that was what He wanted and required from me, and that I would most certainly be damned if I chose any other alternative.

Thus, there will be some, I’m sure, who will believe that I am deceiving myself and everyone else when I say that I am happy with my decision to love another man outside of the fold of the Church. But I promise you all that I am happy now, and this is for the best. I can feel the difference, in my flesh and in my bones. I am happy in love—I have an intimate connection with another human being that is not limited to the type of love I feel for my family and friends. It’s what I’ve always wished for; and it’s what many of you already experience and enjoy without prohibition.

In the fertile soil of my open heart, love took root, blossoming
into something more beautiful than I had ever imagined.
As look back on my life, I can see so many instances where I made choices that were not my own, but stemmed rather from pressure, intimidation, expectations, or even well-meant encouragement from others—parents and other family, friends, leaders in school and in the Church, my peers, my society and culture, etc. Getting a college education, for example, was not really my own desire the first two times I tried it, and I am certain that that is part of the reason I failed on those occasions. But when I saw that my life was going nowhere, and it seemed that a college degree would give me a leg up on more opportunities and enjoyment in living, I luckily took serious the chance I got to go back to earn my degree. And because it was my choice to go back that third time, I was ready to make the most of the opportunity and I worked hard to make my dreams a reality—and certainly, in the end, I did. I graduated.

I see the circumstances surrounding my exit from the LDS Church much that same as my college experience. I am finally living for myself and what I need to be well and happy. It is my choice and my opportunity, and I am giving it all I’ve got, being careful, taking my time, and working hard at maintaining this remarkable relationship I have. I am not (or am trying to not) be concerned about how others will take it, because it’s my heart that is in the decision this time, not theirs; and it is proving to be the most correct choice I’ve ever made on my own.

I am conscious of the “risks” involved, both relational and spiritual, and I am the one who will face the consequences of my choice, should I ever be required to do so. But equally and oppositely, I am also the one who will feel the positive reverberations coming from my choice to love and be loved. I am the one who gets to share all that happiness with my partner. I am the one who will enjoy companionship and intimacy, perhaps for life, rather than loneliness and despair. I am the one who gets to be happy now, after years and years of living to please others and bring them happiness first.

I am putting myself first for once. It is my turn to be happy now, and truly I am. And that is all that matters right now. Nothing else.

My happiness finally matters.

With love,

~ Wade

This is the heart of the Eagle Nebula, a formation of cosmic dust, gas, and other matter known as the "Pillars of Creation," a cradle of life for the birth of stars.  "New" stars are created from the remnants of themselves—stellar matter ejected from old stars which have died in massive supernovas, and then gathered together again over eons to form new light and life.  Sometimes, as John the Revelator once spoke, former things must pass away in order for better things to manifest (Revelation 21:4).  Similarly, some parts of ourselves, even ones that we once considered vital to our character, must die in order for us to become a better version of the person we want to be.  But that doesn't mean that our "old self" didn't serve a purpose; it is from the former versions of us that we gather together the key elements of who we are and begin again the slow process of regeneration and rebirth.  THANK YOU to all who supported the light that my former self strived to shine upon the world.  I hope you will find that my new self carries with him the same familiar warmth, but with added brilliance and clarity. ~ WAW

Thursday, November 8, 2018

Poem: The Parable of the Man of Grief

It has been about a year since a fight with my father led to my
decision to stop speaking to him.
In November last year I had a falling out with my father. In some ways, it was what I expected to happen when I went over to his house that day, after not visiting him for over a year because of personal mental and emotional struggles and obligations to school and my job. I knew he wouldn’t understand my reasons for staying distant, even though I was doing most of the suffering and experiencing all of the guilt—and I certainly couldn’t admit that I actually felt a little better by not feeling obligated to visit him when all he did was drink and talk badly about everyone I loved.

Excepting that visit last fall, I have not seen or spoken to my father for two years, collectively. I knew it hurt him and fostered much bitterness and hatred for which my father is infamous. But in my one-sided attempt at a tolerable father-son relationship, none of my struggles mattered to him, and neither did my love for him. Though the phone works both ways, the maintenance of our bond rested solely on my shoulders, and I had failed in his eyes.

His first words to me when he answered the door were not that he missed me, or was glad to see me—they were “I haven’t seen you in a year.” He counted every day of negligence so he could hurl them in my face the moment I came back to admit my mistake; that is so his style, and I knew it would happen. The other details of that visit are not necessary; I’ve shared them with close loved ones and made peace with what happened. But I left his house abruptly, at his order, and the tears began to flow the moment I got into my car a drove away. It was one of the hardest cries I’ve had in years.

The parable of the Good Samaritan, as depicted here by Dan
Burr, inspired the hymn that then inspired my poem about my dad.
The next time I saw my therapist after the encounter, he and I had a really good session talking about my dad and my personal issues that I feel stem from my relationship with him. I asked Chris, my therapist, if there was a way to work through some of my “daddy issues” after I had identified several in that session, and he just encouraged creative means, like journaling, music, poetry, etc. Without total resolve, I made a note in my mind to try to write a poem about my dad someday. It was in my thoughts, but not a priority.

In early 2017, perhaps 2016 as well, I had been spending my restless nights trying to memorize all the verses to the hymn “A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief.” I’ve always liked the tune, and had a couple of the verses already committed to memory, so I made a goal to memorize the rest. I would go over and over them in my head until I fell asleep, and get up in the morning sometimes and check the verses where I knew I had made errors. I decided after I had memorized the whole song that I really loved the rhythm and rhyming scheme, and that someday I would write a poem or hymn text to that same pattern.

New Year’s Eve of 2017, in the wee hours, I lay in bed again restless, and remembered these two goals—to write a poem about my dad, and to use the rhyming pattern from the hymn. So, like I have done many times in the past, I just started imagining lines in my head. The second verse came to me first, and I finished the entire verse in its essence before I fell asleep. Verses one and three I also worked out almost in their entirety before retiring. The theme that came from each verse as I made them up was that of a man in different stages of life, progressively succumbing to a miserable self-induced fate—just like my father.

Once I had the rhyming scheme and imagery together in my head,
the poem about my dad's tragic life was created rather quickly.

I awoke by noon the next day, showered, and got ready to go to my mom’s like I would any other Sunday, holiday notwithstanding. Before I left I sat down and typed out the verses I remembered from the night before so I wouldn’t lose them. I sat there on my computer for maybe half an hour and tweaked the verses a bit as I gave Mom time to run to the store before I drove down. Then I went to my mom’s house and came home just after ringing in the New Year 2018.

I was eager to get back on the computer and work on the poem. Because of my tendency to make poems with many verses, I decided I would make this one shorter, but of course with an even number of verses as per my OCD. I had three written out and the beginnings of a fourth, so I decided on six total. With the help of a thesaurus and rhyming dictionary when I got stumped, I finished the poem around 2:00AM. I was very happy with it. Though I didn’t feel the Spirit of the Lord as strongly as I have in the past when writing inspired pieces, I nevertheless knew that this piece was helped along by divine blessing.

I sent the poem via email to a select few close friends, and then I went to bed. I decided on the title for this poem because of the fact that I was inspired by the rhyming scheme of “A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief.” It’s kind of funny, too, but I also read just a day or two before some new Harry Potter books: “Quidditch through the Ages,” and “The Tales of Beetle the Bard” (well, they were new to me). The latter is a book of short stories with morals, like fairytales, but for the wizarding world; both are written by J.K. Rowling.

The latter book left me in a sort of whimsical mood, and I know that when I went to bed that night after reading them, there was inspiration from that book in the way I formed the verses for my new poem. I also had similar inspiration from the sort-of whimsical feel of the hymn itself, and I tried to mimic that feeling while also giving the poem a contemporary, modern application (because the stories about the man in the poem are taken from my dad’s own life and personality and my feelings towards him).

Though certain elements of my poem are symbolic, the piece still
reflects my feelings of growing up with an alcoholic parent.

I should also mention that in my Family Studies courses the last couple of semesters, I’ve learned a great deal about the family of origin and how the environment in which we are reared affects individuals for a lifetime, for good or for bad. I am realizing that much of my dad’s bitterness and misery are from his rough upbringing, which I still know little about. I do not offer that as an excuse (as the last line of the poem denotes—he had a choice), but it helps me cope by knowing that I am not the cause of his grief and pain. It makes me feel sorry for him, and honestly, helps me to forgive him for what he does to our family through his drinking and pride.

I almost decided to change the name of the poem to “The Parable of the Broken Man” because I thought it sounded more compelling. But first I looked up the definition of the word ‘grief’ and realized it was perfect for the man in my poem, and for my dad, upon whom the fictional man is based; the definition for ‘grief’ was “keen mental suffering or distress over affliction or loss; sharp sorrow; painful regret.” The last two words of that definition fit well, but stung a little as I comprehended the miserable end my dad is slowly crawling towards; a sense of regret overwhelms the somber end of the Man of Grief.

I shared this poem on Facebook at the request of family and friends, after I had posted vaguely about how creating the poem was the best part of my New Year’s festivities. It was so satisfying to have this sober reflection recorded permanently on paper, like a lens into my heart, my father’s heart, and the painful relationship we’ve shared.

My therapist told me, in his office that day when we talked about my father, that it was okay to let people go when their actions were toxic and harmful to us. He assured me that as much as it hurts, and even though the confrontation was not my fault, it was okay to think about my mental wellness and emotional health by setting boundaries with my father to prevent him from hurting me more and causing more damage. My therapist reminded me that I can still love my father—and certainly, I do—but I can make the choice to no longer let his choices affect me.

I only wish that the regrettable choices my father’s parents made, and the hurt that he has kept with him for so long could be washed away by something stronger than a million cans of cheap beer. Perhaps only God will ever truly know and understand the stony depths of my father’s heart.





The Parable of the Man of Grief – 


A tender boy there was who longed 
For gentle care and love refined, 
But by his fam’ly he was wronged 
And learned to isolate his mind. 
He had no place to turn for peace, 
But through his anger found release; 
From all his grief away he ran, 
And grew to be a broken man. 

A young man sought to drown his woes, 
So to his lips he put strong drink. 
A slurring speech replaced his prose; 
He ceased to feel, he could not think. 
Then laid he on his bed to rest, 
The bottle still clutched to his chest; 
But when he woke and rubbed his eyes, 
The pain returned—to his surprise. 

A father worked hard to provide, 
But fam’ly was to him a slight; 
His love for them he cast aside 
And took his poison every night— 
Indulged his thirst to great excess 
To drive away his deep distress, 
And as he slumped down in his chair 
It’s like he wasn’t even there.

A man with heart so insecure 
Learned only how to praise himself; 
His conscience he would self-assure 
And boast about his skills and wealth. 
His pride laid ruin to his life— 
He lost his children and his wife; 
He watched them go, but with a scoff 
Insisted he was better off. 

An old man carried much regret 
For words unsaid and deeds undone; 
With hardened heart, he would not let 
Himself be loved by anyone. 
He mourned for all the wasted years— 
The time was past for shedding tears. 
He saw now as he reached his end: 
The bottle was his only friend. 

The mem’ry of a man lived on 
Within the hearts of those who knew 
The roots of suff’ring long foregone— 
The hurt that he could not undo. 
And from his life they kept the best— 
Preserved the good, forgave the rest; 
But still lamented deep within 
The man they wish he could have been. 


- Wade A. Walker
January 1, 2018

~

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Monday, August 20, 2018

Cherries and Charity

Working as a cashier for several years now, I have both
witnessed and been a participant in many acts of charity.
I’ve worked as a cashier for over four years now. Presently, I’m employed with a local grocery store and I love my job. It’s true that standing on your feet for hours and hours can be difficult; my back and feet hurt at the end of an 8-hour shift, and I rely heavily on intermittent doses of ibuprofen during and after a work shift. But I love connecting with people every day and find most of my customers to be pleasant people (there are, of course, always exceptions, and I am thankfully a pretty patient and forgiving person).

I like the fact that being a cashier gives me an excuse or a reason to talk to strangers, whereas I am usually kind of hesitant interacting with people I don’t know in other circumstances. I see the opportunity to ask about someone’s day while giving them a huge, natural smile as an enjoyable task, and not just part of my job description. I often tell people (and I told the store manager this when I was interviewed for this position) that I see two options when interacting with others: You can make someone’s day worse, or you can make it better; you can leave people feeling glad that they interacted with you, or cause them to regret that your paths ever crossed.

I know this all sounds like cheesy, helplessly-optimistic job interview fodder, but I actually mean it—I want to make others happy and I want them to feel cared about. Certainly this desire also relates to my perfectionistic efforts to please others at my own expense, which behaviors have been toxic for me at times, and still remain an active struggle. But under the assumption that I will have one shot to make or break someone’s day, and reasoning that I may not ever see them again (though, of course I have regular customers), I like to do my best to give people a good experience—not just with the business I represent, but with a fellow member of the human family.

Though I have my rough days, I still see my customer service
job as an opportunity to bring love and joy to strangers.
If I can show forth extra compassion, care, love, humor, sympathy, empathy, or just relate to someone on a personal level while I am ringing up their groceries, I will feel like I’ve done my part as an employee and as a person. My values are old-fashioned, it seems—courtesy, politeness, friendliness, respect, and integrity—characteristics that I not only appreciate in others, but that I try to live by. And in our turbulent, disconnected world, connecting with another person face to face instead of through an electronic screen, seems to be a growing novelty—I dare even say an epidemic.

And I truly believe that small gestures can have large, positive consequences; perhaps this is why smiling at others when I make eye contact with them has become a habit for me. Not smiling when someone looks at me feels foreign and uncomfortable at this point. Smiles can brighten days and illuminate lives that are dreary; I know, because the smiles of others have pulled me out of the emotional cloudiness of stress and fatigue numerous times—and the smiling strangers have no idea that they have helped me.

The anonymity, for lack of a better word, of giving to someone else without expecting anything in return, is a feeling of goodness that I strive for. When I can tell I’ve made an emotional connection with a stranger, I have a bit more of a reward; but there is still a certain soft, gentle thrill in not knowing—and usually hoping in my heart—that my efforts at being personable were life changing. Again, this is something I know from rare experience, having been told how the sharing of my love or talents has changed individual lives, years after the fact. If anything, it’s a reminder that I have an influence on others, whether I think so or not; and I want to influence in joyful ways.

When cherry season came, I longed to buy
some of the nostalgic fruit of my childhood.
As the summer months began this year, the fruits and vegetables in season changed at the store where I work. I was adjusting to memorizing 4-digit PLU codes for produce that we did not have in abundance when I began my job in the spring—sweet corn, peaches, nectarines, and plums. I was particularly excited about the bags of dark-red cherries. I love cherries; growing up, several neighbors had black cherry trees that I would climb or shake to retrieve the fruit, and my summers were spent eating as many cherries as I could find. But for some reason, I haven’t had cherries in years, probably as younger generations of home owners have moved into older homes where fruit trees dotted the property, and have opted to pull the trees up in order to maintain the yard more easily.

With each bag of cherries I rang up (the code for them is 4045, by the way), the more I wanted to taste them again. But despite working again after six jobless months, I was still struggling financially. This is the first employer I’ve worked for that offered me accommodations for my Tourettes, OCD, anxiety, and depression through the Americans With Disabilities Act (ADA). When I struggle to come into work, for whatever reason related to my challenges, my employment with the company is protected so that I won’t lose my job as easily as I have lost jobs in the past because of the same reasons. Though I worried about feeling like I had a “free pass” to miss work, I have found peace of mind in knowing that I can call my employer in a timely manner and take the day off when I need to without getting written up or fired.

Needless to say, there are still consequences, as I am the one who has to deal with losing the working hours, and therefore losing out on pay. Even though I am working again, money has been tight as I’ve lived paycheck to paycheck, paying bills and covering new expenses that I didn’t have when I was unemployed and receiving help from the state and my LDS ward. Even just buying food is a problem, when for six months I received “food stamps” and groceries from the Latter-day Saint food pantry for the needy, known as the Bishop’s Storehouse.

So what does this have to do with cherries? Well, for several weeks I was strapped for cash because I had called in to work several times in a pay period. I literally had pennies in my checking and savings accounts, and my credit card and overdraft line-of-credit were maxed out. One day before going into work, I asked my roommate if I could borrow five dollars to buy some food on my lunch break that night; I tend to get the jitters if I don’t eat when I am working—kind of like a sugar crash that people get when they eat sweets or energy drinks on an empty stomach.
I was broke until payday; the only money I had was a pocketful of
loose change that I had to borrow from my roommate.
Of course, this is 2018, and my roommate asked if he could send me the money using a money transfer app, which I don’t have. The only option was good, old-fashioned pocket change, which my roommate retrieved from a jar in his closet. I went to work with five dollars in quarters. I bought some cheap snacks that I felt would sustain me through the rest of my shift, and had about two dollars left over, with which I planned to buy some cherries, which were on sale. I could just get a handful with the money I had—just enough to taste them and see if they were as good as they looked.

I eyeballed the bags of cherries that came through all during that shift. I checked the weights on the screen to see if I could gauge how many cherries I could get with two dollars, at $1.48 per pound. One gentleman, a younger man, came through and bought one full bag of cherries, plus a small produce sack of a few more cherries. We chatted casually, and I commented on how good the cherries looked. He asked if I’d tried them, since it was still relatively early in the season, wondering if they were sweet or tart.

I told him I hadn’t had any yet, but that I knew the darker they were, the sweeter they tended to be. He agreed, and asked how long they’d be on sale. I told him I wasn’t sure, but that they were the lowest I’d seen them since we first got them into the store; I commented randomly, just making conversation, that I planned to buy some when I got paid, and that I hoped they stayed on sale that long. When I weighed the small sack of cherries, it came to just under two dollars. After the gentleman paid I looked at the small bag closely, and hefted it in my hands a bit before sending them down the conveyor belt to the bagging area (at my store, customers bag their own groceries).

The young man asked if I noticed anything wrong with the cherries, since it is not uncommon to find a bug now and then, or a rotten fruit or vegetable among the rest. I replied that I was just making a mental note of the amount of cherries in the bag because I only had two dollars, and that particular bag cost just under that amount. He nodded in acknowledgement, and I thought nothing of it, because I am generally pretty honest with my customers, even while keeping a positive tone (for example, when customers ask how I am, which happens dozens of times a day, I don’t mind saying “I’m a little tired, but I’m doing great!” if such is the case; it is generally a point of interest for people, as we can talk about our busy days together and how much we look forward to going home, etc.).

After talking with a customer about my eagerness to try the
cherries, he discreetly gifted me a bag and left without a word.
A few minutes after the young gentleman left, a coworker who runs the self-checkout registers walked up to me with bag full of cherries. “A customer said to give this to you; I don’t know what it’s about,” she told me, looking confused. “What did he look like?” I asked, smirking. “Young guy, light-brown hair, white shirt…” she rattled off, and I recognized her description as the young man with whom I was discussing the cherries. I couldn’t help but smile widely as I put the cherries under my register.

I smiled for many minutes, flattered, humbled, and honored that someone had quietly decided to treat me so considerately by offering generous charity. But soon the guilt set in; I started retracing my words to the man, wondering if I had sounded as if I were dropping hints. If I had done anything to elicit his charity, I told myself, then I will feel awful. How embarrassing, I said. How whiny and needy I must’ve sounded, I thought. As I often do after being the recipient of charitable acts of kindness, I questioned whether my ability to relate to people and talk as “one of them,” a fellow human, made others feel obligated to serve me, like some pitiful charity case.

I tried to push the thoughts out of my mind. I rejoiced that I still had two dollars that I could use to buy snacks the next time I worked, or purchase some prescription medicine that I needed. I soothed my fears by declaring in my heart that when I had the chance to pay that man’s charity forward to someone else, I would. Whenever I receive charity, I always try to find a way to pay it forward when I am financially able to do so. Feeling resolved in this, I tried to smile again and looked forward to eating my cherries on my next break.

Promising myself that I would "pay it forward," that opportunity
came sooner than I expected in the form of a gallon of milk.
A large women soon came through my line in a seated electric shopping cart. In one hand she held an empty cardboard Tootsie Roll container which doubled as a loose change bank. In her other hand she held a slip from the change-counting machine near the entrance of our store; the slip can be redeemed for cash or purchases. On the conveyor belt was one gallon of whole milk. I realized in a moment that this woman had cashed in all the change she had in that Tootsie Roll cylinder in order to buy a single needed grocery item. I felt badly for her; I was instantly humbled, even in my own wanting circumstances.

I wasn’t sure how to cash out a receipt from the coin-counting machine; I had only done it once before, and that customer had used the money to buy groceries. The customer service desk usually redeemed these receipts for large amounts, but it was after 10:00 PM, so the customer service desk was closed. The woman’s meager reward from the cardboard bank was only about three dollars, so I decided just to try cashing out the slip like I had done only once before and letting her buy the milk with the money.

However, I made the mistake of not ringing up the milk first, which would’ve allowed me to use the change receipt as payment for the purchase, and then give her the remaining change. Instead, my cash register popped open and indicated me to give her the full amount of her redemption. I pulled the money from my till, and handed it to the woman. “Okay,” I said pleasantly, “I’m going to give you your money, and then I will take care of the milk for you.” But the instant I said it, I realized that it was misinterpreted, which was entirely my fault.

The woman’s mouth opened and her eyes suddenly sparkled. “Aww!” she softly exclaimed, “Thank you so much!” At this point I hesitated briefly, realizing I couldn’t go back on my words now—the woman thought that I had offered to buy her gallon of milk, and I wasn’t about to backtrack when I could tell that she was so touched by my unintentional gesture of charity. Before she could sense my hesitation, I smoothly rang in the milk, smiling big, and reached into my pocket discreetly for the money to pay for it; the total came to the exact amount of change I had left.

Like the widow and her two mites, I was grateful that I could give
what little I had to someone with a need greater than my own.
I put the coins into my till, pulled the receipt from the printer, crumpled it, and tossed it into the garbage in a way almost symbolic of my feeling that the act was nothing praiseworthy, because it really wasn’t. I had seen customers pay for strangers’ groceries many times over the years when the total was far greater, and so, perhaps, was the need. But to the woman, it meant more than just two dollars. “You are an angel; thank you,” said the woman before she grabbed her gallon of milk and drove the electric cart away. I waved and wished her well, perhaps more sincerely than I had any other customer that day. Though my smile lingered, in my head I thought that I would again have to figure out a way to buy food for lunch at work the next day, and wait on that medication (which, by the way, was not critical to my health).

But before I could worry about my financial situation or feel sorry for myself, the Spirit impressed upon me the realization that my opportunity to pay it forward for the gift of a bag of cherries had already come to pass, and only minutes after I was made the recipient of charity myself. At this thought, I laughed softly—that quiet, shake-of-the-head, “I’ll-be-darned” sort of laugh that pronounces that the Lord really does work in mysterious ways as the pieces all come together. I couldn’t help but thank God for presenting me with the chance not just to be served, but to serve again in return, when I already had so little to give.

I thought of the story of widow’s mite recorded in the New Testament. Jesus, observing the rich casting money noisily into the treasury boxes, saw a poor, unassuming widow approach the collection box and quietly drop in two mites, or the smallest denomination of coin available at that time. Getting His disciples attention, Jesus declared that this poor widow’s offering was worth more than the offerings of those who “did cast in of their abundance” for all to see; for the Lord, discerning the intents of her heart, understood that the widow “of her want did cast in all that she had, even all her living,” or all she had to live on, in other words (Mark 12:41-44).

I do not intend to praise myself, or sound the trumpet before me by writing this (see Matthew 6:2). The story of the widow’s mite is a favorite of mine, and as someone who has lived largely in poverty for many years, I very much understand her plight. Though she had little, her heart was turned toward something better for which she was willing to make a sacrifice. The treasury boxes where the widow cast in her donation belonged to the temple at Jerusalem. Monetary donations to the temple in Jesus’ day were both expected for adult Jews over a certain age, and also welcomed when given by freewill.

When vanity and pride are at the heart of our charity, we lose the
true reward of rendering compassionate service.
Though I didn’t understand the exact circumstances of the woman in my line who needed a gallon of milk, I believed that the little money I possessed (which was given to me in the first place) could do more good when spent on behalf of someone else whose need I perceived to be greater than my own. Likewise, the widow didn’t know how much good her farthing would make in the grand scheme of things, but she gave what she could give to help a cause she believed in, trusting that her gift would make a difference in the house of Jehovah, and that God would reward her faith.

I liken my experience to that of the widow and her two mites. I could’ve dramatically pulled the change from my pocket and tossed it loudly into my till one coin at a time to make sure everyone knew that I was doing something that others might find praiseworthy; in that way, I would’ve had my reward (see Matthew 6:2). Similarly, the young man who bought my cherries could’ve sauntered over to me and announced boisterously that he was giving me a gift that he knew would be meaningful to me as he handed me the bag.

But I he didn’t and neither did I. He left a lasting impression upon me that he didn’t even stick around to take credit for; I wouldn’t even recognize him if I saw him again, though he probably still does his shopping at my store. But I would want to thank him. I would want him to know how his gift of charity made me feel, but that’s not important to him, I am pretty certain. Likewise, I don’t require praise from the woman I helped, because my joy was found in her sparkling eyes the minute I accidentally made her my beneficiary.

Wise and heartfelt sentiment to this end was once given by an English writer and Puritan minister named John Bunyan (abt. 1628 – 1688), who wrote:

“You have not lived today until you have done something for someone who can never repay you.”

By the way—the cherries were delicious.




(Above is a beautiful visual portrayal of the account of the widow's mite created by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.  See more videos HERE.)

Wednesday, June 6, 2018

Song Dissection—"Second Hand Heart" (Pt. 10)

See my introductory post, “Song Dissection – Second Hand Heart (Pt. 1)” for background on this essay project. If you are a new reader, I invite you to listen to the song and watch the official music video below. The lyrics are listed for you to read as well. This is the final installment of the 10-part series begun in January 2018, wherein I have reflected on spiritual lessons inspired by this song. 

* * * * *


Second Hand Heart
Performed by Ben Haenow
(Featuring Kelly Clarkson)

The light of the morning finds you sleeping in my bed
And it’s not like the stories; it’s never like what they said
I know who you want me to be but I’m just not there yet
Yeah, the broken road’s always been home and it’s so hard to forget

Wait for me now
Will you wait for me now?

CHORUS:

I might think too much, drink too much, stay out too late
I know I’m just a fool, but I swear I can change
I can’t steal you the stars, but I can give you this secondhand heart
All your friends think I’m hopeless, they don’t understand
That this imperfect love can start over again
It’s been broken apart, but will you still take my secondhand heart?

(FIRST STANZA REPEATS)

(CHORUS REPEATS)

FIRST BRIDGE:

If you let me show you, I could love you the same
And I can’t steal you the stars, but I can try every day
Oh, you know they’ll never tear us apart

SECOND BRIDGE:

And I’m just a fool, but I swear I can change
And I can’t steal you the stars, but I can try every day
Oh, you know you got my secondhand heart

(SECOND BRIDGE REPEATS)

* * * * *

“If you let me show you, I could love you the same
And I can’t steal you the stars, but I can try every day
Oh, you know they’ll never tear us apart
… you know you got my secondhand heart” 

Elder George Albert Smith (1870 – 1951), who would later be sustained as the eighth president and prophet of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (Mormons) once said the following:

         “The beauty of the Gospel of Jesus Christ is that it makes us all equal in as far as we keep the commandments of the Lord. In as far as we observe to keep the laws of the Church we have equal opportunities for exaltation.”
         ~ In Conference Report, Oct. 1933, 25.

This quote by then-Elder Smith was among the first of a collection of quotes that I began recording shortly after I joined the LDS Church. I wrote them in a spiral-bound notebook and later meticulously transferred them to my computer where my collection has reached over 300 quotes from LDS prophets, apostles, and general authorities. As I’ve pondered the closing of this Song Dissection essay series, and these final few lyrics, I’ve reflected much on my distant past, the recent past, the present, and my future in order to write about what these lyrics meant to me when I first heard them, and what they mean to me now.

Growing up as a closeted, gay young man, and also living with Tourette syndrome and obsessive compulsive disorder, I was frequently torn between wanting to fit in with everyone else, while still desiring to stand out among the crowd as someone unique and special. I recognized my talents and wanted to share them with others, perhaps in compensation for possessing so many visible and invisible flaws and shortcomings.

I wanted to be included while internally my sexuality made me feel excluded from others, especially other males. Outwardly, I couldn’t help but be noticed with my frequent vocal and motor tics. I’ve thought about this period of my life a lot, with sorrow, regret, shame, and anger—for the ways in which I was treated, for the ways I behaved and acted out while yearning for attention.

It's an interesting feeling to know that you stand out from the
crowd while having a strong desire to fit in with others.
Looking back now, I feel that what I really wanted most was to be noticed and acknowledged on my own terms rather than forced into public view by the disorders that ruled me. I wanted to be liked because of my good qualities, not necessarily my outstanding quirks; I wanted to feel important because of my human worth, not because others felt sorry for me. Many days I wanted just to blend in with the crowd (preferably the more popular, well-liked groups); other days I longed to juxtapose myself across social circles and be admired by all. My sometimes erratic behavior got me into a lot of trouble during high school as I struggled so hard to find a comfortable place among my peers, while maintaining my individual identity (as I simultaneously suppressed my sexual identity, albeit very poorly).

It’s an interesting feeling to know that some integral part (or parts) of who you are—like your sexual orientation, gender identity, race, ethnicity, etc.—make(s) you unequal to everyone else around you in ways that you cannot fully comprehend in your youth. I think this is why I sought early on to find a community or clique that understood me and appreciated my differences, while also not emphasizing them. People who wanted me, needed me, but with whom I fit in like a piece of a larger puzzle. People I could be mostly myself around without censoring, silencing, or second-guessing.

Like a phoenix from the ashes, my trials
have given rebirth to my confidence to
be unique in a pool of cultural homogeneity.
Over the last several years, I have caved to the idea that I cannot be the Latter-day Saint or disciple of Christ that my Mormon peers expect me to be, which is a devastating inclination for someone like me, who for so long felt rescued by my faith and devoted to it for life (and eternity). Yet my realizations brought me very near to leaving the Church for the second time, just a year ago. Though the ways in which I’ve grown in the last year are important, they are subtle even to me, and I will not try to explain them. What I can articulate is that, like a phoenix that survives its own self-induced flames, this process of suffering and starting over has renewed my sense of identity and self-worth and given birth to a new confidence that inspires and emboldens me to embrace my outstanding differences in a pool of cultural sameness.

I have chosen not to succumb to the trends of homogeneity in my faith. I invite and embrace human diversity in all its many forms, especially with people and in places where diversity is too-often viewed as rebellion, irreverence, or lackadaisical discipleship. I am pushing back, gently, against the impossible cultural standards where I live, work, and attend school and church, which is saturated with toxic messages that do not reflect the God I know and the gospel I have come to love.

With a large portion of my faith and testimony restored, I am trying to make a place for myself in the church, just as I am—no apologies, no explanations, and no guilt. I am striving to show my fellow Mormons that I can love God the same as they do, and that it doesn’t matter if I wear a rainbow tie tack to church, or bring my sparkly man-purse to activities, or whether I talk openly in meetings about my sexuality or speak up to correct misguided generalizations about people and unfair blanket statements that exclude others.


It has been said before (and reiterated by LDS leaders) that we ought not to judge others for “sinning differently” than we do—because we all sin (Romans 3:23). I offer that it is just as courteous, if not critical, to apply the same token by not judging others (in this instance, fellow Latter-day Saints) for worshipping differently than we do—because we all worship the same God. We are brothers and sisters of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and our faith should unite us in every respect, where too often it divides us in petty and insensible ways.

"Come As You Are" by Greg Olsen
Copyright © 2018 by Greg Olsen
More importantly, for me, I am trying to show my Heavenly Father and my Lord, Jesus Christ, that I can support the people, causes, and communities I love—and feel equally apart of, like the gay community—the same as I love Them, my heavenly home, and the gospel path I am presently taking. And I see no reason why I can’t do just that. I have made sacred covenants to obey God’s laws and commandments, and I honor and keep those covenants while repenting often to show Him that I am dedicated to being my best self. Every other detail of my worship is between me and the Lord.

The only inapplicable portion of the lyrics in this instance is that I am not asking for permission to squeeze my way into a toxic culture that proscribes me from being who I am; I am deliberately making a place for myself there in the hope that I can force a few people out of their comfortable cultural bubbles to see that Mormons are not cookie-cutter people, as I like to call them—nor do we have to be. What unites us is that we love the Lord, we know where we came from, why we are here, and where we want to go—back home to our Heavenly Parents.

It’s true that I will never be able to prove to God that I will always be faithful to Him and the covenants I’ve made in His holy house. My experience as a Latter-day Saint has been wracked with ups and downs. But like the lyrics of the song, I can acknowledge the majesty and splendor of the star-filled heavens while recognizing, trustingly, that they are not in my power to command. Perfection is not a reality of mortality; it is a blessing of eternity. What’s important now is that I continue to aim for the stars, knowing that in time I will reach them.

Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf, an apostle of the Lord, and then a member of the First Presidency of the Church once gave this beautiful anecdote:


          “Isn’t it wonderful to know that we don’t have to be perfect to experience the blessings and gifts of our Heavenly Father? We don’t have to wait to cross the finish line to receive God’s blessings. In fact, the heavens begin to part and the blessings of heaven begin to distill upon us with the very first steps we take toward the light.
           “The perfect place to begin is exactly where you are right now. It doesn’t matter how unqualified you may think you are or how far behind others you may feel. The very moment you begin to seek your Heavenly Father, in that moment, the hope of His light will begin to awaken, enliven, and ennoble your soul. The darkness may not dissipate all at once, but as surely as night always gives way to dawn, the light will come.
                    ~ “The Hope of God’s Light,” Ensign, May 2013, 75.

When I was baptized, I was under the impression that rising out of the warm waters of the baptismal font made me clean from my sins—which I felt were many, even at age 16—and that it was my responsibility to never sin again. I remember how awful I felt when I transgressed the new law of my life as a covenant member of God’s Kingdom soon after. Similar vices have stayed with me since then, and I don’t imagine they will ever leave—I will probably always be tempted to sin and transgress in ways that have long helped me to cope, find relief, self-soothe, and bring comfort.

But how wrong I was to assume that becoming a disciple of Christ meant being a perfect mortal at all times and in all places. I have learned through trial and error that God’s only expectation for me is to do my best and let the atonement of Jesus Christ make up for the rest. I am happy for the times when I am strong in the faith; but I have seen too many like me leave, and have myself wanted to leave (or have done so) too many times to erroneously assume that I will always be a Mormon.  I simply don't know, and try not to speculate either way.

To some, that probably sounds pessimistic and depressing. To me, though, it is living purposefully and deliberately with my challenges—spiritual, physical, mental, and emotional—by choosing to be a person of faith as long as I can. I cannot say that others (or myself, really) will never tear me apart from my religion, but I don’t think I could ever disregard a belief in my God or my Savior, even if my relationship with Them changed over time.

I take comfort in knowing that the Lord knows all the
chapters of my life, and all the feelings of my heart.
For now I can have faith and trust in power and knowledge greater than my own that things are working out exactly as they should, and will continue to do so. I can forgive others of their insensitivities and ignorance, though at times it is difficult. And I know that no matter what I go through in life, or how my circumstances affect me temporarily, my Redeemer has my secondhand heart permanently, and it is of more value to Him than I could ever possibly comprehend.

He knows my heart’s hurt, its sorrow, its passion, its love, its devotion—for all things, including Him. He knows perfectly, intimately, every story my heart could tell, because He was with me through the telling of them all. He took my heart gently in His pierced hands and mended it after every conflict, struggle, and sin that bruised it, broke it, and crushed it. And I am confident that all that my secondhand heart has felt and endured will be taken into account in the end; and I believe this will hold greater power in the final judgment of God over any choices we may make in order to find further peace and fulfillment and to endure well to the end.

When I look at my brothers and sisters and see addictions, transgressions, weakness, hatred, and foolishness, I am reassured that Christ knows every detail of their turmoil, and all the reasons for their actions. And I am thankful that my tales of success, failure, struggle, and triumph are forever written in the hands and feet of the Master Storyteller, who will mercifully consider all the chapters of my life—both told and untold—before making His final review.  “For the Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart” (1 Samuel 16:7).


          In the Roman Catholic tradition, the Most Sacred Heart of Jesus, or Sacratissimum Cor Iesu in Latin, is a devotion (non-liturgical, or personal, form of worship) recognized annually by a solemnity, or religious celebration, called the Feast of the Sacred Heart, which takes place outside of regular Sunday worship. Pope Pius IX established the solemnity of the Sacred Heart in 1856 as obligatory for the whole church.  The devotion to the Sacred Heart is one of the most well-known and widely practiced devotions in Catholicism, taking the physical heart of Jesus Christ as the representation of His divine love for humanity.
          Considering that the Feast of the Sacred Heart will be celebrated this week (June 8, 2018) by Catholics worldwide, I found this painting by an unknown artist to be an appropriate conclusion to this essay series, showing the Savior holding His own perfect, but once-wounded heart in His hands—also symbolic, perhaps, of the way the Lord holds our hearts in perfect love and mercy.
          It is my prayer that the followers of Christ, in many faiths, will remember always that Jesus knows how to heal our secondhand hearts because His own beating heart was once stilled for our sakes, and brought to life again through His miraculous resurrection.  Our Redeemer lives, and I testify of it!
          To my readers, thank you for joining me on this literary journey.
                    ~ Wade