tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83786382172961409912024-02-06T22:56:56.380-07:00My Shattered Silence—Expressions of Mind & Soul"...For every truth there is an ear somewhere to hear it. ..."
~ Ivan Panin (1855 - 1942)Wade W.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09389169527454451047noreply@blogger.comBlogger42125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8378638217296140991.post-53729152694682225392021-04-14T13:54:00.000-06:002021-04-14T13:54:46.342-06:00Open Letter: I Choose Right Now<span style="font-family: georgia;">To everyone I love, and all those who love me,</span><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">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 <i>could </i>be, and have moved on to what I know I can have right <i>now</i>.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoWfJaJrRbh_JD0IoIMv0cMvDy7xyxckJqeIguS_BmHkaZ3e_pMpe8I3DWhT5W5e9XHPCMihEJjJeVadzqgC80trNdf-6LlxFkCLKj02S750uIzRZKqpXzWntl98zEtezHC9zGx4BB2PV8/s800/Desert+Sunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="800" height="395" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoWfJaJrRbh_JD0IoIMv0cMvDy7xyxckJqeIguS_BmHkaZ3e_pMpe8I3DWhT5W5e9XHPCMihEJjJeVadzqgC80trNdf-6LlxFkCLKj02S750uIzRZKqpXzWntl98zEtezHC9zGx4BB2PV8/w592-h395/Desert+Sunset.jpg" width="592" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>The sun has set upon who I once was, and the lifeless<br />landscape through which I made my tiresome journey.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">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. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">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.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Knowing that I cannot maintain this loving relationship <i>and </i>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 <i>The Lord of the Rings</i>, “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.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu0upAy14ZjV0-tUxDHHu_wxqOlccUp4ezbVymNtZE2GVfNHYGN4EqiTI1zJhnjUYEs5tmv48ifUQRPnt_k6ph88lFXNl0vs981w-lWdAJr4Lvx5i2fxkOrV7O1bIGJ5sliDtr5L1Flc1X/s1000/Desert+with+Stars.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="762" data-original-width="1000" height="391" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu0upAy14ZjV0-tUxDHHu_wxqOlccUp4ezbVymNtZE2GVfNHYGN4EqiTI1zJhnjUYEs5tmv48ifUQRPnt_k6ph88lFXNl0vs981w-lWdAJr4Lvx5i2fxkOrV7O1bIGJ5sliDtr5L1Flc1X/w513-h391/Desert+with+Stars.jpg" width="513" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Through the ensuing darkness, the light of a new hope<br />still shone to guide me into unknown territory.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">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.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Firstly</b>, 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).</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">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.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihhJJXbjkGmv2gWH9e4TWGUmkzqvt7pzyYOapqCB5b1iH2048YCp2fAnQoadnZ-x95UJeoX0qp4dU78AFPZoIsBLPze1nnhndkDBBPnXf4Ev78VUYuTE_sTJSZMECtg6ynwdYscdBA5tIn/s2048/Starry+Sky.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="387" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihhJJXbjkGmv2gWH9e4TWGUmkzqvt7pzyYOapqCB5b1iH2048YCp2fAnQoadnZ-x95UJeoX0qp4dU78AFPZoIsBLPze1nnhndkDBBPnXf4Ev78VUYuTE_sTJSZMECtg6ynwdYscdBA5tIn/w581-h387/Starry+Sky.jpeg" width="581" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>In the absence of the blinding light, new paths came into my<br />vision, and better ways were illuminated before me.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">So I am telling you right now: That is <i>not </i>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.<br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Secondly</b>, 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.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">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.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmlsia_NQ_V2zh06eyVATUz_Q6CjTVsVIQdMoPjyDrGsPAA7-h-nqlBtYh1k475n_3ga3PBu0VygNoivMLAhCpysDz5RDrMKpOopIT4P92hyphenhyphenlco2X25x8t2Xy9BsElPCJokR7jjAmDDcaT/s2048/Stars+%2526+Rocky+Shore.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1363" data-original-width="2048" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmlsia_NQ_V2zh06eyVATUz_Q6CjTVsVIQdMoPjyDrGsPAA7-h-nqlBtYh1k475n_3ga3PBu0VygNoivMLAhCpysDz5RDrMKpOopIT4P92hyphenhyphenlco2X25x8t2Xy9BsElPCJokR7jjAmDDcaT/w586-h390/Stars+%2526+Rocky+Shore.jpg" width="586" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>The roads were still rough, but I did not tread them alone; the<br />journey was still long, but I had renewed strength to carry on.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">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 <i>again </i>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.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">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.</div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">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 <i>now</i>, 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.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhac7FnHEodz6aqljlXo71THJ1O0Bm-ldUO0kY1j41ePc9ca7CMykYGZ5vyQVk0h0ei5aGH9ePAtmaXTqChJvq5MTwoTsez_A2TorYex2hhaHFuLO42bkX2IoI2ppgxJ2cHbV_L_MMMqgKJ/s800/Sunrise+in+Iceland.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="375" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhac7FnHEodz6aqljlXo71THJ1O0Bm-ldUO0kY1j41ePc9ca7CMykYGZ5vyQVk0h0ei5aGH9ePAtmaXTqChJvq5MTwoTsez_A2TorYex2hhaHFuLO42bkX2IoI2ppgxJ2cHbV_L_MMMqgKJ/w564-h375/Sunrise+in+Iceland.jpg" width="564" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>With the smallest glimmer of a new day on the horizon, all<br />fears seemed to vanish, and I felt the warmth of life returning.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">And that brings me to my third and final point, and that is that <b>I AM HAPPY</b>. You need to know and understand this the most. I am <i>happy </i>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.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; text-align: center;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; text-align: center;">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 </span><i style="font-family: georgia; text-align: center;">in </i><span style="font-family: georgia; text-align: center;">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.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">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.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgZGpQ0UhuZKTZsHtlbAe1mcSZajqu09nXxQd8d3Y_Xtg7thV8hi8gqP1JazrRLnr-JiuDDIXTPGihmGreIuxMT9PB9bXbdTD929uxQM9856uAaiIwlgQYoVpOgg5p02ZKCpmt3dCVe6UX/s950/Sunrise+%2526+Dirt+Road.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="633" data-original-width="950" height="397" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgZGpQ0UhuZKTZsHtlbAe1mcSZajqu09nXxQd8d3Y_Xtg7thV8hi8gqP1JazrRLnr-JiuDDIXTPGihmGreIuxMT9PB9bXbdTD929uxQM9856uAaiIwlgQYoVpOgg5p02ZKCpmt3dCVe6UX/w597-h397/Sunrise+%2526+Dirt+Road.jpg" width="597" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Challenges lay ahead on every road I had yet to travel, but my<br />heart was at peace and my soul was no longer weary from toil.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">No one—absolutely no one—deserves to feel (or be told) that they have to wait to <i>die </i>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 <i>everything </i>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 <i>my </i>plight; I <i>lived </i>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.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">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 <i>now</i>—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.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; text-align: center;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; text-align: center;">And I </span><i style="font-family: georgia; text-align: center;">am </i><span style="font-family: georgia; text-align: center;">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 </span><i style="font-family: georgia; text-align: center;">was </i><span style="font-family: georgia; text-align: center;">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.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFti95OaM-jR_C__EK784K4gaL4Jo2ie1YBTK9o-JFYk7oWfN3AHVdFW57v5mwJdY44kyiWpyKgiriilSlhPYJNw8CkLhB5jjYqWVW8-Ljlhgoy7HpTBz03_c5UqM_bq2-EXUJoclgn6kj/s1920/Sunny+Waterfall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="346" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFti95OaM-jR_C__EK784K4gaL4Jo2ie1YBTK9o-JFYk7oWfN3AHVdFW57v5mwJdY44kyiWpyKgiriilSlhPYJNw8CkLhB5jjYqWVW8-Ljlhgoy7HpTBz03_c5UqM_bq2-EXUJoclgn6kj/w614-h346/Sunny+Waterfall.jpg" width="614" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>I basked in the light and warmth of a new life, as if I had never<br /></i><i>known joy</i><i>—as if it couldn't possibly exist.</i></span></div></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">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.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">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 <i>leave </i>it?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">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.<br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">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.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi95-wOQEREZoMVc6MOzxAl4CCMLr1MrOthTLd1SY3HlfkCkope651go_lpTZSLkuxw8xl51gEvA-jqhQxrYWM04whDVKomgAFs9Gvj8GFFmk42QcBT6k4LpRoB5yFpmrIpEzM03sf62DFK/s1366/Flowers+%2526+Forest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1366" height="336" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi95-wOQEREZoMVc6MOzxAl4CCMLr1MrOthTLd1SY3HlfkCkope651go_lpTZSLkuxw8xl51gEvA-jqhQxrYWM04whDVKomgAFs9Gvj8GFFmk42QcBT6k4LpRoB5yFpmrIpEzM03sf62DFK/w598-h336/Flowers+%2526+Forest.jpg" width="598" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>In the fertile soil of my open heart, love took root, blossoming<br />into something more beautiful than I had ever imagined.</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">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 <i>my </i>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.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">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 <i>my </i>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.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">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 </span><i style="font-family: georgia;">them </i><span style="font-family: georgia;">happiness first.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">I am putting myself first for once. It is my turn to be happy now, and truly I am. And that is <i>all </i>that matters right now. Nothing else.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>My </i>happiness <i>finally </i>matters.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">With love,</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">~ Wade</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOYToz0SlcY8SWKUZ5ucjVmSluqcq6C9LVw8IgTAx-1uj5nKiTkzggU_S1zHgUGFAA4_F2TrkVF9nm73fNVW04w_qToR8f4Gpd7C2uRGgPJ52lFWeImodCTRbj_Ormg5OyTAFQkVOasri0/s1425/Pillars+of+Creation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1425" data-original-width="1366" height="702" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOYToz0SlcY8SWKUZ5ucjVmSluqcq6C9LVw8IgTAx-1uj5nKiTkzggU_S1zHgUGFAA4_F2TrkVF9nm73fNVW04w_qToR8f4Gpd7C2uRGgPJ52lFWeImodCTRbj_Ormg5OyTAFQkVOasri0/w675-h702/Pillars+of+Creation.jpg" width="675" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>This is the heart of the Eagle Nebula, a formation of cosmic dust, gas, and other matter known as the </i>"Pillars of Creation,"<i> 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</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></div>Wade W.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09389169527454451047noreply@blogger.com0Orem, UT, USA40.2968979 -111.694647511.986664063821152 -146.8508975 68.607131736178843 -76.5383975tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8378638217296140991.post-70448763151743269622018-11-08T01:53:00.000-07:002018-11-11T04:50:30.747-07:00Poem: The Parable of the Man of Grief<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>It has been about a year since a fight with my father led to my<br />decision to stop speaking to him.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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>“I haven’t seen you in a year.”</i> 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.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCcQ4jE8SFwlT6G002jsA1916VJGmpbSv7nQCMXqt5xFuS2SnDSZ85QqrMbNQR-WLpiyUVHWgR7MJcX5hWL7vx8VYqn5PtdiHk2623Y7T0j78U4w4wNyVY7AnTj_4JOkhAlThhfRgTHuln/s1600/The+Good+Samaritan+by+Dan+Burr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1190" data-original-width="1500" height="505" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCcQ4jE8SFwlT6G002jsA1916VJGmpbSv7nQCMXqt5xFuS2SnDSZ85QqrMbNQR-WLpiyUVHWgR7MJcX5hWL7vx8VYqn5PtdiHk2623Y7T0j78U4w4wNyVY7AnTj_4JOkhAlThhfRgTHuln/s640/The+Good+Samaritan+by+Dan+Burr.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>The parable of the Good Samaritan, as depicted here by Dan</i><br /><i>Burr, inspired the hymn that then inspired my poem about my dad.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In early 2017, perhaps 2016 as well, I had been spending my restless nights trying to memorize all the verses to the hymn <i><a href="https://www.lds.org/music/library/hymns/a-poor-wayfaring-man-of-grief?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">“A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief.”</span></a></i> 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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4NEnQb9gsUXZAgIUWzJozTE1bP1ItZY2fXOhEcNi_SBq87XbJiD3nJESZ3zpJsrWbD5H52HEOy02paGAZkODdtbJ7O72hVowJaJwl71hC9CanKpHcd-FwueJY-GIxzjXJTQCaGT6NYrw0/s1600/Hands+Writing+in+Notebook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="404" data-original-width="646" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4NEnQb9gsUXZAgIUWzJozTE1bP1ItZY2fXOhEcNi_SBq87XbJiD3nJESZ3zpJsrWbD5H52HEOy02paGAZkODdtbJ7O72hVowJaJwl71hC9CanKpHcd-FwueJY-GIxzjXJTQCaGT6NYrw0/s640/Hands+Writing+in+Notebook.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Once I had the rhyming scheme and imagery together in my head,<br />the poem about my dad's tragic life was created rather quickly.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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 <i>“A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief.”</i> It’s kind of funny, too, but I also read just a day or two before some new Harry Potter books: <i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quidditch_Through_the_Ages" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">“Quidditch through the Ages,”</span></a></i> and <i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Tales_of_Beedle_the_Bard" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">“The Tales of Beetle the Bard”</span></a></i> (well, they were new to me). The latter is a book of short stories with morals, like fairytales, but for the <a href="https://www.wizardingworld.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">wizarding world</span></a>; both are written by <a href="https://www.jkrowling.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">J.K. Rowling</span></a>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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).</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Though certain elements of my poem are symbolic, the piece still<br />reflects my feelings of growing up with an alcoholic parent.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I almost decided to change the name of the poem to </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">“The Parable of the Broken Man”</i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 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 <i>“keen mental suffering or distress over affliction or loss; sharp sorrow; painful regret.”</i> 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.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">❧</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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</span>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>– <b><u>The Parable of the Man of Grief</u></b> – </i></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
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<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>~ </i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>A tender boy there was who longed </i></div>
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<i>For gentle care and love refined, </i></div>
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<i>But by his fam’ly he was wronged </i></div>
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<i>And learned to isolate his mind. </i></div>
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<i>He had no place to turn for peace, </i></div>
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<i>But through his anger found release; </i></div>
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<i>From all his grief away he ran, </i></div>
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<i>And grew to be a broken man. </i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>A young man sought to drown his woes, </i></div>
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<i>So to his lips he put strong drink. </i></div>
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<i>A slurring speech replaced his prose; </i></div>
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<i>He ceased to feel, he could not think. </i></div>
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<i>Then laid he on his bed to rest, </i></div>
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<i>The bottle still clutched to his chest; </i></div>
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<i>But when he woke and rubbed his eyes, </i></div>
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<i>The pain returned—to his surprise. </i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>A father worked hard to provide, </i></div>
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<i>But fam’ly was to him a slight; </i></div>
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<i>His love for them he cast aside </i></div>
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<i>And took his poison every night— </i></div>
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<i>Indulged his thirst to great excess </i></div>
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<i>To drive away his deep distress, </i></div>
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<i>And as he slumped down in his chair </i></div>
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<i>It’s like he wasn’t even there.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>A man with heart so insecure </i></div>
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<i>Learned only how to praise himself; </i></div>
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<i>His conscience he would self-assure </i></div>
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<i>And boast about his skills and wealth. </i></div>
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<i>His pride laid ruin to his life— </i></div>
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<i>He lost his children and his wife; </i></div>
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<i>He watched them go, but with a scoff </i></div>
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<i>Insisted he was better off. </i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>An old man carried much regret </i></div>
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<i>For words unsaid and deeds undone; </i></div>
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<i>With hardened heart, he would not let </i></div>
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<i>Himself be loved by anyone. </i></div>
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<i>He mourned for all the wasted years— </i></div>
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<i>The time was past for shedding tears. </i></div>
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<i>He saw now as he reached his end: </i></div>
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<i>The bottle was his only friend. </i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>The mem’ry of a man lived on </i></div>
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<i>Within the hearts of those who knew </i></div>
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<i>The roots of suff’ring long foregone— </i></div>
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<i>The hurt that he could not undo. </i></div>
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<i>And from his life they kept the best— </i></div>
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<i>Preserved the good, forgave the rest; </i></div>
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<i>But still lamented deep within </i></div>
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<i>The man they wish he could have been. </i></div>
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<br /></div>
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~ </div>
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- <b>Wade A. Walker</b> - </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>January 1, 2018</i></div>
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<br /></div>
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~<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>** NOTE: I share my writing on this site trusting that visitors are scrupulous enough not to plagiarize. If you'd like to share this poem or other content with others, please share the URL to the entire blog post. Please DO NOT copy and paste any text for personal use without written permission. As the original writer of the content herein, I’d like the credit for these pieces to remain mine. **</b></div>
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Wade W.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09389169527454451047noreply@blogger.com0Orem, UT, USA40.2968979 -111.6946474999999740.2000099 -111.85600899999997 40.3937859 -111.53328599999998tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8378638217296140991.post-19613679700825331782018-08-20T19:51:00.000-06:002018-08-24T22:34:54.256-06:00Cherries and Charity<div style="text-align: right;">
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWgOFFHwzKHAqSYMq-w87gIleP7vPDJL2ukzn36H7OPpOlsETNeV3j_27gYw0nZcjHMY1WIRdWdmRPF2WKtWU487bWo0ocgzpBYGC5GMCf2fSmVbpUvWBDlpkqtzGulkVWh0dwxetz0pVV/s1600/Grocery+Store+Cashier.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWgOFFHwzKHAqSYMq-w87gIleP7vPDJL2ukzn36H7OPpOlsETNeV3j_27gYw0nZcjHMY1WIRdWdmRPF2WKtWU487bWo0ocgzpBYGC5GMCf2fSmVbpUvWBDlpkqtzGulkVWh0dwxetz0pVV/s1600/Grocery+Store+Cashier.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Working as a cashier for several years now, I have both<br />witnessed and been a participant in many acts of charity.</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxlSA2iYjgENnTlGL4U3bB42ezuUqAAcbORNqz4Mi9hWfsK7x7Fjkd7sZsSE6DY5to_dKArB0RHfXcO7YXFrzMBummVVPoq0Rt6UYAzK9KYTPYlJdy1-LPvzLEAVKaMq2cO6NvzTlucwbl/s1600/Hands+Giving+Flowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="599" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxlSA2iYjgENnTlGL4U3bB42ezuUqAAcbORNqz4Mi9hWfsK7x7Fjkd7sZsSE6DY5to_dKArB0RHfXcO7YXFrzMBummVVPoq0Rt6UYAzK9KYTPYlJdy1-LPvzLEAVKaMq2cO6NvzTlucwbl/s1600/Hands+Giving+Flowers.jpg" /></i></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Though I have my rough days, I still see my customer service</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>job as an opportunity to bring love and joy to strangers.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2WDZoneSxGTdI4BEnRLsa1Y4p6VuIpPsCUNkRx0pbHsUcyuD0hvQw4axuCzCb2S5a4hZ0ikB69Fh_s8XR-YI5esyMzVn73IrrFDvCaIYEgfqYenC5X79xCfS5eQmG4wAD1GKAVec0KSoN/s1600/Bag+of+Cherries.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="299" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2WDZoneSxGTdI4BEnRLsa1Y4p6VuIpPsCUNkRx0pbHsUcyuD0hvQw4axuCzCb2S5a4hZ0ikB69Fh_s8XR-YI5esyMzVn73IrrFDvCaIYEgfqYenC5X79xCfS5eQmG4wAD1GKAVec0KSoN/s640/Bag+of+Cherries.jpg" width="425" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">When cherry season came, I longed to buy<br />some of the nostalgic fruit of my childhood.</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiolBHqQFv4x5GhEoX-_ex0-N_dx4TuwClN_YdUdCxy7EvJCBuJXqFYZ1_-MgXoSXnh0oqGdl8HZ1SF68NpmvTX_8VW5GE7ZOSuVn4qadNx9moMwrtv3W_acPYmHeH9ic_b_Bzx5A_5t8aY/s1600/Jar+of+Change.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiolBHqQFv4x5GhEoX-_ex0-N_dx4TuwClN_YdUdCxy7EvJCBuJXqFYZ1_-MgXoSXnh0oqGdl8HZ1SF68NpmvTX_8VW5GE7ZOSuVn4qadNx9moMwrtv3W_acPYmHeH9ic_b_Bzx5A_5t8aY/s640/Jar+of+Change.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>I was broke until payday; the only money I had was a pocketful of</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>loose change that I had to borrow from my roommate.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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>“I’m a little tired, but I’m doing great!”</i> 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.).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja2a6qZuGuCcDkXxWthQMgk8NU8dBjG8OLhfJBjJnk84gvyi5DiZnaWXQOQkbOTvSKlSOZ9bnQYYv6LgOpRGzOR12x8-cLmh0_4pM5diy7zhteAaAPoe8nAwoJsi70tXkN9C6UUP2Vhky1/s1600/Wrapped+Gift.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="650" height="393" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja2a6qZuGuCcDkXxWthQMgk8NU8dBjG8OLhfJBjJnk84gvyi5DiZnaWXQOQkbOTvSKlSOZ9bnQYYv6LgOpRGzOR12x8-cLmh0_4pM5diy7zhteAaAPoe8nAwoJsi70tXkN9C6UUP2Vhky1/s640/Wrapped+Gift.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>After talking with a customer about my eagerness to try the</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>cherries, he discreetly gifted me a bag and left without a word.</i></span></td></tr>
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</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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. </span><i style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">“A customer said to give this to you; I don’t know what it’s about,”</i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> she told me, looking confused. </span><i style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">“What did he look like?”</i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> I asked, smirking. </span><i style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">“Young guy, light-brown hair, white shirt…”</i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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. <i>If I had done anything to elicit his charity</i>, I told myself, <i>then I will feel awful</i>. <i>How embarrassing</i>, I said. <i>How whiny and needy I must’ve sounded</i>, 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.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBeZR4NuvUmUB318ZZ7Ub1GaNx_VB6rRi4h7RAQvm5IVjAGnQQ1sNeBsGB9aPjwwUBPWZqHN2C5zj5Jv821o38CvF7eXg-JkrAvrcl5K9vTTOOXMtC1hxCENN83sL2-jcHH9MlWGR4y8Rq/s1600/Milk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="563" data-original-width="750" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBeZR4NuvUmUB318ZZ7Ub1GaNx_VB6rRi4h7RAQvm5IVjAGnQQ1sNeBsGB9aPjwwUBPWZqHN2C5zj5Jv821o38CvF7eXg-JkrAvrcl5K9vTTOOXMtC1hxCENN83sL2-jcHH9MlWGR4y8Rq/s640/Milk.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Promising myself that I would "pay it forward," that opportunity<br />came sooner than I expected in the form of a gallon of milk.</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">However, I made the mistake of not ringing up the milk <i>first</i>, 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. <i>“Okay,”</i> I said pleasantly, <i>“I’m going to give you your money, and then I will take care of the milk for you.”</i> But the instant I said it, I realized that it was misinterpreted, which was entirely my fault.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The woman’s mouth opened and her eyes suddenly sparkled. <i>“Aww!”</i> she softly exclaimed, <i>“Thank you so much!”</i> 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.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRpnJSqvUzS6253KAKVqsO3eoy35zQISxFGMdLhUm67hKDTNz-kUEYe_ukYLkQcGdsU8DLP-yCtSC9EUpUOC7cEi1br2gdD_dFtHfe8ggEQHLndE-F_qdPVz_x1oryCIVJWSjOk8qa9UFD/s1600/Widow%2527s+Mites+in+Hand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRpnJSqvUzS6253KAKVqsO3eoy35zQISxFGMdLhUm67hKDTNz-kUEYe_ukYLkQcGdsU8DLP-yCtSC9EUpUOC7cEi1br2gdD_dFtHfe8ggEQHLndE-F_qdPVz_x1oryCIVJWSjOk8qa9UFD/s640/Widow%2527s+Mites+in+Hand.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Like the widow and her two mites, I was grateful that I could give<br />what little I had to someone with a need greater than my own.</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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. <i>“You are an angel; thank you,”</i> 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).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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 <i>“did cast in of their abundance”</i> for all to see; for the Lord, discerning the intents of her heart, understood that the widow <i>“of her want did cast in all that she had, even all her living,”</i> or all she had to live on, in other words <i>(<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/mark/12.41-44?lang=eng#p40" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Mark 12:41-44</span></a>)</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I do not intend to praise myself, or sound the trumpet before me by writing this <i>(see <a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/matt/6.2?lang=eng#p1" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Matthew 6:2</span></a>)</i>. 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.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKiv0sP5_dNwb01g8nD25dJO-hmpAebMvGJgDUYkjH21l_VzsKQ5Es9wSMoeVeyWTUedRQzAZUEicyLqhiGIMMgyMrbLXtXXmT5w8PqRHYTEflSdP97n-wFP_jmguCrZWSTJFUTyWoq8Jt/s1600/Antique+Hand+Mirror.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="973" data-original-width="1456" height="427" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKiv0sP5_dNwb01g8nD25dJO-hmpAebMvGJgDUYkjH21l_VzsKQ5Es9wSMoeVeyWTUedRQzAZUEicyLqhiGIMMgyMrbLXtXXmT5w8PqRHYTEflSdP97n-wFP_jmguCrZWSTJFUTyWoq8Jt/s640/Antique+Hand+Mirror.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">When vanity and pride are at the heart of our charity, we lose the<br />true reward of rendering compassionate service.</span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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 <i>given </i>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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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 <i>(see <a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/matt/6.2?lang=eng#p1" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Matthew 6:2</span></a>)</i>. 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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>“You have not lived today until you have done something for someone who can never repay you.”</i></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">By the way—the cherries were delicious.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><i>(Above is a beautiful visual portrayal of the account of the widow's mite created by the <a href="http://www.mormon.org/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints</span></a>. See more videos <a href="https://www.lds.org/bible-videos/?lang=eng&_r=1" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">HERE</span></a>.)</i></span></div>
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Wade W.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09389169527454451047noreply@blogger.com0Orem, UT 84058, USA40.2814786 -111.773390240.1845746 -111.93475169999999 40.3783826 -111.6120287tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8378638217296140991.post-62422869359577922702018-06-06T23:35:00.000-06:002018-11-08T02:15:40.274-07:00Song Dissection—"Second Hand Heart" (Pt. 10)<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">See my introductory post, <a href="http://myshatteredsilence.blogspot.com/2018/01/song-dissectionsecond-hand-heart-pt-1.html" target="_blank"><i><span style="color: #e69138;">“Song Dissection – Second Hand Heart (Pt. 1)”</span></i></a> 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. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">* * * * *</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">– <b><i><u>Second Hand Heart</u></i></b> –</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Performed by Ben Haenow</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(Featuring Kelly Clarkson)</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The light of the morning finds you sleeping in my bed</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And it’s not like the stories; it’s never like what they said</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I know who you want me to be but I’m just not there yet</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Yeah, the broken road’s always been home and it’s so hard to forget</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Wait for me now</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Will you wait for me now?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><u>CHORUS</u>:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I might think too much, drink too much, stay out too late</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I know I’m just a fool, but I swear I can change</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I can’t steal you the stars, but I can give you this secondhand heart</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">All your friends think I’m hopeless, they don’t understand</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">That this imperfect love can start over again</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It’s been broken apart, but will you still take my secondhand heart?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(FIRST STANZA REPEATS)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(CHORUS REPEATS)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><u>FIRST BRIDGE</u>:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">If you let me show you, I could love you the same</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And I can’t steal you the stars, but I can try every day</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Oh, you know they’ll never tear us apart</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><u>SECOND BRIDGE</u>:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And I’m just a fool, but I swear I can change</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And I can’t steal you the stars, but I can try every day</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Oh, you know you got my secondhand heart</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(SECOND BRIDGE REPEATS)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">* * * * *</span></div>
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<span style="color: #93c47d; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>“If you let me show you, I could love you the same</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #93c47d; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>And I can’t steal you the stars, but I can try every day</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #93c47d; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>Oh, you know they’ll never tear us apart</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #93c47d; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>… you know you got my secondhand heart” </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Elder <a href="https://history.lds.org/article/george-albert-smith-video-downloads?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">George Albert Smith</span></a> (1870 </span>– 1951), who would later be sus</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">tained as the eighth president and prophet of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (</span><a href="https://www.mormon.org/" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Mormons</span></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">) once said the following:</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirbvpzSSeHc-x66VU81SyYCcNDwM-b4Oc3GrfIliiMFfmBi8a7HnG5_jDU4nbEBpeIK90PFrM5OvOMtkp54cTQzGesk4xjSNUwBSJdn8tSXke5E2X2KdH9ZUIZYlH42hsbm8eCQSC8CBW9/s1600/George+Albert+Smith+-+Portrait.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="635" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirbvpzSSeHc-x66VU81SyYCcNDwM-b4Oc3GrfIliiMFfmBi8a7HnG5_jDU4nbEBpeIK90PFrM5OvOMtkp54cTQzGesk4xjSNUwBSJdn8tSXke5E2X2KdH9ZUIZYlH42hsbm8eCQSC8CBW9/s200/George+Albert+Smith+-+Portrait.jpg" width="158" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i> “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.”</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i> </i></span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">~ In </i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Conference Report</span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">, Oct. 1933, 25.</i></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAdeyuHkIesEwVBLOPL2dGowwkOdsCxdBe1bUhAXw424-ikoxecLNorV7_SwQgfceMMeXr6rAPUV6Sb8v0kAVubhd3pCYfPueqKN3NwbrDMl9LPX8sMjz6EtfR_fC0GRIRAhHKBxlu5lYU/s1600/Rainbow+Penguin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="960" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAdeyuHkIesEwVBLOPL2dGowwkOdsCxdBe1bUhAXw424-ikoxecLNorV7_SwQgfceMMeXr6rAPUV6Sb8v0kAVubhd3pCYfPueqKN3NwbrDMl9LPX8sMjz6EtfR_fC0GRIRAhHKBxlu5lYU/s640/Rainbow+Penguin.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>It's an interesting feeling to know that you stand out from the<br />crowd while having a strong desire to fit in with others.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Looking back now, I feel that what I really wanted most was to be noticed and acknowledged on my <i>own </i>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).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3BjYG30Fg-k8lG3BDO9cTDQz2pc5lB_rXmgl9wTP2jtuVUk8znGMhUHJf405BsS2voOQ1Lka6kFNCalkwR9-_nUUzJyGGKmfv-i5tJSgur_m5wYnz5MhC4yGbEKjwRBUcTcFrZWsetZZm/s1600/Phoenix.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="650" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3BjYG30Fg-k8lG3BDO9cTDQz2pc5lB_rXmgl9wTP2jtuVUk8znGMhUHJf405BsS2voOQ1Lka6kFNCalkwR9-_nUUzJyGGKmfv-i5tJSgur_m5wYnz5MhC4yGbEKjwRBUcTcFrZWsetZZm/s640/Phoenix.jpg" width="416" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Like a phoenix from the ashes, my trials<br />have given rebirth to my confidence to<br />be unique in a pool of cultural homogeneity.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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 <i>same </i>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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It has been said before (and <a href="https://www.lds.org/general-conference/2012/04/the-merciful-obtain-mercy?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">reiterated by LDS leaders</span></a>) that we ought not to judge others for “sinning differently” than we do—because we all sin <i>(<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/rom/3.23?lang=eng#p22" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Romans 3:23</span></a>)</i>. 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 <i>worshipping </i>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.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifMxLKgQf2JqvAr1_oXNGWZdTn80iEcStftXHdvoVyolInXUG1N5NIXGvBcy8_V4HZaisKg1jTIw46F7ZrZwFApw395amXYObDQHUA_Ev-QblfTyg3T08Qqw8sZ_IkQ1ig1QM2ReLurC3L/s1600/Come+As+You+Are+by+Greg+Olsen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="720" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifMxLKgQf2JqvAr1_oXNGWZdTn80iEcStftXHdvoVyolInXUG1N5NIXGvBcy8_V4HZaisKg1jTIw46F7ZrZwFApw395amXYObDQHUA_Ev-QblfTyg3T08Qqw8sZ_IkQ1ig1QM2ReLurC3L/s640/Come+As+You+Are+by+Greg+Olsen.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #ffd966;">"Come As You Are"</span><i><span style="color: #ffd966;"> by Greg Olsen<br />Copyright © 2018 by Greg Olsen</span></i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">More importantly, for </span><i style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">me</i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">, 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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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 <i>making </i>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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #e69138;">Elder <a href="https://www.lds.org/prophets-and-apostles/what-are-prophets/bio/dieter-f-uchtdorf?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Dieter F. Uchtdorf</span></a></span>, an apostle of the Lord, and then a member of the First Presidency of the Church once gave this beautiful anecdote:</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv8uDF38IKpkOaaapvLGAfOuCdRc6m8e2vX74N58HgBuDkh0z2SBN2qHqVlOgWMN8XoIVsPFUAXozRMAIbzrDCAzOEwUawYQIdiJHSfM0kIGYRkJil-P9aNQYTZ6fAQblnj7SrQ1RLQtb3/s1600/Pres.+Dieter+F.+Uchtdorf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="960" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv8uDF38IKpkOaaapvLGAfOuCdRc6m8e2vX74N58HgBuDkh0z2SBN2qHqVlOgWMN8XoIVsPFUAXozRMAIbzrDCAzOEwUawYQIdiJHSfM0kIGYRkJil-P9aNQYTZ6fAQblnj7SrQ1RLQtb3/s200/Pres.+Dieter+F.+Uchtdorf.jpg" width="160" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> <i>“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.</i></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-style: italic;">“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.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i> ~ </i><a href="https://www.lds.org/general-conference/2013/04/the-hope-of-gods-light?lang=eng" style="font-style: italic;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">“The Hope of God’s Light,”</span></a> Ensign<i>, May 2013, 75.</i></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbLCD_6aUfLXmOnwhOFndXPgvxUov9jXygEdxJmW3-D10l1QBTfqGi1O7uhhUJlCWSsJENWkh-Db_JK91ytc3XsG-v7EMfn1jWBjbvilf5rFH6WkAmt0O83E_gT1W6Xq7xPRRXxTMIg83V/s1600/Old+Stacked+Books.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="333" data-original-width="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbLCD_6aUfLXmOnwhOFndXPgvxUov9jXygEdxJmW3-D10l1QBTfqGi1O7uhhUJlCWSsJENWkh-Db_JK91ytc3XsG-v7EMfn1jWBjbvilf5rFH6WkAmt0O83E_gT1W6Xq7xPRRXxTMIg83V/s1600/Old+Stacked+Books.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>I take comfort in knowing that the Lord knows all the<br />chapters of my life, and all the feelings of my heart.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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 <i>permanently</i>, and it is of more value to Him than I could ever possibly comprehend.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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 <i>all </i>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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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 </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">final review. </span><i style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">“For the Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart” (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/ot/1-sam/16.7?lang=eng#p6" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">1 Samuel 16:7</span></a>)</i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="color: #ffd966;">In the Roman Catholic tradition, the <b>Most Sacred Heart of
Jesus</b>, or </span></span></i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-size: large;">Sacratissimum Cor Iesu<i> in Latin, is a <b>devotion </b>(non-liturgical, or
personal, form of worship) recognized annually by a <b>solemnity</b>, or religious
celebration, called the <b>Feast of the Sacred Heart</b>, 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.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i> 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.</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i> 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!</i></span></div>
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<i style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-size: large;"> To my readers, thank you for joining me on this literary
journey.</span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i> ~ Wade</i></span></div>
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Wade W.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09389169527454451047noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8378638217296140991.post-78363176061883079372018-05-11T00:13:00.000-06:002018-06-07T00:17:21.959-06:00Song Dissection—"Second Hand Heart" (Pt. 9)<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">See my introductory post, <a href="http://myshatteredsilence.blogspot.com/2018/01/song-dissectionsecond-hand-heart-pt-1.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">“Song Dissection – Second Hand Heart (Pt. 1)”</span></a> 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; after which, I will continue to dissect the song and share my thoughts on the lessons that it taught me, which is one reason I love this song so much. Be sure and check back for subsequent updates in this 10-part series. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">* * * * * </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/zAnSr5N3c8E/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/zAnSr5N3c8E?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>– <b><u>Second Hand Heart</u></b> –</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Performed by Ben Haenow</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>(Featuring Kelly Clarkson)</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The light of the morning finds you sleeping in my bed</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And it’s not like the stories; it’s never like what they said</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I know who you want me to be but I’m just not there yet</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Yeah, the broken road’s always been home and it’s so hard to forget</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Wait for me now</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Will you wait for me now?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><u>CHORUS</u>:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I might think too much, drink too much, stay out too late</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I know I’m just a fool, but I swear I can change</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I can’t steal you the stars, but I can give you this secondhand heart</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">All your friends think I’m hopeless, they don’t understand</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">That this imperfect love can start over again</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It’s been broken apart, but will you still take my secondhand heart?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(FIRST STANZA REPEATS)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(CHORUS REPEATS)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><u>FIRST BRIDGE</u>:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">If you let me show you, I could love you the same</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And I can’t steal you the stars, but I can try every day</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Oh, you know they’ll never tear us apart</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><u>SECOND BRIDGE</u>:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And I’m just a fool, but I swear I can change</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And I can’t steal you the stars, but I can try every day</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Oh, you know you got my secondhand heart</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(SECOND BRIDGE REPEATS)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">* * * * *</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #93c47d; font-size: x-large;"><b><i>“It’s been broken apart, but will you still take my secondhand heart?”</i></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When Jesus Christ appeared to His disciples in the ancient Americas, He declared the Law of Moses to be fulfilled in Him, and that their burnt offerings and sacrifices would no longer be acceptable to Him. In place of animal sacrifice, he taught the Nephites that a broken heart and contrite spirit would be required of all those who professed to follow Him and sought to be like Him <i>(<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/3-ne/15.2-through-10?lang=eng#p1" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">3 Nephi 15:2-10</span></a>; <a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/3-ne/9.15-through-20?lang=eng#p14" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">3 Nephi 9:15-20</span></a>)</i>.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbGy5f6OhGuACrz3SMDiKaYIhVif4oyQzthecj4v-WuxToyLqv2hbK8om0HFiL5fCSLtRyHw22tSDVQfH4F8FURMEPTiF2NJQ5MZirYzcLqRVSTrjvXVzlhlLQca6b-rZiJaNpHFNU9dcz/s1600/Similitude+by+Walter+Rane.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="867" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbGy5f6OhGuACrz3SMDiKaYIhVif4oyQzthecj4v-WuxToyLqv2hbK8om0HFiL5fCSLtRyHw22tSDVQfH4F8FURMEPTiF2NJQ5MZirYzcLqRVSTrjvXVzlhlLQca6b-rZiJaNpHFNU9dcz/s640/Similitude+by+Walter+Rane.jpg" width="460" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"Similitude"<i> by Walter Rane<br />Blood sacrifice began by the Lord's command<br />with Adam & Eve, after they were expelled from<br />the Garden of Eden.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When you consider all the blood that was spilt, poured out, and dabbed on holy altars or at their bases over centuries of Mosaic Law, one can only wonder if the Israelites and ancient American followers of Christ ever pondered curiously the necessity of so much symbolic carnage in the name of Deity. Throughout the Old Testament record we can see that some generations of the children of Israel did not fully understand God’s Law with its statutes, ordinances, and commandments; this misunderstanding repeatedly led the Lord’s covenant people into pride, spiritual blindness, and idolatry <i>(<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/ot/ps/78.5-through-8?lang=eng#p4" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Psalms 78:5-8</span></a>)</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As we read the scriptures today, we may wonder ourselves how many more young bullocks, rams, sheep, or pairs of turtledoves would be required for them to finally see the likeness and image of a Messiah in their offerings consumed by flames. Had I lived then, even I would wonder, <i>“Is it enough yet? What more have we to learn about our God?”</i> For when the Lord did indeed come to earth clothed in flesh, He was recognized by relatively few as the promised Son of God during His lifetime, but rejected by the majority of the Jews in Jerusalem and killed by the faith’s highest leaders <i>(<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/john/5.43-through-47?lang=eng#p42" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">John 5:43-47</span></a>)</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I can visualize the Tabernacle in the wilderness where Aaron, the brother of Moses, and his sons worked—</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">within the outer curtains of the structure</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">the dusty ground is wet and muddy, not with water, but soaked with blood and stained crimson. Mosaic Law was given to the Israelites because they brought with them to Sinai the idolatrous worship of the Egyptians; this kept them from the higher law of the Melchizedek Priesthood. Today’s standard for peace offerings and sin offerings are not as complicated, at least in deed. But still, the gift of a broken heart and a contrite Spirit, along with the blessed and sanctified bread and water may sometimes seem to us of little avail compared to the complicated and meticulous grandeur of sacrifice and offerings performed by the sons of Levi.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Latter-day Saints today still kneel at altars<br />inside holy temples to make sacrifices and<br />covenants with God.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And yet, that is all that the Lord requires of us—the gathered pieces of our broken hearts, and the low humility of our fallen spirits, given freely over to Him. Like the analogy used by Elder Neal A. Maxwell in a previous section (see <a href="http://myshatteredsilence.blogspot.com/2018/01/song-dissectionsecond-hand-heart-pt-2.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">"Part 2"</span></a> of this series), often our offering to God will seem like a trivial, burdensome dandelion upon the altar of God; but the offering—any offering—is accepted by Him when it is given in humility. I have heard the offering of a broken heart described as godly sorrow, which brings us to God to seek forgiveness. Secondarily, the contrite spirit has been called meekness before God and the willingness to be healed and forgiven.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In Moses’ day, according to the Book of Leviticus, a man or woman coming to the temple with an offering gave the best that they had to God for a sacrifice. If, because of scarcity or poverty, he had none of the rightful animals to sacrifice and burn, he brought what he could, even it was only “a handful of flour” mixed with a little oil and incense; and the Levite priest accepted it <i>“to be an offering made by fire, of the sweet savor of the Lord” (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/ot/lev/2.2?lang=eng#p1" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Leviticus 2:2</span></a>)</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Elder Maxwell expounded this concept in yet another beautiful way when he said:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNok2m9NWMlCIrF5VH4rDSC7y4cSi8T0TdutAVLH86LaD4FFdE3iKiYspUKWIjX4ZzL7uWfwbI0gYnR7-2KLk-q_uPYLdepXgMW160wennQh4MhiQw-Gkjf7h_IBHMFr399Cj7lm4F0cbM/s1600/Elder+Neal+A.+Maxwell.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="400" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNok2m9NWMlCIrF5VH4rDSC7y4cSi8T0TdutAVLH86LaD4FFdE3iKiYspUKWIjX4ZzL7uWfwbI0gYnR7-2KLk-q_uPYLdepXgMW160wennQh4MhiQw-Gkjf7h_IBHMFr399Cj7lm4F0cbM/s200/Elder+Neal+A.+Maxwell.jpg" width="160" /></a></i></span></div>
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“…[R]eal, personal sacrifice never was placing an animal on the altar. Instead, it is a willingness to put the animal in us upon the altar and letting it be consumed! Such is the ‘sacrifice unto the Lord . . . of a broken heart and a contrite spirit,’ (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/dc-testament/dc/59.8?lang=eng#p7" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">D&C 59:8</span></a>), a prerequisite to taking up the cross, while giving ‘away all [our] sins’ in order to ‘know God’ (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/alma/22.18?lang=eng#p17" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Alma 22:18</span></a>), for the denial of self precedes the full acceptance of Him.”</i></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><br /></i></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i> ~ Elder Neal A. Maxwell, “‘Deny Yourselves of All Ungodliness,’” </i><a href="https://www.lds.org/general-conference/1995/04/deny-yourselves-of-all-ungodliness?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Ensign</span></a><i><a href="https://www.lds.org/general-conference/1995/04/deny-yourselves-of-all-ungodliness?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">, May 1995</span></a>, 68.</i></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">No matter what we have to offer the Lord when we come to Him for help or comfort, He will always receive it with open arms and accept it. It does not matter if it’s the first time we’ve ever sinned or the millionth time (because the lifetime sin-count will be high for all of us); Jesus will take the pieces of our tattered secondhand, third-hand, millionth-hand hearts and guide us in putting them back together. From His high cross on Golgotha He lifts us up with Him through our adversity; and from His high throne in Heaven He releases us from sin and guilt by His atoning power, knowing full well that it will not be the last time. Like Paul wrote to the Galatians, </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">“[we are] crucified with Christ: nevertheless [we] live” because Christ died for us (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/gal/2.20?lang=eng#p19" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Galatians 2:20</span></a>)</i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">.</span></div>
Wade W.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09389169527454451047noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8378638217296140991.post-12831047969270782482018-04-16T00:07:00.000-06:002018-04-16T00:07:22.515-06:00Song Dissection—"Second Hand Heart" (Pt. 8)<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">See my introductory post, <a href="http://myshatteredsilence.blogspot.com/2018/01/song-dissectionsecond-hand-heart-pt-1.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">“Song Dissection – Second Hand Heart (Pt. 1)”</span></a> 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; after which, I will continue to dissect the song and share my thoughts on the lessons that it taught me, which is one reason I love this song so much. Be sure and check back for subsequent updates in this 10-part series.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">* * * * *</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">– <u><i><b>Second Hand Heart</b></i></u> –</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Performed by Ben Haenow</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>(Featuring Kelly Clarkson)</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The light of the morning finds you sleeping in my bed</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And it’s not like the stories; it’s never like what they said</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I know who you want me to be but I’m just not there yet</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Yeah, the broken road’s always been home and it’s so hard to forget</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Wait for me now</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Will you wait for me now?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><u>CHORUS</u>:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I might think too much, drink too much, stay out too late</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I know I’m just a fool, but I swear I can change</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I can’t steal you the stars, but I can give you this secondhand heart</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">All your friends think I’m hopeless, they don’t understand</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">That this imperfect love can start over again</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It’s been broken apart, but will you still take my secondhand heart?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(FIRST STANZA REPEATS)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(CHORUS REPEATS)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><u>FIRST BRIDGE</u>:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">If you let me show you, I could love you the same</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And I can’t steal you the stars but I can try every day</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Oh, you know they’ll never tear us apart</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><u>SECOND BRIDGE</u>:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And I’m just a fool, but I swear I can change</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And I can’t steal you the stars, but I can try every day</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Oh, you know you got my secondhand heart</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(SECOND BRIDGE REPEATS)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">* * * * *</span></div>
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<span style="color: #93c47d;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><i><span style="font-size: x-large;">“All your friends think I’m hopeless, they don’t understand t</span></i></b></span><b style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><i><span style="font-size: x-large;">hat this imperfect love can start over again.”</span></i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">These lines hit home for me because I care a great deal what others think about me; another person’s perceptions of me hold more power for me than I have of my own accord, and my self-esteem rests often in the judgment—good or bad—of others. I’m sure there have been many times in my life that others thought I was a hopeless wreck; some of those times I probably thought I was too. But with my recent success in college and my approaching graduation (after dropping out twice over a ten-year period), I have shown myself and others that I am capable of much more than either party probably supposed.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUkMp9a6SVQ15e8XDiTNRHNl1sU4oRg5C_Rc5UdCR_i_r35Spu9oN839aWU42b5J8fIwZc07WGMaq165U8wng95hw9Lus_9dzkCxkuoTuhHxsyNmnFnAFCeYIw1-jRrhVhs3498yoiDI2w/s1600/Erased+Chalkboard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="645" data-original-width="1600" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUkMp9a6SVQ15e8XDiTNRHNl1sU4oRg5C_Rc5UdCR_i_r35Spu9oN839aWU42b5J8fIwZc07WGMaq165U8wng95hw9Lus_9dzkCxkuoTuhHxsyNmnFnAFCeYIw1-jRrhVhs3498yoiDI2w/s640/Erased+Chalkboard.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Errors and imperfections are a part of life for everyone;<br />thankfully, God allows retakes and do-overs for a fresh start.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Certainly I am a prime example of the ebb and flow of testimony and religious activity. I grew up not knowing any God, and soon after I made covenants to follow the God I found, I became disenchanted with Him once again as I pursued forbidden paths. If you’ve read my blog before, you know that I came back; and in more recent posts (see <a href="http://myshatteredsilence.blogspot.com/2017/11/15-years-mormon-reflection.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">“15 Years a Mormon—A Reflection”</span></a>—November 2017) I’ve shared my wanderings back to that fence that ten years ago I straddled between a religious life and a nonreligious life. Doors that were once closed are now unlocked and ready to be opened, though presently I choose to stay in the faith.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I’ve always tried to keep my blog compelling, and I am compelled by personal tales shared in truth and vulnerability. I have told my tales of struggle and triumph in the hopes that others may be inspired; but I do admit to worrying a great deal about what others might think when I share old doubts that I had once conquered, but am suddenly reliving. I lose sight of what it means to repent and be forgiven, and I fail to remember that repenting and forsaking our sins and shortcomings does not mean that we will not make the same mistakes again. The beautiful thing about the gospel of Jesus Christ is that perfection is sought after, but not attainable, and we all get as many do-over’s as we need.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghcE6jgYdVFnyEBPSNFJQ-pR0BaW0zgtFRvYNkVpkZTRtgaEYXLJ9XE38KeY_by06xOo9x2pQS0XRIQz2sja8R4R5ONgMBduV4tEhRmBsH5ry_z4nKfHy5JhJyKyKKiNCL-cVjieKEFkDa/s1600/Temple+Ruins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="656" data-original-width="1400" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghcE6jgYdVFnyEBPSNFJQ-pR0BaW0zgtFRvYNkVpkZTRtgaEYXLJ9XE38KeY_by06xOo9x2pQS0XRIQz2sja8R4R5ONgMBduV4tEhRmBsH5ry_z4nKfHy5JhJyKyKKiNCL-cVjieKEFkDa/s640/Temple+Ruins.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>I'm discovering just how fragile faith is, as challenges have more<br />than once stripped my base of testimony down to its roots.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In my head I make up scenarios of people gossiping about me when I’m not around, and they say, <i>“How can he be doing </i></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">that </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>again? I thought he moved on; I thought he was past that stage of his life. I guess his repentance wasn’t heartfelt; I guess he didn’t try hard enough to change.”</i> In reality, I think these made-up conversations are expressions of my own conscious awareness of my struggles and how I feel about them, rather than how most others </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">really </i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">view me. In my circumstances, it is probably not all my other friends who think I am hopeless, but me thinking such thoughts about myself.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">While I could probably have a very heated debate with my imagined gossipers about why I am </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">not </i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">a hopeless cause, and how I </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">can </i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">start over again at square-one, convincing </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">myself </i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">of that is a bit harder. Bouncing back from mistakes has never been my strong point, and my slate is never quite as clean as I’d like it to be after erasing my errors. Truly, I am my own worst critic and my own worst enemy; we all likely are, in one way or another. When I am faced with such critical decisions—sometimes questions of faith, sometimes questions of life or death—I have to travel back to the roots of my being to rediscover, again and again, why I choose to be present and accounted for.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYtlXGrmommIuQ-vMtQFJV-BtOaJW85rIuxn5-L4vSlmCY7WRISD9Go_ubpNXLwZAnbuufvpigeasOn0sUUi_DUUU6iFmgpCFdh6iiCPYShWVAdGVxqB2PDxHhXYZBlorE4cVhhoQEuJTz/s1600/Machu+Picchu+Day.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="708" data-original-width="1600" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYtlXGrmommIuQ-vMtQFJV-BtOaJW85rIuxn5-L4vSlmCY7WRISD9Go_ubpNXLwZAnbuufvpigeasOn0sUUi_DUUU6iFmgpCFdh6iiCPYShWVAdGVxqB2PDxHhXYZBlorE4cVhhoQEuJTz/s640/Machu+Picchu+Day.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Building upon foundations of faith can bring me back to higher<br />ground, and back again into the enlightenment of God's truth.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">With my faith, these are doctrinal concepts such as, <i>“Do I believe in God? Do I believe that He loves me perfectly? Do I believe He has power to help me if I ask Him?”</i> Though the answer has not always been in the affirmative when I am living in dark moments, I usually come back to the light with a resounding and peace-lending <i>“Yes!”</i> With my life circumstances—living with physical disabilities and mental health challenges—the fundamentals I come back to are questions like, <i>“Who are they that love me and would miss me if I were gone, and how can they help me through this difficult time? Do I believe that things will eventually get better? Can I hold on long enough to get past this most troublesome moment?”</i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaZ2BEVS-bVFIebzzkiwxtISmU4lggn4ewSDbRceVKFH3TzaTskO6U7f9TmhX5CyOZTAn2NBBq_s3JaZGBpWnTobPBse4LQGuGXqO_Pq8IyvZHcElT4ThwevZ661GAmQrgbWjFgte7xKph/s1600/Wilford+Woodruff+Portrait.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="381" data-original-width="299" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaZ2BEVS-bVFIebzzkiwxtISmU4lggn4ewSDbRceVKFH3TzaTskO6U7f9TmhX5CyOZTAn2NBBq_s3JaZGBpWnTobPBse4LQGuGXqO_Pq8IyvZHcElT4ThwevZ661GAmQrgbWjFgte7xKph/s200/Wilford+Woodruff+Portrait.jpg" width="156" /></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="https://history.lds.org/article/wilford-woodruff-video-downloads?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Wilford Woodruff</span></a>, fourth President of the <a href="https://www.mormon.org/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints</span></a> once admonished:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i> “Put your trust in God and rely on his promises, living up to the light and knowledge you possess; and all will be well with you whether living or dying.”</i></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><br /></i></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i> </i></span> <i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">~ </i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Discourses of Wilford Woodruff</span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">, ed. G. Homer Durham, 260.</i></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Though not particularly profound, I have long loved this quote because of its back-to-basics approach. Whatever we have available—be it faith, family, friends, or other beneficial resources—we should utilize them as we carry on along our journey; this includes reaching out to loved ones when we are struggling, visiting a professional therapist, talking to ecclesiastical leaders, taking time for ourselves, and practicing self-compassion.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Imperfection is expected of all; indeed, it is the one character trait that we all share as human beings, and which can be anticipated with 100% certainty. While others may judge us (or seem like they are), they cannot escape the same fate of failing at one thing or another, just as I do. Whether or not we can start over again—and again and again!—when we do imperfect things is the true test of our character and our faith. And when I do find that my faith is in need of repair or renovation, it’s helpful to remember that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ love me <i>perfectly </i>in my imperfection; and that divine love provides the eternal blueprint from which I can reconceptualize my existence, reframe my challenges, and reconstruct my faith.</span></div>
Wade W.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09389169527454451047noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8378638217296140991.post-70647584200748810272018-04-14T15:46:00.000-06:002018-04-14T15:46:08.440-06:00Song Dissection—"Second Hand Heart" (Pt. 7)<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">See my introductory post, <a href="http://myshatteredsilence.blogspot.com/2018/01/song-dissectionsecond-hand-heart-pt-1.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">“Song Dissection – Second Hand Heart (Pt. 1)”</span></a> 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; after which, I will continue to dissect the song and share my thoughts on the lessons that it taught me, which is one reason I love this song so much. Be sure and check back for subsequent updates in this 10-part series. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">* * * * * </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">– <b><u><i>Second Hand Heart</i></u></b> – </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Performed by Ben Haenow </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>(Featuring Kelly Clarkson)</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The light of the morning finds you sleeping in my bed</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And it’s not like the stories; it’s never like what they said</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I know who you want me to be but I’m just not there yet</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Yeah, the broken road’s always been home and it’s so hard to forget</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Wait for me now</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Will you wait for me now?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><u>CHORUS</u>:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I might think too much, drink too much, stay out too late</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I know I’m just a fool, but I swear I can change</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I can’t steal you the stars, but I can give you this secondhand heart</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">All your friends think I’m hopeless, they don’t understand</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">That this imperfect love can start over again</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It’s been broken apart, but will you still take my secondhand heart?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(FIRST STANZA REPEATS)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(CHORUS REPEATS)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><u>FIRST BRIDGE</u>:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">If you let me show you, I could love you the same</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And I can’t steal you the stars but I can try every day</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Oh, you know they’ll never tear us apart</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><u>SECOND BRIDGE</u>:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And I’m just a fool, but I swear I can change</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And I can’t steal you the stars, but I can try every day</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Oh, you know you got my secondhand heart</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(SECOND BRIDGE REPEATS)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">* * * * *</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #93c47d; font-size: x-large;"><i><b>“I can’t steal you the stars, but I can give you this secondhand heart.”</b></i></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglHDTQbExXwQ6xXpjyU6QTRA6EGLGxB2jNs4M2_ZUy-gP1bBYrG6Ob__r2zZ9REDu-1lifj19x5T407vrmz3RAQcgZekE1x25Im2XcAg7T-dljWRWRd1gEy2mIDh6Gj6Vvkoz7OyhZ3KsB/s1600/Swirling+Galaxy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglHDTQbExXwQ6xXpjyU6QTRA6EGLGxB2jNs4M2_ZUy-gP1bBYrG6Ob__r2zZ9REDu-1lifj19x5T407vrmz3RAQcgZekE1x25Im2XcAg7T-dljWRWRd1gEy2mIDh6Gj6Vvkoz7OyhZ3KsB/s640/Swirling+Galaxy.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Moses knew that even while humankind was incomparable to the<br />glory of God, we were our Father's most prized creations.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When God revealed Himself to Moses, speaking to the prophet face to face, He said, <i>“Worlds without number have I created; and I also created them for mine own purpose; and by the Son I created them, which is mine Only Begotten” (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/pgp/moses/1.33?lang=eng#p32" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Moses 1:33</span></a>)</i>. Everything that fills the great expanses of space and time was formed and arranged by the priesthood power of the Great Jehovah, acting under the instruction and divine commission of his Father, Elohim—the Almighty God. It was by Their word that unorganized matter was gathered, collided, and joined together over billions of years to form the planets, stars, and galaxies which were then gradually set into motion; and it is by Their eternal laws and power that the celestial bodies of the universe are governed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After seeing the earth upon which he stood and all its inhabitants, Moses <i>“greatly marveled and wondered”</i> at the creations of God <i>(<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/pgp/moses/1.8?lang=eng#p7" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Moses 1:8</span></a>)</i>. The experience left him astounded, and in great awe at the power which God possessed. <i>“Now,”</i> said Moses, “<i>for this cause I know that man is nothing, which thing I never had supposed” (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/pgp/moses/1.10?lang=eng#p9" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Moses 1:10</span></a>)</i>. The prophet knew early on in his communion with God (through which many more things were revealed) that the works and wisdom of the Almighty were grand and glorious.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It is humbling to know that among all of Heavenly Father’s vast creations, we, His children, are His most prized and precious! Sometimes throughout life there are moments when we are touched with the Holy Ghost so powerfully that we cannot help but desire to fall to our knees in worship of the Great God who made us and first loved us. I know there have been times when my offerings to the Lord have not seemed sufficient compared to all the He offers me, including my daily breath and life <i>(<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/mosiah/2.21?lang=eng#p20" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Mosiah 2:21</span></a>)</i>. Indeed, I have felt that even if I <i>could </i>steal the stars and present them to my Father as a gift and token of my devotion, still my gift would be secondhand to the Being who made the stars and placed them in the heavens.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnzXpTEDeyd_9rAhZHoTqqgS_4Mitn73tYcxSD3keWBG9xA-b1yPZgf6_h_WYAZgTFRxricRx5NIy9lB3HQjOMlJzwMVsQfiepoW3ifcIv7koVcaogyxKC1ig8hluXB2fFrCXBDQ8s8rjb/s1600/Gethsemane+by+Adam+Abram.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="801" data-original-width="1222" height="417" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnzXpTEDeyd_9rAhZHoTqqgS_4Mitn73tYcxSD3keWBG9xA-b1yPZgf6_h_WYAZgTFRxricRx5NIy9lB3HQjOMlJzwMVsQfiepoW3ifcIv7koVcaogyxKC1ig8hluXB2fFrCXBDQ8s8rjb/s640/Gethsemane+by+Adam+Abram.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"Gethsemane"<i> by Adam Abram</i><br /><i>Copyright © 2018 by Abram Arts LLC</i></span></td></tr>
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<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In essence, we can never repay God for the supernal gift of His Beloved Son <i>(<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/john/3.16?lang=eng#p15" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">John 3:16</span></a>)</i>. We can never repay Christ for His pain, suffering, and willing death upon the cruel cross. Christ’s atonement is not “Rent-to-Own,” so to speak; it is not the one prized thing in the department store window that we stare longingly at with our hands stuffed in our penniless pockets. “If only…” is not a phrase that should ever precede our desire to know Christ and feel His power. The atonement is ours if we want it—it was <i>always </i>ours! The Savior holds the keys to our salvation, and the door is unlocked; we only have but to knock to be let in and partake of it <i>(<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/3-ne/27.29?lang=eng#p28" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">3 Nephi 27:29</span></a>)</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We are not making payments toward our salvation or resurrection. Living the commandments is not a deposit into the eternal IOU account held by the Lord. The price is paid, the deed is done. Jesus Christ saved us all; and all He asks is that we follow Him. He doesn’t want the stars; I’m sure He has a great view of them from His throne at the right hand of God the Father. He wants us to <i>use </i>the gift He gave us, not strive to </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">earn </i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">it, or feel that we fall short of it. He wants our hearts to stay close to Him, no matter how many times they’ve been broken and mended—the Great Physician always has power to heal us. And hearts continuously healed by the Son of God will help us reach higher for that place where we can catch the view of those stars right alongside Him, which He offers to the faithful, even </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">“all that [the] father hath” (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/dc-testament/dc/84.38?lang=eng#p37" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">D&C 84:38</span></a>)</i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">.</span></div>
Wade W.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09389169527454451047noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8378638217296140991.post-62851400289168415162018-03-11T01:12:00.000-07:002018-03-11T01:12:56.953-07:00Song Dissection—"Second Hand Heart" (Pt. 6)<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">See my introductory post, <a href="http://myshatteredsilence.blogspot.com/2018/01/song-dissectionsecond-hand-heart-pt-1.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">“Song Dissection – Second Hand Heart (Pt. 1)”</span></a> 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; after which, I will continue to dissect the song and share my thoughts on the lessons that it taught me, which is one reason I love this song so much. Be sure and check back for subsequent updates in this 10-part series.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">* * * * *</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/zAnSr5N3c8E/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/zAnSr5N3c8E?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>– <b><u>Second Hand Heart</u></b> –</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Performed by Ben Haenow </i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>(Featuring Kelly Clarkson)</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The light of the morning finds you sleeping in my bed</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And it’s not like the stories; it’s never like what they said</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I know who you want me to be but I’m just not there yet</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Yeah, the broken road’s always been home and it’s so hard to forget</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Wait for me now</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Will you wait for me now?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><u>CHORUS</u>:</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I might think too much, drink too much, stay out too late</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I know I’m just a fool, but I swear I can change</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I can’t steal you the stars, but I can give you this secondhand heart</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">All your friends think I’m hopeless, they don’t understand</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">That this imperfect love can start over again</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It’s been broken apart, but will you still take my secondhand heart?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(FIRST STANZA REPEATS)</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(CHORUS REPEATS)</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><u>FIRST BRIDGE</u>:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">If you let me show you, I could love you the same</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And I can’t steal you the stars but I can try every day</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Oh, you know they’ll never tear us apart</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><u>SECOND BRIDGE</u>:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And I’m just a fool, but I swear I can change</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And I can’t steal you the stars, but I can try every day</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Oh, you know you got my secondhand heart</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(SECOND BRIDGE REPEATS)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">* * * * *</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #93c47d; font-size: x-large;"><i><b>“I know I’m just a fool, but I swear I can change.”</b></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">I</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">n the infamous first chapter of Romans, Paul seems to condemn homosexual and lesbian behavior, while also reminding the Roman saints of the age-old sin of idolatry. For many gay Christians like me, this chapter has been personally read many times in hopes of finding clarity and understanding. However, I will not be arguing that subject today. What I like most about this chapter of Paul’s epistle comes before the heavy subjects, when the apostle is speaking of those who have experienced the glory of God, but have not acknowledged His divinity; they do not thank God for His goodness toward them, but instead become <i>“vain in their imaginations,”</i> then, <i>“professing themselves to be wise, they become fools” (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/rom/1.21-22?lang=eng#20" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Romans 1:21-22</span></a>)</i>.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This reminds me of the words of the ancient American prophet Jacob, who said:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> “O that cunning plan of the evil one! O the vainness, and the frailties, and the foolishness of men! When they are learned they think they are wise, and they hearken not unto the counsel of God, for they set it aside, supposing they know of themselves, wherefore, their wisdom is foolishness and it profiteth them not. ...</span></i></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> “But to be learned is good if they hearken unto the counsels of God” (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/2-ne/9.28-29?lang=eng#27" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">2 Nephi 9:28-29</span></a>).</span></i></blockquote>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilynUWqH4KOq-GAuqovH56f62sCGiRQWnoNTe50tU1rEzq0ap_dAtW3VjV8zPj-SujAhecxx6QljT-deAb5mi3a9ndsE1laBZJyljO2-fXbK_Cq8Q-24mkhtCNpcGYNDkcgvlsS_59gL1L/s1600/Joker+Playing+Card.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="601" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilynUWqH4KOq-GAuqovH56f62sCGiRQWnoNTe50tU1rEzq0ap_dAtW3VjV8zPj-SujAhecxx6QljT-deAb5mi3a9ndsE1laBZJyljO2-fXbK_Cq8Q-24mkhtCNpcGYNDkcgvlsS_59gL1L/s400/Joker+Playing+Card.jpg" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Lessons are often learned from<br />the times when we play the fool.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">I have been alive for almost 32 years, and I can look back on my life experiences and see many times when I thought I was wise, but it’s clear to me now that I was really a fool. I can see now what my parents and leaders must’ve meant when they said to me then, </span><i style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">“You’ll understand when you’re older.”</i><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"> In past blog posts I have discussed my reasons for setting my faith and religion aside while I pursued paths that I was certain were better for me (see </span><a href="http://myshatteredsilence.blogspot.com/2013/08/the-greener-side.html" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;"><i>“The Greener Side”</i>—August 2013</span></a><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"> and </span><a href="http://myshatteredsilence.blogspot.com/2014/06/the-best-and-worst-of-times.html" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;"><i>“The Best and Worst of Times”</i>—June 2014</span></a><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">). In the short run, those paths were traversed far too quickly for me to really gain anything meaningful from them then; but in the long run, those paths set the mark for my journey through adulthood as a disciple of Christ.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I have learned that when I act foolishly, God does not ask me to mope back to the beginning and start over, just to end up hitting all the same potholes that got the better of me the first time through. He simply asks me to find a different path that still leads to Him, and pursue it, letting Christ cover up my footprints on the crooked path behind me. That’s what I think of when I go to my Heavenly Father in prayer and acknowledge my transgression or sin—I admit that I have been a fool, that I have been prideful, trusting in my own limited knowledge instead of in His infinite wisdom. I ask Him for forgiveness, and promise Him that I can change—not a vain declaration that I will show Him what I can do of my own strength—but a testimony that <i>“I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me” (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/philip/4.13?lang=eng#12" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Philippians 4:13</span></a>)</i>.</span></div>
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Wade W.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09389169527454451047noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8378638217296140991.post-44426845431058143722018-02-23T02:02:00.000-07:002018-03-29T05:52:48.284-06:00Song Dissection—"Second Hand Heart" (Pt. 5)<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">See my introductory post, <i><a href="http://myshatteredsilence.blogspot.com/2018/01/song-dissectionsecond-hand-heart-pt-1.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">“Song Dissection – Second Hand Heart (Pt. 1)”</span></a></i> 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; after which, I will continue to dissect the song and share my thoughts on the lessons that it taught me, which is one reason I love this song so much. Be sure and check back for subsequent updates in this 10-part series.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">* * * * *</span></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/zAnSr5N3c8E/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/zAnSr5N3c8E?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">– <b><i><u>Second Hand Heart</u></i></b> –</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Performed by Ben Haenow</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>(Featuring Kelly Clarkson)</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The light of the morning finds you sleeping in my bed</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And it’s not like the stories; it’s never like what they said</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I know who you want me to be but I’m just not there yet</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Yeah, the broken road’s always been home and it’s so hard to forget</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Wait for me now</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Will you wait for me now?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><u>CHORUS</u>:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I might think too much, drink too much, stay out too late</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I know I’m just a fool, but I swear I can change</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I can’t steal you the stars, but I can give you this secondhand heart</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">All your friends think I’m hopeless, they don’t understand</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">That this imperfect love can start over again</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It’s been broken apart, but will you still take my secondhand heart?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(FIRST STANZA REPEATS)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(CHORUS REPEATS)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><u>FIRST BRIDGE</u>:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">If you let me show you, I could love you the same</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And I can’t steal you the stars but I can try every day</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Oh, you know they’ll never tear us apart</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><u>SECOND BRIDGE</u>:</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And I’m just a fool, but I swear I can change</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And I can’t steal you the stars, but I can try every day</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Oh, you know you got my secondhand heart</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(SECOND BRIDGE REPEATS)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">* * * * *</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><b><span style="color: #93c47d; font-size: x-large;">“I might think too much, drink too much, stay out too late.”</span></b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">This one is pretty simple: We all have problems. No one is exempt from personal struggles and challenges, and some of those challenges can keep us from having a healthy, personal relationship with God and our Savior. The Apostle Paul taught the Romans in his epistle that <i>“all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God,”</i> but that our redemption comes <i>“freely by his grace through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus” (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/rom/3.23-24?lang=eng#22" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Romans 3:23-24</span></a>)</i>.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Though it may seem harmless, over-<br />thinking is one of my downfalls.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">For some of us, drinking alcohol and staying out too late might very well be among our biggest vices; but arguably, there is excess as well as moderation and dearth in all things—even the things we deem as generally “okay.” Sometimes a little indulgence can do us good, like around the holidays when we eat more, spend more, and hopefully love a little more than usual. Other times, we may need to regulate our habits, or cut out behaviors that are causing us stress or harm. I cannot offer any insights on drinking alcohol, at whatever frequency one might; and though I consider myself more of a night owl by habit, I’m afraid that my advice in that regard is also scarce.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Thinking too much, however, is a problem I personally have. It is part of having obsessive-compulsive disorder and anxiety disorder. I overthink and overanalyze just about everything. I get stuck on certain thoughts for hours sometimes, looking at them from every angle, even the impossible ones that I know are outlandish and would never happen; with OCD, this has been referred to as “looping.” I also worry and get anxious about how other people perceive my words and actions, and criticize myself a great deal for doing things “wrong”—something I am working on changing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But there is some good that can come from it. I love my attention to detail, even the tiny things that I think other people don’t notice, like remembering birthdays, anniversaries, and other special occasions and trying to help others celebrate them. I also enjoy having a heightened sense of how others are feeling and being able to read emotions and body language, because I pay close attention to those things; it helps me guide my actions and words so that I can comfort others, make them smile, or offer reassurance when I am sensing a need for those things.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The book of Proverbs offers the common wisdom, <i>“For as [a man] thinketh in his heart, so is he” (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/ot/prov/23.7?lang=eng#6" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Proverbs 23:7</span></a>)</i>. The Apostle Paul encourages this Old Testament advice in his counsel to the Philippians, too:</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> <i>“… Whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things <br /> “Those things, which ye have both learned, and received, and heard, and seen in me, do: and the God of peace shall be with you” (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/philip/4.8-9?lang=eng#7"><span style="color: #e69138;">Philippians 4:8-9</span></a>, emphasis added).</i></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Though Paul surely personified all of these virtues himself, still he knew and acknowledged the source of goodness and virtue—The Holy Father and His Beloved Son. And with His perfect life, as our Exemplar, Jesus Christ invites us all to follow Him back to the Father by abiding by the things that we learned, received, heard, and saw in Him. Note also that Paul’s instructions were not just to <i>think </i>on the good things of God, but to act upon them—to <i>do</i>. The famously-quotable American essayist Ralph Waldo Emerson once wrote, <i>“What you do speaks so loudly that I cannot hear what you say.”</i></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJEzzEL7pROc6-f6mSyV8IdyXp8TGmRKlDyY2SdGexUydX3zWl-KNXYZXLI3EELmcJVAfX_Op-tvoZtCVpYdDZKsP1cP_W-NUo_I1oMFJEX0RU55ewuSPVJsLuJVeKjUKD_Vrx1myG67qX/s1600/Fitting+Puzzle+Pieces.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="723" data-original-width="1024" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJEzzEL7pROc6-f6mSyV8IdyXp8TGmRKlDyY2SdGexUydX3zWl-KNXYZXLI3EELmcJVAfX_Op-tvoZtCVpYdDZKsP1cP_W-NUo_I1oMFJEX0RU55ewuSPVJsLuJVeKjUKD_Vrx1myG67qX/s400/Fitting+Puzzle+Pieces.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>In living a life of faith, our words and our<br />actions should always fit comfortably<br />together.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Perhaps the cliché, <i>“Actions speak louder than words,”</i> is so frequently used that tracing it back to its author of origin would be difficult; but both quotes here are applicable in this case. It is not enough to merely think of our God and our Lord and to acknowledge Their divinity. Our choices and actions, how we treat others and conduct ourselves, ought to be a reflection of our internal foundations of faith and trust in the Godhead, and not just a deceiving outward display of the sackcloth and ashes of faux humility and penitence.</span></div>
Wade W.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09389169527454451047noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8378638217296140991.post-45798189951055601002018-02-04T10:38:00.002-07:002018-03-29T05:52:48.309-06:00Song Dissection—"Second Hand Heart" (Pt. 4)<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">See my introductory post, <i><a href="http://myshatteredsilence.blogspot.com/2018/01/song-dissectionsecond-hand-heart-pt-1.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">“Song Dissection – Second Hand Heart (Pt. 1)”</span></a></i> 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; after which, I will continue to dissect the song and share my thoughts on the lessons that it taught me, which is one reason I love this song so much. Be sure and check back for subsequent updates in this 10-part series.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">* * * * *</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">– <i><b><u>Second Hand Heart</u></b></i> –</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Performed by Ben Haenow</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>(Featuring Kelly Clarkson)</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The light of the morning finds you sleeping in my bed</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And it’s not like the stories; it’s never like what they said</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I know who you want me to be but I’m just not there yet</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Yeah, the broken road’s always been home and it’s so hard to forget</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Wait for me now</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Will you wait for me now?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><u>CHORUS</u>:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I might think too much, drink too much, stay out too late</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I know I’m just a fool, but I swear I can change</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I can’t steal you the stars, but I can give you this secondhand heart</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">All your friends think I’m hopeless, they don’t understand</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">That this imperfect love can start over again</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It’s been broken apart, but will you still take my secondhand heart?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(FIRST STANZA REPEATS)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(CHORUS REPEATS)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><u>FIRST BRIDGE</u>:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">If you let me show you, I could love you the same</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And I can’t steal you the stars but I can try every day</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Oh, you know they’ll never tear us apart</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><u>SECOND BRIDGE</u>:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And I’m just a fool, but I swear I can change</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And I can’t steal you the stars, but I can try every day</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Oh, you know you got my secondhand heart</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(SECOND BRIDGE REPEATS)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">* * * * *</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #93c47d; font-size: x-large;"><b><i>“Wait for me now…will you wait for me now?”</i></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">An Old Testament proverb reads, <i>“Whoso keepeth the fig tree shall eat the fruit thereof: so he that waiteth on his master shall be honoured” (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/ot/prov/27.18?lang=eng#17" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Proverbs 27:18</span></a>)</i>. The ancient Israelites looked forward to the coming of the Messiah, who would rescue them from bondage and save Israel, His chosen people, in the Lord’s kingdom. From Moses, to King David, to Isaiah, waiting on the Lord was a common theme of daily religious worship, and a reflection of our need for the Lord and our reliance upon God for sustenance and salvation.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Waiting on the Lord's timing can often<br />try our patience and our faith.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Animal sacrifices and burnt offerings were prepared in the Israelites’ portable Tabernacle in the wilderness of Sinai, and in the Temple of Solomon and Herod’s Temple, both at Jerusalem, as a foreshadowing and preparation for the sacrifice and atonement of Jesus Christ—the Lamb without blemish—which was later achieved by the shedding of His own blood as the Only Begotten Son of the Father. These ordinances kept God’s followers clean, pure, and worthy before the Lord, and restored the favor and protection of the Great Jehovah upon the children of the covenant.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Isaiah’s prophetic promise was that <i>“they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength, … shall mount up with wings as eagles, … [and] shall run, and not be weary … [and] shall walk, and not faint” (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/ot/isa/40.31?lang=eng#30" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Isaiah 40:31</span></a>)</i>. He added that the children of God have not and cannot perceive with their earthly senses <i>“what [the Lord] hath prepared for [those] that waiteth for Him” (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/ot/isa/64.4?lang=eng#3" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Isaiah 64:4</span></a>)</i>—an abundant promise from He Who holds all things in heaven and on earth in His power.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMPe646jVDZ5PZV34ciyBgmN4A3VFLH6Aa1puElcZI3Q1r9BnLINxVJW_5X3QvmjNGmnuHHIZBcyKwrIjRoRjiKPqhtBDrw3QRewIK7-8J0d4RghZWNp4u9WQ0BQy9B_vovBSxBWeZoX6s/s1600/When+the+Angels+Come+by+Clark+Kelley+Price.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="601" data-original-width="849" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMPe646jVDZ5PZV34ciyBgmN4A3VFLH6Aa1puElcZI3Q1r9BnLINxVJW_5X3QvmjNGmnuHHIZBcyKwrIjRoRjiKPqhtBDrw3QRewIK7-8J0d4RghZWNp4u9WQ0BQy9B_vovBSxBWeZoX6s/s400/When+the+Angels+Come+by+Clark+Kelley+Price.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"When the Angels Come"<br /><i>by Clark Kelley Price</i><br /><i>Copyright © 2012 by the Artist</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When we wait on the Lord by trusting in His power and goodness; when we talk to Him often in prayer and crave His blessings and mercy; when we are patient with His timing and will for our lives; when we repent often, seek His forgiveness, and move forward with hope and reassurance in His atonement</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">—</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">we are waiting on the Lord. We are acting as His servants, His disciples, His stewards in spreading the message of His love and divinity to the world. But the Lord reassures us, saying <i>“my yoke is easy, and my burden is light,”</i> because He has promised to shoulder the yokes of life with us if we will but come unto him <i>(<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/matt/11.28-30?lang=eng#27" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Matthew 11:28-30</span></a>)</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I like to think that the Savior would be the best partner to have if I were carrying a yoke and pulling a heavy load behind me. I don’t imagine Him going too fast for my comfort level, but not so slowly that I would fall behind on the path or not gain from the experience. Though His abilities and skills are far above my own—indeed, perfect in every way—I don’t feel that He would ever use His power or strength to push me too hard. Shouldering a burden with Jesus at your side seems like the best way to go about performing your necessary labors.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Our pace in life is not really as<br />important as our direction.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And when the road becomes too rough and the load bears down too heavily, I like to think that Jesus waits for <i>us </i>until we are ready to put our feet back on solid ground. However, from my experiences with adversity, I feel as if the journey doesn’t stop as Jesus waits for us, but that He keeps the cart moving forward, shouldering the entire burden Himself, so that when we are ready to try again, we don’t have to pick up in the same spot where we succumbed wearily to our trial; instead, as we press forward under Christ’s strength, we do not fall behind, and we are that much closer to our destination than if we had tried to carry the burden ourselves, and had fallen by the wayside under the significant load.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Lord Jesus and His Father know our capabilities, needs, wants, desires, talents, weaknesses, and frailties—and that is why They wait for us, and work with us. One step at a time is just fine for Them, as long as we are progressing in Their direction. But as aforementioned by Elder Neal A. Maxwell in Part Two of this essay, we are not expected to compete with or match our Father and Savior—yet. </span><i style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">“Ye are not able to abide the presence of God now, neither the ministering of angels,”</i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> the Lord told his Saints in modern days, </span><i style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">“wherefore, continue in patience until ye are perfected” (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/dc-testament/dc/67.13?lang=eng#12" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">D&C 67:13</span></a>)</i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">. While waiting upon the Lord for answers or direction might try our patience and commitment at times, it’s good to remember those periods (certainly in my life, at least), when the Lord waited for us to learn by our own experience the good from the evil </span><i style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">(<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/pgp/moses/5.10-11?lang=eng#9" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Moses 5:10-11</span></a>)</i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">.</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
Wade W.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09389169527454451047noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8378638217296140991.post-7097802250641760262018-01-24T07:58:00.001-07:002018-01-24T07:58:28.986-07:00Song Dissection—"Second Hand Heart" (Pt. 3)<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">See my introductory post, <a href="http://myshatteredsilence.blogspot.com/2018/01/song-dissectionsecond-hand-heart-pt-1.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">“Song Dissection – Second Hand Heart (Pt. 1)”</span></a> 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; after which, I will continue to dissect the song and share my thoughts on the lessons that it taught me, which is one reason I love this song so much. Be sure and check back for subsequent updates in this 10-part series.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">* * * * *</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>– <u><b>Second Hand Heart</b></u> –</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Performed by Ben Haenow</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>(Featuring Kelly Clarkson)</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The light of the morning finds you sleeping in my bed</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And it’s not like the stories; it’s never like what they said</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I know who you want me to be but I’m just not there yet</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Yeah, the broken road’s always been home and it’s so hard to forget</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Wait for me now</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Will you wait for me now?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><u>CHORUS</u>:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I might think too much, drink too much, stay out too late</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I know I’m just a fool, but I swear I can change</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I can’t steal you the stars, but I can give you this secondhand heart</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">All your friends think I’m hopeless, they don’t understand</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">That this imperfect love can start over again</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It’s been broken apart, but will you still take my secondhand heart?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(FIRST STANZA REPEATS)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(CHORUS REPEATS)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><u>FIRST BRIDGE</u>:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">If you let me show you, I could love you the same</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And I can’t steal you the stars but I can try every day</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Oh, you know they’ll never tear us apart</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><u>SECOND BRIDGE</u>:</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And I’m just a fool, but I swear I can change</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And I can’t steal you the stars, but I can try every day</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Oh, you know you got my secondhand heart</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(SECOND BRIDGE REPEATS)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">* * * * *</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><i><span style="color: #93c47d; font-size: x-large;">“The broken road’s always been home and it’s so hard to forget.”</span></i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The New Testament apostle Paul was well-acquainted with life on a corrupt and broken road. The scriptures tell us that as a devout Jew and an educated Pharisee living in Jerusalem several years after the ministry of Jesus, Paul (formerly Saul) <i>“made havoc of the church”</i> that Christ had established, <i>“breathing out threatenings and slaughter against the disciples of the Lord” (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/acts/8.3?lang=eng#2" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Acts 8:3</span></a>; <a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/acts/9.1?lang=eng#primary" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Acts 9:1</span></a>)</i>. He was present at the trial of the apostle Stephen, even <i>“consenting unto his death”</i> which was later carried out by stoning <i>(<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/acts/8.1?lang=eng#primary" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Acts 8:1</span></a>)</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSn8ux61b9_OAs-wcFlrF26_bzgpzFO_94vrBHvkGwIJ2UdkQkIHjw-wGHCpWR6cPzmka1mWAyngH5tm9dZZ_mbG9eHPry_cfLv5n0gOM6OOoB8vksIa-djRsqaS3oMR7xkJiKC1pMmG7U/s1600/Ruins+of+Damascus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="541" data-original-width="1000" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSn8ux61b9_OAs-wcFlrF26_bzgpzFO_94vrBHvkGwIJ2UdkQkIHjw-wGHCpWR6cPzmka1mWAyngH5tm9dZZ_mbG9eHPry_cfLv5n0gOM6OOoB8vksIa-djRsqaS3oMR7xkJiKC1pMmG7U/s400/Ruins+of+Damascus.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>These 2,200 year-old ruins of the city of<br />Palmyra lie just northeast of Damascus.</i></span></td></tr>
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<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After the martyrdom of Stephen, Saul continued his persecution of the Disciples of Christ by <i>“entering into every house”</i> in Jerusalem, <i>“haling men and women [and] commit[ing] them to prison” (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/acts/8.3?lang=eng#2" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Acts 8:3</span></a>)</i>. Saul sought and received permission from the Jewish chief priest to travel a great distance northward to the city Damascus simply to continue the persecution of Christians there, promising <i>“that if he found any of this way [Christian], whether they were men or women, he [would] bring them bound unto Jerusalem” (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/acts/9.2?lang=eng#1" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Acts 9:2</span></a>).</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Saul was taking the figurative broken road of corruption and sin, and was well on his way toward the condemnation of the Lord. But it was on a literal road—the one that took him to Damascus—that Saul’s life (and his name) changed forever. A bright light stopped Saul is his tracks as he neared the city, and the voice of Jesus Christ spoke unto him saying, <i>“Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me?” (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/acts/9.3-4?lang=eng#2" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Acts 9:3-4</span></a>)</i>. This heavenly manifestation was the beginning of the remarkable and influential apostleship and leadership of Paul, <i>“a chosen vessel unto [the Lord]” who was called by the risen Savior “to bear [His] name before the Gentiles, and kings, and the children of Israel” (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/acts/9.15?lang=eng#14" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Acts 9:15</span></a>)</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUvDhHZLePHuIzxHnPsQFzHbHk4NFiGVQBL5ORxBNGpAu3D__d54XbEdFwTYp274NKruM4aXkEP1ap63pIahZq_xBgvoj-ek6zZCHt0zyQsr5IRfyqZjXiCzn9gAb4jog8x3D3NTDJ6mW6/s1600/The+Conversion+of+St.+Paul+by+Nicolas+Bernard+Lepicie.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1430" data-original-width="1156" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUvDhHZLePHuIzxHnPsQFzHbHk4NFiGVQBL5ORxBNGpAu3D__d54XbEdFwTYp274NKruM4aXkEP1ap63pIahZq_xBgvoj-ek6zZCHt0zyQsr5IRfyqZjXiCzn9gAb4jog8x3D3NTDJ6mW6/s320/The+Conversion+of+St.+Paul+by+Nicolas+Bernard+Lepicie.JPG" width="258" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"The Conversion of St. Paul"<br /><i>(1767) by Nicolas B. Lepicie. </i></span></td></tr>
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<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It could be suggested that, before his conversion, Paul had found a knack for persecuting and condemning Christians. It was acceptable and honorable to him, even pertinent to his Pharisaic training and upbringing as a devout Jew. Even Ananias, a Christian disciple in Damascus who baptized Paul after his conversion, said that he had heard from many others <i>“how much evil [Saul] hath done to [the] saints at Jerusalem” (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/acts/9.13?lang=eng#12" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Acts 9:13</span></a>)</i>. You could say he was “at home” in his corrupt mission—comfortable on the broken road of life, completely complacent in his talent for destruction and death.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The amazing thing, however, is how Paul eventually found an even more fitting niche in proclaiming the gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ throughout the ancient Mediterranean world and beyond. The tables had turned completely, too, as Paul then became the target of persecution, imprisonment, and death threats as an outspoken crusader for the cause of Christ. As one of the most active and successful missionaries in all of Christianity, Paul would tell his miraculous story of conversion to countless people—Jew, Gentile, and fellow Christians—over the course of his travels and ministry. He testified powerfully of the Son of God Who came to earth to redeem mankind from sin. Political and religious leaders of high status and great power heard it declared from the mouth of Paul that the Promised Messiah had come, that the Savior of the world had lived among them, and that He lived still in glory and holiness.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Paul must have been remorseful at times for the lives he had so negatively affected in his earlier life—for those lives he had had a part in taking. In his epistle to the Galatians he confessed, <i>“Beyond measure I persecuted the church of God, and wasted it” (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/gal/1.13?lang=eng#12" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Galatians 1:13</span></a>)</i>. But his confidence in his forgiveness and redemption through the blood of Christ was undoubting and unwavering. Although he had taken a dramatic detour from the broken road he was once on (and though he would likely never forget those rough experiences), yet he realized that life was still full of paths that were occasionally rocky, steep, narrow, and difficult—especially as a champion for the sake of Christ.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpcdZwY2fikBtgvcb9rLQKIqNjT0EY1aAW2E7iLV231LxKZ3ZadTmQGJM4i0PjrQ4duLiKEIfQPPNiXOsFWFDIOIxhyphenhyphen3CAukCJmNfaUqIOY6Mu2vJc8k0Yg7GrUxqCR8T1d0Ctw6ldQTFl/s1600/Thorns.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="430" data-original-width="614" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpcdZwY2fikBtgvcb9rLQKIqNjT0EY1aAW2E7iLV231LxKZ3ZadTmQGJM4i0PjrQ4duLiKEIfQPPNiXOsFWFDIOIxhyphenhyphen3CAukCJmNfaUqIOY6Mu2vJc8k0Yg7GrUxqCR8T1d0Ctw6ldQTFl/s320/Thorns.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Paul's "thorn in the flesh" kept<br />him humble and penitent.</i></span></td></tr>
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<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>“There was given to me a thorn in the flesh, the messenger of Satan to buffet me,”</i> Paul explained in his second epistle to the Corinthians <i>(<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/2-cor/12.7?lang=eng#6" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">2 Corinthians 12:7</span></a>)</i>. Though he asked the Lord three separate times to take the trial away from him, the Lord knew the eternal benefits of Paul’s challenge. <i>“My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness”</i> said the Lord to Paul, who responded with gladness in submitting humbly to his infirmities so that he could learn to rely more fully on the Savior and His grace <i>(<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/2-cor/12.9?lang=eng#8" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">2 Corinthians 12:9</span></a>)</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In this way, Paul teaches us all about broken roads. We learn from him that if we don’t like the path we are on, Christ gives us the encouragement and power to change our direction. Sometimes Jesus comes to us on the broken road, as He did to Paul, because He cares deeply for us and wants to help us reach our full potential; other times, as our feet become sore and our bodies grow weak from treading the faulty ground, we turn to our perfect Source of support and succor to help us correct our course, or if necessary, to repair the fractured path, mend our souls, and continue our journey forward.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeAkd1SFEcO9HBuYfX5vY8_bvE7xSHSEEErgzrw8MMMV0mU3UCO3RjgVf0Cltags6kW3wqEHBEHLdODiQex9eN0UsleYmxEMS7I39Y1yR0KjWVm4SuuSwtfWiwxImfgHPFDFiKEaxdHMhk/s1600/Crown+of+Thorns+Plant.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="426" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeAkd1SFEcO9HBuYfX5vY8_bvE7xSHSEEErgzrw8MMMV0mU3UCO3RjgVf0Cltags6kW3wqEHBEHLdODiQex9eN0UsleYmxEMS7I39Y1yR0KjWVm4SuuSwtfWiwxImfgHPFDFiKEaxdHMhk/s400/Crown+of+Thorns+Plant.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Euphorbia milii<i>, or Crown<br />of Thorns, shows us that<br />beauty can blossom from<br />adversity.</i></span></td></tr>
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<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We also learn from Paul that experiencing a few bumps, inclines, and rough patches along the way is God’s intention for making the journey worthwhile and for our ultimate good. As we learn to dodge the obstacles, or pick ourselves up if we occasionally stumble over them, we become more reliant on the Savior for our strength, courage, and determination. And if we choose to learn from those hurdles rather than fear them or curse them, we can discover a deeper appreciation for life’s challenges and trials and see the purpose they play in God’s Plan of Happiness <i>(<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/2-ne/2.11?lang=eng#10" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">2 Nephi 2:11</span></a>)</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As Paul testified, <i>“I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ’s sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong” (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/2-cor/12.10?lang=eng#9" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">2 Corinthians 12:10</span></a>)</i>. The Lord adds His approval of those who sincerely repent and turn from sin by promising that our sins are forgotten and He remembers them no more <i>(<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/dc-testament/dc/58.42-43?lang=eng#41" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">D&C 58:42-43</span></a>)</i>.</span></div>
Wade W.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09389169527454451047noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8378638217296140991.post-57472523493327412142018-01-12T15:32:00.001-07:002018-01-12T15:32:51.560-07:00Song Dissection—"Second Hand Heart" (Pt. 2)<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">See my previous post, <a href="http://myshatteredsilence.blogspot.com/2018/01/song-dissectionsecond-hand-heart-pt-1.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;"><i>“Song Dissection – Second Hand Heart (Pt. 1)”</i></span></a> 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; after which, I will continue to dissect the song and share my thoughts on the lessons that it taught me, which is one reason I love this song so much. Be sure and check back for subsequent updates in this 10-part series.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">* * * * *</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/zAnSr5N3c8E/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/zAnSr5N3c8E?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>– <b><u>Second Hand Heart</u></b> –</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Performed by Ben Haenow</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>(Featuring Kelly Clarkson)</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The light of the morning finds you sleeping in my bed</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And it’s not like the stories; it’s never like what they said</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I know who you want me to be but I’m just not there yet</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Yeah, the broken road’s always been home and it’s so hard to forget</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Wait for me now</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Will you wait for me now?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><u>CHORUS</u>:</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I might think too much, drink too much, stay out too late</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I know I’m just a fool, but I swear I can change</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I can’t steal you the stars, but I can give you this secondhand heart</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">All your friends think I’m hopeless, they don’t understand</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">That this imperfect love can start over again</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It’s been broken apart, but will you still take my secondhand heart?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(FIRST STANZA REPEATS)</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(CHORUS REPEATS)</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><u>FIRST BRIDGE</u>:</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">If you let me show you, I could love you the same</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And I can’t steal you the stars but I can try every day</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Oh, you know they’ll never tear us apart</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><u>SECOND BRIDGE</u>:</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And I’m just a fool, but I swear I can change</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And I can’t steal you the stars, but I can try every day</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Oh, you know you got my secondhand heart</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(SECOND BRIDGE REPEATS)</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">* * * * *</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #93c47d; font-size: x-large;"><i><b>“I know who you want me to be but I’m just not there yet.”</b></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In His Sermon on the Mount, Jesus Christ commanded us all, <i>“Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect”</i> <i>(<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/matt/5.48?lang=eng#47" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Matthew 5:48</span></a>)</i>. Heavenly Father sent Jesus Christ to earth, in part, to be our Exemplar—our standard of perfection to Whom we look as a model of mortal living and service to God. And we know that Jesus accomplished His Father’s purposes, fulfilling God’s Plan of Salvation by establishing His Church, completing the atonement by the shedding of His innocent blood in Gethsemane and on Calvary, and then breaking the bonds of death through the miraculous resurrection.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">What a daunting act to follow! It is no wonder that many, including myself, often feel like they fall short of God’s love and mercy, as well as feeling disconnected or undeserving of the grace of the Redeemer as they travail through day-to-day life on their way to heaven. Thankfully, modern prophets and apostles have offered us clarity and comfort in the seemingly-impossible commandment to be perfect as our Savior and Father are. Elder Neal A. Maxwell (1926 – 2004), a modern-day apostle of Jesus Christ, gave this reassuring thought:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2xyn4JDXHD4xpI-qMeEOcJ6BECP_qsxfV-H9Qn8FNfI47izUt7suD0-yV2vZabm3Yvn86QJPIVP9dGmi8jaojs3MZ9R4JKJFQHeI2IhxJHg6SmNthJcLvLc-2FkW129CqP75OFgAjci_C/s1600/Elder+Neal+A.+Maxwell.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="400" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2xyn4JDXHD4xpI-qMeEOcJ6BECP_qsxfV-H9Qn8FNfI47izUt7suD0-yV2vZabm3Yvn86QJPIVP9dGmi8jaojs3MZ9R4JKJFQHeI2IhxJHg6SmNthJcLvLc-2FkW129CqP75OFgAjci_C/s200/Elder+Neal+A.+Maxwell.jpg" width="160" /></a></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> <i>“Our perfect Father does not expect us to be perfect children yet. He had only one such Child. Meanwhile, therefore, sometimes with smudges on our cheeks, dirt on our hands, and shoes untied, stammeringly but smilingly we present God with a dandelion—as if it were an orchid or a rose! If for now the dandelion is the best we have to offer, He receives it, knowing what we may later place on the altar. It is good to remember how young we are spiritually.”</i></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i> ~ Elder Neal A. Maxwell, </i>That Ye May Believe<i> (1992), 100.</i></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">What a beautiful and comforting expression from a servant of the Lord! Absolute perfection to match that of our Divine Creator is probably not possible in this life for most of us (perhaps none of us). Sometimes we may turn our eyes heavenward and lament that we are not quite living at our full, divine potential as children of God. But we are assured that if we <i>“come unto Christ, and be[come] perfected in Him, and deny [our]selves of all ungodliness … and love God with all [our] might, mind and strength, then is His grace sufficient for [us], that by His grace [we] may be perfect in Christ” (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/moro/10.32?lang=eng#31" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Moroni 10:32</span></a>)</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Along with this scripture, it is important also to note that our “best,” is a constantly fluctuating condition. To do our best does not always have the same minimum effort or maximum attainment. Your personal best will change daily based on life stresses, emotional and physical wellness, circumstances, and so much more. Therefore, human comparison becomes the poison to our ability to feel like we <i>are </i>doing our best, because there will always be someone who seems to be doing better than we are (at least from <i>our </i>perspective) Though, I once heard a phrase that I’ve always loved, which goes, <i>“Never compare your Behind-the-Scenes to someone else’s Highlight Reel.”</i></span></div>
Wade W.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09389169527454451047noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8378638217296140991.post-45481907438905708932018-01-02T14:48:00.000-07:002018-01-03T17:53:44.027-07:00Song Dissection—"Second Hand Heart" (Pt. 1)<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8MENoBsnPQO7b6qQmHUkJRg-doiSZsVWxhcNHL5LnY06GfTWJLBbkPQytMQf3C_JEDVQKat3WmRICcaYYMwMp3l3WxO6Vs2psxrv1exvc6OJr1Hn9Z-AGbyF1k-u7L6hBO-aTHiwFBBOu/s1600/Old+Phonograph.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8MENoBsnPQO7b6qQmHUkJRg-doiSZsVWxhcNHL5LnY06GfTWJLBbkPQytMQf3C_JEDVQKat3WmRICcaYYMwMp3l3WxO6Vs2psxrv1exvc6OJr1Hn9Z-AGbyF1k-u7L6hBO-aTHiwFBBOu/s400/Old+Phonograph.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Music has long had a strong<br />influence on me.</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In Latter-day Saint (<a href="https://www.mormon.org/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Mormon</span></a>) culture, it is common to speak of our faith as the “one true” Church of Jesus Christ on the earth; I, however, believe Mormons do not (and should not!) claim monopoly on <i>all </i>truth under God, nor does one need to be Mormon to receive guidance and inspiration through the Light of Christ, which is a gift that is given to all who are born on earth (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/moro/7.15-19?lang=eng#p14" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Moroni 7:15-19</span></a>). While not true for all Mormons, I have found this to be a common cultural misconception for many, especially when comparing and contrasting our religious practices and beliefs with other religions. By knowing that God is the Author of all truth and the conveyor of all goodness—as directed to His children through the Holy Ghost—I can (and do) find inspiration from on high in numerous sources, some of them very unexpected.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As I’ve discussed before in blog posts (see <a href="http://myshatteredsilence.blogspot.com/2016/10/to-learn-healers-art.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">“To Learn the Healer’s Art”—October 2016</span></a>) one particular way that is often easiest for me to hear God’s voice and receive personal revelation is by listening to music and lyric. And I don’t necessarily mean only the <a href="https://www.mormontabernaclechoir.org/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Mormon Tabernacle Choir</span></a>, sacred hymns of worship, or Christian rock bands. I can find truth coming from the songs and artists I love the most, even my favorite pop or rock songs that are stored in my iPod or that play on local radio stations.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I’ve even noticed how songs I’ve listened to hundreds of times before can take on whole new meanings based on the events, emotions, and experiences through which I am presently passing. In fact, this is one reason why Latter-day Saints are encouraged to read the scriptures over and over again, even if they’ve read them a dozen times before—because God can and will speak to us through the scriptures in new and meaningful ways as our life circumstances ebb, flow, and change over time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I’ve had ideas in the past for blog posts which I called “Song Dissections,” a term coined by a college professor I once had, used for a particular assignment for his class. A song dissection is essentially a breakdown of the lyrics of a song that I love and have, as the ancient American prophet Nephi admonished, “likened” to myself, so that I can discuss the truths that speak to me from each line (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/1-ne/19.23-24?lang=eng#22" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">1 Nephi 19:23-24</span></a>). At least one of these song dissections was started years ago and has never been finished—mostly because I related so well and so deeply to the song that I’ve had trouble picking it apart word by word and adequately expressing how it makes me feel.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK1EY5fH_E9xPzxxv3sZHF6MdxfISvPMy6a3JJS5NBUZ3pkcA9NtA3Tefd9xqSkmi_kB6fb7L2S2ns_HsFqizpAS-8_YsVvDeT1GsScXpwy7XRGGPAsZwm_IMc1xSZzoy_jOgXfaH-Rro3/s1600/Elaborate+Phonograph.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK1EY5fH_E9xPzxxv3sZHF6MdxfISvPMy6a3JJS5NBUZ3pkcA9NtA3Tefd9xqSkmi_kB6fb7L2S2ns_HsFqizpAS-8_YsVvDeT1GsScXpwy7XRGGPAsZwm_IMc1xSZzoy_jOgXfaH-Rro3/s400/Elaborate+Phonograph.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Combined with meaningful<br />lyric, music often moves me.</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">This post you are reading has been in the works for over 2 years now; but in 2015, a new song emerged on the music scene, and I probably would’ve never heard it if it were not shared on social media. One day last year, as I began listening to it and taking it all in, the Spirit quietly moved me and testified to me that I could learn eternal truths from those lyrics if I would liken them to myself and my relationship with my Heavenly Father and Savior.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The song is called “Second Hand Heart,” and is performed by British singer Ben Haenow, who won the eleventh series of the UK talent search TV show, <i>The X Factor</i> in 2014. The song is an upbeat duet with <i>American Idol</i> season one winner Kelly Clarkson (my favorite vocal artist). Second Hand Heart is the lead single to Haenow’s debut self-titled album, which was released in fall 2015.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I’ve really enjoyed preparing the dissection for this song, and if you know my writing well enough, you won’t be surprised that the final draft ended up rather longer—much longer than any post I’ve written so far. In order to share my expounded insights into Second Hand Heart, I have decided to split this essay into several smaller posts which will all be published separately. While I hope you will enjoy the entire project, I have found wonderful, simple themes and inspirational messages in almost every section that I will post, each based on one or two individual lines of lyric.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">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; after which, I will dissect the song and share my thoughts on the lessons that it taught me, which is one reason I love this song so much. Be sure and check back for subsequent updates in this 10-part series. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">* * * * * </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/zAnSr5N3c8E/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/zAnSr5N3c8E?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">– <i><b><u>Second Hand Heart</u></b></i> – </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Performed by Ben Haenow </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(Featuring Kelly Clarkson)</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The light of the morning finds you sleeping in my bed</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And it’s not like the stories; it’s never like what they said</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I know who you want me to be but I’m just not there yet</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Yeah, the broken road’s always been home and it’s so hard to forget</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Wait for me now</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Will you wait for me now?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><u>CHORUS</u>:</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I might think too much, drink too much, stay out too late</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I know I’m just a fool, but I swear I can change</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I can’t steal you the stars, but I can give you this secondhand heart</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">All your friends think I’m hopeless, they don’t understand</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">That this imperfect love can start over again</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It’s been broken apart, but will you still take my secondhand heart?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(FIRST STANZA REPEATS)</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(CHORUS REPEATS)</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><u>FIRST BRIDGE</u>:</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">If you let me show you, I could love you the same</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And I can’t steal you the stars but I can try every day</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Oh, you know they’ll never tear us apart</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><u>SECOND BRIDGE</u>:</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And I’m just a fool, but I swear I can change</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And I can’t steal you the stars, but I can try every day</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Oh, you know you got my secondhand heart</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(SECOND BRIDGE REPEATS)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">* * * * *</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-size: x-large;"><b><i>“It’s not like the stories; it’s never like what they said.” </i></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I read the Church <i>Ensign </i>every month, cover to cover. I truly enjoy the articles and content, and honestly, reading the magazine is an easier way for me to include scripture study in my life than reading from the standard works of canonized scripture. There are many stories in the Ensign, or even that we hear in Sunday meetings from other members, about miraculous occurrences, tender moments, sweet experiences, and phenomenal confirmations of testimony that happen to other members.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX2Ao3480dmMjXDwbWAyHE_OS5gGAIJ3HjUAP6qiTmC9UqvltQJWaJBUS32oD9zLbhwjPAuksGWpubxvgQ7avCNhfWva26X20T801AAyQhUTS0Yag7qtfMVoqF8LfD_oSmPqejluBoyKEm/s1600/Ensign+Cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="260" data-original-width="200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX2Ao3480dmMjXDwbWAyHE_OS5gGAIJ3HjUAP6qiTmC9UqvltQJWaJBUS32oD9zLbhwjPAuksGWpubxvgQ7avCNhfWva26X20T801AAyQhUTS0Yag7qtfMVoqF8LfD_oSmPqejluBoyKEm/s320/Ensign+Cover.jpg" width="244" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i> The </i>Ensign <i>is a monthly<br />periodical for Mormons.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I have often felt, as I read those articles, that my own life seemed to be lacking such tremendously-faith-building manifestations of divine teaching. I wondered why the heavens didn’t part above me, as often as they seemed to for other members around the globe, as a witness and acknowledgement of <i>my </i>faith, <i>my </i>diligence, and <i>my </i>acceptance before God.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I have come to discover, though, that I <i>do </i>have those experiences, and more often than I might think. Rather than thinking that the heavens were silent, I have learned to silence <i>myself </i>in order to feel and sense the subtle nudging of the Spirit, prodding me to believe that I am doing well, and that God accepts my efforts. I have also had to learn to look with my spiritual eyes in order to see the hand of God in my life as it guides and directs me every day (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/pgp/moses/1.11?lang=eng#10" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Moses 1:11</span></a>).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Thus, I’ve discovered, as the song reminded me, that worshipping Deity is not always going to be like the stories you hear—whether spoken of positively or negatively; everyone has a different experience with God, Jesus, the Holy Ghost, spirituality, and religion. Some are good and some are bad, unfortunately. However, God has spoken of the ways that are best and most appropriate for showing our love and appreciation to Him and His Son—that is, the doctrines and ordinances of the gospel Jesus Christ—and He leads His prophets and apostles to keep us all in tune with those commandments and teachings that will ensure our eternal life and salvation.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I think this is important to remember, especially when our friends, family, neighbors, and fellow humans choose to worship God differently than we do, or not at all; God’s greatest gift to man was the bestowal of agency and the right to exercise it as we so choose (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/dc-testament/dc/101.78?lang=eng#77" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">D&C 101:78</span></a>). Some will choose harder paths than we do (whether strictly religious, or strictly not), while others will seem to have alighted upon the smoothest road through no fault (or effort) of their own; nevertheless, the destination for all of us will be the same—we are all going home to our God, whether sooner, or later.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD6GBqJAArrqS0eI049Y8tZTFL67Uzm9EcdTIQRm1tvrxDkvAVwy37hIE_hI91H85UDeogt1TCBQTJBHfVsptXfsAxXQjOQlcsjktMtBKzHc8xkasiz808AajSRS0Uyov9NqmA0v0Maxuv/s1600/Italian+Hedge+Labyrinth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="706" data-original-width="1150" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD6GBqJAArrqS0eI049Y8tZTFL67Uzm9EcdTIQRm1tvrxDkvAVwy37hIE_hI91H85UDeogt1TCBQTJBHfVsptXfsAxXQjOQlcsjktMtBKzHc8xkasiz808AajSRS0Uyov9NqmA0v0Maxuv/s400/Italian+Hedge+Labyrinth.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>We need not all take the same path to<br />fulfillment.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Some may have different experiences along the trail, but if we are honestly seeking goodness and light in our lives, I personally don’t feel that there is a wrong way to do so, as long as you’re on the incline to higher and better purposes. My path to greater enlightenment is companionate with my ascription to the gospel of Jesus Christ, through the vehicle of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints; your path should make <i>you </i>happy, as does mine, different though they might be. In his famous literary masterpiece <i>The Lord of the Rings</i>, author J.R.R. Tolkien includes a short poem alluding to an integral part of the trilogy’s plot; one line of the poem is a simple, yet wise declaration that I feel is applicable here: <i>“Not all those who wander are lost.”</i></span></div>
Wade W.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09389169527454451047noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8378638217296140991.post-57176100101294170952017-12-14T00:19:00.001-07:002018-11-08T00:22:17.613-07:00Characteristics of Christmas<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw0Wb33FAW1Mz4KpnWvo1hwrhjqIAsFouK0kWySWtfPvNUiVTAxgG5ECSlxaf95HmE2F_8FrXs9TUA1l_chYaoPmI8wdRXB7KrWZLSQDTMEr9_rj7HKb-w2yb_cgj35lOVIIpZveVVgcw-/s1600/Christmas+Lights+Blue+%2526+Yellow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw0Wb33FAW1Mz4KpnWvo1hwrhjqIAsFouK0kWySWtfPvNUiVTAxgG5ECSlxaf95HmE2F_8FrXs9TUA1l_chYaoPmI8wdRXB7KrWZLSQDTMEr9_rj7HKb-w2yb_cgj35lOVIIpZveVVgcw-/s400/Christmas+Lights+Blue+%2526+Yellow.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>The meaning of Christmas lies beyond<br />the lights and tinsel.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I hadn’t planned to post anything until the New Year; but tonight I was going through folders and folders of writing that I’ve collected on my computer hard drive over the years—something I do when I’m bored but want to feel productive (I like tweaking words and punctuation and checking for errors that have escaped my meticulous eye). I found a poem that I wrote for Christmas nearly twenty years ago, called <i>“Characteristics of Christmas.”</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My love of writing began early in my life, and I can remember writing my first story in Third Grade. I did enjoy the entertainment of my Sega Genesis video game system and watching Nickelodeon for hours on end; but sitting at our kitchen table with nothing but lined paper, a pencil, and an idea was an even richer form of both leisure and fun for me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I can remember writing several stories during a school year—some for homework, and some just for fun. I was always so proud of them, and loved to share them with doting teachers. In Fourth Grade my teacher taught us how to write poetry using some prompt words that he encouraged us all to interpret individually. I think I still have it somewhere, in my plastic tote of memorabilia. In Fifth Grade I wrote a poem for class about Halloween, the first rhyming poem I’d ever done. My teacher was so impressed by it that she submitted it to a district-wide Halloween poetry contest, and I won first place.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Christmas is more than trimmed trees<br />and treat-filled stockings.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I had no idea I’d even been in the contest until a classmate and her mother showed up at our door around 9:00PM one night to congratulate me, as they’d just come from the award ceremony where my name was announced and my poem read aloud at a microphone by an adult performer. I still have the award certificate with a gold ribbon attached to it; I think I won ten or twenty dollars, too, and I’m sure I spent it on a burger and fries, which was a rare delicacy growing up in the 90’s with a mother who cooked all our meals.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After that Halloween poem success, I made a habit of writing about different holidays; I still have poems for Valentine’s Day, Saint Patrick’s Day, and the Christmas one. I know I started some for April Fool’s Day, Independence Day, and Thanksgiving, but I never finished them. Much like the case is today, I cannot usually write without some kind of inspiration, or at the least a ‘mood’ for writing. I’m not surprised that I couldn’t come up with anything for those holidays; I <i>still </i>have pieces that I’ve been working on for years, and maybe one day I’ll finish and maybe post them here.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Just for fun, I thought I’d share the Christmas poem I wrote in December 1998, when I was twelve years-old. It’s interesting to recognize that the characteristics of Christmas, to me, were the familiar images of trees, lights, snow, and traditional Santa Clause folklore. I describe those things in rhyme in eight verses, using the last two to convey a heartfelt message from a boy who did not yet know the reason for the season. Ten verses total, of course; even in my youth my obsessive compulsive need for counting things in fives was noticeable (and surely that hasn’t changed).</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>The true characteristics of Christmas are<br />the gifts from the Savior of the World.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Though I did not quite know exactly who the babe was who lay in the manger in my mother’s ceramic nativity set, I still understood that there was something special about Christmas; something you could feel at that time of year that seemed, for some reason, difficult to sense the rest of the year. I also determined, though young as I was, that Christmas was not a passive event, but a deeper ritual symbolizing a spirit of goodwill and gladness, one toward another. And while the nostalgia of sleepless Christmas Eves, opening presents before sunrise, and my mother’s breakfast on Christmas morning are what live on from my childhood holidays, nowadays I have a better understanding of why we celebrate this glorious time of year in the first place.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The words of LDS Prophet <a href="https://history.lds.org/exhibit/prophets-of-the-restoration-gordon-b-hinckley?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Gordon B. Hinckley</span></a> (1910 – 2008) always ring truer when I ponder this wondrous season:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> <i>“Christmas means giving. The Father gave His Son, and the Son gave His life. Without giving there is no true Christmas, and without sacrifice there is no true worship. There is more to Christmas than neckties, earrings, toys, and all the tinseled stuff of which we make so much.</i></span> </span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-style: italic;"> ~ </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>President Gordon B. Hinckley, </i><a href="https://www.lds.org/ensign/1983/12/what-shall-i-do-then-with-jesus-which-is-called-christ?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;"><i>"'What Shall I Do Then With Jesus Which is Called Christ?'" </i>Ensign<i>, Dec. 1983</i></span></a><i>.</i></span></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Indeed, the true characteristics of Christmas are and ought to be the characteristics of the Savior Jesus Christ and the feelings that emanate from His perfect life: Love, Peace, Forgiveness, Service, Joy, Hope, Charity, Faith, and the belief in Miracles.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">May your Christmas be blessed by His presence in your life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">❧</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS PMincho";">– </span></i><b><i><u><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-variant-caps: small-caps; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;">Characteristics of
Christmas</span></u></i></b><b><i><u><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif";"> </span></u></i></b><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS PMincho";">–</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>~</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Snow is falling</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Down so sound,</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Laying a blanket</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Of white on the ground.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>The tree releases</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>The sweet scent of pine;</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Presents sit under,</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>One yours, one mine.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>The Christmas lights filter</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Through the darkness of night;</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Santa Clause walks the roof,</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Stepping so light.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>His reindeer await</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>So patient and calm</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>For Santa to pull the reins,</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Then they are gone.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>The sleigh that he rides in</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Sparkles of jewels;</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Cushioned in velvet,</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Fashioned with tools.</i></span><br />
<i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></i>
<i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The elves at the Workshop,</i></div>
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">At the North Pole,</i></div>
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Get ready for next year—</i></div>
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">With a long way to go!</i><br />
<i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></i>
<i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The plate of warm cookies</i></div>
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We left out for him,</i></div>
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Have filled up his belly</i></div>
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">For his long night’s trip.</i><br />
<i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></i>
<i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We find the next morning</i><br />
<i style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Our stockings are filled; </i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
<i></i></span>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><i>The presents have doubled, </i></i></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>
</i></span>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><i>The wrapping is skilled.</i></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><i><br /></i>
<i>The spirit of Christmas</i></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><i>We hold in our hearts;</i></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><i><i>When we let it out,</i></i></i></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>
</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>
</i></span>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><i>The holiday starts.</i></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></i>
<i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">So make Christmas a feeling,</i></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Not just something you do;</i></i></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>
</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Merry Christmas from me, </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Merry Christmas to you!</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>~</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>- <b>Wade A. Walker</b> -</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>December 1998 </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "wingdings 2"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJhigJe9If3jgKU1xmMW72ipt9R11SBysCeKn1uFLIx90o5F8549Rzi-_p2ud9UBn3j11CLsNNbHQnLWjkWsOLPphEGq4f7EDyWvc8PkrvaWt6o7hMV45te59UaFsoMeSSM96Ld0oUDswj/s1600/Wise+Men+%2526+Star.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJhigJe9If3jgKU1xmMW72ipt9R11SBysCeKn1uFLIx90o5F8549Rzi-_p2ud9UBn3j11CLsNNbHQnLWjkWsOLPphEGq4f7EDyWvc8PkrvaWt6o7hMV45te59UaFsoMeSSM96Ld0oUDswj/s640/Wise+Men+%2526+Star.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">"Wise men [and women] still seek Him."</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "wingdings 2"; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "wingdings 2"; font-size: 16px;">g</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "wingdings 2"; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>** NOTE: I share my writing on this site trusting that visitors are scrupulous enough not to plagiarize. If you'd like to share this poem or other content with others, please share the URL to the entire blog post. Please DO NOT copy and paste any text for personal use without written permission. As the original writer of the content herein, I’d like the credit for these pieces to remain mine. **</b></span></div>
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Wade W.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09389169527454451047noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8378638217296140991.post-26364477949084104932017-11-23T02:35:00.000-07:002019-09-12T06:59:25.128-06:0015 Years a Mormon—A Reflection<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVeS96EGdXweVLGn59f7ZMAeWPb1TnSw9bWVTFlm2aXejUcYf6rmecfGbCfRab2BIrivIyOMvSEZOKmxQlMhmpOhVdE2svz62oMnqjmUZBAaCF30VUFF7iz2suTRcd03xPONtQLivGx2Ds/s1600/15+Metal+Plaque.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="760" data-original-width="950" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVeS96EGdXweVLGn59f7ZMAeWPb1TnSw9bWVTFlm2aXejUcYf6rmecfGbCfRab2BIrivIyOMvSEZOKmxQlMhmpOhVdE2svz62oMnqjmUZBAaCF30VUFF7iz2suTRcd03xPONtQLivGx2Ds/s640/15+Metal+Plaque.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Fifteen years ago I officially became a Mormon.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">On Saturday, November 23, 2002—fifteen years ago this Thanksgiving holiday—I made a choice that would affect the trajectory of my life forever. I was baptized a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (<a href="https://www.mormon.org/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Mormons</span></a>). My ancestry on both my mother’s and father’s sides has been predominantly Mormon since Brigham Young settled with the Saints in the Salt Lake Valley in 1847. Many of my ancestors converted to Mormonism in the British Isles and immigrated by ship, wagon, and handcart to Utah during the great pioneer exodus of the mid- and late-1800’s.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My parents did not choose to repeat many religious rituals in our family, consisting of me and my three older brothers. By cultural tradition, as infants, my siblings and I were all blessed and given names by my maternal grandfather. My two oldest brothers were baptized after they turned eight years-old, but this was most likely due again to cultural pressure from sources outside our immediate family and less because my brothers actually knew what they were doing and understood the meaning behind the ordinance.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My next brother, who is three years older than me, has never been baptized, and I was sixteen years-old before I made the decision to join the LDS Church of my own choice. I remember full-time Mormon missionaries coming to our door often when I was a child. I mostly remember them visiting around the time I turned eight myself, and I assume that well-meaning neighbors had encouraged local leadership to groom me for baptism as one of the inactive/non-religious families in the ward (local congregation).</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEYhk-fvI_T_ECdbku3DSQk_vXpvqalTljXClAyYoAe50UJ4FCfIsNTwE1gaLOC_P7jddFuvAt8tTP8dkH9e4AS_80WJavh4ds4n__nfVkKK5t8bTHHG3eStK_iJEdSYNPICVgiJSwnRcy/s1600/Boy+Reading+Scriptures.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1066" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEYhk-fvI_T_ECdbku3DSQk_vXpvqalTljXClAyYoAe50UJ4FCfIsNTwE1gaLOC_P7jddFuvAt8tTP8dkH9e4AS_80WJavh4ds4n__nfVkKK5t8bTHHG3eStK_iJEdSYNPICVgiJSwnRcy/s640/Boy+Reading+Scriptures.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #ffd966;">I was introduced to religion by LDS missionaries as a child, but<br />wouldn't choose to be baptized until I was a teenager.</span></span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My mother usually politely refused the missionaries’ message; but I became curious about these young men wearing suits in 90-degree weather, and asked my mother if I could invite them in. She didn’t understand my desire, but she did not object. I remember the first time I read from the <i><a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Book of Mormon: Another Testament of Jesus Christ</span></a></i> with these young men. The missionaries handed me the volume with a highlighted verse on one page and asked me to read it aloud. I remember being confused about the pronunciation of ‘ye’ and ‘yea’ and was corrected when I said them wrong.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Missionary companionships would come and go over my growing up years, and they always tried to befriend me. One Elder offered me a tasseled bookmark that I had admired in his scripture case if I promised to read from the Book of Mormon and say my prayers. I never did, to my recollection; but he gave me the bookmark anyway. Another Elder taught me how to pray to a God whom I had never known in the name of a Man whom I only knew from Christmas songs and my mother’s ceramic Nativity set that went up during the holidays.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Once, one of these Elders taught me about the origin of the Book of Mormon and asked me to go into my room and pray to know if the volume of scripture was true—right then and there. I went into my room and kneeled at my unmade bed, as I was instructed, but I don’t remember if I really prayed or not. I wasn’t sincere about it, at any rate, and knowing myself, I was probably too embarrassed to refuse the request. Nevertheless, I returned to the living room to declare that I hadn’t received any answer, to the chagrin of the zealous Elders. It would not be until adulthood when I would feel that I had received an answer from heaven that told me that I believed in the authenticity of the Book of Mormon.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7eszxSw8Ge1axsRcd55vVMHS798lkjetJThppm8NEMfdjAAS3edZwOy4BXFbOHYYz9peV0jG78COa8GAwBbl9m7a6HszeVv_p_88-rZqysoVZm4ff2ocs57tv2ZGAnI4hwwL_y9FxVygU/s1600/Kid+Drawing+of+Jesus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="791" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7eszxSw8Ge1axsRcd55vVMHS798lkjetJThppm8NEMfdjAAS3edZwOy4BXFbOHYYz9peV0jG78COa8GAwBbl9m7a6HszeVv_p_88-rZqysoVZm4ff2ocs57tv2ZGAnI4hwwL_y9FxVygU/s640/Kid+Drawing+of+Jesus.jpg" width="491" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Upon learning the identity of Jesus as a child, I<br />drew a picture of him and showed it to my mother;<br />she was critical of my interest in religion.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Once, after the missionaries had left our home, I sat down to draw a picture of this Man that the Elders called Jesus Christ, the Son of God; I loved drawing and doodling as a boy. I drew the Man in long, flowing white robes, standing upon a cloud, His arms outstretched as He appeared in all the pictures I had been shown of Him by the missionaries. I carefully drew tiny dots in the palms of the Man’s hands, and upon His feet. Apparently He had died long ago—and for me, I was told—but now He was alive again and living in heaven.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I was proud of the drawing; I had worked so hard on it. Later that night, after I put the finishing touches on the sketch, I showed it to my mother, who was busy cooking dinner. She made a face and scoffed a little, insisting that I didn’t even know who that Man was. She expressed her dissatisfaction at what the young missionaries had been teaching me, I think because she felt I was being coerced into believing something that I didn’t truly understand—but she was right, I didn’t.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I received a Book of Mormon reader around age eight, from the ward missionaries, one of whom happened to be the son of our kind neighbor, who was also my mom’s dedicated and humble visiting teacher up until my parents’ divorce. The book contained small picture boxes, six to a page, with short captions underneath each of them, condensing and simplifying the stories from the Book of Mormon. I read it diligently many times, cover to cover, with genuine interest, but never knowing that the stories were supposed to be based on real events. My love of ancient worlds and history was probably what enthralled me most, as I realized that the events were set in a time long past.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My interest in religion waned as I got older. We had a complete Book of Mormon in the house collecting dust on a shelf; it was a gift to one of my older brothers when he was baptized. I opened it periodically, mostly to look at the few full-page pictures inside by the iconic LDS artist <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arnold_Friberg" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Arnold Friberg</span></a>. A couple times I remember lying on the couch trying to read from the book, but the language was entirely foreign to me. My mom saw me trying to read it once and again scoffed that my efforts were fruitless because I couldn’t possibly understand the text. I wanted to, though, and I persisted trying to read the book for a week or so, but eventually gave up.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhRGuqmK-j4spJC-yH4L1calxiF28YyQweQ2zi6mDIOlcIjiE8iPADlb1gRiRRb7goXBK0sH2dJUPrVrm8qwqqiN75V_C9baT62npdQTf9-VDAHWbA7fOfJiQ6aj7ghfs93FZBfqM3ypvO/s1600/Bullied+Boy+Silhouette.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="387" data-original-width="620" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhRGuqmK-j4spJC-yH4L1calxiF28YyQweQ2zi6mDIOlcIjiE8iPADlb1gRiRRb7goXBK0sH2dJUPrVrm8qwqqiN75V_C9baT62npdQTf9-VDAHWbA7fOfJiQ6aj7ghfs93FZBfqM3ypvO/s1600/Bullied+Boy+Silhouette.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i> Discrimination and unfair treatment by school administrators in<br />my sophomore year of high school left me unnecessarily<br />isolated from other students.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In my sophomore year of high school I had started to get myself into some trouble with the slight social awkwardness that comes with having Tourettes disorder and OCD. Deeply in the closet at the time as well, and not really understanding my sexuality in its fullness, other boys made games of trying to get me to flirt with them, and feeling that I was welcome to show them my affection, I took things too far. Nobody knew I was gay then, not even my family; and I couldn’t tell anyone that my sexual attractions to other boys my age was a large part of what the school administrators labeled sexually deviant behavior. (You can read more about this time of my life in my past posts, <a href="http://myshatteredsilence.blogspot.com/2013/06/dear-andy.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">“Dear Andy”—June 2013</span></a>, <a href="http://myshatteredsilence.blogspot.com/2013/02/walk-like-man.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">“Walk Like a Man”—February 2013</span></a>, and <a href="http://myshatteredsilence.blogspot.com/2014/02/when-man-loves-woman.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">“When a Man Loves a Woman”—February 2014</span></a>).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After forcing my mother to send me to a psychiatrist who worked with sex offenders to assess my potential threat to other students (the results of which came back with no indication that I was a sexual predator), the school district forced me into a trailer on the out skirts of the high school campus to receive a poor excuse for an education among young men who had juvenile criminal records. Shockingly to them, I’m sure, I was on good behavior among boys who had blown up mail boxes with homemade pipe bombs and possibly raped young women; I was even attacked after “class” one day by several of the boys who simply couldn’t stand my tics and my gentle personality.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The “warden” (I dare say he was not an adequate teacher by any means) had talked to administrators to figure out a way for me to be on campus during school hours but not in the trailer with the other boys as often. I was not, though, under any circumstances allowed into the main school buildings without a chaperone. I suggested the LDS Seminary program, which was just yards away from my prison classroom, and a welcome place of refuge from a place where I knew I just didn’t belong. All agreed, and I was enrolled in the Seminary program for the remainder of the 2001-2002 school year.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikv3vVi8SehXU8No_g_lUXXJhaK2ZDIuWQhFIFc8aiQ83wEu0zwlOdNbHDx0wNhshBuKciQksO5kr8-L1kjaz67L3leIXxasBunlPUY0rXKsn9QWKMKG37u8qQU-qj-w4f41PM7COWMSrd/s1600/LDS+Church+Stone+Plaque.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1200" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikv3vVi8SehXU8No_g_lUXXJhaK2ZDIuWQhFIFc8aiQ83wEu0zwlOdNbHDx0wNhshBuKciQksO5kr8-L1kjaz67L3leIXxasBunlPUY0rXKsn9QWKMKG37u8qQU-qj-w4f41PM7COWMSrd/s640/LDS+Church+Stone+Plaque.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The off-campus LDS Seminary program at my high school was a<br />welcome sanctuary from the problems happening to me at school.</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I went home and told my mother that I needed a set of LDS scriptures for my new class; I don’t remember her protesting. She kindly bought them for me—a deep red, leather-bound “quad” containing the Bible, the Book of Mormon, the Doctrine and Covenants, and the Pearl of Great Price—the four books of canonized Mormon scripture. I still own this set of scriptures today, though you wouldn’t be able to tell I’ve had them so long; at the time, I was so obsessive about ruining the thin, wispy pages that I rarely opened the volume outside of class, afraid that a sudden violent, jerky arm or hand tic would rip out clumps of pages.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My first few seminary teachers didn’t “get” me. If it weren’t for a few kind students that I knew there, I’m not sure I would’ve initially fit in at this building either. One early teacher would frequently stop mid-lesson to tell me to be quiet. My tics then involved a lot of random shouting of words and unintelligible sounds at a boisterous volume. Perhaps because I was the curious non-member boy, he supposed that he didn’t have to try as hard to be nice to me—I really can’t say, though. Later, during my senior year in seminary, one female teacher hated me so much that if I had even one tic in her classroom, she would send me to sit outside the closed door. I still have a hard time thinking kindly of her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I don’t remember exactly how I ended up in Brother Yorgason’s class, but there I finally found my place among the Mormons during parts of my sophomore and junior years. Affectionately called Brother Yorgi by his students, this man was a jovial, upbeat, high-energy man whose love for the gospel of Jesus Christ shone through his bright eyes. He was always excited to be at the head of the class; always happy to see all of his students, including me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpI5HxhTQw3qUp1W21n3ZXHtzJu-j4kItfWhflyCpMdyKGzxIoW6sgiMSWSY7rKshbNhyphenhyphenpBkoMZpDIRH-AM1AS0nnprxRL24iisMXG91qYMJyJodm1KS7doog2MKSHVz1nEGmaVOBDMyi9/s1600/Seminary+Class.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1066" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpI5HxhTQw3qUp1W21n3ZXHtzJu-j4kItfWhflyCpMdyKGzxIoW6sgiMSWSY7rKshbNhyphenhyphenpBkoMZpDIRH-AM1AS0nnprxRL24iisMXG91qYMJyJodm1KS7doog2MKSHVz1nEGmaVOBDMyi9/s640/Seminary+Class.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Among the Latter-day Saint youth I satisfied a steadily-growing<br />curiosity about religion, God, and my purpose in life.</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Looking back on seminary I learned virtually nothing about the scriptures and barely perused the depths of Mormon doctrine, but I felt welcome. I learned the basics about our shared history as Mormons, from <a href="https://www.lds.org/topics/first-vision-accounts?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Joseph Smith’s First Vision</span></a> to the current prophet on the earth, then <a href="https://history.lds.org/exhibit/prophets-of-the-restoration-gordon-b-hinckley?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Gordon B. Hinckley</span></a>. It was enough to intrigue me and I was putty in this humble seminary teacher’s hands.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Still with a laugh, I think back on how much false doctrine I learned in that class. Call it an overzealous teacher—much like those dedicated missionaries from my youth—or just rampant Mormon culture, if you like; but I was told many things that I later learned to be speculative Mormon myth and folklore, like faith-building stories based on slightly outrageous (but still compelling) personal claims. Brother Yorgi told me in 2003 that he believed the Second Coming of Christ would happen in the next decade—we all know now that that didn’t happen. I heard about meetings with the mysterious Three Nephites from many points in Mormon and non-Mormon history; tales about angels guarding the gates of LDS Temples from sinful nonbelievers; and wonderment surrounding prophetic revelations that predated the coming of things like motor vehicles, electricity, elevators, airplanes, and the internet.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Nevertheless, I was awestruck with the knowledge I was taking in. I wanted more than ever to be a part of this unique world that had surrounded me all my life growing up in a predominantly Mormon state, in an even more densely-Mormon town. And, more than ever, I had the knowledge to understand the basics of the religion that I was so intrigued by to know what the proper steps were in joining such a miraculous and amazing organization. I wanted to be baptized.</span></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3xcSkbUDYWrR_e7LxWWO36IskM0CNCJYRCSnPUWATXqG_oZ4TjxVXcFyMEI-4_joWZzTtdC-acI0mOpnkyYPmPEaeIYQepU_EUQZfyqeAaOnda9uLZEtLVGZM4r-BuDapPbxFlxOXxm3m/s1600/Male+Missionaries+at+Door.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="800" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3xcSkbUDYWrR_e7LxWWO36IskM0CNCJYRCSnPUWATXqG_oZ4TjxVXcFyMEI-4_joWZzTtdC-acI0mOpnkyYPmPEaeIYQepU_EUQZfyqeAaOnda9uLZEtLVGZM4r-BuDapPbxFlxOXxm3m/s640/Male+Missionaries+at+Door.jpg" width="425" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The LDS missionaries would return to my<br />home when I was 16 to prepare me for baptism.</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I had no idea to whom I ought to speak about my desire to be baptized, so I went to the first good and true source of observable faithfulness I could think of—my mom’s devoted visiting teacher, Ruth Ann. I knocked on her door one day in the early fall of 2002, jubilantly declaring to her that I wanted to be baptized, and asking where I should go to get the ball rolling. She gave me the information of our local ward leader, Bishop Sabey. I later phoned the bishop and set up an appointment with him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Meeting with the bishop later on, I learned that I needed to proceed officially with a few of the basic lessons taught to investigators by the missionaries before I could be baptized. Those lessons began right away in the same living room where I had met with other companionships as a child. We watched videos on the life of Jesus Christ—videos that I would love for years to come, and watch many more times by my own choice. I don’t really know how many lessons were intended to be taught to new investigators in those days—having never served a mission myself—but it seemed to get through rather quickly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Bishop also wanted me to begin attending Sunday church meetings each week, in that same building where he and I met, just a few blocks from my house. I remember the first time I showed up to a sacrament meeting there, feeling out of place, and especially embarrassed because I didn’t know how to tie the necktie I had inherited from my late-grandfather on my dad’s side. My white shirt was open at the neck as I wandered into the meeting, the necktie stuffed into my pocket, and not knowing where to sit because I didn’t know anybody. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But then I was surprised and relieved to see a familiar face—a girl that I went to school with, sitting on the edge of a pew with space next to her. We made eye contact, and I gestured my request to sit next to her, to which see obliged politely. I remember picking up my first hymnbook and trying to sing with the congregation. I had been singing all my life and was familiar with sheet music, but I didn’t understand how the verses were arranged, and tried to follow the lyrics straight down the page instead of skipping to the next bar of music.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I had a second meeting with Bishop Sabey, called the baptismal interview, which was a chance to answer some predetermined questions and address any past sins. I was sixteen at this time, and it was around the time earlier that spring when I started taking seminary that I had finally concluded that I was gay. It was an inconvenience to learn that my innate attractions to males were a “sin” for which men, women, and whole cities had been destroyed by the wrath of God in ancient times. But it would not deter me from my decision to be baptized.</span></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW_qiFkCbKXDJp-WdWOaqGdS2i0AS7f1aBhsgAlXrk4oqWhbJLpzTWwlHxKzYZtEGr0n68YhmGAVOfeP-__rqrKNvpYmoCNvwiexE6Zw1aC698fvtIyUCK5AuHMmWf5DsX8fqrTpp-I1L2/s1600/Homosexuality+in+Print.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="283" data-original-width="424" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW_qiFkCbKXDJp-WdWOaqGdS2i0AS7f1aBhsgAlXrk4oqWhbJLpzTWwlHxKzYZtEGr0n68YhmGAVOfeP-__rqrKNvpYmoCNvwiexE6Zw1aC698fvtIyUCK5AuHMmWf5DsX8fqrTpp-I1L2/s640/Homosexuality+in+Print.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>The Bible Dictionary in my first set of scriptures was where I first<br />concluded that the "sin" of homosexuality and my lifelong<br />attractions to males were the same thing.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When Bishop Sabey and I talked about my sins, I was terrified to tell him that I thought I might very well be gay. I was afraid they wouldn’t let me be baptized if I confessed such a thing. Recently having researched LDS policy as it was at that time, the chance was very possible I would’ve been denied. I had had sexual experiences with other boys my age all growing up, though not presently or recently, and that was one criterion for denial. Not wanting to lie to a man of God, I tried to explain my “experimentations” with other boys, being careful not to indicate that I had initiated many of them and that I enjoyed them quite a lot. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The bishop gave me an example of a child is his neighborhood who used the sidewalk as a bathroom one day because she did not know any better; he insisted that children cannot sin, and therefore I, too, was not at fault—it was all part of growing up. I could see a large difference between a three year-old and a teenager like me making such decisions; so his answer was not quite the relief I thought it would be. I felt like I knew all along what I was doing all those times with the other boys; I understood my actions, just not the attractions. However, I didn’t press the matter, feeling satisfied with my attempt at confession, and my baptism was set for the Saturday before Thanksgiving, with my confirmation being the next day in my new home ward. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I was thrilled. I typed up a few sheets of small, business-card-like invitations giving the date, time, and place of my baptism, and cut them apart and handed them out in the hallways at school (I had redeemed myself with good behavior to the point that I was allowed on the campus my junior year). My parents had separated in October that year, and the hardest thing to do was probably trying to get my dad to come to my special day, which was important to me, though I knew my parents didn’t necessarily want to see each other. I think he was there; honestly, though, I don’t remember for sure.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc0IOSjXTfbKWUsFZvacVBG44DNf5oE7UjZ-k2ZLAfbXWBXZVjtCo4IGz2jPPJGT6Og93zHMDFBGf-ZXrgMvoSeHIQ2Vowa5cE_sT5x2JTmgdfcn6IdBSCJh6KrCEFswgX4MWUp8YVlKJE/s1600/Baptism+Program+Censored.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1238" data-original-width="1600" height="494" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc0IOSjXTfbKWUsFZvacVBG44DNf5oE7UjZ-k2ZLAfbXWBXZVjtCo4IGz2jPPJGT6Og93zHMDFBGf-ZXrgMvoSeHIQ2Vowa5cE_sT5x2JTmgdfcn6IdBSCJh6KrCEFswgX4MWUp8YVlKJE/s640/Baptism+Program+Censored.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>The program from my baptismal service - Saturday, November<br />23, 2002.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My maternal Grandparents, Bud and Dorothy, came into town from southern Utah to attend my baptism. For my special day, I had hoped that my grandfather—the same man who blessed me as an infant—could baptize me as well. But my grandpa was almost seventy at the time and had been battling lymphoma cancer for a few years and was a bit frail. I was tall and stocky as a teen, and my grandpa had concerns about being able to physically perform the ordinance. I was asked to choose two people to share thoughts on the baptism and the Holy Ghost at my service, and I chose my grandpa as one, so he could be involved, and Ruth Ann, my neighbor and family friend, as the other.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I believe my grandparents came into town the day before my baptism, and they stopped by our house before going to my aunt’s house to stay the night. For reasons I don’t remember, my mom and grandma had to go out (shopping, I suppose), and so I stayed at home to keep my grandpa company. He sat in a large recliner in our living room and we started chatting. I honestly wish I could remember everything we talked about, but in reality I remember virtually nothing of the details of our conversation.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I do remember, though, that we talked about things that my grandpa had always been interested in, like the energy of the earth and the universe, and how the Holy Ghost was a part of those manifestations of power. He talked about the vibration of the earth and how we can measure them, and discussed evidence that experts have obtained that the earth’s vibration began to speed up around the early 1800’s, near the time that Joseph Smith saw God the Father and Jesus Christ in a wooded grove in upstate New York. My grandpa suggested that with the Restoration of the Church approaching at that time, the Spirit of God had more fully entered the world, paving the way for the gospel to fill the earth in the latter days, and causing the energy of the earth to be affected.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">What I remember most was being simply flabbergasted by these theories, and marveling at my grandfather’s intelligence. He gave me a new outlook on faith and religion that had more physical, almost tangible evidences, and that fascinated me. Having grown up with old National Geographic’s in our house and a passion for archaeology and ancient history, I had badly wanted evidence for the stories of faith I had learned of in seminary—proof of the ten plagues of Egypt and the parting of the Red Sea; proof that America was populated by the Nephites and Lamanites spoken of in the Book of Mormon; proof that miracles had not ceased and that God still performed His wonders in the world of men. It was the most time I had ever spent talking with my grandpa in my entire life, and it was a thrilling and wonderful experience. I felt like I knew him better and was closer to him after an hour of conversation than I had been in the previous sixteen years before that day. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhez7OdEm2oUGGx6kzheBzB0T7raQQmDxxnrzD9HWSPLnB5Kt9uxR8XiKSJTa7vDMa_PI-z9msvcAY2PdszY7GNkRWQaSUQdLbnudfhYgBsUSrZwW4PpTWe40BvrxTbzh4FjRWH5EhfuaH4/s1600/Man+Being+Baptized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="512" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhez7OdEm2oUGGx6kzheBzB0T7raQQmDxxnrzD9HWSPLnB5Kt9uxR8XiKSJTa7vDMa_PI-z9msvcAY2PdszY7GNkRWQaSUQdLbnudfhYgBsUSrZwW4PpTWe40BvrxTbzh4FjRWH5EhfuaH4/s640/Man+Being+Baptized.jpg" width="512" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>I chose baptism into the LDS Church at age 16, and<br />it changed my life forever.</i></span></td></tr>
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</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My memories aren’t very clear all these years later (though it seems such a short time in so many ways!), so the details of my baptismal service are foggy. I remember going to the Stake Center a few blocks from my house and being led to a closet filled with white jumpsuits, where a stranger helped me find one in my size. I changed into it, and waited for guests to arrive. I felt silly in the jumpsuit when people began trickling in, but I greeted my supporters happily. Because of his influential role in my developing testimony, I asked Brother Yorgason, my seminary teacher, if he would perform the baptism, to which he gratefully agreed. I greeted him with a hug when he arrived, and he went and changed into a white jumpsuit he had brought himself.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Two girls in my ward tag-teamed the piano to play the interlude music and the hymns that I had chosen; one of them was the girl I had sat next to on my first day of Church, and the other was the daughter of the Bishop, and we all attended school together. After the opening hymn, Bishop Sabey opened the meeting with a prayer, and asked me to come to the front of the group; I sat on a small table next to a portable pulpit and couldn’t stop smiling. Next, Ruth Ann gave her remarks on baptism; she encouraged me to keep a journal from that day on, which I have tried my best to do since then. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The time came for me to enter the baptismal font adjacent to the small meeting room. During my baptismal interview, I had asked Bishop Sabey hopefully if we had to go to an LDS temple to perform the baptism, but I was slightly let down when he said there was a font in the Stake Center. I had very much wanted to see the inside of a temple; I had only ever been to one temple open house—the <a href="http://ldschurchtemples.org/mounttimpanogos/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Mount Timpanogos Utah Temple</span></a>—prior to its dedication, but I was only ten at the time and couldn’t recall much of it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I remember the water was warm when I stepped into the font. The jumpsuit I wore clung tightly to my legs and body as I proceeded down the steps to the bottom of the font. Brother Yorgason arranged my hands—one gripping his left forearm and the other one palm-up and held by his right hand. He whispered in my ear to remember to plug my nose, and squat low while leaning back. I wasn’t scared; mostly just afraid that I would mess things up somehow. He raised his right hand, calling me by name, and said, “In the name of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.” Upon his ‘amen’ and the collective repetition by the audience, I went under the water, and was up again before I could count to three. I looked at the smiling audience with a cheesy grin on my face, mostly just feeling silly that I was soaking wet in front of a group of people, and we proceeded up the steps into our changing rooms.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIomSQYKq1oY_tQWql3HKiCO3r0PNpCD6R_4wZgZwpJWIQ06S4vW_IsiHOiGgUdPohoKCLe6zBo2QOqBp5P_PZ8aEXZUyV77DAVqkfF3ttQjj9PDcCcWSAPzBCQEJ7-ziTTajiiL0bNVnZ/s1600/Baptism+Ceritficate+Censored.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1061" data-original-width="1600" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIomSQYKq1oY_tQWql3HKiCO3r0PNpCD6R_4wZgZwpJWIQ06S4vW_IsiHOiGgUdPohoKCLe6zBo2QOqBp5P_PZ8aEXZUyV77DAVqkfF3ttQjj9PDcCcWSAPzBCQEJ7-ziTTajiiL0bNVnZ/s640/Baptism+Ceritficate+Censored.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>My certificate of baptism and confirmation given to me by my<br />LDS ward bishop.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I dressed quickly in a shirt and tie, and lamented that my heavily-styled hair was ruined, and stepped back out into the meeting room. Again, I sat on the table next to the pulpit. My grandpa stood, put his hands into his pockets, and began speaking on the Holy Ghost, without any notes or prompts. He outlined the same things he and I had talked about the day before, about how the Holy Ghost is a presence in the world that can be measured and not just felt. His remarks were so unique compared to anything I had ever heard in an LDS meeting, that I couldn’t help but beam in knowing that I was the grandson of such a brilliant man. When he concluded his remarks, I proudly said, “That was my grandpa.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My Bishop and Young Men’s leader spoke next, and I don’t remember what they had to say, but it was brief. We sang another hymn, and upon its end my next-door neighbor, our family home teacher—the man who first taught me how to tie a necktie—concluded the meeting with a prayer. Guests were invited back to our home for refreshments; a few people from school were at the service and my home, and I have never forgotten how special they made me feel by taking time to attend.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The next day I attended my home ward sacrament meeting where I was confirmed a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints by Bishop Sabey, who would become a lifelong friend and a great influence in my life—a father figure that I always wanted. He, along with other important men in my life at the time, joined in a circle around me as I sat on a folding chair at the front of the chapel, and each man lay one hand on my head to pronounce the confirmation and a blessing as well. I remember the warmth of their hands and the gentle weight that made me feel secure and comforted. I stood at the end and gave hugs and handshakes all around.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After the sacrament meeting, I went to the Bishop’s office to be ordained to the Priesthood in my new faith. Young men ages 16 to17 are given the lesser, or <a href="https://www.mormonnewsroom.org/article/aaronic-priesthood" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Aaronic Priesthood</span></a>, and are given the title of Priests; it is the last stage in this lesser Priesthood before young men are ordained to the higher standing of Elder in the <a href="https://www.mormonnewsroom.org/article/melchizedek-priesthood" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Melchizedek Priesthood</span></a>, usually before going on a proselytizing mission or getting married. As Priests, young men are allowed to prepare, break, bless, and consecrate the bread and water used in the ordinance of the sacrament which is administered every Sunday.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHkwHf4rGAYVcmpDGXgOEvUSOK2sCvxj-jS6uRFkBBE28IONl2cNyjHV0A473-JEq6L6vHEa440iTDD99_hixWfJ4yqalGpwRGIkVYJtM2hkPaiCqC_U7JVe1XkXsADuHgMcvBKJtPmT1g/s1600/Priesthood+Ordination+Censored.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1052" data-original-width="1600" height="420" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHkwHf4rGAYVcmpDGXgOEvUSOK2sCvxj-jS6uRFkBBE28IONl2cNyjHV0A473-JEq6L6vHEa440iTDD99_hixWfJ4yqalGpwRGIkVYJtM2hkPaiCqC_U7JVe1XkXsADuHgMcvBKJtPmT1g/s640/Priesthood+Ordination+Censored.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>My certificate of ordination to the Aaronic Priesthood in the LDS<br />Church.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I asked a missionary to ordain me, an Elder Oliveros, who had taught me the missionary lessons leading up to my baptism, and who had been there with me every step of the way. It was a wonderful experience, though I didn’t understand well at the time what it meant to have the Priesthood of God. After Church that day, though, I had my first opportunity to use my newly-gained Priesthood power. Young Priests and their leaders often go at least once a month to homes in the ward boundaries to bless and administer the sacramental bread and water to members, usually the elderly, who cannot otherwise attend church meetings and receive the ordinance there.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We went to a few homes that day, but I remember one woman in particular who left a lasting impression on me. When we entered her home I was overcome with the familiar, delightful smell of brewed coffee. In my childhood home, coffee was a morning staple for my parents, and a frequent indulgence for me because I loved drinking coffee with lots of sugar and creamer. It wasn’t odd to me to smell that rich aroma; but in the LDS Church, coffee is to be abstained from, according to <a href="https://www.lds.org/topics/word-of-wisdom?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">latter-day revelation and scripture</span></a>, and so most active members do not drink it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Drawing on the my limited experience as Mormon thus far, I could assume that, culturally, this women was known as “inactive,” in that she didn’t attend Church regularly, hold a temple recommend, or obey certain commandments (like abstaining from coffee). But there was no judgment or exhortation that day, as we were there just to serve her; we were welcomed into her living room and I was humbled by her reception.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As customary, we shared with the sweet woman some thoughts and remarks on topics of faith. I was chosen to give the thoughts, and I chose to recite a new favorite poem that had been printed on my paternal grandfather’s funeral program just a month before. The rhyming verses told of waking up to a beautiful day and thanking God for all we’ve been given, and expressed confidence that God hears all of our prayers. I noticed then that the elderly woman was in tears; they slipped down from her eyes, stopping briefly on the bone of her rosy cheek, and then slid further down her face before dripping onto the shag carpet.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe1mZASt8vcB9HAkxz6cRIOWFLUUVQjixOGN1n-bCsw5M-jZoGEtz2Zrl2sTAJuO7zSoTmZ5HXciCyc_L96iq1Rt7BhhuUyfHadw9TiIBE9XNaDygjTJSrcwRqewm3YRpqQYN8plBiWBhy/s1600/Bread+%2526+Water.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="958" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe1mZASt8vcB9HAkxz6cRIOWFLUUVQjixOGN1n-bCsw5M-jZoGEtz2Zrl2sTAJuO7zSoTmZ5HXciCyc_L96iq1Rt7BhhuUyfHadw9TiIBE9XNaDygjTJSrcwRqewm3YRpqQYN8plBiWBhy/s640/Bread+%2526+Water.jpg" width="510" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Taking the sacrament to an elderly woman the same<br />day I became a Priest was a memorable experience.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I don’t recall her exact words; but she was touched, and so was I. She thanked me for sharing that poem—I don’t know why that’s what came to my mind to offer her—and expressed solemnly that she needed its message in her solitude and loneliness. We may have hugged briefly; I don’t recall. Seeing her overcome that way was both heartbreaking and inspiring to me as young man who had dedicated his life to God only a day before.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When the time came, I pulled a single slice of bread from the bag, and broke it into a few pieces—enough for all present—and placed them on a metal, handled tray. Then, with permission, I went to the woman’s kitchen sink and filled the same number of tiny plastic cups—held also in a drip-proof metal tray fitted for the cups—with tap water. Then I returned to an ottoman where I sat for a moment before getting on my knees. My leader handed me a laminated card with the ordinance blessings on it, which must be read verbatim. I read each of the blessings aloud in turn with my head bowed, and was happy that I didn’t make any mistakes. Then after each ‘amen’ another young man passed the trays to all present, and we partook of the bread and drank the water.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I left the woman’s house feeling something I had not felt so strongly before, not even at my baptism. It was the Holy Ghost—so I assumed, and had been told. But it wasn’t a burning of my bosom, as a common scriptural cliché tells; it was simply a warmth in my soul, gratitude in my heart, and a compassionate loving feeling for the woman whom I had had the privilege of meeting that day. I never saw her again, to my recollection; I’ve wondered about her a lot. But I am happy I was able to bring some sunshine into her dimly-lit home that day as I learned the meaning of service in the name of faith, as brothers and sisters, and children of a divine Heavenly Father.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvAHG3UoyLs2FrH1hYXXdji-WVW2UhcCz-wKlGHVRyNdsU3rAR8z0mj0IK952z_GnRgkV3Vx2xJJpeHXRAwVikqqGHH3z6Hg2676o_k6t498X1JZBL4UPtKa1CggwD0gIwKLOW-Ia_zLo6/s1600/Slot+Canyon+Light+Pillar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="800" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvAHG3UoyLs2FrH1hYXXdji-WVW2UhcCz-wKlGHVRyNdsU3rAR8z0mj0IK952z_GnRgkV3Vx2xJJpeHXRAwVikqqGHH3z6Hg2676o_k6t498X1JZBL4UPtKa1CggwD0gIwKLOW-Ia_zLo6/s640/Slot+Canyon+Light+Pillar.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Though I had hoped it would, my Patriarchal<br />Blessing offered no illumination on my future<br />as a gay individual.</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">On the Sunday following my baptism and confirmation, I received my patriarchal blessing—a sort of spiritual rite of passage for faithful Latter-day Saints. By laying his hands upon my head, and elderly Patriarch of the Church pronounced blessings upon my head, along with revelation for the trajectory of my life if I continued a diligent life of faith. My mother was with my in this Patriarch’s wood-paneled office during the blessing. I had hoped as I anticipated this event that I would receive miraculous counsel from God on what I was to do about being gay—what the reason for my homosexuality was, what I was to learn from it, and if I would be okay. There was nothing that specific in my blessing. In fact, my blessing talks a great deal about me marrying a female, my “sweetheart,” and raising a “noble posterity.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I continued with seminary until I graduated high school, and received a two-year graduation certificate of completion from the seminary program as well. For the first year of my life as a convert-Mormon, I was everything a Mormon boy should be—I attended Church, used my Priesthood to serve, participated in Boy Scouts, Young Men’s group, and Mutual activities with the young women. We went on campouts and held firesides and devotionals. I even visited Temple Square in Salt Lake City for the first time in my life, and marveled at the granite temple there that took forty years to build.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As frequent readers will know, I struggled a great deal in attempting to reconcile my faith and sexuality. I was secretly meeting men through gay social chat lines, and lost my virginity to a man when I was just seventeen. I don’t suppose I ever stopped believing in the LDS Church; I just think exploring my attractions to men was more important at that time than following God’s commandments. In time I came back to the Church, after much promiscuity and one failed relationship with the only boyfriend I ever had. I became an Elder and entered the House of the Lord to receive my <a href="https://www.lds.org/topics/temples?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">temple ordinances</span></a> with a promise to God that I would never look back—that I would never go back to the “gay lifestyle” that had not brought me the fulfillment I sought.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Now, fifteen years after my baptism, and almost a decade since I made unbreakable covenants with God, I am coming to a crossroads that I thought I would never set foot on again. I am wondering how much longer I can keep up this life of faith, which is feeling more and more like a charade than something genuine from my heart. I read my patriarchal blessing as it promised me a wife and kids and glory in the Celestial Kingdom of God if I remain faithful—and I can’t help but wonder if I am just not cut out to live up to that promise anymore.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrGkLzJC96r89vUioJZ3DroFr1dL0Hya3UpKcdjCZNd3c4yRsVrcMk-yYBVG_IKPpQ1fAvodeH1V3N5A3zNhVuNyXnf5t5AZUhbGzpcZ04qsDtjDo54hRgOUxBVU3pD6P8LCYgiRZ4a78m/s1600/Locked+Door+B%2526W.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="682" data-original-width="1024" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrGkLzJC96r89vUioJZ3DroFr1dL0Hya3UpKcdjCZNd3c4yRsVrcMk-yYBVG_IKPpQ1fAvodeH1V3N5A3zNhVuNyXnf5t5AZUhbGzpcZ04qsDtjDo54hRgOUxBVU3pD6P8LCYgiRZ4a78m/s640/Locked+Door+B%2526W.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>The door out of the LDS Church was chained and forbidden by me<br />long ago; having that door as an open option once again is<br />terrifying and heartbreaking for me.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I don’t know if those blessings will ever be realized, at least in this life. I wonder sometimes if this foretelling is only meant to mock me and the life I wish I could have with a partner and children. As Mormon Apostle </span><a href="https://www.lds.org/church/leader/jeffrey-r-holland?lang=eng" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Jeffrey R. Holland</span></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> has said, </span><i style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">“Some blessings come soon, some come late, and some don’t come until heaven.”</i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> But his assurance is that they come eventually for all who follow the gospel of Jesus Christ (</span><a href="https://www.lds.org/ensign/1999/11/an-high-priest-of-good-things-to-come?lang=eng" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">“‘An High Priest of Good Things to Come,’” <i>Ensign</i>, Nov. 1999</span></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I used to be quite content to wait it out, dying eventually if I was called to do so, and progressing eternally toward having a family on the other side of the veil, long after my judgment and resurrection. Now, a door that was once closed and dead-bolted shut—the door out of Mormonism and back to living openly as a gay man—is no longer barred in my heart and mind, but stands unlocked and ready to be opened.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Each day is different in how I feel about that door. Sometimes, when I am depressed and anxious about my present (or future), I approach the door and place my hand on the knob, longing to open it. There have been times that I feel like I’ve even cracked the door open and peered inside, but cannot see clearly into what lies beyond it. When I am feeling okay, saying my prayers, and trying to stay close to God, I don’t notice that the door is there much—but it doesn’t go away, and I have not yet put the chains back on it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Leaving the Church to find more happiness that I think might be out there is more of an option that I ever thought it would be. I haven’t felt this close to straddling the fence of activity and non-activity in over ten years. Truthfully, it’s terrifying. I never wanted to arrive at this place again. I can’t decide if my fears are the same as they’ve always been but just in a different time of my life, or if these are new fears about my resolve to stay an active Mormon that I’ve never faced before. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOSBK04FKAPVSpyMGBK0Jup1sFDt4TM5LNcqiqnJdlEqA7RsWCEU1IAQ-MWBhLz2SCFTNGLkz04DAc5dlEvLDebuArvYK67z-1A0Ztt-DXYYcU7brYLGI8yMRAwAFIeZl8rkqbK1i_XYz2/s1600/Hourglass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1066" data-original-width="1600" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOSBK04FKAPVSpyMGBK0Jup1sFDt4TM5LNcqiqnJdlEqA7RsWCEU1IAQ-MWBhLz2SCFTNGLkz04DAc5dlEvLDebuArvYK67z-1A0Ztt-DXYYcU7brYLGI8yMRAwAFIeZl8rkqbK1i_XYz2/s640/Hourglass.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>For now, I want to stay a Mormon; but sometimes I feel like I'm<br />delaying an inevitable exit from organized religion.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">For now, I stay; I want to stay. But my religious practices are suffering. I don’t pray as often as I used to; I have a hard time reading the Church’s </span><a href="https://www.lds.org/ensign?lang=eng" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;"><i>Ensign</i> magazine</span></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> without rolling my eyes, scoffing, or getting upset at the content; I haven’t been to Church in months. I’m finding it easier, almost, to live without God in my life. I find that I am not as worried about my private habits and behaviors, though I still have high morals and values. I don’t feel as inadequate and unworthy of divine love or heavenly help; and I don’t berate myself as often because of my mistakes or things that I feel I could be doing better. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Yet I feel like God doesn’t expect me to be perfect at everything like I assume I have to be. I feel like He understands me and doesn’t hold grudges. I feel He is merciful and compassionate and that He will love me no matter what—even if my sins became graver. This might sound joyous to some; but to a Mormon, it is dangerous territory. My culture tells me that I should never assume that I have a free pass to do whatever I want. All my behavior must be kept within the bounds the Lord has set. And yet, those parameters are no longer fulfilling to maintain. I want more; I want something different, and that scares me. I shouldn’t want more than what God already offers me; I should be satisfied with serving Him faithfully until the day I die. But the thought of more years in spiritual and emotional limbo on earth sucks all the hope out of my days.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I don’t think God will abandon me; in fact, I know He won’t. Even if I abandon my faith, I cannot postulate that I will ever stop believing in God, or the Savior Jesus Christ. If I leave it will be because I have lost my eternal perspective on God’s great Plan of Happiness. It will be because I am unwilling to experience more pain and loneliness for my remaining decades of life. It will be because I have decided that living a truly happy life means more to me that living a perfect and exalted eternity.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5DUDeeDMdBR7HC_MHT97L3fQWUiM8ZzjNUKeSD99Z6xXxh4um2l3RsAJUFo03T2fHC9dmu7el55slMUFuP-cxgYhY7FaBAs-utcenyDGGRccjfi_8lhw2ICO_p7YyH5foMOMS2OEzkgrx/s1600/Woman+Releasing+Bird.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="598" data-original-width="900" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5DUDeeDMdBR7HC_MHT97L3fQWUiM8ZzjNUKeSD99Z6xXxh4um2l3RsAJUFo03T2fHC9dmu7el55slMUFuP-cxgYhY7FaBAs-utcenyDGGRccjfi_8lhw2ICO_p7YyH5foMOMS2OEzkgrx/s640/Woman+Releasing+Bird.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Many say that freedom is not free; so do I wonder what the choice<br />to potentially leave the LDS Church might cost me in the eternal<br />scheme of things. Is it worth it?</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Though I often ponder my place and status in heaven after I die (because I believe Hell is a rare destination for most people after this life), I am becoming more comfortable with the idea of facing God and Christ to be judged knowing that I'm doing my best considering my circumstances. And if, in that final end, it is still not enough to gain the highest kingdom of glory God has to offer, I think I will nevertheless be content with the character of my spirit and the integrity of my life—whether living or dead.</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">This post has taken a quick turn, I know. But this is something I wanted to share because it has been on my mind as the anniversary of my baptism has been approaching. I couldn’t help but find this milestone to be bittersweet and confusing. I’m not saying I’m leaving; but I’m not saying that I’m staying indefinitely either. I am doing my best to stay sane every day in the face of depression and debilitating anxiety that comes and goes. And with the flowing tide of these mental health issues are the entrances and exits of my desire to remain a Mormon.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In the end I will do what I feel is best for me, knowing that my Church will accept me back with open arms if I discover (for the second time) that my truest joy really is being a Latter-day Saint. Living presently with this uncertainty, though, is taking its toll on me. I feel like I might just be delaying the inevitable.</span></div>
Wade W.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09389169527454451047noreply@blogger.com2Orem, UT 84058, USA40.2814786 -111.773390240.1845746 -111.93475169999999 40.3783826 -111.6120287tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8378638217296140991.post-75743109002572635362017-10-02T17:58:00.002-06:002017-11-26T01:03:46.561-07:00Captain of My Salvation<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOCMpDxPaos_TSX_bVUM7miOxZKmHqDc0TA9lxDDaozCgKWerVtLQ-IWuYntUNTtYnqU6tGspdE6fZlBVlP6JEjHP5OWdk3CIunhuMUsPjYLuuawMggshvNeZoPySl_sZjAqt0iW13pka7/s1600/UVU+%2526++Mt.+Timp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="250" data-original-width="600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOCMpDxPaos_TSX_bVUM7miOxZKmHqDc0TA9lxDDaozCgKWerVtLQ-IWuYntUNTtYnqU6tGspdE6fZlBVlP6JEjHP5OWdk3CIunhuMUsPjYLuuawMggshvNeZoPySl_sZjAqt0iW13pka7/s640/UVU+%2526++Mt.+Timp.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Utah Valley University in Orem, Utah, USA - a beautiful campus</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>nestled in the shadow of the majestic Mount Timpanogos.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">School is back in session, and I am finally officially in my undergraduate program for a Bachelor’s degree in Family Studies. This last year has been one of the most difficult since I was a young man, just entering adulthood. As I’ve been navigating my way through Major Depressive Disorder (MDD) for more than a year now (finally knowing what it is and realizing that I’ve been depressed for many years now without really understanding it), it has become amazing to me how a single choice each day affects the rest of my week, and even the months after. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My one choice is like a bullet ricocheting off of a solid stone wall that I put up to try to keep out hard issues like pain, struggle, discomfort, and anxiety. I’m talking about choosing to skip school, work, or time with loved ones to isolate myself in my room and sleep, because when I am asleep, I don’t feel anything; I only dream, and usually those are the most pleasant and surreal moments for me, completely deadened to my grief.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgESOymvCzXhMhyZfr23z6QL5QZI18KHBZNy-vK7fe05yVnuNyEqbiyixcuuoeC3N_c5EhY07qU4iOuok_EyzfFRydRGfWMkWwd4XKgjLL-NbOj5p0HPoIlrd_qvl_7tFhh_xwAvKbpyAC3/s1600/Smoking+Gun+-+Angle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="560" data-original-width="750" height="477" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgESOymvCzXhMhyZfr23z6QL5QZI18KHBZNy-vK7fe05yVnuNyEqbiyixcuuoeC3N_c5EhY07qU4iOuok_EyzfFRydRGfWMkWwd4XKgjLL-NbOj5p0HPoIlrd_qvl_7tFhh_xwAvKbpyAC3/s640/Smoking+Gun+-+Angle.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Living with depression, my choice of whether </i></span><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>or </i></span><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>not </i></span><i style="color: #ffd966; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">to get out</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i style="color: #ffd966; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">of </i><i style="color: #ffd966; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">bed every day is like choosing to fire a </i><i style="color: #ffd966; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">bullet </i><i style="color: #ffd966; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">that eventually</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i style="color: #ffd966; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">comes back to strike me.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But eventually I have to wake up from the safety and innocence of my subconscious mind and face that bullet that I fired ten, fifteen, or even twenty hours before, which has slowly bounced back to strike me square in the chest. And as I sit up on the edge of my bed in a fog and suddenly take in all that I have put in jeopardy—my grades, my employment, the trust and care of my family and friends—I feel as if I am falling figuratively to my knees as my lone wound quickly gushes out a flood of emotion—shame and guilt, mostly.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As I lay dying (or at least, feeling like I would rather perish in that moment), I see flashes of the day I could’ve had, and should’ve had. The things I would’ve learned in class, the money I would have made at work, and the fun and enjoyment of the company of others all appear in my mind’s eye and then dissipate like a stinging mist of regret and self-blame. Sometimes, for a second or two, the idea of just lying back down to escape this new pain once again seems appealing, if not for the stiffness of my muscles and growing hunger in the pit of my stomach.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">This is often when I force myself to get in the shower, which consists less of cleansing my aching body and more of leaning my head against the shower wall under the hot water, reliving the day that might have been. Frequently I even say out loud, <i>“I can’t believe I slept all day.”</i> But then the pessimistic voice of shame and guilt blurts out, <i>“Of course you can! You do this all the time!”</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQvwWUotXiUpI6omkRJIcNjo3W9BOlA3o9NHeRrpFZAQK_-8kmKnBR77rMrtYueaLv_80Dms4ISzr6m-N1UsJaVFPvwDkqSJK4K41iHZMXhmdG-6Rqgo0tk2ey8jvHbYF2EsQ9drNt1zo-/s1600/Medications+and+Bottle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQvwWUotXiUpI6omkRJIcNjo3W9BOlA3o9NHeRrpFZAQK_-8kmKnBR77rMrtYueaLv_80Dms4ISzr6m-N1UsJaVFPvwDkqSJK4K41iHZMXhmdG-6Rqgo0tk2ey8jvHbYF2EsQ9drNt1zo-/s640/Medications+and+Bottle.jpg" width="425" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>I've taken numerous </i></span><i style="color: #ffd966; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">medications </i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>to </i></span><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>treat </i></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>my many disorders for over 20 years; for a</i></span><br />
<i style="color: #ffd966; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">long time I was reliant on drugs to function.</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After I wake, there is a cocktail of drugs that I must take (far past the time when they will actually do the most good) upon which I have relied for twenty years to achieve some level of normalcy and functionality. The pharmacological mishmash that I have become dependent on to have some quality of life seems to really keep me bound in chains, fearful of what might happen if I suddenly ran out or was separated from them. It’s like my tics, my OCD, my anxiety, and now my depression—all of which I take several medications for—are each different demons living within me; they are the dreaded creatures that will erupt from within my body if they are not appeased by an array of tablets and capsules meant to keep them at bay.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Sometimes, on a good week, sleeping most or all of the day will occur maybe just once or twice, if I’m lucky (which is all I consider that feat to be now—sheer luck). Other times, I have weeks where my Sunday night, start-of-the-week rest, turns into a Thursday evening of waking up to the piercing feeling of that bullet in my chest, after literally not leaving my room for three or four days, except the use the bathroom a few times. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The lengths of time vary; sometimes I will eat between those days, sometimes I won’t. Sometimes I counteract my oversleeping by staying up all night (which is usually when I wake up, after the day is already over) and then go to bed “normally” at the end of the next day over 24 hours later. I get so sore and weak on those days, and the increase in motor and vocal tics under fatigue do not help soothe my mind or body. Sometimes I lose my voice or ache so terribly that I can’t get to sleep even when I’m exhausted. My mind continues to race and retrace my day, or plan the coming day, and I struggle to turn it off.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But even after sleeping an entire day and staying up and entire day, I am afraid to go to bed the next night. In fact, I am afraid to go to bed every night, because I literally don’t know how I will feel about getting up the next day. The more tired I am, or the more trouble I have falling asleep, the less motivation I have in the morning to face my day. The scream of my dozens (not an exaggeration) of alarms is the worst thing in the world for me to hear. I always have the best, most responsible, active, productive intentions when I say my prayers at my bedside every night. But even when asking for help from God, I am usually always disappointed at what seems like a lack of heavenly help.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdT-d-UrQPfRBJOis0cyEMcvcKoy3E9fY-8IcPZIg4KJ3vDvXzAPOC49tvRj7SflhzSvWQFAknIYEjSnQ9RgorMNyQ3RqhCf4KGI7SsygiAgTzy_Hg_T4b2MLlUqCj_xZX6tpToy0B_gR1/s1600/Upset+Man+on+Bed.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdT-d-UrQPfRBJOis0cyEMcvcKoy3E9fY-8IcPZIg4KJ3vDvXzAPOC49tvRj7SflhzSvWQFAknIYEjSnQ9RgorMNyQ3RqhCf4KGI7SsygiAgTzy_Hg_T4b2MLlUqCj_xZX6tpToy0B_gR1/s640/Upset+Man+on+Bed.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>I use excessive sleep to avoid my anxieties, and have frequently</i></span><br />
<i style="color: #ffd966; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">missed school, work, appointments, and time with loved ones.</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As far as faith goes, I wax and wane between feeling like I do not needs God’s help if He is content to ignore me, or feeling so helpless and lost for guidance and assistance that I cry to Him for mercy. Some nights I feel Him there, and my words ascend to heaven like the sweet smelling smoke of incense burning within <a href="https://www.lds.org/media-library/video/2011-03-045-the-tabernacle?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">the holy place of the ancient Hebrew temple</span></a>. Other times, I get frustrated and angry, telling God that I am not going to ask Him for help anymore if He is unwilling to give it. I sometimes stop praying for a few days in protest until utter need for comfort and peace brings me to my knees finally. After not praying most of the summer, feeling betrayed, I have finally come back to trying to trust God again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I have hurt many people by choosing to sleep instead of to wake. The anxiety of certain events, people, or going certain places will always play a role in my decision of staying or going (next to how tired I really am). Not uncommon for individuals with neuropsychiatric disorders like Tourette's and OCD, I have many sleeping problems, including insomnia and sleep apnea (a condition related to my steady weight gain over the years on psychiatric medications). Still, my mother has told me that I was the most disturbed and unpredictable sleeper of all her four boys, even as an infant.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-vxKnz5BDx_Vn2Mw-a3yR6bE8i66-y1pmKMI-132tQIePzRYpdKq5JdtuWXIWvxK1VdEpMz_LfTDa6ezPxnsVTqOI8DlGkaZeS7Mgx8bv2flnVlypFMx2HSeUy89Gkf5nQXGEi4LcEvdJ/s1600/Diploma+with+Cap+%2526+Books.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="266" data-original-width="400" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-vxKnz5BDx_Vn2Mw-a3yR6bE8i66-y1pmKMI-132tQIePzRYpdKq5JdtuWXIWvxK1VdEpMz_LfTDa6ezPxnsVTqOI8DlGkaZeS7Mgx8bv2flnVlypFMx2HSeUy89Gkf5nQXGEi4LcEvdJ/s640/Diploma+with+Cap+%2526+Books.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>After dropping out of college twice because of </i></span><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>my </i></span><i style="color: #ffd966; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">mental health</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i style="color: #ffd966; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">issues, I finally earned my Associate's D</i><i style="color: #ffd966; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">egree in Behavioral</i></span><br />
<i style="color: #ffd966; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Science.</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I have almost lost at least one friendship that means a great deal to me by standing her up too many times—while I stayed home and slept knowing that we had plans together. I can't imagine my life without her now, and it terrifies me that I almost forced her out of my life by my neglect. There is a person whom I considered a good friend, but have not seen in many years because I failed to show up at her going-away party several years ago. She is now living out of the country, is married, and has a young son. I’ve missed wedding receptions, family get-togethers, scheduled appointments, and so many other things.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Countless others have been affected by my poisonous depressive “medicine.” My parents and siblings have expressed that they don’t like to take me on trips to see other family members because I just end up sleeping most of the time out of town. I have missed many bonding moments with them and my niece and nephews because I was unconscious. On those trips I wake to criticism and playful teasing from my family, who act shocked when I actually get up at a reasonable hour and walk into the kitchen for breakfast. This has gone on for years; and even though I know full well my issues with sleeping too much, my family doesn’t seem to conceive how much it tears me apart inside to be reminded of it so callously.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4RO1LFuFIek0VuRWmG1m_vLvFd-1bTLC2zbTVKs_-oxCjmd72oUy5iVY-W9lcFg2So7Kto5gJhb7kor0SDhsP1sPm_83DoKNp5P02FShOLIR2M4sI0fhCDPLGyXQpe6buQsLIfxYozYki/s1600/Depression+Monster+-+John+Kenn+Mortensen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1039" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4RO1LFuFIek0VuRWmG1m_vLvFd-1bTLC2zbTVKs_-oxCjmd72oUy5iVY-W9lcFg2So7Kto5gJhb7kor0SDhsP1sPm_83DoKNp5P02FShOLIR2M4sI0fhCDPLGyXQpe6buQsLIfxYozYki/s640/Depression+Monster+-+John+Kenn+Mortensen.jpg" width="415" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: #ffd966;">Danish artist </span><a href="http://johnkenn.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Don Kenn</span></a><span style="color: #ffd966;"> captures mental illness </span></i></span><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #ffd966;">so </span></span><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #ffd966;">well with his </span></span><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #ffd966;">macabre, otherworldly drawings; </span></span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #ffd966;">this one represents my feelings </span></span><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #ffd966;">on depression </span></span></span></i><br />
<i style="color: #ffd966; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">and the way it seeks to constantly drag me down.</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">More than this, a large portion the treatment for my myriad disorders has been stalled or interrupted for weeks and months at a time because I sleep through my appointments frequently. I have a therapist with whom I’ve been working for over three years, and I’ve only seen him maybe two-dozen or so times because I choose sleep instead of the satisfaction of my visits with him. I’m lucky (again, I use the word loosely) that I only have to see my psychiatrist every three months to refill the prescriptions that keep me going to the weak extent which I have been. I still miss those appointments often, too. I recently had to find another primary care doctor because the one I had would no longer see me because of my failure to keep appointments.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I have been blessed (no, not lucky—truly blessed) that I have had understanding teachers and a patient, forgiving boss at my day job as a cashier at a retail store. In May 2017 I reached a welcomed milestone by graduating with an Associate degree in Behavioral Science after twice dropping out of college in 2005 and 2012. Still, I have been known to be absent for at least one class or more per week at times. In truth, some semesters I have missed more days of school than I have probably attended in the last three years as a part-time student. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I still get my homework done, often in the middle of the night after I’ve slept through the entire rising and setting of the sun. When others are lying down after a long, productive, busy day, I am rising to take a bullet in the chest, with a river of shameful blood pouring from my stinging wound of regret. But I do what I have to do, usually in an uncomfortable rush against the clock. And somehow, as I keep my instructors informed and receive a little leniency from them (per my <i>Americans with Disabilities Act</i> (ADA) student accommodations), I have been getting all A’s (I got my “worst” grade of the last three years just last semester—a B+).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjzlPPPlEGb3a-BZ1rsNCqeUGQoxb7ZG3GbLm-1I6KIT_LWW7c0ZIRxKbJIgjhlRCDWyzHYIUaOv597dj0igAmnNX-5veeDDpoFecjh6QtDO5bcqkCjjT0H7oaK19qYzV6cLGuQXO50Fo6/s1600/Social+Security+Check.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="652" height="368" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjzlPPPlEGb3a-BZ1rsNCqeUGQoxb7ZG3GbLm-1I6KIT_LWW7c0ZIRxKbJIgjhlRCDWyzHYIUaOv597dj0igAmnNX-5veeDDpoFecjh6QtDO5bcqkCjjT0H7oaK19qYzV6cLGuQXO50Fo6/s640/Social+Security+Check.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Monthly Social Security Disability Insurance has kept me afloat<br />since 2006; but my goal is self-sufficiency after college.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My boss at work has known of my disorders and struggles since he took over our store about three years ago, after I was hired by a kind man who saw past my shortcomings and looked instead on my potential and my need. At 31 years old, this is the longest I’ve ever held a job in my life, though I’m still only paid minimum wage. Prior to this I hadn’t worked since I lost my job as a certified nurse’s assistant in 2007, and I’ve been living below the poverty level now for almost a decade now.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Another blessing is that I’ve been able to receive social security disability benefits since I lost my CNA job, without which I would be living on the streets or with my parents. I don’t tell a whole lot of people about where I get my money, but I know they wonder. I have to use Medicare and Medicaid programs for my health care and medication management, and I have lived on food stamp privileges on and off for ten years, before I started working again. The increase of coprolalia, the tics that involve swearing and inappropriate words and phrases, made working with the elderly difficult for me; and an increase in the medication I was taking at the time was the fuel to the fire for my needless sleeping, as many neuropsychiatric drugs cause extreme drowsiness and fatigue.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEZvY57SqXnwoBrscG62dro5SCh8IXNN_n27BM8w_nGR8P1833a_3K0l_IEI-OIhySmiJtwu7RqKh2efUqA5oyrXScSVuZjRdGoki2jLDW3-okYqwjW-YUsUpGLsKwqQbHwth7oEY8LW8v/s1600/Stress+Monster+-+John+Kenn+Mortensen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1039" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEZvY57SqXnwoBrscG62dro5SCh8IXNN_n27BM8w_nGR8P1833a_3K0l_IEI-OIhySmiJtwu7RqKh2efUqA5oyrXScSVuZjRdGoki2jLDW3-okYqwjW-YUsUpGLsKwqQbHwth7oEY8LW8v/s640/Stress+Monster+-+John+Kenn+Mortensen.jpg" width="412" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: #ffd966;">Another unsettling illustration by artist </span><a href="http://johnkenn.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Don Kenn</span></a><span style="color: #ffd966;">; </span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #ffd966;">this one is r</span><span style="color: #ffd966;">epresentative of the ever-lingering </span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #ffd966;">disruption and disorder of </span><span style="color: #ffd966;">living with heavy, </span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-size: large;"><i>often debilitating anxiety.</i></span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Nevertheless, I am persevering through school in an attempt to make a better life for myself. Though blessed by my social security disability payments and full insurance, I am ashamed of getting “free” money at the expense of others, and I am reminded by some of my chiding friends that their taxes pay my rent; I don’t think they know that their joking hurts and embarrasses me. But I have never been content to stay on government assistance forever, and the help I’ve received has truly been a godsend while I’ve been focusing, slowly but steadily, on completing my education. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I know that God prepared a way for me to live while I got my life together through this long learning process, and I am forever indebted to Him for that. My intention is to use the challenges I’ve been given and the experiences I’ve had to help make sure that other people like me don’t have to suffer psychiatric disorders and mental illness alone; that’s why I want to be a therapist, to show others that there is hope and empathy in living with these types of challenges.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It’s frustrating to experience troubles in life that seem to come out of nowhere at the most inconvenient times; certainly that happens to all of us from time to time. In my experience, though, it is even more difficult knowing (or feeling, at least) that most of my problems are my own fault. Not to suggest that I am personally to blame for the biology, physiology, and genetics that resulted in me having Tourettes, OCD, anxiety, and MDD.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But rather, it's that I most often feel like I am not trying hard enough to combat these issues, choosing to avoid daily responsibilities rather than to face them bravely, and worsening my circumstances. I recently read over three-hundred of the timeless fables of Aesop, and among many of the morals, one stood out to me especially, declaring, <i>“Misfortunes springing from ourselves are the hardest to bear.”</i> True, indeed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhmiujVpyEB0GD6hANeVVG40VA7r12oHmyEPblcG0gwen9NuJs9BfUkAvQXW4Jy3RQX87QaxgDfafBWvW9okvBI9cVP2m8f8TsGTq0PNcxTYiw4WDlmj0D1zfZ63zLu6gl877PLZyz500q/s1600/Brick+Wall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="459" data-original-width="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhmiujVpyEB0GD6hANeVVG40VA7r12oHmyEPblcG0gwen9NuJs9BfUkAvQXW4Jy3RQX87QaxgDfafBWvW9okvBI9cVP2m8f8TsGTq0PNcxTYiw4WDlmj0D1zfZ63zLu6gl877PLZyz500q/s1600/Brick+Wall.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>All my life I have put up emotional and psychological </i></span><br />
<i style="color: #ffd966; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">walls to avoid difficult feelings and stem my deep fears </span></i><br />
<i style="color: #ffd966; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">of failure.</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When faced with normal daily tasks—like work, school, social life, and taking care of myself—the strain of subsisting from day to day usually feels impossible or hopeless. It takes a great deal of effort most mornings to want to get up and begin the day. These challenges I face in motivating myself to act like an adult should (or the ominous possibility of challenges unforeseen) leave me in constant fight or flight mode, and I almost always choose to fly away to the magical world of dreamland, which, in the moment decision, is always the easiest.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I would rather keep sleeping than be at work for five hours. I would rather sleep than shower, do my hair, brush my teeth, and get dressed. I would rather sleep than drive to my friend’s house in a nearby town for a party. I would rather sleep than sit in a lecture for over an hour taking notes at the sound of a droll voice. So, rather than fighting against my better judgment, knowing that I have the figurative gun cocked in my hand a ready to fire, I find life that day too scary or too stressful—before it has even begun—and I pull the trigger at the wall that I put up to keep out the pain, and I lie back down and drift away.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It’s difficult to describe this to people, and why I do it, which is one reason I haven’t talked to many others about it—other than my therapist—until now. I often hear, “<i>Well, I don’t want to get up and go to work every day, but I do it anyway because I have to.”</i> These people don’t usually understand how anxiety feels when it is constantly present in one’s life. Of course I realize each time I fire that gun that everything I am doing will most likely come back to bite me; I could lose my job, fail a class, miss a huge assignment or social event, and disappoint someone I love.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigE7uXSYI6HKQ2QgiowjBpHu-0VDu6K04zcyN2F8Sccb0Q-RP47JfBRvJDX2m7QZILC3vSrzZB5ILkm9os8vW9ZU5X7wJ24bqfSokp8yCAPldBPGfwn5YvuDEAHUULxodkst5uSnhRjXPt/s1600/Snowball+Effec+B%2526W.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="315" data-original-width="549" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigE7uXSYI6HKQ2QgiowjBpHu-0VDu6K04zcyN2F8Sccb0Q-RP47JfBRvJDX2m7QZILC3vSrzZB5ILkm9os8vW9ZU5X7wJ24bqfSokp8yCAPldBPGfwn5YvuDEAHUULxodkst5uSnhRjXPt/s1600/Snowball+Effec+B%2526W.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Anxiously avoiding emotions and responsibilities creates a</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>snowball effect that only increases my stress and worry.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But in the moment, I just don’t care about anything but making the anxiety go away immediately. Then, as I wake to the anxiety that still exists, I get even more anxious about the approaching consequences, and the anxiety compounds and snowballs from incident to incident. The relief of avoidance is temporary, and I rotate through this anxiety cycle. My therapist and I have been working on helping me to take the leap of courage to face my smallest insecurities and anxieties when they occur, so they don’t linger and grow worse and more debilitating.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I have been so wishy-washy about my commitment to a college education over the last twelve years, that I’ve pockmarked my transcript with many unfortunate grades. As a poor, first-generation student with no other way to pay for college, I have been blessed (yes, again) to receive federal financial aid to pay for my schooling. Bad grades along the way, and dropping out twice has made it necessary to file three separate appeals to my university petitioning for reinstatement of my financial aid.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">With endorsements from many wonderful and influential people in my life, all the appeals were approved. I have almost had to file two more in the last year because I had reached the maximum time frame allowed to earn my degree, and because I had exceeded my attempted credits limit for my Associates Degree. I escaped those appeals by graduating this year and switching over to a Bachelor's Degree.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXfTVg3vetlgBNrXBK81FPyti3xMiKTzq9AbZOJ5Jomb3GC4r4_Bh9CVh8x9T9NrxFPX_uh5fCBs5xJ7IgARfuRepo2gK3x6wS30xtQb9cWbimWp5lZR1F5AAlnBlvw49HsvvCCLugpVmM/s1600/Man+in+Water+from+Underneath.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="852" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXfTVg3vetlgBNrXBK81FPyti3xMiKTzq9AbZOJ5Jomb3GC4r4_Bh9CVh8x9T9NrxFPX_uh5fCBs5xJ7IgARfuRepo2gK3x6wS30xtQb9cWbimWp5lZR1F5AAlnBlvw49HsvvCCLugpVmM/s640/Man+in+Water+from+Underneath.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: #ffd966;">"Jumping ship" is a phrase I've used to describe </span></i><i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">my total physical</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">and psychological abdication </span></i><i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">of the responsibilities of daily living</span></i></span><br />
<i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">in favor of choices that are easier and less painful, for a time.</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When I thought that I might have to appeal the cessation of my financial aid again, I looked up the appeal statement letter that I submitted three times before to gauge if another appeal would be successful. In two of my letters, I had to explain to the Satisfactory Academic Progress board members why I had dropped out in 2005 and 2012. The phrase I used in both letters, hugged by quotation marks, was “jumping ship.” I explained that due to my mental state and other challenges, I had grown accustomed to “jumping ship” to escape my problems instead of facing them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">This phrase wandered in and out of my mind for several weeks while I was working simultaneously on four different blog posts, one of which I only just finished (see <i>“<a href="http://myshatteredsilence.blogspot.com/2017/05/god-will-send-rain.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">God Will Send Rain,” </span></a></i><a href="http://myshatteredsilence.blogspot.com/2017/05/god-will-send-rain.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">May, 2017</span></a>). I had incorporated some beautiful imagery into one post about how life was like sailing a ship. I enjoyed the metaphorical pictures so much that I cut all references to the “jumping ship” idea and inserted them into this post already in progress at the time. Because of this, you may notice that my tone or the emotion of this post will gradually change as you read on; that's because I wrote the two halves of this blog months apart, after my life had improved. Still, a</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">llow me to carry you into the scene that played out in my head.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><i><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsC7DHwHOBI60jUTcid7WVkVUJQxnBHbFs37QMaTIX_R0OjVtEHQehS3D7iswY9c6iwV-QdtjAqX6juMc-N0BsdfS_3s4z7b_fCLqWzLffSO7_R5EWv-_5ARdi4keVpZ5TenbMqzgZaaOT/s1600/Tall+Sails+Ship+with+Overcast.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></i></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>I liken life to sailing a ship; our bodies are</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>the vessels, and the ocean represents mortality.</i></span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsC7DHwHOBI60jUTcid7WVkVUJQxnBHbFs37QMaTIX_R0OjVtEHQehS3D7iswY9c6iwV-QdtjAqX6juMc-N0BsdfS_3s4z7b_fCLqWzLffSO7_R5EWv-_5ARdi4keVpZ5TenbMqzgZaaOT/s1600/Tall+Sails+Ship+with+Overcast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></i></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My “sleeping issues,” a careful and discreet label for my depression troubles, is the abdication of all my responsibility and accountability, like a Captain deserting his vessel when the waters get rough. That is how I feel about what I am doing; my behavior is an act of total physical abandonment and emotional deadening as I sail this body and soul through the waters of mortality, which can be unpredictable and dangerous from day to day.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Our bodies have been called our mortal vessels—the vehicles that allow us to travail through life. I can see myself and my body as a large ship. When our ships are brand new and aching for their trial at sea, we are born, and then take our maiden voyage to a greater and grander port than the one from whence we launched. Though we will make many stops along the way at many ports, this will be the only trip we will make, and so it has to count.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I think of the water as life itself. It sustains us; it is what carries us on to our destination. The water can be calm and pleasant, wavy, choppy, or sometimes downright tumultuous. Sometimes life can seem like it is going to destroy us and take us down to a watery grave. But we cannot sail a ship on a nice, even plane of asphalt; our vessels were not meant to take the easy route. We are here to learn how to <i>sail</i>, and we knew the risks to some extent before we launched into the ocean. The water is the only way we can get where we’re going, and we take that risk as Captains of our vessels. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Sometimes our time at sea is uneventful, but safe and purposeful; we know the basic naval skills and we float along steadily and consistently. Naturally, waves will come as the tides of mortality wax and wane, and we may need to put more effort and attention into our captainship. In all of our journeys, there are hopefully some of those moments when the elements are on our side, and we glide along the water’s glassy surface briskly with no interruptions, no apparent dangers, and a lively wind of motivation to keep us sailing in stride with nothing out ahead of us but an ocean of potential. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDa98lpWCZZGfit6waAq_-7jI-bSbD3utWioEL8Ojp5vjaLIy_9qgoJrfpCBtcNd2z2zEsgutBsTNm5Kb-d50EzcLcUZQAH1QN0HdsTQGDz1_DQGwgoGnboiiXA57w3sS0rwHS1jCHT09X/s1600/Sunken+Ship.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="971" data-original-width="640" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDa98lpWCZZGfit6waAq_-7jI-bSbD3utWioEL8Ojp5vjaLIy_9qgoJrfpCBtcNd2z2zEsgutBsTNm5Kb-d50EzcLcUZQAH1QN0HdsTQGDz1_DQGwgoGnboiiXA57w3sS0rwHS1jCHT09X/s640/Sunken+Ship.jpg" width="419" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Neglecting compassionate self-care can</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">create slow, mental and emotional "leaks"</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">that can eventually sink me.</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In these wonderful times, though, there is the risk that we can become complacent with our success, and relax to the point of contented idleness; if we don’t remain vigilant, misfortune can occur, whether by our own neglect, or the natural forces of the ocean of life. Sometimes we cannot maneuver out of the path of a hidden, treacherous reef, or sometimes we slacken our maintenance duties by not caring for ourselves, and our ship can weaken and spring slow leaks that threaten our success. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">This has been the pattern in my own life: If I sense for even a moment that my ship—representing my present or sometimes perpetual situation in life—has even the smallest risk of a leak, I am much more compelled to dive overboard to avoid perishing with a sinking ship, rather than trying discover the issue (if there really is one), and then work to repair it. Certainly getting a little bit uncomfortably wet to repair a small leak in my vessel and ensuring its continued buoyancy and efficiency is <i>much </i>better than treading water in the middle of the pulsing ocean, far from my destination shore.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But I don’t usually think about that in the moment; all I am thinking about is avoiding the hurt, pain, distress, increased anxiety, and hard work of being a good Captain and meeting head on the responsibilities of sailing my ship on to the next port. I figure if I can detach myself from what seems to be the problem (even if that means utterly abandoning the well-being of my ship), I can be free from the guilt and shame of knowing that I have neglected my vessel and been a poor sailor. Obviously, this causes more problems for me that I may not have encountered had I just stayed aboard, taken a deep breath, and problem-solved a little. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Sometimes in my life, after I have already forsaken my vessel, there will later come a sudden sense of panic and a rush to action as I realize that I only have one ship, and that I am not going see the safety of the shore again without it. I see that even though jumping over the rail was an easy task, bringing an instant feeling of relief, the stretch of water is endless around me (as life goes on without me), and I see the greater despair of my hasty choice.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEkOBcmC51zB0FkME_BXiXAFnIrudyJIsfKYQpYrcVEP_UtjCjAZVxP3OXQ9nPFu9mDdvKAV22zqHuQsGOV7K6xCUtfdGuqZ8jcvOOU0blSDugDeyvcsh5O1g4Z6XfVud8QA8YV0UV0z8V/s1600/Ship+Helm+%2526+Clouds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="732" data-original-width="500" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEkOBcmC51zB0FkME_BXiXAFnIrudyJIsfKYQpYrcVEP_UtjCjAZVxP3OXQ9nPFu9mDdvKAV22zqHuQsGOV7K6xCUtfdGuqZ8jcvOOU0blSDugDeyvcsh5O1g4Z6XfVud8QA8YV0UV0z8V/s640/Ship+Helm+%2526+Clouds.jpg" width="436" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Being a good Captain of my own life is a</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>conscious choice I have to commit to every </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>single day, </i></span><i style="color: #ffd966; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">and it still isn't easy for me.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In those moments, I often find a shred of courage before it’s too late, as I float regretfully in the sea with still no plan, and no better solutions than I had before I jumped. Before my ship is about to crash into the craggy rocks of a harsh, uncharted shore, I swim back—close enough to seize a dangling ladder and pull myself aboard my aimless and neglected ship to recover it just in time. I am able to steer it away from disaster, even heroically and brilliantly stopping the leak, while living to tell the tale another day. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">That means jumping out of bed just in time to get ready for the day ahead; running into class and finding a seat just as the teacher begins; rushing into work a little bit late, but nonetheless present and accounted for; showing up fashionably late to a gathering, but smiling cheerfully knowing that I saved the day (literally).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">These are the real-life waves—the back and forth motions—of living with major depressive disorder (MDD) and anxiety. It’s like an indecisive fight with my body and mind in deciding how much I want to “adult” each day, and then convincing myself, exhaustingly, to take that first, reluctant step in my day, my week, or whatever task is at hand (again, usually a work shift, a class, an appointment, plans to spend time with someone, homework, or big school projects like papers—all the responsibilities I presently have in my life).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I once saw it represented in an internet cartoon that anxiety is the creature upon its feet that is pushing us to the next needless task in an effort to feel busy and productive, while depression is at the same time tugging at our wrists from a comfortably-resigned spot on the ground, convincing us not to bother, insisting that any efforts we put in won’t matter anyway. Having anxiety and depression, I relate to that tug-of-war so much. I had never really put an image to the push-and-pull that I have felt for a great deal of my life.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>The waters of mortality can be tumultuous and unpredictable;</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>when compounded with the waves of my mental illnesses, the</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>success of my journey is often threatened.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Being entrusted with such a priceless vessel on this mortal ocean is a blessing; no doubt, though, for many, it can feel like a curse. We prepared for untold eons to be Captains of our ships, but there was no way to know what exactly sailing would be like until we launched out from our ports. It’s interesting to me that when I experience true joy in life, this journey is the greatest experience I can imagine, and I never want it to end; but when I am anxious and depressed, I feel trapped on the waves in the middle of nowhere, wishing that could just sink into destruction.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">This past year, I’ve experienced these vastly contrasting emotions a lot, alternating back and forth depending on my choice each day of whether to fire the gun at the wall, or to unload the ammunition and tear down the obstacles to my happiness. It seems like such a simple choice; believe me, I realize that! But it’s not for me; it’s the most difficult decision I make literally every single day. That choice determines my mood for days, weeks, and months at a time, if I consistently choose the bricks and mortar, and the gun. My happiness deteriorates with each anxiously-avoidant behavior I engage in, and it is very hard to build it back up, even when I am doing well, because I am a huge perfectionist who criticizes himself a great deal.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When I use maladaptive coping mechanisms to deal with normal daily stresses—whether in smooth sailing or mountainous upheavals—even a small hole can sink a great ship with time and deliberate neglect. We can ignore it, certainly, and sail on; and I certainly try to do that often. But eventually a small issue can become (or at least sometimes feel like) our doom. I often notice these leaks myself, but I let them go. Practicing self-compassion and taking time for me has been an important thing for me to learn and consistently practice. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpr7d4mMEloBcyRRRegkzCNjOcXVVhKGtUrYO2_VmRdX5nY2BuaszHm4YrqVm0fnZv5aYNSLcX1_y6D-YCDsQyxYAPKnXCJgDrMX0R3ilDisO3xAX6Uq9PJK8oHQrLyqADeagH9B6j851r/s1600/Abandoned+Beached+Ship.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="808" height="396" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpr7d4mMEloBcyRRRegkzCNjOcXVVhKGtUrYO2_VmRdX5nY2BuaszHm4YrqVm0fnZv5aYNSLcX1_y6D-YCDsQyxYAPKnXCJgDrMX0R3ilDisO3xAX6Uq9PJK8oHQrLyqADeagH9B6j851r/s640/Abandoned+Beached+Ship.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Using sleep to avoid my fears and anxiety sets a course for</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>destruction; these emotional wrecks leave me feeling hopeless,</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>helpless, and alone.</i></span></td></tr>
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">There are times when I am doing well with my “sleeping issues,” comparatively, but I notice other things going awry—not eating well, giving in to bad moral habits, unwise spending as I reward myself for good behavior. Afraid to disrupt my good sailing fortune, I hide away in my Captain’s quarters thinking that if I ignore the present needs of my ship, they might just go away. After all, who wants to risk doing more work than necessary when the weather is agreeable? I suppose I feel that if my biggest challenge in life is under better control for a time, I can indulge in more of the things that I don’t get to do when my challenges hinder my participation in them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Sailing our ships can be a breeze in fair weather. But when the waters of reality become turbulent once again, it’s easy to lose our direction, even if it’s just a brief departure from our goal. And it’s then, when I know I’ve gotten a bit off course, that I feel all is lost. Serendipity and grace fly right out the window, and suddenly all is for naught. <i>“If my course cannot be perfect,” </i>I criticize myself,<i> “then I no longer want to sail this ship.”</i> Being a Captain is no longer appealing, and my grand ship becomes a creaky, waterlogged burden.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-size: large;"><i>Deliberate choices and purposeful actions every day contribute</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-size: large;"><i>more to my mental wellness than anything else; peace and</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #ffd966;">reassurance come from knowing that I can persevere.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Being a perfect sailor is not necessary; we only need to stay afloat long enough for our sea trials to come to an end when we reach our destination. On the open sea, a Captain can do little about the whirlwinds. But as a Captain I can develop the knowledge and skills to navigate through the storms and learn by my own experience how to not just survive, but to flourish. <a href="https://www.lds.org/prophets-and-apostles/what-are-prophets/bio/thomas-s-monson?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Thomas S. Monson</span></a>, president of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (<a href="https://www.mormon.org/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Mormons</span></a>), has counseled that to live an abundant life, it is wise to remember that <i>“we can’t direct the wind, but we can adjust the sails</i></span><i style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">”</i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> (“</span><a href="https://www.lds.org/ensign/2012/01/living-the-abundant-life?lang=eng&_r=1" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Living the Abundant Life,” <i>Ensign</i>, Jan. 2012</span></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I also am learning that preparation is the best way to make the best choices. For me, that sometimes means having my clothes laid out and my backpack ready the night before in case I sleep in too late; this helps alleviate the fight-or-flight panic of whether I can make it to my destination on time. It also means getting homework done early and staying ahead of the reading and assignments so that I’m not up late racing deadlines, and can go to bed earlier to ensure better rest. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Why build a taut ship unless you know that there is a risk of foundering on the sometimes-tumultuous seas? I spoke earlier of luck being my only savior in whether or not I actually get out of bed and go on with life each day. It’s true, I sometimes leave it up to fate whether I will succeed or fail, which is unfortunate. I suppose that’s one reason why I often feel like God is not answering my prayers for help—because I’m expecting results and solutions without any effort or forethought. Perhaps what I see as luck in these circumstances is the combination of divine support, faith, and eight or more hours of sleep. Or, perhaps Oprah Winfrey was closer to reality when she stated, </span><i style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">“Luck is a matter of preparation meeting opportunity.”</i><br />
<i style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><br /></i>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGPUc2lwNGDgBMnaQInZINKRzVGl0HgkOXDJoaF836xA3AhyY3BeOraS-RNF5zFhXc8W9bWs8zu2PWPmybC_JpNDCp1wubauaQzNdA3WaOURH9BhKT7uZJrRbK21EyW0__4IG5Tp0AgsFm/s1600/The+Hand+of+God+by+Yongsung+Kim.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="944" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGPUc2lwNGDgBMnaQInZINKRzVGl0HgkOXDJoaF836xA3AhyY3BeOraS-RNF5zFhXc8W9bWs8zu2PWPmybC_JpNDCp1wubauaQzNdA3WaOURH9BhKT7uZJrRbK21EyW0__4IG5Tp0AgsFm/s640/The+Hand+of+God+by+Yongsung+Kim.jpeg" width="499" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>When I am mentally drowning, Jesus is my rescue.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-style: italic;">(</span><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">"The Hand of God"</span><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-style: italic;"> by Yongsung Kim;</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Copyright © by the Artist & Foundation Arts)</i></span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After all of these lengthy details, I am happy to report that I am feeling better about being the Captain of my ship after a long and difficult year. Last I saw my therapist, he asked me what feels different now, and why I feel more confident in myself. As I searched my feelings, I expressed to him that I feel I am more keenly aware that <i>I </i>am the agent of my own life. I choose my behaviors (Tourette's aside), and therefore I also choose my own consequences. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />What feels different is that the sky above me has seemed to clear, and I can see more clearly my responsibility to myself to care for my own mental health rather than conceding to the status quo and asking for God to save me in my troubles. Certainly, that is not to say that we are not to ask for divine support; that is another thing with which I am getting reacquainted—leaving my troubles at the feet of the Savior, <i>“after all [I] can do,”</i> and letting Him make up for the rest (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/2-ne/25.23?lang=eng#22" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">2 Nephi 25:23</span></a>).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Since school began again August 21st, I have been implementing this new focus on being in charge of my mental health, and I have seen considerable progress. A few times I have overslept, but not on days when I had to be anywhere (thank goodness), and I was gentler with my feelings after waking and actively encouraged myself to let it go, and do better next time. And the next time I had a day off, I <i>did </i>do better. I’ve been keeping appointments; I’ve been attending my classes and going to my work shifts, and I’ve enjoyed tremendously spending time with my closest friends and my family more regularly.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I guess I could say that I’ve finally put that emotional firearm away; I’m becoming less skilled in building solid walls around myself, and getting better at destroying them if I do. And like <i>“our Captain of Old,”</i> the Lord Jesus Christ (<a href="https://www.lds.org/music/library/hymns/ye-elders-of-israel-men?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;"><i>"Ye Elders of Israel,"</i> LDS Hymns, #319</span></a>), I have accepted my life and mission on the oceans of mortality, have magnified my abilities and talents, and become an active contributor to my own destiny and future. <i>“For it became Him,”</i> said Paul to the Hebrews, <i>“for Whom are all things, and by Whom are all things, in bringing many sons [and daughters] unto glory, to make the Captain of their salvation perfect through sufferings”</i> (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/heb/2.10?lang=eng&clang=eng#p9" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Hebrews 2:10</span></a>).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I intend to carry on and fulfill my purpose on the earth, and to do it honorably; to inspire and help others along the way, and look forward to that glorious homecoming when I reach my final berth—even though I know the journey will not always be smooth sailing.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7CkNTUwLUsU4zqxX4hb5Elxc_gvKyLjdRafZ6BUZrIMbFAUgwdy__K22xtuK-SFkAl7wp9UJ3mOHmpLEyEXJKWc8ikMV-HI6yTZOwXi5sPzOJ3bFSmv6D9pSAcwDz2NteEnLe9G1zehia/s1600/Sailboat+under+Golden+Sky.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1280" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7CkNTUwLUsU4zqxX4hb5Elxc_gvKyLjdRafZ6BUZrIMbFAUgwdy__K22xtuK-SFkAl7wp9UJ3mOHmpLEyEXJKWc8ikMV-HI6yTZOwXi5sPzOJ3bFSmv6D9pSAcwDz2NteEnLe9G1zehia/s640/Sailboat+under+Golden+Sky.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>"I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning to sail my ship."</i><br /><i>~ Louisa May Alcott, American Novelist & Poet (1832 - 1888) ~</i><br /><i>(From the 1868 classic </i>"Little Women"<i>)</i></b></span></td></tr>
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Wade W.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09389169527454451047noreply@blogger.com2Orem, UT, USA40.2968979 -111.6946474999999740.2000099 -111.85600899999997 40.3937859 -111.53328599999998tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8378638217296140991.post-67611512906059995582017-05-25T02:00:00.003-06:002017-10-05T23:09:48.223-06:00God Will Send Rain<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM_UVTi1ILhuPFfFs6ejaVPzs27-xxgDphkYAlmUaEzuztfuBzPmy-aa89KVdNyGE5dbzdky-T-mGfgrc6oqADaHxhyphenhyphenNnfEoakACzGj_T4DqwmYzuiQJoPWzP7-vHFZiXJOWcSNfGyUw4p/s1600/Desert+Sunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM_UVTi1ILhuPFfFs6ejaVPzs27-xxgDphkYAlmUaEzuztfuBzPmy-aa89KVdNyGE5dbzdky-T-mGfgrc6oqADaHxhyphenhyphenNnfEoakACzGj_T4DqwmYzuiQJoPWzP7-vHFZiXJOWcSNfGyUw4p/s640/Desert+Sunset.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>When we find ourselves stuck in the deserts of life, how can we</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>find our own oasis of hope?</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">During a Church meeting several months ago, there was a discussion among the brethren in my <a href="http://www.mormonnewsroom.org/article/elder" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Elder’s</span></a> <a href="http://www.mormonnewsroom.org/article/quorum" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Quorum</span></a> on the topic of hope. The teacher that day used an analogy that I liked about taking a cross-country trip in a vehicle from Point A to Point B, and how hope is the courage, faith, and trust in God to keep going even if you break down along the way, which often seems to happen in the worst places; his example was having car problems in the middle of the desert. Do we abandon our quest and return to where we started, or do what we can to fix the issue and journey on to our destination?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">A young man in my <a href="http://www.mormonnewsroom.org/article/ward" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">ward</span></a>—a somewhat-troubled soul who has seemed to have experienced the lion’s share of hardship and disappoint in his life—brought our metaphorical trip to a screeching halt with a loaded, but honest and searching question: What about when hope runs out? What if there <i>is </i>no hope? It was a bleak proposal; my first thought, I ashamedly admit, was “Here we go again.” This wasn’t the first time this young man (and gospel novice—he was only recently <a href="http://www.mormonnewsroom.org/article/baptism" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">baptized</span></a>) entreated the class with his desperate, yet humble questions.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiM2QDv65FuaxtTtWX1O1gqSkjn-pG4GbqmVPY1FF9GZZvEOr-sLY3NJCIYDqXRJWsh7a7hFbn0lrLrikX3vGkZ3zo0WPzmuR9_fOmftHBM2Bb-O4p1YYSbFWhi6ZHDR3wXMAwNTpXTKet/s1600/Lawn+%2526+Tree+Under+Moon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="533" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiM2QDv65FuaxtTtWX1O1gqSkjn-pG4GbqmVPY1FF9GZZvEOr-sLY3NJCIYDqXRJWsh7a7hFbn0lrLrikX3vGkZ3zo0WPzmuR9_fOmftHBM2Bb-O4p1YYSbFWhi6ZHDR3wXMAwNTpXTKet/s640/Lawn+%2526+Tree+Under+Moon.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">It came to me one day that life is like a plot </span><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">of grass, and we are</span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>the caretakers.</i></span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After a brief pause in the collective spirit of the room, hands began to shoot up as my brethren came to his aid, giving their views on what to do—or perhaps what <i>they </i>did once upon a time—when the waters of hope ran dry in a desert of despair (or maybe when the fuel of hope was not initially a driving force for them). As I pondered deeply on the analogy, hoping to contribute a relevant comment, I saw a familiar scene in my head—at least, it seemed familiar to me, though I’m not entirely sure it had ever entered my head so vividly as it did that day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">What I saw was a modest stretch of green, supple grass; in the middle of the grassy lawn, from the height at which my mind’s eye rested, could be seen an ugly, crudely-dug hole, akin to a grave. There were rocks protruding in spots from its dirt walls, and stringy, frayed-out roots exposed and hanging loosely among the stones. The sky above the scene was a terrible but majestic purplish-black, and stormy clouds in the distance seemed to break just enough on the horizon to show the stars glimmering above them; and from the gathered clouds poured a torrential rain.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitxbfnByb_okxfyRthM53LN1mVT1pChTwqsXcLjxP2pNRNIfjWkIUrQwXZf8zb7YPX9C8pM-KumXIzrHGlT3m8KqTSJdHZj9iaLPLFYzzhq2iI1d3qeS7lKlddAscYb5wEK7fWixKXGIG7/s1600/Hole+Diggi+gn+Silouhette.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitxbfnByb_okxfyRthM53LN1mVT1pChTwqsXcLjxP2pNRNIfjWkIUrQwXZf8zb7YPX9C8pM-KumXIzrHGlT3m8KqTSJdHZj9iaLPLFYzzhq2iI1d3qeS7lKlddAscYb5wEK7fWixKXGIG7/s640/Hole+Diggi+gn+Silouhette.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Life with anxiety and depression sometimes feels like digging</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>myself into a hole of misery.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As this vision in my mind’s eye was displayed before for me, I zoned out of the classroom chatter and went into my own place where this image began to take on meaning, right then and there. Readers familiar with my posts will know that I have a keen ability to conjure up metaphors and analogies, with relatively no effort on my part, that often carry deep meaning to me. As a very visual thinker, these types of symbolic picture-stories make a lot of sense to me. This situation was no different. My mind raced, quickly but peacefully, about what meaning this image and its story could have for me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Here’s how it all came together for me at that time. That hole became another metaphorical description—a place, really—of my state of living with depression and heavy anxiety which robs me of motivation, drive, and initiative. Sometimes when these struggles are at a peak in my day-to-day living, it becomes difficult to make small talk with well-meaning people who ask me how I’m doing, or how I’ve been. Invariably, I just smile and say that I’m doing fine, because I don’t want to compel anyone to offer me sympathy or say, “Oh, I’m sorry!”—a phrase that is becoming increasingly hollow to me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjifWmxgkR4ARdjZj27GszKb2SBrYNiIdYCyEgvdEkLyYjCQdVi-rOYU2E3fXyRrfFypMiFw9UniyORBJ1rl52rHXoejKeWxjG87DhfGgXlTH1zp6rJAoiXcaqhC3h8aGxWzuwhIudH7ml8/s1600/Old+Reel+Mower.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjifWmxgkR4ARdjZj27GszKb2SBrYNiIdYCyEgvdEkLyYjCQdVi-rOYU2E3fXyRrfFypMiFw9UniyORBJ1rl52rHXoejKeWxjG87DhfGgXlTH1zp6rJAoiXcaqhC3h8aGxWzuwhIudH7ml8/s1600/Old+Reel+Mower.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Tending to my mental health and well being is much like caring </i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>for a lawn, requiring constant upkeep.</i></span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Not liking to lie to people, but also wanting to just be polite and concise, when I am really <i>not </i>well, I have just grown accustomed to telling people, “I feel like I’ve dug myself into a hole that I can’t get out of.” It’s more honest, but it’s also easier to play off as normal stress; living around other young people who are working and going to college, it’s not hard for others to relate to what I’m saying. That’s why that hole in the ground was familiar to me because I sometimes picture it hazily when I have to report to others on my wellbeing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But how did I get into the hole in the first place? I have pictured this at some length as well since pondering the analogy in class that day. It begins with a pleasant, soft patch of grass that can be easily maintained with diligent upkeep and regular, responsible care; we are the gardeners, entrusted with the role of caretaker for this little gem of botanical beauty. I thought the patch of grass represented my life, my existence—this mortal journey from day to day and year to year, in every season—which is nothing short of delicate and complicated, and sometimes vulnerable. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSJminrx6I7OS1NSIQ0PuSwlXCC849MQHXhaYF_sTP7RTpECaUMuG4m3qyWWRdaQvFiwpuPYgb3ecajyPce_owqiRhBP0-XDHxsENwHAJY3VHA-z3Rx5njowlw4cZFnUs9OBicBgfrz06-/s1600/Mole+Hills.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSJminrx6I7OS1NSIQ0PuSwlXCC849MQHXhaYF_sTP7RTpECaUMuG4m3qyWWRdaQvFiwpuPYgb3ecajyPce_owqiRhBP0-XDHxsENwHAJY3VHA-z3Rx5njowlw4cZFnUs9OBicBgfrz06-/s640/Mole+Hills.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Avoidant anxiety is probably my greatest enemy </span><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">in caring for</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">myself; as I avoid stress, the weeds </span><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">and molehills begin to surface</span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>in my life.</i></span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Unlike my remarkable mother, for instance, I have no green thumb; even a simple houseplant is doomed in my care, and I don’t think tending to a little lawn would be any easier for me. Too much water can drown; not enough water can shrivel. The sun can scorch; the grass must be clipped and fertilized and protected from persistent, vicious weeds and vermin. One wrong move can set a course for destruction. Finding balance in one’s life is not always easy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My greatest enemy in caring for my little lawn of life—the gophers, maybe? dandelions? anthills?—is my kneejerk reaction to all things that stress me out, or which may stress me out (present and existent or supposed and fabricated): <i>To avoid them all</i>. I’ve recently learned that anxiety is a repetitive process that an anxious person like me goes through when presented with uncomfortable or <i>potentially </i>uncomfortable situations—things that haven’t even happened yet. I avoid the causes of stress to avoid the anxiety of it, which alleviates short-term anxiety, but contributes to much larger and much more destructive long-term anxiety over unresolved conflict (or potential conflict).</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLm6CVcgWy5zY-qoVwcsiYHFXzpwiBRc3WEZnnA1ssCl4evAlHISGoCbGBWasCnKJIDQDZZXc9ZlnkHeqK5erlfiKRTNyvFJK5lFzPsa2ulpfTnr0UojO9Qu0RBZM25vW-AISUK8RVyzBj/s1600/Bare+Spot+in+Lawn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="1140" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLm6CVcgWy5zY-qoVwcsiYHFXzpwiBRc3WEZnnA1ssCl4evAlHISGoCbGBWasCnKJIDQDZZXc9ZlnkHeqK5erlfiKRTNyvFJK5lFzPsa2ulpfTnr0UojO9Qu0RBZM25vW-AISUK8RVyzBj/s640/Bare+Spot+in+Lawn.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>The brown patches in my lawn of life only grow and multiply as</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>anxiety and stress turn to depression.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It is not easy for me to live my life—taking care of my little lawn—happily each day when watering seems too scary or difficult; when clipping is too tiring and too complicated; when fertilizing and weeding is too agonizing or can be put off for a little bit longer before it really becomes “necessary.” The grass doesn’t need to be watched unceasingly; but it’s good to check in every day to assess how things are going. Get enough rest, eat good foods, get a little exercise and sunlight, and spend time with others. It seems like a simple process, which, if adhered to, can help us to enjoy the grassy space, and be content with it—to have a happy life.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">However, when I am depressed—which festers from the wound of anxious avoidance—I stop caring for myself properly. I am also extremely critical of myself. I suppose somehow that I ought to be stronger than I am, and that any continued mourning or melancholy is uncalled for. I don’t allow myself to slow down sometimes, and I push myself harder than I probably should at times. I would rather ignore the grass and assume that everything is fine; “I took care of myself enough yesterday, so that should suffice for the week. Suck it up; you’re just being ridiculous now.” </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmDFwDb6g2d4QLBiyFttKmEmobAxcIynJc5s8rSCrjbzzV4BDLsE3DCeaKqQQ42PWQZ5LTBsMBn9oLTgtZp8h3bgHfE0JHfej4EgXLfiObkG4wZvttJFRnKJC6S01mGAE5zStf7DingU0t/s1600/Sad+at+Sunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmDFwDb6g2d4QLBiyFttKmEmobAxcIynJc5s8rSCrjbzzV4BDLsE3DCeaKqQQ42PWQZ5LTBsMBn9oLTgtZp8h3bgHfE0JHfej4EgXLfiObkG4wZvttJFRnKJC6S01mGAE5zStf7DingU0t/s640/Sad+at+Sunset.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Stuck deep in a hole of depression, hope seems l</span><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">ost, and life</span></span></i><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">becomes an unwelcome burden.</span></i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After all, isn’t it selfish to always be thinking about oneself? Other people are caring for their lawns just fine, and they have far more troubles or responsibilities than I do. The plague of self-comparison can be debilitating for me. The harder I push myself, the more I actually feel like just giving up; it’s too much to bear, this lawn, my life. And as I neglect my self-care and compassion by refusing to tend my life, the grass loses its emerald sheen, and the dismal brown patches creep in, threatening even more to overtake what’s left of my life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">By not practicing self-compassion, those brown spots spread into my days, my weeks, even into months. Weeds pop up here and there, then everywhere; and pretty soon my life is in shambles. I no longer have happiness in caring for my little plot of grass. Just looking at it makes me ill; it gets easier to talk myself out of repairing the neglect every time I give even a casual thought to picking up a hose or rake. I can’t see how I can possibly catch up with all I have yet to do, and taking a break to breathe and think things out will only waste precious time.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh4O3hKnBb2_GlkGUjhKGrywOdVwrM71GGaPcgcrAh6oW2NuA_G7lPHVt_xSfwfSFlHORPlq48Dzu-lOo1VZrsg_tshfU2LZi_SYnQ9hgSTMTI-d02CL-8hYcGDno-KKznlmMDzV1N2ZjL/s1600/Abandoned+LIfe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh4O3hKnBb2_GlkGUjhKGrywOdVwrM71GGaPcgcrAh6oW2NuA_G7lPHVt_xSfwfSFlHORPlq48Dzu-lOo1VZrsg_tshfU2LZi_SYnQ9hgSTMTI-d02CL-8hYcGDno-KKznlmMDzV1N2ZjL/s640/Abandoned+LIfe.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">As stress and work pile up, the easier it is to </span><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">just abandon all</span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>responsibility and isolate myself.</i></span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After all, who decided that I should have this little plot of land for a season anyway? Who would trust a person like me with the priceless vessel of mortality in such a turbulent world? I find myself stuck with difficult choices that could’ve been easier if I had thought them out better. Pacing myself would’ve helped—a long time ago. Doing that assignment for school early or preparing that lesson for church before Saturday night would’ve been helpful—a long time ago. I am faced with the drought of hope, and my choices seem limited—but giving up altogether is the most appealing option. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When work and tasks pile up like this, I can lose all control; it doesn’t matter what it is (but it is usually housework and homework). Sometimes all I can see is the disgusting, unkempt plot of a gardener who should have known better—the caretaker who didn’t <i>care</i>. Sometimes this affects my mood dramatically; I begin to wonder if I even want to be in charge of so much! Do I even <i>want </i>to be in college? Do I even <i>want </i>to have a job? Do I even <i>want </i>to put myself out there and meet new people? Outside of my analogy, in real life, I might sometimes think that death would be a welcome way out, an easy exit plan—do I even <i>want </i>to be alive? How I wish then that I could tear up <i>everything</i>, down to raw, bare dirt, and start over again with fresh sod—heck, I’ll even resort to reseeding the soil myself if it just means all this grief will go away. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh565L4nzqu0Sqcv9-0XeRpNPIE0HhuFJKgX07IL2MpndPXZ6iWlZtAVUJW9yk8q5gaOyJ49ljFKt73sphbuqHYS8AP4v7Op2RX38-tAPsuxFCWNAWPLxuH_V6NURJnmqrjhGdpt2x5rSB0/s1600/View+from+Hole.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh565L4nzqu0Sqcv9-0XeRpNPIE0HhuFJKgX07IL2MpndPXZ6iWlZtAVUJW9yk8q5gaOyJ49ljFKt73sphbuqHYS8AP4v7Op2RX38-tAPsuxFCWNAWPLxuH_V6NURJnmqrjhGdpt2x5rSB0/s640/View+from+Hole.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>From the bottom of my emotional holes, myview is is bleak; </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">h</span><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">ow will I ever get out?</span></i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Though suicidal ideation is rare for me, I am no stranger to it; it is not something I have ever gotten close to actually carrying out, but the thoughts of ‘leaving it all behind’ are disturbing, unnerving, and almost sickening. The frustration with my situation and the tiresome persistence of even being a human, in some moments, can be debilitating. I beat myself up for what I see as constant failure, and my little patch of decrepit lawn so often becomes a frustrated handful of grass, ripped out in anger. I hate the grass. I hate my life. Anxiety has led to depression and depression has led me to the end of my figurative rope.</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I can see myself taking the tools that I once used to care for my little patch of lawn and turning them against myself—faith becomes faithlessness, testimony becomes cynicism, belief becomes burden, religion becomes rejection, and hope becomes hopelessness. And why stop there? How much more hopeless could my situation become? With shovel in hand, I pierce the ground like I am putting to death the enemy of my soul. Then it’s a shovel full of sod, then soil, and soon rocky dirt. With every minute, day, and week that I avoid my duty in caring for the plot—for myself, my life—the hole can only get deeper. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioI2LmE9W7U3xlhKEOuF4GvRLkl5HerZIK46A27rYBJfftTIGRK7SFM0L5jqGn9ymr9Y9QDmnMSzrAlBBBX5A_Ie5XSgJPZ7hyXbKJ-G2HnUsCwOCHXUmtMRW1eMgyIfkdVb57z4z2hUph/s1600/Drowning+Hand+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioI2LmE9W7U3xlhKEOuF4GvRLkl5HerZIK46A27rYBJfftTIGRK7SFM0L5jqGn9ymr9Y9QDmnMSzrAlBBBX5A_Ie5XSgJPZ7hyXbKJ-G2HnUsCwOCHXUmtMRW1eMgyIfkdVb57z4z2hUph/s640/Drowning+Hand+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The regular storms of life can seem like a watery </span><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">death sentence</span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>when you are stuck in a hole.</i></span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Frustrated with life, I dig and dig—putting off homework, household chores, text messages, emails, phone calls, work shifts, class attendance, and even eating and personal care sometimes. Everything becomes burdensome in the looming uncertainty of my present and my future. I soon find myself in a deep hole that I cannot claw my way out of. In my anger and frustration, I was focused so intently on dwelling upon and enlarging the problems that I couldn’t see the pit I was digging myself into. Disparagingly, and realizing I’m about as low down as I can go, I tend to curl up in a figurative ball and force myself to ignore my environment, and the person whose fault it is that I am there—mine. I also tend to isolate myself from others at this point.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">This is when the depression is deep, the hurt is powerful, and there is nothing worse than realizing that you’ve brought it all upon yourself. Not to say that I can help the biology that causes my depression; but I can help to avoid the circumstances that cause the crushing dips into its abyss. These are the times when, though I am physically present at school, work, church, or with friends and family, yet I am emotionally detached and psychologically numb. The weak smile I put on for everyone is as fake as Astroturf; a false portrayal that everything is okay. But like the Astroturf, my façade is artificially produced by me to cover difficult emotions, rather than grown from roots of true contentedness with life.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlUHMUH_9KShNOS7k5SoVCEPaoF8E2Tg1cGvSWCVQlLjEYIxwwQPce67upMe9FTNMfSXJVTm3c4T-FjqRrUEE7B9ax-dQ-Q34nBp-C80w8G7zsgiCK4BjgdchIKJfj8pVxYTiRfHCkUdc6/s1600/Head+in+a+Cloud.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlUHMUH_9KShNOS7k5SoVCEPaoF8E2Tg1cGvSWCVQlLjEYIxwwQPce67upMe9FTNMfSXJVTm3c4T-FjqRrUEE7B9ax-dQ-Q34nBp-C80w8G7zsgiCK4BjgdchIKJfj8pVxYTiRfHCkUdc6/s640/Head+in+a+Cloud.jpg" width="496" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">When the courage to simply try strikes,</span><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">the fog </span><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">of </span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">depression disperses just enough </span><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">for me to catch a </span></span></i><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">glimpse of hope again.</span></i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">No matter how bad things are, I can recount numerous times when I have received miraculous second chances (and third, fourth, fifth …). I have an understanding boss at my job, and he knows what I deal with. I have been blessed with instructors at my university who are the epitome of compassion and cooperation. And as the ones closest to me, my friends and family have long been patient and forgiving as I’ve struggled with many disorders and mental health issues from my childhood. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When another of my trespasses is forgiven and forgotten, I can often catch a sudden glimpse beyond the smoky fog of depression, and for a moment, there <i>is </i>some hope! But what can I really see, then, when I have pushed back so much emotion and responsibility for weeks and weeks?—only the rugged walls of the hole that I am now in. As hopeless as this scenario sounds, whether as a parable or my occasional reality, I have learned something from it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The beauty of this analogy that came to me in my Elder’s Quorum class that day was not that I figured out a way to figuratively claw myself out of the hole. It was not even that someone came along to rescue me by reaching out a strong, helping hand. Neither did I perish in the ground while pitying myself and casting relentless self-blame. The beauty came unexpectedly—not as my present situation improved, but as it worsened.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">What can be worse than being stuck, alone, in a deep, cold hole? To my mind, it was that ensuing darkness from the skies high above, and the threat of a sudden downpour. As if I’m not already in a predicament by digging myself into a hole of avoidance and procrastination, a storm enters my world—the world above the ground—and the rain begins to fall. It could be anything distressing that befalls me in addition to the predicament I am already in—family concerns, financial stresses, spiritual failings (more likely supposed failings), arguments, disappointments, shortcomings, illness—whatever may keep me indifferent to or uninterested in solutions that I might seek under normal conditions. When you’ve dug yourself into an emotional hole, there’s not much that can be done about the rain as life carries on despite your already-loaded troubles.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Back at church, I no longer heard my Elder’s Quorum brethren commenting on our young friend’s question. I only saw myself gazing up from the hole, and the rain coming down in sheets. Simultaneously I also saw flashes of myself bending over my desk under a hot lamp, papers strewn about, as I typed furiously on the keyboard to make a deadline (a typical state of last-minute panic I encounter a lot). As I slip easily into this live metaphor playing in my brain, suddenly I cannot ignore where I am anymore, and I cannot pretend that this isn’t my fault or that someone else is to blame. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNm10rG6xt56vdzA6eqKUl65SSbIUcLf_OLs5dAhdGhzF0gx2b9dfUwALvlVLaMLTM6Zfd8f7LcYXsP96ahGn7CtRgjhf2qpWZe8UTAYwuVS2DNG5IAc17zFwHy3rdHdcI_HLlLau6rgVR/s1600/Buoy+Sunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNm10rG6xt56vdzA6eqKUl65SSbIUcLf_OLs5dAhdGhzF0gx2b9dfUwALvlVLaMLTM6Zfd8f7LcYXsP96ahGn7CtRgjhf2qpWZe8UTAYwuVS2DNG5IAc17zFwHy3rdHdcI_HLlLau6rgVR/s640/Buoy+Sunset.jpg" width="512" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>When all seems lost, Christ's grace descends<br />gently to buoy me up and out of my darkest places.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Courage often strikes out of nowhere, like lightning piercing through the clouds of my hopeless depression. Like the homework example, I sometimes decide at the last minute that I am going to <i>try </i>to get out of my hole, even if the forecast is bleak and the odds are against me. In the hole, my feet are already covered in muddy water, and I am certain that I am going to drown in this miserable pit. The surface seems so far away, and my deadline, or class time, or work shift looms ever closer. But as the storm rages on, I try desperately to claw myself out. Initially, it always seems like it’s just no use. Doubt creeps back in; the water is now at my knees and rising.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The anxious attempts at getting myself out of the hole only remind me how deeply I have dug myself. I realize then that perhaps I should have thought harder about my possible solutions before consigning myself to a lifetime of pouting underground. These are the times that I finally care about what I’ve gotten myself into—long after any plausible, relatively-comfortable solutions have passed. I am still in the hole, and it's not looking good, but I continue to <i>try</i>. The water reaches my waist. Not long now.</span></div>
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<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Sometime after the initial project is started, or I decide that I <i>will </i>go to work or class after all, the anxiety of <i>beginning </i>is gone and the anxiety of <i>finishing </i>is now what fuels me. Once I reach this stage, I am determined to complete my task no matter what it takes. I avoid the clock face, and just try to make it through the day. Those ominous deadlines I’m often racing against make the dread even more palpable. This process includes periodic pauses to breathe deeply, psyche myself up, and offer prayers for mercy. The whole situation is nonetheless precarious, and there is no certainty that I will make it out alive. Will work ever end? Will the teacher ever wrap up their lecture? Will this social gathering ever end? WIll I finish my essay in time? Back in the hole, the water has reached my shoulders, and I still don’t know what will become of me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ5_fzawjUDTMXylldwDkFf6uHA78Ggd_k0uBXOcleE5eOvTMBlhbQiDVmw_uXngoKjPStxywLRVtsIICcK0j1a3I0hS464uaVIa-va48rg_j5RZkf6-YYABiIfkYpduU7KhIpa0L9E2ih/s1600/Thor%2527s+Well.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ5_fzawjUDTMXylldwDkFf6uHA78Ggd_k0uBXOcleE5eOvTMBlhbQiDVmw_uXngoKjPStxywLRVtsIICcK0j1a3I0hS464uaVIa-va48rg_j5RZkf6-YYABiIfkYpduU7KhIpa0L9E2ih/s640/Thor%2527s+Well.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Even when stuck in a hole, humility and patience can help us</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>"tread water" until we are delivered from the abyss.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The water level crawls up my neck slowly, and the storm will not quit. I’m scrambling, but also so close to just giving up and drowning in my stress. Perhaps if I had been more responsible and diligent in caring for my life, the worst I would be dealing with right now would be the raging storm of unexpected issues and personal concerns <i>atop </i>the green grass. When my anxiety is high and my depression is thick and cloudy over my mind, I would so often like to accept death (that is, missing that assignment, that deadline, that work shift, a class, or social event) by drowning in the hole—in other words, for me, sleeping through the impending doom, my chosen depressive poison.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But as the water reaches my chin, and I take a final deep breath, the beauty of the storm is realized. Suddenly, my feet are not touching the muddy bottom of the hole, and my head is still above water. I am not drowning! As long as I put forth the effort to tread water, I stay afloat. This is the moment of serendipity, usually when I notice, partway through my task or responsibility that things are working out. Maybe it’s not as bad as I initially thought. I am getting the answers right, I am nearing the end of my essay, only minutes remain of work—my mood is improving, I am closer to finishing what I began—I can see a way out of the hole if I hold strong.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As the storms of life thunder and flash above me, I am so often brought to humility by a sudden and instantly-discernible grace. When we are above ground, experiencing a mostly-happy life, the storms that come along to put a damper on our day can seem so difficult to bear. But when you’re already 10-feet under, sometimes you need to be reminded that there is a reason for the rain. The storms of life come, I have found, not to hammer the last nail in my coffin, but the lift me back to life by helping me to understand the need to constantly be humble and to trust in a higher purpose for some challenges.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIEQwn6u40wMKhWORMy6Ck2q4FQVEjmLehwZoBqX2C9Wi_ecEVoo_DvLMGBNJynWV5eCxOw3JLUYlf9gBTnyVTCbWPNoSzgmCa67SW-iuQ534uh16L6lVDDuPpClSfUY8lD7sykFW1Q19W/s1600/Raindrops+in+Grass+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIEQwn6u40wMKhWORMy6Ck2q4FQVEjmLehwZoBqX2C9Wi_ecEVoo_DvLMGBNJynWV5eCxOw3JLUYlf9gBTnyVTCbWPNoSzgmCa67SW-iuQ534uh16L6lVDDuPpClSfUY8lD7sykFW1Q19W/s640/Raindrops+in+Grass+1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The rain can sometimes be an inconvenience, </span><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">but it is meant to</span></span></i><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">replenish and refine us.</span></i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">If I can just be patient and continue to “tread water,” things will eventually be okay. And sure enough, the water lifts me high enough to finally grasp the edge of that terrible hole and pull myself out of it. Each and every time it leaves me in shock that I actually did it—I finished the essay; I made it through my whole class or my entire work shift; I made it to my date with friends; I finished the semester; or whatever it is that I had gotten stuck in. In reality, my shock is probably unfounded, because I know that the water falling from the sky in this analogy is not a coincidence or just good luck. In my real life, it is the grace of the Lord sent to buoy me up and carry me out of my sorrows and troubles (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/2-cor/12.9?lang=eng#p8" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">2 Corinthians 12:9</span></a>).</span></div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I felt these moments as a child, long before I ever knew who God or Jesus Christ were—years before I ever found the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (<a href="https://www.mormon.org/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Mormons</span></a>) and the gospel. I remember sitting at the kitchen table in the home I grew up in, laden with homework and on the verge of tears at the threat of losing my 4.0 GPA. And suddenly, as I cast my eyes hopelessly upon everything I still had to do, I would feel a sense of peace enter my heart. </span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Instantly the doubt and confusion and unfairness of my situation diffused, and I could no longer feel troubled by my present responsibilities. I was touched by the Light of Christ within me, and His grace flowed over me to calm my fears and give me the push I needed to carry on and finish my tasks. And I always did in the end; and on those nights my bed never felt so comfortable as I lay down with the burden of work lifted from my mind and the assurance of continued academic success.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhanBkGEbGb-Uk7B3pEld1PzLTUsGgjAp53UsylgqIlKsSbGsCESh33W2OxXX563BX1EP-udQaopohQ7oKK5QUlF8kBvCCunXJB4dnefqnFQ1rQbnTrMj3J36C7f2SNflqDTEl2MZ-Ku0Wp/s1600/Hand+Touching+Grass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhanBkGEbGb-Uk7B3pEld1PzLTUsGgjAp53UsylgqIlKsSbGsCESh33W2OxXX563BX1EP-udQaopohQ7oKK5QUlF8kBvCCunXJB4dnefqnFQ1rQbnTrMj3J36C7f2SNflqDTEl2MZ-Ku0Wp/s640/Hand+Touching+Grass.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>We won't ever be perfect caretakers of our lives,but God fills our</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>days with moments that help us to better appreciate what we've</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>been entrusted with.</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Knowing what I know now about the sacrifice of the Savior and the grace offered through His atonement, I can see that the Lord was with me even before I actually found Him. And still I know He is with me, because I experience this washing over of the Spirit often when I am at my wit’s end, crying out in my heart for help. He answers my pleading by sending the rain to teach me that His love and blessings can reach me even in the bleakest of places. And if we have an eye to see His glory and an ear to hear His voice, He can raise us up out of whatever miserable holes we’ve dug ourselves into (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/matt/13.9-17?lang=eng#p8" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Matthew 13:9-17</span></a>; <a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/ot/ezek/12.2?lang=eng#p1" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Ezekiel 12:2</span></a>).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Blessings can come in disguise; but the Master Teacher can help us learn to see them in their true light. Just like the rain flowing down into what seemed might become my grave, the blessings of hope and humility amidst the storms can carry me slowly up to the edge of where my struggles began, and lend me the strength to grasp the solid ground of faith and pull myself out. And never am I more grateful to be safely back at the top, even while the rain may continue to fall upon me for a time. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Somehow I recognize that if things hadn’t been so tough, my spirit may not have been contrite and my heart perhaps not broken enough to see the purpose of the rain (</span><a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/moro/6.2?lang=eng#p1" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Moroni 6:2</span></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">). When all things realign in my life and I see the hand of God in correcting the chaos, I am usually a little more grateful for life—my little plot of grass—and more willing to “act well [my] part” in order to avoid digging more holes (see this </span><a href="https://www.lds.org/media-library/video/2012-05-0902-preparation-of-david-o-mckay-a-mission-experience?category=david-o-mckay&lang=eng" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">video</span> </a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">for more). Additionally, the cleansing power of the rain—the refiner’s fire of tests and trials—can nourish and renew us where we have failed to take care of ourselves, giving us another chance to start over and make things right.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVZGBFIM6GPPPAMmdzL7o81wskqIzWvqJ7o-U3zqOXV-uRO68aQeTl0nEZVhO8UnoUqKzk8SrXvBDnLlbxrSiLGD1NaYzpWf78lvfrDaPqXDMw1weA-0sKuv0kU75BUrOZQ11ZCT-TArGq/s1600/Girl+with+Umbrella+in+Rain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1004" data-original-width="1600" height="401" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVZGBFIM6GPPPAMmdzL7o81wskqIzWvqJ7o-U3zqOXV-uRO68aQeTl0nEZVhO8UnoUqKzk8SrXvBDnLlbxrSiLGD1NaYzpWf78lvfrDaPqXDMw1weA-0sKuv0kU75BUrOZQ11ZCT-TArGq/s640/Girl+with+Umbrella+in+Rain.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Although we can prepare for life's storms, none of us will escape</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>them.</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Indeed, when life seems to be going my way is when I am often compelled to be humble by experiencing a setback—some kind of stumble, trip, fall, or a suddenly-cloudy sky. I don’t feel that it’s God’s way of “kicking me when I’m down,” so to speak, but His way of showing me that things are not always as they seem—that things can always be worse. But perhaps more than that He is showing me that things <i>will </i>usually get better. No storm ever lasts; the sun always breaks the clouds in the end. What need is there of a roof unless you know that the rain could eventually come?</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">God’s intention is not to teach us how to avoid the storms of life, or to know when we should anticipate them coming and going. But His purpose is, I feel, to teach us that the storms will come <i>throughout </i>life, and although we can do our best to prepare for them, we cannot escape them. What we <i>can</i> help is how we care for our little plot of grass—ourselves; and we can also choose how we let the rain affect us. He wants us to learn to appreciate the rain, not to dread it. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">He wants us to get ourselves wet now and again so to better appreciate the warmth and comfort He provides. As the Lord has said in modern revelation, “If they never should have bitter they could not know the sweet” (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/dc-testament/dc/29.39?lang=eng#p38" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">D&C 29:39</span></a>). Even though we may not mean to start digging in the first place, inevitably we will all do it, and God can encourage us to make the best of the holes we end up in. I think that’s why He sends rain. He wants us to discover that it is He who sends the sunshine and the storms when He knows that our little plot of life is ready to grow a little more. A favorite quote of mine, from <a href="http://www.mormonnewsroom.org/article/apostle" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Latter-day Apostle</span></a> <a href="https://www.lds.org/church/leader/richard-g-scott?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Richard G. Scott</span></a> (1928 - 2015), reflects upon life's storms in this way:</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq7hbb4m2k898ReoW2EBgnPhwfsUlFxJX2jRGzAkzMLNULl_eYOnGGVET7mknf1ojzYtvsCzFOHaBynAmTlBICGYd1FRevuR23LRNsyBCNOZ65sO9cVMRbDOTDf1gdnXWQIJ0QjF0V49JR/s1600/Elder+Richard+G.+Scott.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="960" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq7hbb4m2k898ReoW2EBgnPhwfsUlFxJX2jRGzAkzMLNULl_eYOnGGVET7mknf1ojzYtvsCzFOHaBynAmTlBICGYd1FRevuR23LRNsyBCNOZ65sO9cVMRbDOTDf1gdnXWQIJ0QjF0V49JR/s200/Elder+Richard+G.+Scott.jpg" width="160" /></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> <i>“Just when all seems to be going right, challenges often come in multiple doses applied simultaneously. … [T]hey are evidence that the Lord feels you are prepared to grow more. He therefore gives you experiences that simulate growth, understanding and compassion, which polish you for your everlasting benefit. To get you from where you are to where He wants you to be requires a lot of stretching, and that generally entails discomfort and pain.”</i><i> </i></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> <i>~ “Trust in the Lord,” <a href="https://www.lds.org/general-conference/1995/10/trust-in-the-lord?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">October 1995 General Conference</span></a>; see also <a href="https://www.lds.org/ensign/1995/11/trust-in-the-lord?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Ensign, Nov. 1995</span></a>, 16-17.</i></span></blockquote>
<div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We neglect ourselves constantly, in my opinion. Many of us feel we are the one exception to God’s infinite love, or Jesus Christ’s ever-reaching atonement. When we don’t care for ourselves, our little plot of grass can become dry and lifeless; even if we have not broken the ground with our shovels through our avoidance, our rebellion, our silent pain, or our procrastination, and are still firmly planted on the ground, there is no living happily when our little plot has lost its health, vibrancy, softness, and glow. We are meant to enjoy lying in the grass that we have cared for, and be proud of our efforts to maintain it as best we can.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVA3PaGW0nukCd71n8uOdz4tAB9DzNkzakpB7-cMKhpY4PjiLyLBWRrTE-mIYnAY11o5a3Dv-WIlIvogYxpJBOeidETY14UHYnvXAg-BoRrX-_94RD69Qoihmqozavjqfk67O0XlA2U74d/s1600/Wheelbarrow+of+Grass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="350" data-original-width="590" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVA3PaGW0nukCd71n8uOdz4tAB9DzNkzakpB7-cMKhpY4PjiLyLBWRrTE-mIYnAY11o5a3Dv-WIlIvogYxpJBOeidETY14UHYnvXAg-BoRrX-_94RD69Qoihmqozavjqfk67O0XlA2U74d/s1600/Wheelbarrow+of+Grass.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>A tidy plot is not always a sure sign of an expert gardener; when</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>we compare ourselves to others, we only see what's on the surface.</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But even if we don’t know how best to tend to our lives—let’s face it, who does?—God does know. That’s why He sends rain. Though challenges are difficult, they are not without purpose; they can be revitalizing to our lives by bringing back the meaning to why we were given this little plot of grass to care for in the first place. We are here to enjoy life, to live happily and abundantly (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/2-ne/2.25?lang=eng#p24" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">2 Nephi 2:25</span></a>). Not everyone will be able to immediately see their personal storms as a good thing. It took a long time to convince me, and there are still times that I curse the drops that fall on my happy picnic. But I usually recover more appreciative of the sun—the Light of Christ in my life—and less worried about the next downpour.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">One trap that I get myself into is to assume that as I sometimes suffer silently, I am suffering alone. I commonly forget that everyone around me is their own caretaker of a plot similar (but not identical) to mine. Maybe their plot is the blue-ribbon-best, or maybe it is sloppy, but healthy. Others might be feeling the prickles of dead grass between their toes and longing for a time when they were better at gardening. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5XuK6YRguTPDisQqiuuxwwkF7qb4jUDZxp7sWrZEyvQQSmjL7hvGdzmukF-4DUR5_mHlJxuWNTdPa7x5c6Sfx3wdnhiXMstS-SIPXFeJr53JkAvlLIRv5ylLkjwYSiV-pBKf2cXNrcajw/s1600/Feet+in+the+Grass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="465" data-original-width="940" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5XuK6YRguTPDisQqiuuxwwkF7qb4jUDZxp7sWrZEyvQQSmjL7hvGdzmukF-4DUR5_mHlJxuWNTdPa7x5c6Sfx3wdnhiXMstS-SIPXFeJr53JkAvlLIRv5ylLkjwYSiV-pBKf2cXNrcajw/s640/Feet+in+the+Grass.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Our lawns don't have to be perfect to be enjoyed; </span><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">life is never</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">idyllic, but with regular upkeep,</span><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">we can be content with the plots</span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>we've been given.</i></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Still, some are merely surviving with both feet still planted on the ground, but trying to pass off their Astroturf lawn as the real thing. And others, still, are no longer living above ground, and are sulking in their own miserable holes. And all around each of them, storms are raging from time to time. What a comfort it is to know that no matter the climate in the lives of others, we all witness storms. Some are more powerful than others, but likewise, those individuals may also be better prepared to face them, according to Elder Scott. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And while the sun may seem to shine endlessly upon some from our view, internally some of them are living with darkness, and they are sometimes the ones who keep their plots the tidiest so that no one discovers their pain. Similarly, I have learned that even those whose lives’ seem a little unkempt can still be extremely fulfilled in caring for the plot of grass that they’ve been given, even if they don’t do so ideally. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>God will send rain upon us all, the just and unjust; whether we let</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>the rain drown us or discipline us will always be our own choice.</i></span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">For this reason, it is best that we learn not to think unkindly or be critical of those whose gardening techniques are different from ours, because we are all called to the same task, on the same earth, underneath the same ever-changing sky; God does not expect us to keep our plots spotless, but to <i>endure </i>until the season and harvests are over (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/james/5.11?lang=eng#p10" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">James 5:11</span></a>; <a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/dc-testament/dc/14.7?lang=eng#p6" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">D&C 14:7</span></a>). As Jesus said of His Father, “He maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust” (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/matt/5.45?lang=eng#p44" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Matthew 5:45</span></a>).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As I mentally came back into the classroom that day in Elder’s Quorum, my mind was set at ease, while also being alive with personal revelation and wisdom from God, though I did not end up sharing my experience with the others. I do not know why He sends me these parables to help me understand my life, but I am intensely grateful for them; and I expound upon and share them in the hope that they may connect with someone else’s soul or mind in a way that will help them know their Father and their Savior the way I feel I do.</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>I have found that life's storms can often be a gesture of the</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Lord's mercy, whether lost in the desert or stuck in a hole.</i></span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I’m not sure if my quorum brother’s predicament in the figurative deserts of life was ever resolved. I don’t know if that troubled young man ever found the well of hope he was seeking for. He stopped attending our ward a few months after I had this experience. Certainly there is much still from his past that he desires to resolve and work through; I have a prayer in my heart that he will. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I don’t think I really have an answer either to the analogy that was presented in that class of a trip from Point A to Point B. It’s true, as we carry on with life, we make many different journeys; some are more pleasant while others can be extremely difficult. And like stumbling upon a lone mechanic’s shop when you are broken down on a highway to nowhere, or finding a true oasis when you have wandered the Saharas of mortality, I have found that serendipity often comes just when you are about to give up. The Savior’s grace arrives just in time, like “a well of water springing up into everlasting life” (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/john/4.14?lang=eng#p13" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">John 4:14</span></a>).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We all find ourselves off track sometimes on our way to where and whom we want to be, and we might remain there longer than we anticipated. But occasionally those stalls in our progression are what we need in order to better recognize divine intervention in our lives. So my hope is that when this young brother finds himself stranded in the metaphorical deserts of life—lost and alone and not knowing what will become of him—that God will send rain.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>"Many a man curses the rain that falls upon his head, and</i></b></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>knows not that it brings abundance to drive away the hunger."</i></b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">~ Saint Basil the Great, </span><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">(AD 329 or 330 - AD 379) ~</span></i></b></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Greek Bishop of Caesarea, Cappadocia</i></b></span></span></td></tr>
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Wade W.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09389169527454451047noreply@blogger.com0Orem, UT, USA40.2968979 -111.6946474999999740.2000099 -111.85600899999997 40.3937859 -111.53328599999998tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8378638217296140991.post-14639240461469257922016-10-07T18:47:00.001-06:002017-10-24T06:51:50.885-06:00To Learn the Healer's Art<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoGoHUlhVhx_hxmTwW6Bh68uM5TgXlHBvgjuuApVQbLKOjIGDQbrZknFgxByA5yX3jjNyUWzo5pLaMr89FA6SHUwb5vgQ3Yldvakkk012EqTodo28ys8JIXdNb1pA0o0fwzV1w81SymNmu/s1600/Ten+Years.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoGoHUlhVhx_hxmTwW6Bh68uM5TgXlHBvgjuuApVQbLKOjIGDQbrZknFgxByA5yX3jjNyUWzo5pLaMr89FA6SHUwb5vgQ3Yldvakkk012EqTodo28ys8JIXdNb1pA0o0fwzV1w81SymNmu/s640/Ten+Years.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Ten years ago I made the choice to cease dating men and return to<br />the Church I had separated myself from.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">September this year was a special anniversary for me. It marked ten years since I broke up with the one and only boyfriend I ever had, and came back to my Church—The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, or <a href="http://www.mormon.org/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Mormons</span></a>—and began rebuilding a broken faith (see my posts, <a href="http://myshatteredsilence.blogspot.com/2013/08/the-greener-side.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">“The Greener Side”</span></a> and <a href="http://myshatteredsilence.blogspot.com/2014/06/the-best-and-worst-of-times.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">“The Best and Worst of Times”</span></a>); ten years of growing, stretching, struggling, discomfort, rising, falling, learning, and failing. In some ways it seems like it has been the longest decade of the three I’ve been alive thus far; in other ways, by the grace of God, it seems to have flown by happily and blessedly.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">S</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ometimes I can hardly remember myself as a struggling twenty year-old young man, attempting to reconcile my feelings of attraction for the same sex, and the religion I had joined only four years earlier. Other times I ponder those dark days of resuming my religious activity, nurturing my weak spirit, which felt barely existent inside me, and I wonder how I made it through alive.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It certainly wasn’t easy; it was the hardest decision I have ever made in my entire life, yet I still feel so young and naïve in this world. Truthfully, I feel that no one should ever have to make such a monumental choice—faith or feelings; family or fear; heaven or hell; happiness or misery. To me, at that time—and to so many young lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, or queer/questioning (LGBTQ) Mormons still today—it is black and white; no in between that is still righteous, no middle ground that isn’t sinful. I never encourage anyone in the same position to take the same path I took; but I cannot say <i>now </i>that I am unhappy in my choice.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I wonder sometimes if I would've found a man to love and be with<br />if I had not chosen a life of faith and abstinence.</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Sometimes I think about how things might have been different if I had happened to find someone I really wanted to be with that first time dating men, rather than taking the first person with whom I found mutual attraction and trying to force love. The world that I can build in my head of my “other life” is interesting, even if not very detailed. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Mostly I wonder if I would’ve had the guts to defy Church and family, and bring home a boyfriend for holidays and special occasions. I wonder if the one and only girl I ever loved would be my wife now, if I hadn’t broken up with her to venture into the gay dating world. I wonder if there would be someone, anyone, lying next to me at night, or if my bed would still be just as small and empty as it is today.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I ponder what I might be doing now if I had a hardened, indifferent conscious that kept me from feeling God’s gentle pull on my heartstrings as easily and powerfully as I do—and which I always have, even before I knew there was a God. I do not suggest that to leave the faith means one can only be heartless and unfeeling; to the contrary, it is because I feel so deeply and intensely that I, personally, could not pass on the eternal blessings that my Father in Heaven offers me if I govern myself according to the bounds which He has set.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I wish that I could say now that the past decade has been free of all sin related to my homosexuality; but I can’t. I have done my best to keep the covenants I made not just at my baptism, but when I entered God’s Holy House and covenanted further and deepened my commitment to Him and the Savior, Jesus Christ. But some of the bounds were loosened, so to speak, even if not entirely broken. Like all of us, I am not without my mistakes, even though I would love to lie and tell you that the past ten years have been as clean and pure as the day I was born, or the day I felt reborn as I was raised up from the waters of baptism.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Sometimes I feel like my lifelong moral struggles are excluded<br />from the changing power of the atonement of Jesus Christ.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Pornography has always been a vice, since a young age, and I bet it always will be. I struggle to keep that toxic influence out of my thoughts and life. I know that it affects me greatly and I hurt from the feeling of helpless lust it plants in me. I hear often that the atonement of Jesus Christ has the power to save us and change us from anything to which we fall prey; I usually, ashamedly, scoff out loud at the idea. Because in my mind I see a paper attached to a clipboard, reading, <i>“Wade’s List of Atonement-Curable Struggles,”</i> and far at the bottom of the already short list is the asterisked disclaimer, <i>“Pornography not included in this offer.”</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Still, the list of greater sins is very short; I am thankful for that. But more often than not, if I am not striving to be a positive optimist, I am playing the part of a pessimistic perfectionist. The space of a decade doesn’t shrink those regretted encounters; it only magnifies them. Huge is the calendar in my head documenting every single day of the last ten years, and all I see are a handful of huge, black blemishes splattered in random places on the pristine, white sheet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Ironically enough, I happened to trip and fall flat on my face just days before the month of September began and my milestone was reached. I’ve thought of the irony of it since then, and I wondered if there was something God was trying to teach me. In my mind, His feelings on the matter usually hover between, <i>“Ten years; you’ve come a long way!”</i> and <i>“Ten years; you were so close!”</i> Likely, those are the black-and-white, all-or-nothing thoughts coming from my own head, and not from His Spirit. God, I’m sure, is much better than I when it comes to being emotionally and psychologically reasonable.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">In my quest for absolute perfection, I am often left feeling guilty<br />and ashamed when I fall short of my goals and covenants.</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Unfortunately, it’s just a part of my nature to see small mistakes as major failures; heaven forbid I ever get an A- in a class, because to me it might as well be an F. <i>“Oh, I got 90/100 on my test; I can’t believe I missed ten questions. I am such a moron!”</i> There is no middle ground in my view of success and failure—either I excelled above and beyond what was expected of me, or I crashed and burned with not even my pride left intact. It doesn’t matter what the real measure of my success was; if it’s not perfection, it’s all for naught. I’ve been this way all my life. I’ve struggled to change for years.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I tried to carry the weight of guilt for too long, after my most recent mistake; significant changes in my mood since then have brought me to my knees, both figuratively and literally. For some time I was angry with God; I wanted to punish Him by refusing to offer myself as a servant. I skipped Church and ignored promptings to pray. Other times I was so overcome with grief and tears that I couldn’t kneel quickly enough and get the words out without stumbling over them. I delved into the scriptures and words of the prophets seeking comfort. My frail faith would buoy me up for a while, but I would soon start to sink again. The month of September came and went with me just keeping my head above water, and that included work and school as well.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_7GUfJ73sBCLd6gFxEvh8px7OGF9_9YSeapGbspnxc94XDBz9cMgjZ3NFvpEBwt1fei_KOsypUpkjI5KJ2XJW2Bn92o8aZBY_7_k6HpM0ljnwS8ZchB916-KZtD6GFuQl_VS6DQzMo-RF/s1600/Remedy+Bottles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="295" data-original-width="485" height="389" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_7GUfJ73sBCLd6gFxEvh8px7OGF9_9YSeapGbspnxc94XDBz9cMgjZ3NFvpEBwt1fei_KOsypUpkjI5KJ2XJW2Bn92o8aZBY_7_k6HpM0ljnwS8ZchB916-KZtD6GFuQl_VS6DQzMo-RF/s640/Remedy+Bottles.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I needed a remedy for my mental pain and suffering, and a song<br />reminded me where I could find that miracle cure.</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I often turn to music as a release and a relief. Music has immense power. I believe that God can speak through music, even the kinds of songs you wouldn’t expect He would have part in or approve of. The Lord Jesus Christ taught in the scriptures, <i>“And whatsoever thing persuadeth men to do good is of me … I am the same that leadeth men to all good”</i> (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/ether/4.12?lang=eng#11" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Ether 4:12</span></a>). So why not the song on the radio, or playing in the grocery store, or on your iPod, or on your phone?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I can recount many times in my life when life-saving music has come at just the right moment—and a recent experience was no different. The words of a song hit me strongly while driving one day, amidst all these anguished anniversary feelings, and the Spirit whispered to me that running away from God to find peace was never going to work. I needed to come to Christ in order to be healed by repenting and seeking forgiveness.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>“When the pain cuts you deep,</i></span><br />
<i style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">When the night keeps you from sleeping,</i></div>
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<i style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">Just look, and you will see</i><br />
<i style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">That I will be your remedy.</i></div>
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<i style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">When the world seems so cruel,</i></div>
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<i style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">And your heart makes you feel like a fool,</i><br />
<i style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">I promise you will see</i></div>
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<i style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">That I will be your remedy.”</i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>“Remedy,” <a href="http://www.adele.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Adele</span></a>. </i><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/album/25/id1051394208" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">25</span></a><i>. XL Recordings | Columbia Records, 2015.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Lord had my remedy. He <i>was </i>my remedy. As I drove in my car, listening to this song, I pondered the meaning of it. When I got home, I was still thinking about it. How is Jesus Christ my remedy from all things with which I am laden and may struggle? I began to recall titles that I had heard which referred to the Savior as the Healer, the Great Physician, and the Balm of Gilead. I was intrigued by these for some reason, the latter particularly; so I decided to study the subject. What I discovered (and what was opened unto me by the Spirit) was beautiful, and I wanted to share it here.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc8Eod815-sN7diEtB2G0Anib5EKCbnc7Qe-krs2xS9tiIZCmnpabMRLyu0JD43tCBJBAh9tF-LiPZUyyXLHh_hSGwWee7z0FHsn0DCMxCayz3ak6SvmtqABZEUG71j1iKtJegQ8VLJxQ8/s1600/Pistacia+Lentiscus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="462" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc8Eod815-sN7diEtB2G0Anib5EKCbnc7Qe-krs2xS9tiIZCmnpabMRLyu0JD43tCBJBAh9tF-LiPZUyyXLHh_hSGwWee7z0FHsn0DCMxCayz3ak6SvmtqABZEUG71j1iKtJegQ8VLJxQ8/s640/Pistacia+Lentiscus.jpg" width="492" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>A botanist's illustration of </i>Pistacia lentiscus<i>,<br />or the mastic tree.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The illustration to the left is of the plant <i>Pistacia lentiscus</i>, or the mastic tree. It grows mostly throughout the Mediterranean region, as far west as the Canary Islands and the Iberian Peninsula, then east into Greece, Turkey, and even extending into some parts of Iraq and Iran. The mastic tree is also prominent in present-day Israel and its surrounding countries. Anciently, this area at large was called Palestine, where the majority of the events recorded in the Holy Bible took place. This large shrub bleeds an ivory-colored, resinous sap (called mastic).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In ancient times, the resinous mastic was allowed to drip naturally from the bark, or from slits purposefully cut into the branches, onto strategically-placed strips of linen cloth or small earthen bowls. After the mastic had hardened to the cloth or bowl, it was collected and washed in water to get rid of impurities like dust and bugs, and extracted from the bowl or gently pulled away from the linen. The hardened mastic was then ready for a variety of uses.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Often, it was pulverized into a fine powder—along with other aromatic spices and substances—and combined with animal fat (tallow) and/or plant-based oils (like olive) to make a variety of different unguents; it could then be traded and sold throughout the region. An unguent is a soft, viscous material commonly used topically in ancient times for its delightful scent and healing properties. Different translations of the Bible, along with other religious records, refer to the more popular unguent(s) as “balsam,” like the kind famously known as the Balm of Gilead. “Balsam” can also refer to the types of trees and shrubs that bear these versatile resins.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The highly valuable and expensive medicinal salve, Balm of Gilead, gained its name from the mountainous region of Gilead, located in ancient times just northeast of the Dead Sea, near the Jordan River, where balsam trees and a variety of other resin-bearing plants grew in abundance. Though highly debated, balm made from Pistacia lentiscus in this region of Palestine is believed by many botanical scholars to have been the original, trademarked, “brand-name” ointment to be mentioned in Biblical scripture and to travel the incense trails of the ancient Mediterranean, Arabian, and Oriental regions.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbin2sX4tF2Ku3JPIW9lgsxPfKyjjkN5Ry-m-u_ajHKW-M0NPbN79x7ZfgKesJGyW8-OPXyX_TL8-TR5bJIt6g7b3gALQDxSye1wdKFJh4CLOOlNvwnO507kogM586XHqojG1JXGqRpdl1/s1600/Commiphora+gileadensis+Drawing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1456" data-original-width="972" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbin2sX4tF2Ku3JPIW9lgsxPfKyjjkN5Ry-m-u_ajHKW-M0NPbN79x7ZfgKesJGyW8-OPXyX_TL8-TR5bJIt6g7b3gALQDxSye1wdKFJh4CLOOlNvwnO507kogM586XHqojG1JXGqRpdl1/s640/Commiphora+gileadensis+Drawing.jpg" width="427" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>A botanist's illustration of the Arabian balsam</i><br /><i>tree, or </i>Commiphora gileadensis<i>.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The illustration on the right is of the plant <i>Commiphora gileadensis</i>, or the Arabian balsam tree. This plant takes its scientific name from the land of Gilead because it was believed for many centuries (and still by some experts) to be the most popularly-used by balsam producers and merchant traders in that area. This large shrub (and many trees in the same genus) also bears a valuable, aromatic resin which was collected in ancient times by methods similar to those used with the mastic tree. However, some experts purport that it was in fact the Arabian balsam tree which was the actual progenitor of the original Balm of Gilead, as evidenced by the association of the name “Gilead” and its retention with local inhabitants over many centuries (to later be used in the scientific identification in more modern days).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Some ancient researchers have suggested that <i>Commiphora gileadensis</i> (Arabian balsam) resin was actually used to make a more common, more affordable (but still very prized) “knock-off-brand” version of Balm of Gilead. It is thought that, over time, the cheaper version of this balm became more widely used in the ancient world because it was easier to obtain, and the source trees were more plentiful in the region; thus, the original Balm of Gilead, supposedly made from <i>Pistacia lentiscus</i> (mastic), lost some of its consumer appeal. Over the ages of time, there grew a disambiguation of the name “Balm of Gilead,” which could refer to the original mastic kind likely trademarked by growers in Gilead, or the copycat Arabian balsam kind, which eventually overshadowed the mastic tree, <i>Pistacia lentiscus</i>, as the believed source of the miracle-cure ointment.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Similarly, in our day, disambiguation of product names and brand names still occurs. Think of a disposable tissue being called a Kleenex, after the leading U.S. brand established in 1924 as a replacement for cotton. Another example is Clorox bleach, a chemical whose uses were virtually unknown to consumers until the Clorox name was patented in 1913, tying the brand name to the chemical substance as its use in homes became more common. It is proposed by some that a similar thing happened with Balm of Gilead; it was extremely popular with consumers and a lucrative business for anyone who could produce anything similar to it. However, Balsam resin (of any kind, really), remained the key ingredient for the famous unguent along with the right combination of other aromatic ingredients.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBJ7I-ECO5ysu4SFT4vVM-G2Z3GP1wjv9EiC42y5qP-l4mzQznz0O76Nbtb7e-G09mbuzko3hxpnwYEyBkVYNne3phsPlSHyQB2pjuP46qtwyaScb92hheXgBE86qVRovhY5jQM78Yfz1K/s1600/Mastic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBJ7I-ECO5ysu4SFT4vVM-G2Z3GP1wjv9EiC42y5qP-l4mzQznz0O76Nbtb7e-G09mbuzko3hxpnwYEyBkVYNne3phsPlSHyQB2pjuP46qtwyaScb92hheXgBE86qVRovhY5jQM78Yfz1K/s640/Mastic.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Sticky resins from mastic and balsam trees were allowed to dry<br />and then used to make unguents, like the famous Balm of Gilead.</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In all reality, the true identity of the plant used to make genuine Balm of Gilead in its pure, original form is now lost. It is more likely that there were many species of aromatic-resin-bearing trees utilized in making the famous salve. There are even versions of Balm of Gilead made today in the western world from balsam trees in the genus <i>Populus</i>; methods vary by the type of balsam tree that is used, but a common procedure involves boiling the sap-sticky buds and branches in water to extract and liquefy the resin. It can then be mixed with vegetable oils (like coconut) and/or beeswax for body creams, or added to glycerin bases to make soaps and shampoos. I have also seen some recipes for using liquefied balsam resin to make natural cough syrups.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The resins from balsam trees like the mastic and Arabian varieties have been used for centuries for gastrointestinal ailments, and were commonly administered by chewing the sap like gum. In fact, mastic and balsam resins were probably the first chewing gums in the world. The sap is very bitter at first, but as it is chewed it turns from gold to white, and has a fragrant smoky or piney taste. In powder-form, the saps also have proven antifungal and antibacterial properties, which is not coincidental in their use as topical ointments. Balsam unguents could be applied to burns, rashes, boils, cuts, and scrapes to ease pain and prevent infection.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3B_h_mz29e8Iyd0a4CIgKIUff_JQMj_hmTtfXYI0R6A_Ovc2U-fRgR7YkO-v7bj4UqJVCKa42s7o8eBBWckq_8_ykWQyERKRG7o1eASVe-pIsRZ7TXFlVvks81RH0NZa6OqAxBB8Tqp2a/s1600/Pistacia+grove.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="900" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3B_h_mz29e8Iyd0a4CIgKIUff_JQMj_hmTtfXYI0R6A_Ovc2U-fRgR7YkO-v7bj4UqJVCKa42s7o8eBBWckq_8_ykWQyERKRG7o1eASVe-pIsRZ7TXFlVvks81RH0NZa6OqAxBB8Tqp2a/s640/Pistacia+grove.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Groves of mastic and balsam trees, like this one in present-day<br />Chios, Greece, were highly valued treasures for the resins they<br />produced.</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As stated previously, balsam resin was used to create perfumes and oils for anointing the body, and was actually one of the most sought-after scents in the Old World. Ancient historian and gardening columnist Robin Lane Fox has remarked that in antiquity the balsam was <i>“the plant which was the source of the world’s most famous scent before </i>Chanel No. 5<i> existed,”</i> referring to the legendary women’s perfume launched in the 1920’s by French fashion designer <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coco_Chanel" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Gabrielle “Coco” Chanel</span></a>. Individuals of royal or noble birth poured balsam oils into their baths for added luxury and aromatic appeal.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Balm of Gilead remained anciently a kingly gift to anyone who received it. In the Old Testament of the Bible, Father Jacob (Israel) convinced his sons to return to Egypt to retrieve food during a sore famine; he advised them to take with them many precious commodities, including </span><i style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">“a little balm,”</i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> with which to persuade the keeper of the granaries to sell them corn (not knowing that the keeper was their brother, Joseph, whom they had sold) (</span><a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/ot/gen/43.11?lang=eng#10" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Genesis 43:11</span></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It is interesting to note here, however, that in Jacob’s day, it seems unlikely that this luxurious balm went by the name of ‘Gilead,” even while it was still enormously popular in trade. Historical speculation suggests that it wouldn’t be until many hundreds of years later that Palestine’s landscape would be dotted by balsam trees of any kind—long before the industrious residents of Gilead would begin to produce the famous salve that would eventually bear that region’s name.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQHW-hucxfjR2ANuEFa-1jpuMPcmW8-Zy9JTTjv-Q8sp44d__BjHUHHvvhXhvyBnJ23EH9iy29tWEje9Eka6_ALcMfB8UX4_AVquyRv32qZvlkwID0Q96eqxVrpz8FJlp5zvPLWnsnE7Ux/s1600/King+Tut+Unguent+Jar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQHW-hucxfjR2ANuEFa-1jpuMPcmW8-Zy9JTTjv-Q8sp44d__BjHUHHvvhXhvyBnJ23EH9iy29tWEje9Eka6_ALcMfB8UX4_AVquyRv32qZvlkwID0Q96eqxVrpz8FJlp5zvPLWnsnE7Ux/s1600/King+Tut+Unguent+Jar.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Ancient aromatic unguents were stored in elaborate<br />vessels of ivory and alabaster, like this one found in<br />the tomb of Egyptian boy-Pharaoh Tutankhamun.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Indeed, the introduction of balsam trees to Palestine seems to be a mixture of both history and widespread folklore carried among Jewish, Arabian, and Ethiopian cultures over millennia. The Old Testament, as we have it now, makes no mention of the origins of the priceless sap-bearing shrubs. It does, however, briefly mention (twice, actually) the Queen of Sheba’s legendary visit to Jerusalem around the tenth century bc, recording that </span><i style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">“she came … with a very great train”</i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> to visit Solomon, King of Israel, </span><i style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">“to prove him with hard questions”</i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> (</span><a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/ot/1-kgs/10.1-13?lang=eng#primary" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">1 Kings 10:1-13</span></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">; </span><a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/ot/2-chr/9.1-12?lang=eng#primary" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">2 Chronicles 9:1-12</span></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Other historical and religious records—including the writings of first-century Jewish scholar and historian </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Josephus" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Flavius Josephus</span></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">, and the sacred texts of the </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Talmud" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Jewish Talmud</span></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">—indicate that the </span><a href="https://womeninscripture.com/the-queen-of-sheba/" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Queen of Sheba</span></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> not only brought along with her balsam unguents (among numerous other extravagant and expensive treasures) but also gifted King Solomon with <i>“the root of the balsam”</i> tree to plant in his kingdom—a very prized offering, indeed.</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Historically, at that time, the balsam tree only grew in the kingdom of Saba, which lay in the southwest corner of the Arabian Peninsula, in present-day Yemen; the kingdom of Saba has been identified with the biblical land of Sheba. And so, these more detailed texts credit the Queen of Sheba as the benefactress of balsam trees in Palestine.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Another interesting tales involving the famous sap-bearing balsam tree is related to two of history’s most famous lovers: <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cleopatra" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Cleopatra</span></a> and <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mark_Antony" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Marc Antony</span></a>. Cleopatra was the active ruler of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ptolemaic_Kingdom" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Ptolemaic Egypt</span></a> just decades before the emergence of the Roman Empire, and the subsequent transition of Egypt into a province of that growing power. Marc Antony was a Roman military general and an agent to <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Julius_Caesar" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Julius Caesar</span></a>; both men played critical roles in the events that led to the demise of the Roman Republic and the rise of the Roman Empire. Cleopatra had a son by Julius Caesar as an act of consummation related to their political liaison, which helped keep the Queen in power.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvKtng7WnWQ3kf08HJpkosVBpZI1iVJefbCywBVb63_KLVdQj7dcltU696w5dE9-dmzcT1KxAAP3HTIofndiurvRg0DsAScpk-Biv4AG204n63-XHwP6aV1VnhSUU3LEQUFdwnJL_RMr65/s1600/Frankincense+%2526+Myrrh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="574" data-original-width="799" height="459" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvKtng7WnWQ3kf08HJpkosVBpZI1iVJefbCywBVb63_KLVdQj7dcltU696w5dE9-dmzcT1KxAAP3HTIofndiurvRg0DsAScpk-Biv4AG204n63-XHwP6aV1VnhSUU3LEQUFdwnJL_RMr65/s640/Frankincense+%2526+Myrrh.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: #ffd966;">Frankincense and myrrh also come from sap-bearing plants;<br />they were among the priceless treasures given to the boy Jesus.</span></i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After Caesar’s assassination in 44 BC, Cleopatra became entwined with Marc Antony, both politically and romantically. As their relationship blossomed and burned passionately, Marc Antony asked his lover, Cleopatra, what he could do to prove his love to her. It is rumored that Cleopatra long desired to possess the treasures of the fertile lands west of the Dead Sea, where were planted groves and groves of balsam trees, among other rich commodities. To own the plants from which was made the most famous scent in the east would be a privilege of unmatched worth; so, she asked her lover to deed to her this land.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Unfortunately, that land belonged by sovereignty to </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Herod_the_Great" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">King Herod the Great</span></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> of Israel, and Marc Antony claimed he could not give it to her, but proposed that he could arrange for them to share the wealth from that region. In quick time Cleopatra became a co-owner and financial confederate with Herod. No doubt she obtained not only wealth from this partnership, but also an endless supply of her own product—bottomless vials and dishes filled with balsam oils and unguents to keep the Queen smelling like all royal women of her time should.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Commiphora gileadensis</i> (Arabian balsam) happens to be in the same genus as the plant from which myrrh comes, <i>Commiphora myrrha</i>—another tree whose resin is highly valuable, and has been for many centuries. Myrrh was among the gifts that the three wise men from the east brought to the young Jesus; incidentally, frankincense also comes from tree resin—another gift bestowed upon the boy who would become the Messiah (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/matt/2.11?lang=eng#10" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Matthew 2:11</span></a>). <i>Pistacia lentiscus</i> mastic is still collected today for use in aromatherapy oils, food dishes and candies, medicinal substances, and incense.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Satan strives to convince me that I am beyond repair.</i><br />"Temptation of Christ"<i> by Eric Armusik<br />Copyright © Eric Armusik</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">History fascinates me! And this rich record of the past was especially interesting to dig through—so much that I have had to rewrite this post several times to include more compelling trivia. But, in the end, why do I care about these seemingly insignificant facts? I didn’t—until the Spirit of God, Who testifies of all truth (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/alma/5.44-45?lang=eng#43" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Alma 5:44-45</span></a>) guided me, who <i>“[had] not faith”</i> to <i>“seek … diligently … out of the best books words of wisdom, … learning even by study and also by faith”</i> (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/dc-testament/dc/109.7?lang=eng#6" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">D&C 109:7</span></a>). I needed to expand my knowledge in this way so that God could expand my heart and make me receptive to the Holy Ghost. This hard (but fun!) research was not without its benefits and blessings.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I have been in need of healing recently; I have been in <i>search </i>of healing. I have had wounds that have been opened through poor choices, and I have not cared for them in proper ways. They have slowly festered and poisoned my soul and weakened my heart. I delayed repentance for a time, and allowed Satan to convince me that I was beyond repair. I have also slackened in my duties to worship God on the Sabbath, and to be worthy of the Redeemer’s flesh and blood offered at the sacrament table.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But the mercy and compassion of Christ the Savior have beckoned to me through my stubborn grief. He has spoken to me when I am alone with my thoughts; He speaks through my music, and manifests Himself in my dreams; His pierced hands are stretched toward me through the reach of beloved friends and family who care for and support me. I have been reminded that I am missed when I am gone, and that I am loved by people more than I know, and by more people than I know.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>One cannot place a value on the atonement of Jesus Christ; He<br />offers forgiveness and mercy to all, freely and without cost.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I had the agency to choose to sin; we all do. I still have that agency, and I still choose the mists of darkness too often (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/1-ne/8.23?lang=eng#22" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">1 Nephi 8:23</span></a>; <a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/1-ne/12.17?lang=eng#16" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">12:17</span></a>). Each time I stained that huge, almost-spotless calendar with mistakes that ruined my “perfect record,” I also used my agency to delay repentance and to try to make it on my own. That is perhaps a worse mistake that I make even more frequently: To believe that I am outside the scope of Christ’s atonement. I thought for a time that I did not need a Redeemer. I thought for a time that I did not need His grace. Sometimes the god of <i>this </i>world cries out louder for me to follow <i>him </i>into the darkness, even when I have been so long accustomed to living in the light of the true God of heaven.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">All while the adversary tugged my wrist impatiently in the direction of Babylon, I looked longingly over my shoulder for one more glimpse of Zion. My stance was one of uncertainty, and I dug my heels into the ground. Satan’s powerful pull recently inched me over the line that I thought I would never cross again. For a while, it seemed as if I was hesitantly straddling the divide between eternal life and eternal death, and that those were my only two choices. The aura of the atonement of Jesus Christ was almost visible, like a halo of light stretching far across the universe; and I felt then—like I often do still—as if the light stopped short just before it illuminated me. This is wrong! It is not true!</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpBony_hQBkE1XI1n8Kqj14hYpS3mjcj2B82tDFzVWI8UKMOKjoUoT_QxbBcMfiVhlqV9Yy-1Kf2efgWC7OArmVtDQzGcw49PW8aLMtGWdTPdu5SWjnOWFGZPGIB378tav9j1kpp4uBNpT/s1600/Red+Dripping+Mastic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="797" data-original-width="589" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpBony_hQBkE1XI1n8Kqj14hYpS3mjcj2B82tDFzVWI8UKMOKjoUoT_QxbBcMfiVhlqV9Yy-1Kf2efgWC7OArmVtDQzGcw49PW8aLMtGWdTPdu5SWjnOWFGZPGIB378tav9j1kpp4uBNpT/s640/Red+Dripping+Mastic.jpg" width="472" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Like this unique balsam tree bearing crimson mastic,<br />Jesus Christ shed His blood willingly for all mankind.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">If the atonement of Christ were a force we could behold, it would have no edges or ends; it is all-encompassing in every way, shape, and form—in every direction! This is the most important thing I have needed to learn in my recent trials—and I am still struggling to learn it. Satan wants me so much to fall, because he and I both know that to let go and fall is so much easier. But I am learning all over again, after many years of peace, how to climb. Climbing is harder; it is tiring at times. But it is getting me closer to home; it is taking me back to where I came from. And there are little moments along the way where I see my progress, and feel the angels nudging me gently up the eternal ladder.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">That’s what happened when I heard that song in my car—the ladder appeared. That is what happened when the Holy Ghost guided me to several encyclopedia articles on trees in distant lands—I began to climb. Taking time to study a title of the Savior—one of many—not only filled my brain with fun knowledge, but filled in some of the holes in my heart that have kept me from feeling like myself lately. It all reminds me that the Balm of Gilead is still offered to me at all times, without cost; it has already been bought and paid for, at the highest price, and I am already in debt to the Purchaser. That’s when the angels appeared and pushed me on, helping me get farther away from the devil and into a brighter sphere.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Perhaps not coincidentally, there are numerous balsam trees whose sap is actually deep crimson when it seeps out of the bark. Like the lifeblood of the mastic and Arabian Balsam trees, there is great value in the divine blood of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. Though, like the branches of the trees, He was pierced to let that blood run freely, He gave it still for us as a gift of immeasurable worth. And as we take the gift that His blood affords us in mortality—the love and forgiveness of our Father and Savior—there is need still to wash ourselves clean of all our impurities by repenting in sincerity, penitence, and all humility, that our garments may become clean, and so we can partake of that gift in full measure and potency (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/ot/isa/1.18?lang=eng#p17" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Isaiah 1:18</span></a>).</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>At the sacrament table we come unto Christ to partake of His flesh<br />and blood with the promise that we "may have His Spirit to be<br />with [us]."</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Like the bitter taste of the balsam sap, repentance is uncomfortable. It is never easy to approach our leaders and admit to wrongdoings. It may be even harder to approach God in prayer and confess our sins and ask for help and forgiveness. As the golden-brown sap of the balsam tree is chewed, it turns white; likewise, red mastic lightens when chewed as well. As we exercise faith in God and our good leaders, the bitterness of making repairs to our broken hearts and contrite spirits becomes a little sweeter, and the blemishes we have taken on begin to lose their color. Slowly, with continued obedience and diligent work and study, our spirits can finally become clean and white, and the bitterness of the past can become the fragrant aroma of peace in the now, hope in the future, and gratitude always for the redemption that Jesus Christ offers.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The prophet Jeremiah asked, <i>“Is there no balm in Gilead; is there no physician there?”</i> (</span><a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/ot/jer/8.22?lang=eng#21" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Jeremiah 8:22</span></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">). Though I need to be often reminded of this, my answer is a resounding <i>‘Yes!’</i> Jesus has the miracle cure in his possession; He holds the keys to our salvation, He paid the price for the healing balm. He does not charge for it; He offers it freely, saying <i>“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”</i> (</span><a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/matt/11.28?lang=eng#27" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Matthew 11:28</span></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Christ’s healing does not run out, nor does it expire. It was as powerful and effective in ancient times as it is today. It is as everlasting as the cruse of oil and barrel of meal that fed the prophet Elijah, a widow, and her son in the place called Zarapheth (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/ot/1-kgs/17.7-16?lang=eng#6" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">1 Kings 17:7-16</span></a>). The grace of the Messiah is endless and ever-present; it is the light which is never extinguished, and the fuel that is never exhausted. His power is as an everlasting light unto the nations of the earth, lighting the way back to the Father, to be exalted on high in the presence of the Almighty God and his angels.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNW2C-iM57HvtVdv4YTo-orQYLoYNnwRtmCC_TV-eqN7AeT-Lfc4uhqJwHv8vNTPyKLRj-V88yYAQMUroh816KYkokIwz-IkLXwVTDd91f5b7E6hbMq4t1WgJLlBwyKWiFzWnX_E3nw-oW/s1600/Bind+Up+the+Brokenhearted+by+Sandy+Freckleton+Gagon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="378" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNW2C-iM57HvtVdv4YTo-orQYLoYNnwRtmCC_TV-eqN7AeT-Lfc4uhqJwHv8vNTPyKLRj-V88yYAQMUroh816KYkokIwz-IkLXwVTDd91f5b7E6hbMq4t1WgJLlBwyKWiFzWnX_E3nw-oW/s640/Bind+Up+the+Brokenhearted+by+Sandy+Freckleton+Gagon.jpg" width="483" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Jesus rescues the captive and heals the wounded.</i><br />"Bind Up the Brokenhearted" <br /><i>by Sandy Freckleton Gagon</i><br /><i>Copyright © Sandy Freckleton Gagon</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Savior’s atoning power is not restricted to only the rich and powerful; it can be accessed by both king and slave, wealthy and destitute. It can humble the mighty that are puffed up in their pride, and redeem the meek and lowly of heart (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/2-ne/28.12-14?lang=eng#p11" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">2 Nephi 28:12-14</span></a>; <a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/matt/5.5?lang=eng#p4" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Matthew 5:5</span></a>). No one person or group can hold singular claim to His divine power. All who sincerely seek the Lord can come to know the mysteries of his truth, the goodness and mercy of His character, and the strength and peace of his forgiveness. And there is no ambiguity or confusion in the true identity of the soothing Balm of Gilead the Savior lends to us. It remains, forever, <i>His</i>—a kingly gift from the Prince of Peace.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Where sin, hurt, unkindness, judgment, or abuse have cut us deeply, the Balm of Gilead can be applied to cast out the pride, depression, guilt, and guile that would cause our wounds to fester; when by choice we allow these negative things to linger, there can be more pain than is necessary to learn the lesson that Heavenly Father wishes for us to learn. If our wounds are already infected with these destructive emotions and feelings, the blood of Christ can still cleanse the wound, and He, the Balm of Gilead can cover the open, vulnerable flesh so that it may rest, soothe, and heal.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">There will always be scars; some may not agree with that notion. Even the smallest wounds can come back to haunt us just by the reminders that are attached to them. Though God is willing to <i>“remember [our] sins no more”</i> as we sincerely repent, people like me don’t forget our mistakes as graciously (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/dc-testament/dc/58.42?lang=eng#p41" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">D&C 58:42</span></a>). But by applying the healing balm of Christ, the scars can be less noticeable, and more constructive to our understanding of ourselves and God.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">With hope and an eye toward the future, healing through the Balm of Gilead can be permanent. That doesn’t mean that we won’t commit the same sins again—certainly not. But if we bind up each wound as best we know how—as if it were the first time—and apply the Healer’s ointment while asking and expecting to be changed, that chapter in our life can be closed, and we can be better prepared for the continuation of our eternal story, which, for this time on earth, will still have its cuts and bruises. I have needed to internalize that the most.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Being caught up in the whirlwind of a few particular <i>“temptations and … sins which do so easily beset me”</i> (<a href="https://www.blogger.com/%EF%82%86%20https://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/2-ne/4.17-18?lang=eng#16" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">2 Nephi 4:17-18</span></a>), I have a hard time feeling like my repentance is ever complete, and that I am just counting down the hours or days until I commit the same sin again. But I am learning to see each scratch and dent in my virtue, my patience, my kindness, or my righteousness not as old wounds that never heal, or which I keep opening up through bad choices—but simply as small reminders that I was healed by the Balm of Gilead offered by my Redeemer Jesus Christ, and that<i> “He is merciful unto the children of men, and that he has all power to save every [person] that believeth on his name and bringeth forth fruit meet for repentance”</i> (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/alma/12.15?lang=eng#14" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Alma 12:15</span></a>).</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwMuf3qX1WjU6E2_WHXRpDRMSKLTzsPXLgOslFpK2IryYNFbPZ3gpVUfyspWtnYsG9H6YaA6cD5eLUR2kEBZgneijnfnIDLPJ3d2QIYS6mYZDMNGfCgUhm0_5ghUqQ-zsBfdQ2F_FJQkUg/s1600/Balm+of+Gilead+by+Annie+Henrie+Nader.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwMuf3qX1WjU6E2_WHXRpDRMSKLTzsPXLgOslFpK2IryYNFbPZ3gpVUfyspWtnYsG9H6YaA6cD5eLUR2kEBZgneijnfnIDLPJ3d2QIYS6mYZDMNGfCgUhm0_5ghUqQ-zsBfdQ2F_FJQkUg/s1600/Balm+of+Gilead+by+Annie+Henrie+Nader.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>"Balm of Gilead"<i> by Annie Henrie Nader</i><br /><i>Copyright © Annie Henrie Nader</i></b></span></td></tr>
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Wade W.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09389169527454451047noreply@blogger.com0Orem, UT, USA40.2968979 -111.6946474999999740.2000099 -111.85600899999997 40.3937859 -111.53328599999998tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8378638217296140991.post-48120219816783221102016-02-16T06:30:00.001-07:002016-11-12T05:00:47.209-07:00When I've Died and Gone to Heaven<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguHppEBB1gMr-yTIALeEPVwL3lxlqbtdiSb1yRFPwAYW-nD8JiWGFN7E45EKSw9zq9mDv1FghQk_vLwCmkmwZr0MvEkQNLLWv1pGQyLoPPP10qJ9Zb-j8QaahnE-4FLvkfW3h-rqA6wP-l/s1600/Sleeping+Person.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguHppEBB1gMr-yTIALeEPVwL3lxlqbtdiSb1yRFPwAYW-nD8JiWGFN7E45EKSw9zq9mDv1FghQk_vLwCmkmwZr0MvEkQNLLWv1pGQyLoPPP10qJ9Zb-j8QaahnE-4FLvkfW3h-rqA6wP-l/s400/Sleeping+Person.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>I often have such vivid dreams that I rarely forget them.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As I slept on the evening of January 28-29, 2016, I dreamed a rather lengthy and interesting dream. When I awoke, the various scenes of the dream were still vividly present in my mind, and weighed down with much emotion and provoking thought about what I had just experienced. I had the desire to record my dream, perhaps in an attempt to discover more meaning in it, if not just to remember it for how unique it was. I will leave interpretations aside, for now, and give the details of the dream as it played out.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My dream began with me sitting in the downstairs level of the house I grew up in; it’s not unusual for me to return to my childhood home in my dreams. In fact, a large portion of my dreams actually take place in or around that house, with its yard, street, and neighborhood just the way I remember it. The room downstairs was the one that my mother used as her sewing and craft room, which had a door that led outside, up some steps, and into the back yard.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXGf49NJa6njr3ZsdFNY6z50jz3UooKFdPhSF9CxagAhmqYhMnBZbbXQRliaqsImmWZTa65nr_UGIQN-ZUspTVzcouZv0ebRpi4Kb8XZYP_-k17YLnjyEKPQQploxHlhl99p0FaqBmBgGe/s1600/Light+Trhough+Windows+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXGf49NJa6njr3ZsdFNY6z50jz3UooKFdPhSF9CxagAhmqYhMnBZbbXQRliaqsImmWZTa65nr_UGIQN-ZUspTVzcouZv0ebRpi4Kb8XZYP_-k17YLnjyEKPQQploxHlhl99p0FaqBmBgGe/s400/Light+Trhough+Windows+1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>In my dream, the light of two Heavenly Beings was shining<br />from the outside into my darkened room. </i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I don’t recall why I was there, but I was comfortable and at peace; the floor seemed to be heavy laden with blankets and pillows and other fluffy objects. It was nighttime, and I was reclining in the soft pile, reading from a book that I interpreted to be scriptures, though they were not like my own actual, familiar set of scriptures. There were bright lights shining through the basement door window from the outside, and I could see the shadows the light cast as it moved through the trees in the backyard.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I knew somehow that the light was radiating from two heavenly Beings who had descended from on high with a special task. The Beings were God, the Eternal Father, and His Son, Jesus Christ. They were here to cleanse the earth, carry away the righteous with Them into glory, and destroy the wicked who were not prepared for Their coming. This is not the first dream I have had with the theme of Christ’s Second Coming or of the end of the world; surprisingly, I have these dreams frequently, and almost always I am at my childhood home when the last days arrive and the earth all around me begins to crumble and the sky begins to fall.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc0lixr1soKEjdoh1NbIhACxVR0om7hq8XT9ejRzJWVx54fVEnyLPdSeC6GPcUpAzl5hk_3BU9VZt4z6FYtyOWCbPEEJJilJD1cL4VLsHABUEoSI1mHqbtMsFsLlRT20TFTeO5kIaGVSuY/s1600/Reading+the+Scriptures.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc0lixr1soKEjdoh1NbIhACxVR0om7hq8XT9ejRzJWVx54fVEnyLPdSeC6GPcUpAzl5hk_3BU9VZt4z6FYtyOWCbPEEJJilJD1cL4VLsHABUEoSI1mHqbtMsFsLlRT20TFTeO5kIaGVSuY/s320/Reading+the+Scriptures.gif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>I was eagerly preparing to meet the Heavenly<br />Beings by perusing the scriptures. </i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Surprisingly, though, I was not scared this time, as I often am during my other dreams of the end of the world. I was anxiously waiting for the illuminated Beings to make Their decision of who would die and who would live through Their culminating visit to earth. I was preparing the room for Them—arranging, cleaning, and straightening things in the room that I remember always being there while my mom used the room for her work.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I expected the Godhead to enter the room at any moment, and I apparently wanted to make a good impression. More so I was preparing myself mentally and spiritually for what might happen next (hence, delving into the scriptures as I waited) as I knew in my dream-mind that the only options were to live to see heavenly glory or to perish in my wicked state at the moment my Father and Savior decided which of the two I was most worthy and deserving of.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As the light increased in the room, still shining from outside, I seemed to hear one of Their voices; it filled my whole body like great, booming thunder, but was as gentle to my soul as a feather floating on the breeze. Whether God or Christ, I do not know, but He spoke of ancient and modern prophecy predicting that the earth would be consumed at the end of days, and that <i>that </i>day was finally at hand. I waited there, listening carefully to the voice, in the sea of blankets and fluff to discover if I would be chosen to live or to die.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmIeQqPy5IJUUba8JTOwMCyna0cTTGPXMAHIdL-u8BdSosq3heoqgjKYQxUH-dsgo0dAkNL5uPmVoehQ6rfAjBTKMYFd26Hqd7tsbU-oUppxRf7bioAXg9rPE2Sd9O_0MNvo-A9neMygJB/s1600/Dreamy+Clouds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmIeQqPy5IJUUba8JTOwMCyna0cTTGPXMAHIdL-u8BdSosq3heoqgjKYQxUH-dsgo0dAkNL5uPmVoehQ6rfAjBTKMYFd26Hqd7tsbU-oUppxRf7bioAXg9rPE2Sd9O_0MNvo-A9neMygJB/s400/Dreamy+Clouds.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>Suddenly I found myself flying upward through the clouds <br />and bursting into a realm of light.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Suddenly, I began to feel lighter, as if I were a balloon swelling with helium and rising against gravity. My consciousness began to slide, and my awareness shifted out of my mother’s sewing room in my childhood home, and into another approaching realm. I was somewhere in between the floor and the ceiling, but continued to rise; I quickly felt no longer present in the room, as if I must be miles into the night sky. My eyes darkened slightly, but only for a moment, when to my view I saw blue sky and white clouds, touched by golden sunshine and bright with light. I lamented briefly, realizing that I must not have survived the cleansing of earth; until I saw myself in a place of beauty that seemed so strange, yet so familiar.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As I flew up through the clouds, I turned again to face downward, where I saw numerous structures, lush gardens with waterfalls, and various people. It seemed then that I was flying downward past all these structures, waterfalls, and people, but not falling. All of these things passed my view numerous times, as if they were repeating on some visual loop. In my mind, some spirit whispered to me that the vastness and beauty I beheld was representative of eternity, both literally and figuratively. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>From the wondrous scenery I beheld around me, I knew<br />that I must be in heaven. </i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The repetition of the scenery symbolized a life that goes on forever and ever, without beginning of days, or end of years, and the vastness and beauty represented the immense and glorious community of Heavenly Father’s children of which I was now going to be a part. This was the place where I would now spend my afterlife, yet I knew that there was even more to come in eternity of which I could not yet even dream.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As I soared to a stop on the ground, amidst a sort of town square with high, white-stone buildings, there was immediately a man next to me whom I had never seen before, but I recognized him immediately—it was the Savior Jesus Christ. I was in heaven. Whether dead or translated in the twinkling of an eye, my spirit lived on, and I was in the presence of the Man for whom I had lived and fought so hard to follow and emulate during my life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The moment was one of disbelief, followed by a sense of joy and fulfillment that was both unexpected and familiar. I embraced Him, as if He were a familiar friend whom I just hadn’t seen in a while. I knew Him, and He knew me. We were not strangers to one another. He looked different than I had imagined, and I made the remark in my head that I never would have thought he’d look so normal, so average—a human, a Man, just like me.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF-SwGwEX0pyeiO4kkdt90rjZzJ3DmN8paQBpsd3PmsNXfn9bvHMyh38nMHSjVDmTcKxcZxE0wGYWnN5RW4MGBtdmJlpXVemPrdzNC44SUgtojC2LJ6D7jV4K_0LDzPK7AdBosBfbH6sXp/s1600/Home+by+David+Bowman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF-SwGwEX0pyeiO4kkdt90rjZzJ3DmN8paQBpsd3PmsNXfn9bvHMyh38nMHSjVDmTcKxcZxE0wGYWnN5RW4MGBtdmJlpXVemPrdzNC44SUgtojC2LJ6D7jV4K_0LDzPK7AdBosBfbH6sXp/s320/Home+by+David+Bowman.jpg" width="264" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>"Home" by David Bowman</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Copyright </i></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;">© </span><i style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">David Bowman</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The next few moments were quite shocking, even for a dream. Without saying</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> a word, Jesus faced me, closed His eyes, and out-stretched His hands. He did not speak, but in my mind I heard Him say that He was sorry for all that I had to go through during my life in order to make it back to Him. He said He didn’t blame me if I was angry with Him, and that He understood if I wanted some closure in relation to all the pain that He had put me through. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Then unexpectedly, I realized that He was right; I had experienced a lot of turmoil during my mortal life. I had experienced homosexuality all my life, yet had sacrificed much to be an active Latter-day Saint. I lived with the challenges of Tourettes, obsessive compulsive disorder, and anxiety. I had experienced so much stigma and judgment; people were mean at times, inconsiderate, and heartless. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Many times my trials weakened me and made me feel worthless, unloved, and unwanted. I had plenty of reason to be angry with a God and a Savior Who would allow me to experience so much lifelong grief. I wondered why I had to suffer all of that just to be saved. I wondered why Jesus didn’t save me from all of those things, to keep them from happening.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">He was right; I </span><i style="font-family: georgia, 'times new roman', serif;">was </i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">angry! I was angry with Him for my sufferings. It was all His fault. He was the reason! He was the cause! Then all at once, without hesitation or reserve, I struck my Savior. I tore down His outstretched arms; I slapped and punched His face; I delivered blows to His chest and kicked Him, and He stood completely still and suffered it. I wanted to punish Him the way He seemed to have punished me. I wanted Him to feel the pain that I had felt so many times, and this was the only way I knew how. With hot tears of rage wetting my face, I threw my arms and fists at Him almost helplessly until I had not the energy to do so anymore. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>"Safely Home" by Ron DiCianni</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Copyright </i></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;">© </span><i style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Ron DiCianni</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Slowly, the rage subsided into shame and sorrow. My blows weakened, and so did my body. With immense regret, and still a tinge of frustration, I collapsed into Christ’s chest with heavy sobs. My knees buckled, and I slipped to the ground as He wrapped His arms around me and descended with me into a tearful heap. He held me as I cried, and didn’t say a word. Then the voice came again to my mind, saying that I had suffered in mortality as He had once suffered in mortality. He had taken on the sins of a fallen world in order to succor the weak in their infirmities and offer grace to the souls of men and women who believed on His name and trusted in He and His Father’s ultimate love.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The turmoil, pain, suffering, loneliness, and frailty that I experienced was just a tiny, incomparable portion of what He suffered on my behalf; but through my faith in Him, it was just enough to refine and perfect me, even as He is perfect, so that I could once again be here in His mighty arms. He was beaten, He was struck, and He was pained. He was pierced through, He bled, and He died—all in far more terrible ways than I could inflict upon Him in my selfish moment of resentment. I had survived mortality, and then died and gone to heaven because of my faith in Him. He <i>was </i>the reason! He <i>was </i>the cause! He was everything that I needed and wanted to help me through, and everything I needed and wanted to become. He didn’t save me <i>from </i>my trials, but He saved me <i>in </i>my trials, to keep me from becoming lost on my way back to Him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">During my assault on the Savior, I felt in my mind that this was what all of God’s children experienced when they died and met their Lord for the first time. Each man and woman who ever travailed through life had the chance to confront their Savior and question all that they had ever done to follow Him. The reality of standing in heaven at that moment was not enough, apparently, for me to know that I had succeeded in the test of mortality. I had to confront the reasons for my test of life, and the Man Who made it possible for me to conquer it, and consider whether or not it was all worth it. It was a beautiful message to me, even in a dream state, as it is now. I had to acknowledge that no matter how I felt about Jesus Christ, every knee would eventually bow, and every tongue confess that He is the Savior and Redeemer of the world (see <a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/philip/2.10-11?lang=eng#9" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Philippians 2:10-11</span></a>).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I do not have to wait until I see my Redeemer face to face, and look into His eyes, to know of His divine nature and living reality. And I do not have to wait for that moment to take His hands into mine and feel the scars of the crucifiers nails to know that His life, His death, and His resurrection were all for me. To be sitting there, tangled in the loving arms my Lord and Savior in my unconscious mind, fully and unspeakably grateful for His sacrifice, was something so glorious and almost-tangible that I hope to live my life in every possible way to make that interaction a living reality someday.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>"Every Knee Shall Bow" by J. Kirk Richards</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Copyright </i></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;">© </span><i style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">2012 by J. Kirk Richards</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Here the dynamic of my dream shifted as I realized that if I was in heaven, I had left my family and friends behind. Gone was the previous notion that the earth was destroyed in Christ’s Second Coming. My dreams (probably many individuals’ dreams) do this often—changing directions while holding onto elements from previous scenes on the stage of my subconscious. However, during the next scene I was given the charge and the honor of being a guardian angel for my family, and to watch over and comfort them as they grieved my departure.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Though perhaps a bit macabre or depressing, I’ve often visited my own funeral in my mind and wondered about it—who would attend, what would be said about me, what it would be like. And in my dream, I didn’t want to leave my family behind without them knowing that I was okay. I knew that time in heaven was different, and I was afraid that I would have missed attending my funeral. Like looking at the clock and realizing you’re late for an appointment, I suddenly discovered that because I had died recently, I could still make it to my funeral, where all my family was gathered to pay their last respects to me. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>After I had died and gone to heaven in my dream, I then had<br />the opportunity to attend my own funeral.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And in an instant (because spirits can travel quickly) I was walking toward a crowd of my family members who were standing about talking just after my funeral had finished. In my dream, no one could see me, but I was interacting with them and they could feel me there and gauge my actions and responses, as if the veil between us were very thin. Everyone looked somber and drained, and many eyes were wet and red from grieving tears.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I was surprised that the first person I rushed to embrace in spirit was my dad. He was one of the first people I saw at my funeral, and I longed to tell him that I was okay. Because my immediate family members are not actively religious, I worried that some of them, like my dad, might be confused and unsettled about where I had gone, and if my death was final. As I wrapped my arms around my dad, he held me tightly and said, “I can feel Wade like he’s right here with me.” It’s strange (as dreams are), but I talked to him face to face, as if he could see me, but according to the unspoken laws of this dream, I knew I was just a spirit, and he could not see or hear me. But he discerned my presence through some special, sweet force that I had been given as their guardian angel.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">In my spirit form, I hugged my dad, and reassured him that<br />I was okay—that I had made it to heaven.</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Worried that my dad might not find closure in my death unless he could know that I was okay, the first thing I said to him with my spiritual voice was, “Dad, I made it. I made it.” He smiled, and commented to the others around him that he knew I was in a good place—that I was in heaven—just like I had always wanted. I was so happy that I was able to convey this peaceful message to him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Subsequently I hugged my favorite aunt, who was also in attendance, as well as my brothers, my sister-in-law, and my oldest nephew; to each of them I reassured them, “I made it. I made it back.” I knew that if I had done anything right in the way I lived my mortal life, then they would know that my greatest desire and goal in my existence, death, and the afterlife, was to go to heaven when I died. And not just to glory and peace, but the highest glory attainable—even the Celestial Kingdom, to live in the presence of God the Father and Jesus Christ forever. I wanted them to know that I had achieved my goal, and my purpose.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Even in my sleep, I feel emotions so strongly when I dream. I have woken up from intensely emotional dreams with tears in my eyes, or shouting out to people in anger, frustration, or with passion and love. The feelings of this part of the dream were so bittersweet. After seeing all of my family, I was terribly distraught that I couldn’t find my mother in the crowd of attendees at my funeral. My relationship with my mother is one of immense closeness, love, and respect; so naturally, even in a dream (and even in death), she was the person I wanted to see and comfort the most.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i><span style="color: #ffd966;">The most bittersweet moment of attending my own funeral,<br />was attempting to comfort my grieving mother.</span></i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Finally, I saw her. She came staggering into the area, aided by a couple of unknown people who were holding her hands as if to help her to stand. I ran to her, and stood a few arm lengths away. She was looking at the ground as she walked, as if to be careful of her steps; then she looked up, as if she knew I was there, but she peered into the crowd of others gathered around. She smiled at everyone and whispered greetings, thanking everyone for coming; but her weak body language was that of anguish, and her demeanor spoke of deep stress and pain. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My emotions were caught up in a rush of empathy and love, and I fell into her bosom and sobbed. Like my dad, she made a similar comment about feeling me nearby, as if I were right there; though, again, I knew I was only there in spirit, she still reciprocated my embrace as if I were there in the flesh. I pulled away to look her into her eyes and I yelled that I was there, that I was with her, and that I always would be. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Despite being reunited with my Lord and Redeemer only moments earlier—the Man I had lived my whole life for—the next person with whom I felt the most connection and intense love was the woman standing right in front of me, grieving the death of her youngest son while trying to stay strong. It was heart-wrenching. It cut me to my core, even as I slept alive and well in my room, dreaming up the scene in my subconscious mind. It was she who had been the largest contributor to my very existence since I had been born to Heavenly Parents prior to my conception on earth.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>I promised my family that no matter what, we would all be<br />together in heaven someday.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I didn’t know how long I had been dead; according to the conversations I heard going on around me at the funeral, it was just before Christmas that I had passed away. But I thought of the anguish my mother would still have to experience as she cleaned out my apartment and sorted through my belongings. I couldn’t bear to cause her any more pain than she had already experienced in saying goodbye to me physically, but to then have to part with all the reminders of me as well was enough to tear me apart.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As I comforted my mother in spirit, I made her a solemn promise that I would prepare the way to receive her when the time came for her to pass on. I promised her that I would do everything in my power as an angel to put in a good word, save her a seat, and get her ready to spend eternity with me. In fact, I told my whole family this—my dad, my brothers, my nephew—all of my non-religious family members who many people of faith might suppose would not have a place in heaven because of their unbelief. I dreaded so much the thought of being without them in the eternities that I knew I would give anything to ensure that we could stay together. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I kissed my mother many times before I parted; apparently, my responsibilities as an angel required me to be elsewhere, and I knew that my time with them in that moment was running short. But I promised them all that I would never be far away, and that in an instant my spirit could be with them whenever they needed me, and that I would know of their prayers and be there to answer them, God willing.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>I'm not sure I believe that every dream has to have a<br />meaning; but I believe they can still have powerful messages.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Now, there are many people who put a lot of stock into dreams and their interpretations. I often wonder about the meaning of the common threads that run through many of my dreams—such as that I dream frequently about the Second Coming of Christ, the end of days, and about my childhood home—but I’m not sure I necessarily believe that all dreams have to be premonitory or symbolically meaningful to my current life, or a reflection of my thoughts, actions, or behavior patterns.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Nevertheless, this dream struck me hard. I woke up with an array of emotions that I can feel strongly now even as I type. I am reminded of the life that I live in faith—being gay and a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (<a href="https://www.mormon.org/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Mormons</span></a>)—and of why I choose to align my choices and actions with God’s laws rather than man’s, by refraining from giving into very natural yet carnal wants and desires. If you’ve read my blog in the past, particularly posts like “<a href="http://myshatteredsilence.blogspot.com/2013/08/the-greener-side.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">The Greener Side</span></a>,” you know that my example to my family and my desire to serve them in righteousness as a man of faith was a major factor in my decision to return from a life of sexual sin and inactivity in my religion, to living in worthiness before God and Jesus Christ.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiazuhNn1wxdSHyriGv9Z5Y45btFeSqyUyvHZXmorekyP9u2yisxfqFLwoFluKweKqgmIsKq6CTj0kE0PSyllTu5s3MwC8-sw9Ornym2DtYavw200UZ2apO0w9nOmHXjJAocIpwQqvg2t-v/s1600/Jesus+Holding+Man.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="335" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiazuhNn1wxdSHyriGv9Z5Y45btFeSqyUyvHZXmorekyP9u2yisxfqFLwoFluKweKqgmIsKq6CTj0kE0PSyllTu5s3MwC8-sw9Ornym2DtYavw200UZ2apO0w9nOmHXjJAocIpwQqvg2t-v/s400/Jesus+Holding+Man.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>My dream of dying and going to heaven was a beautiful<br />reminder of Jesus Christ's gifts of salvation and immortality.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My dreams are often vivid, colorful, and full of life, and this dream was no exception. To imagine how my new life might be when I finally cross through the veil into the spirit world is something that keeps me in check, not because I fear God or His punishment, but because I trust in His blessings and power. I do not doubt that when I stand before the throne of God to be judged, with Jesus Christ acting as my Mediator and Advocate with the Father, that I will be fully aware of all my deeds and thoughts in life—those that were acceptable before the Lord, and those that were not. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But I trust that through the application of the atoning blood of Jesus Christ, my mortal inadequacies will level out with what I have offered to the Godhead through personal sacrifice, and I will not be surprised by where I then stand in the kingdom of God. The sacrifice of the Savior of the world will make up so much of the difference then as it does now in daily life; at the final judgment, I like to think that it will make up all the difference, and maybe then some.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Over the last few years, I feel that the godly characteristics I have come to know and trust in the most are mercy and compassion. I have learned how to better navigate through occasional transgressions and shortcomings in constructive and meaningful ways that help me to build upon a foundation of repentance and grace, rather than tearing myself down with destructive feelings of guilt and shame. I feel that I am far, far harder on myself than my Heavenly Father ever is on me, and that He is quick to forgive and help me move on in my discipleship, even when I can’t help but obsessively focus on all the factors that caused me to falter. He doesn’t want me to dwell long on failure, but to hold my light and little higher and take the next step on the darkened path ahead. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>I have come to cherish and embrace the overflowing mercy<br />and compassion offered to me by my Father and Savior.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I believe that God’s mercy is overflowing in its availability, if we can but take the cup to our lips and drink of it generously and let it fill us and make us whole. And as our “cup runneth over,” we can conclude as King David did, <i>“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/ot/ps/23.5-6?lang=eng#4" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Psalms 23:5-6</span></a>)</i>. Also, I know that the united compassion of God and the Redeemer is such that Their divine and immaculate hearts swell within their breasts out of love, care, support, and favor for the children of the Eternal Father who suffer, travail, and triumph on earth.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Like Job of old, I can testify of the reality of an afterlife with God, made possible through the merits of a Savior, Jesus Christ, who saved me in the kingdom of God by giving all that He had and all that He is in diligence to His Father’s will:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> <i>“For I know that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth:</i></span><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “And though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God:</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “Whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall behold, and not another; though my [heart] be consumed within me” (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/ot/job/19.25-27?lang=eng#24" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Job 19:25-27</span></a>).</span></i></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Importantly, I know also that I will not be without my family in heaven. Though I have never been sealed to my family in the temple, and will likely never have that opportunity while my family members are yet alive, I know that through Heavenly Father’s mercy, compassion, and the ordinances of the Holy Priesthood, I will not be denied the blessing of an eternal, forever family. And though I dread the day when I will have to say temporary goodbyes to those I love so much, I glory in the knowledge that my parting is just that—temporary!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Eternal life and salvation through Jesus Christ the Lord are not dreams or fantasies like the one I recently had during the night. They are a glorious reality that I will one day be part of; and the emotion, the peace, and the power of it all will be far more vivid, colorful, and spectacular than my unconscious brain could ever concoct. The time away from my family members who will eventually move on to that next step of their eternal journey will be so difficult for me, I’m certain. But I know that I will be reunited with them again someday when they come to meet me at the veil after I’ve died and gone to heaven.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>"Dream as if you'll live forever; live as if you'll die today."</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>~ James Dean, American Actor (1931 - 1955)</i></span></div>
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Wade W.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09389169527454451047noreply@blogger.com0Orem, UT 84058, USA40.2814786 -111.773390240.1845746 -111.93475169999999 40.3783826 -111.6120287tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8378638217296140991.post-10992061768026776172015-01-07T20:55:00.001-07:002016-01-24T01:50:30.277-07:00With Warm Regards—A Lesson in Charity<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgix0Anlyws7Pgge6EvNc33OdrLlGjzIafTsenBehuJ98Odl8KzGdlKppRpCSP7Ri6KKY647rcDwiLba4_I-jv4SxRZJrs89Dz7xlogr-PB8fIyWW2xzNwLekaXV3HKIer3DMsIUh68R9Cx/s1600/Destitute+Boy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgix0Anlyws7Pgge6EvNc33OdrLlGjzIafTsenBehuJ98Odl8KzGdlKppRpCSP7Ri6KKY647rcDwiLba4_I-jv4SxRZJrs89Dz7xlogr-PB8fIyWW2xzNwLekaXV3HKIer3DMsIUh68R9Cx/s1600/Destitute+Boy.jpg" width="316" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>Once, as a child, I found myself greatly </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: #ffd966;"><i>concerned </i></span><i style="color: #ffd966;">for a less-fortunate boy </i><i style="color: #ffd966;">around </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i style="color: #ffd966;">m</i><i style="color: #ffd966;">y own age.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I think I’ve always had a natural concern for the wellbeing of others. I always notice when others are different in some way, especially if they seem challenged or less fortunate in the life circumstances which God has given to them to travail in life (see <a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/ether/12.27?lang=eng#26" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Ether 12:27</span></a>). My heart often hurts immediately for them, and I silently reach out to them with thoughts of love and well-wishes, and usually a small, quiet prayer in their behalf. It’s usually all I feel I can do, though I wish I could do more.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I remember once as a child, maybe five or six years-old, going to a local church or community function and seeing a boy who I interpreted to be of meager means. His clothes were not like mine—likely misfitted hand-me-downs—and he didn’t have a warm coat like I did, and it was winter. I went home that night greatly concerned with his circumstances. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As my mother and I made up my bed with clean, still-warm sheets just out of the dryer, I asked her tearfully if that little boy was going to be okay. I wanted so badly to be sure that he would be. As far as I can recollect, my mother explained to me in simple terms that some people are less fortunate than others, but that many manage to get by each day—a challenging concept for me, her young son, to understand. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I sobbed a little more, and like I often do, begged a little more reassurance and affirmation from my mother. Somehow, she eventually soothed my anxieties, but I think I still crawled in between those warm sheets that night hoping that the little boy, wherever he was, had the blessing of sleeping in a warm bed, too. I will always remember that experience as I retrace the roots of my lifelong concern and love for my fellow mortal travelers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It is likely that my desire to do good unto others comes, in large part, from my mother. All my life I have seen her serve selflessly and almost tirelessly to make sure her family, friends, acquaintances, coworkers, and near-perfect-strangers feel loved, wanted, appreciated, and cared for. She gives for the pleasure of giving, and loves for the reward of being loved in return.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>From cooking, to sewing, to crafting, my mother uses her<br />many talents to serve others, and she has taught me to as well.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Between her excellent cooking and baking abilities, expert sewing skills, crafting, painting, woodworking, gardening, and numerous other God-given talents, there is always something that she can offer of her own two hands and gentle heart to brighten someone else’s life; certainly she does not bury her talents, but causes them to multiply and blossom to the benefit of others (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/matt/25.14-29?lang=eng#13" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Matthew 25:14-29</span></a>; <a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/dc-testament/dc/60.13?lang=eng#12" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Doctrine & Covenants 60:13</span></a>). She is resourceful and innovative, intuitive and inspired in her service. And it never fails that I feel the Spirit of God strongly when I see her service in action.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My mother has always tried to teach me that service is not something that we offer in exchange for fanfare. Indeed, my mother can render the most beautiful, thoughtful, heartfelt gifts to others of her own choice and freewill, and receive little in the way of acknowledgment or thanks for the almost-obsessive effort she puts into everything she does.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I have seen it happen many times over my lifetime. My mother is a woman who always goes the extra mile, even when she doesn’t have to and wasn’t asked to, probably just hoping that the smile of her benefactor will be a little bigger, or that their heart will be a little fuller. There have been times when I’ve thought I may have seen a tinge of disappointment in my mother’s countenance when her offerings failed to solicit the joy she hoped for or intended; but abiding her own counsel, she shrugs at those times and says something to the effect of, “Give what you can and expect nothing in return.” Though a noble philosophy, that answer has always pained me a little; but she has tried to make that lesson stick with me—that I can’t force gratitude from anyone, no matter how monumental I think my service is.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>I've found ways </i></span><i style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium;">over the years </i><i style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium;">to give charity to others,</i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i><br />and it's something I really enjoy doing.</i></span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I’ve enjoyed giving gifts and offering service over the years, and I’ve found ways to do so almost quietly, imperceptibly, and as much as possible, without fanfare. I delight especially in opportunities for anonymous giving; there’s something extra special to me about taking no credit for my gift, but being able to be a standby witness of the fruits of love as I share what I have with someone else. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Generosity with anonymity, especially from a stranger, to me seems sweeter, and makes me feel closer to the human family of God’s children. John Bunyun, a 17th century English Christian writer and preacher captured this feeling in eloquent words by saying, “You have not lived today until you have done something for someone who can never repay you.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When the charity I offer isn’t anonymous, it still brings me a lot of pleasure, joy, and fulfillment. My goal in offering charity is that, to some extent, someone else will feel the immense love that their Heavenly Father and Savior, Jesus Christ, have for them (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/john/3.16?lang=eng#15" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">John 3:16</span></a>). Because I know that God loves each of His children immensely, I especially want to convey this wonderful message to those who might not be as sure as I am (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/dc-testament/dc/18.10?lang=eng#9" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Doctrine & Covenants 18:10</span></a>). My hope in doing so is that somewhere another human being (especially those I particularly care about) is not feeling so hopeless, so alone, so rejected, so despised, so weak, so lost, so ignored because I reached out to them in a note, a letter, a card, a small gift, or even a phone call, text, or email.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"Lead Kindly Light"<i> by Simon Dewey</i></span><br />
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<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>Copyright </i>©<i> Simon Dewey </i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>(Courtesy of Altus Fine Art)</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I believe that illuminating even one soul with the light of Christ is a celebrated gesture in the eyes of heaven that I get to share in (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/dc-testament/dc/18.15-16?lang=eng#14" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Doctrine & Covenants 18:15-16</span></a>). But lately, I’ve felt a great deal of discouragement in offering service and charity because, honestly, I think I’m losing sight of the true reward. The efforts I make to bring the light of Christ to others, I've felt, more often linger in the darkness of silence and distance (see <a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/dc-testament/dc/6.21?lang=eng#20" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Doctrine & Covenants 6:21</span></a>; <a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/dc-testament/dc/88.50?lang=eng#49" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Doctrine & Covenants 88:50</span></a>; <a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/john/8.12?lang=eng#11" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">John 8:12</span></a>). Many times I am brought to the awkward point of breaking anonymity by straightway asking those to whom I gave something if they received my gifts because, frankly, I’m not entirely sure that they were delivered. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As I obsessively stress that my little bundle of love and joy is collecting dust in the fictional “Dead Letter” room at the post office, I receive an absent-minded response from the person saying something like, “<i>Oh yeah, I forgot.</i>” Not a ‘<i>thank you,</i>’ or an ‘<i>I love it!</i>’ just a nonchalant acknowledgment of the item’s receipt. And inside of me, all the hope for a happier day that I wished for that person, all the comfort and love I had imagined and re-imagined they’d experience completely crumbles. Even worse is when I know that the item was received—if after a considerable amount of time it wasn’t returned to me—and there is total silence.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My mother’s advice has fallen again and again from her lips in the past few months and has resonated in my mind. She often tells me that I have a unique, perhaps rare perception of the needs of others and a talent for reaching out to people in meaningful ways; and I recognize that in myself, and in her. Neither of us is attempting to be ostentatious by any means, but she and I both understand that we are similar in that regard. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We know the way we would like to be treated by others, and therefore we strive to treat others that way as often as possible. And because we hold courtesy and gratitude at a higher level than some others might, too often we find ourselves disappointed with the status quo: that not everyone is going to give thanks, give recognition, or even give a damn about what we do for them—and we have to learn to be okay with that, and even press on in giving to others still.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>As my service seemed to go unnoticed,<br />I wondered if I should cut charitable<br />acts from my list of responsibilities.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">That has been the hardest part for me lately. I’ve told myself so many times, with a spirit of disgruntled abdication, that I’m no longer going to send letters to this person or that because I never hear back from him or her. I’ve considered making “cuts” to my list of regular charitable acts to save myself from disappointment. I tell myself that I’m not going to give of myself unless I can receive some kind of eventual gratification. The thought has entered my mind that perhaps some people just don’t appreciate what I try to do for them; even more dismal are the times I wonder if people truthfully despise me and my (or anyone’s) efforts at charity. I suppose any of those hypotheses could be true.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Guilt has been a sort of odd emotion for me to feel about all of these issues, but it is there. I feel ashamed that I am allowing myself to be hurt, upset, or frustrated by people whom I perceive as not having the same standards of courtesy that I strive to display. Of course, I don’t always know of any extenuating circumstances they might be experiencing, though I try to hold that in consideration. Maybe they really did forget, even though they did appreciate my gift. Maybe they have to go out of their way to get to a computer or post office to send a reply. Maybe they are busy with their spouse or their children, or work or school, or some other responsibility and just don’t have time to respond. Even giving the benefit of the doubt, I still feel like the hypocrites spoken of by Jesus in His Sermon on the Mount, who “sound a trumpet before [them]” when they do their alms “that they may have glory of men” (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/matt/6.1-2?lang=eng#primary" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Matthew 6:1-2</span></a>; <a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/3-ne/13.1-2?lang=eng#primary" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">3 Nephi 13:1-2</span></a>).</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>I've learned that the seeds of God's love<br />which I plant with charity toward others<br />can be reaped by me and by those I serve.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“Verily,” the Lord says, “they have their reward.” And their reward is the praise and ego-inflating commendation they receive from others who witness their false modesty and less-than-humble generosity. I’ve considered this commandment of the Master as I’ve pondered what my reward is in offering service. The conclusion to which I came, which I am comfortable in trusting, is that my personal desire to give to others is not rooted in being seen of others. I do not aim to please the spectators of charitable acts who wait to applaud my generosity. I aim to have a positive effect on the life of someone else, and thereby please my God and Savior by serving as They have commanded me to. Important also is that when I serve I am (hopefully) bringing the love God to one of His children and allowing heaven to shine down upon my brothers and sisters.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My other motivation has at times seemed a little selfish to me, but as I’ve pondered it and learned more about it, I’ve felt reassured that I am not in the wrong. I speak of the knowledge and trust I have that if I make an effort to bless the lives of others, I will also be blessed in return. Even if my offering is not acknowledged or even accepted, I know that the Lord will find a way for me to benefit from it temporally or spiritually—and I may never know the precise way in which the blessing is returned to me. As Jesus said, “thy Father which seeth in secret himself shall reward thee openly” (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/matt/6.3-4?lang=eng#2" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Matthew 6:3-4</span></a>; <a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/3-ne/13.3-4?lang=eng#2" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">3 Nephi 13:3-4</span></a>).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Some like to call this phenomenon karma—based on Hindu and Buddhist belief and tradition. The Lord Himself refers to it as a “law” which was “irrevocably decreed in heaven before the foundations of this world, upon which all blessings are predicated.” Further He clarifies that “when we obtain any blessing from God, it is by obedience to that law” (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/dc-testament/dc/130.20-21?lang=eng#19" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Doctrine & Covenants 130:20-21</span></a>).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Lord Jesus Christ commanded His disciples to love one another as He had loved them. “By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another,” He said (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/john/13.34-35?lang=eng#33" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">John 13:34-35</span></a>). This applies to all who wish to call themselves a disciple of Christ. We are all to love our fellow men and women as the Lord loves them. One way we show our love for others is by serving them. In this way, as we listen to the direction of the Holy Ghost, we become instruments in the hands of God in providing for the temporal and spiritual wellbeing of those around us who stand in need. As spoken by Spencer W. Kimball, former President of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, “God does notice us, and He watches over us. But it is usually through another person that He meets our needs. Therefore, it is vital that we serve each other in the kingdom” (<a href="https://www.lds.org/manual/teachings-spencer-w-kimball/chapter-8?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Spencer W. Kimball (2006), pp. 79-88</span></a>).</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">"From Darkness to Light"<i> by Simon Dewey</i><br /><i>Copyright </i>©<i> Simon Dewey (Courtesy of Altus Fine Art)</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Even the richest of individuals have need of the good that can be provided by another if they will be open to receive it; and even the poorest on God’s earth have something they can offer their neighbor if they are willing to give it in humility and trust.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As a child of my Heavenly Father, I have been called to serve my God, my Savior, and my fellow men and women. As one hymn declares, I have been “chosen e’er to witness for His name,” with the duty that “far and wide His love [I will] proclaim” (<a href="https://www.lds.org/music/library/hymns/called-to-serve?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Hymn 249—“Called to Serve”</span></a>) I try my best to take that duty seriously, and I find great joy in serving others.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I think to some extent I will always struggle a little with feeling satisfied that what I do for others is enough. But I take reassurance in knowing that true charity is the quality that will make me most like my Savior, Jesus Christ, and prepare me to live in His presence (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/moro/7.47-48?lang=eng#46" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Moroni 7:47-48</span></a>). What I’ve learned about charity recently can largely be taken from a portion of the Apostle Paul’s epistle to the Corinthians </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(see <a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/1-cor/13.4-10?lang=eng#3" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">1 Corinthians 13:4-10</span></a>)</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When I feel discouraged, thinking that I want to stop serving others and giving of myself, especially to those who remain silent, I will remember that </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">charity suffereth long</i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When I feel inclined to be upset with someone who does not acknowledge my service in their behalf, I will remember that <i>charity is kind</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When I want to be jealous of the seemingly-greater gifts given by others, I will remember that <i>charity envieth not</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When I feel I want to boast in the service I give to others, I will remember that <i>charity vaunteth not itself,</i> and <i>is not puffed up</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When I next feel tempted to break anonymity with the gifts I give, I will trust the Lord and remember that <i>charity does not behave itself unseemly</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When I feel the desire to give to one but not to another, I will remember that <i>charity seeketh not her own</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When I feel angry or upset because someone seems less than grateful, I will remember that <i>charity is not easily provoked</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>“Wherefore, be
faithful; stand in the office which I have </i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>appointed unto you; succor the weak,
lift up the hands which </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i><span style="color: #ffd966;">hang down, and strengthen the feeble knees" (</span><a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/dc-testament/dc/81.5?lang=eng#4" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Doctrine &</span></a></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i><a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/dc-testament/dc/81.5?lang=eng#4" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Covenants 81:5</span></a><span style="color: #ffd966;">)</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When next I am tempted to judge harshly someone else’s need for or receipt of service, I will remember that <i>charity thinketh no evil</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When I am tempted to believe that I am not doing any good by serving others, I will remember the blessings of the Lord, knowing that <i>charity rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in truth</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When personally I struggle to render thoughtful service to others as I myself am facing my own challenges, I will remember (if not just for my own sake) that <i>charity beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things</i>, and <i>endureth all things</i>, as I strive to invite the light of Christ into my life and the lives of others.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Finally, when doubt creeps in, and the adversary attempts to convince me that I have failed in my efforts to serve others in love, I will listen for the whisperings of the Spirit, Who softly tells me that <i>charity never faileth </i></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">(</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">see <a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/1-cor/13.4-10?lang=eng#3" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">1 Corinthians 13:4-10</span></a></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">For I know that “charity is the pure love of Christ … which [God] hath bestowed upon all who are true followers of his Son, Jesus Christ … and it endureth forever” (<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/moro/7.47-48?lang=eng#46" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Moroni 7:47-48</span></a>).</span></div>
Wade W.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09389169527454451047noreply@blogger.com2Orem, UT, USA40.2968979 -111.6946474999999740.2000099 -111.85600899999997 40.3937859 -111.53328599999998tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8378638217296140991.post-14974831554986432262014-06-12T08:32:00.001-06:002019-02-15T00:56:36.576-07:00The Best (and Worst) of Times<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWfdJVoBaI97VOznelNEJpGJo8E_5weIbTRinT7ACUinib2WGjMcUGcY8DwWsB9GgUw2DG0FN0yTYqZuTqVEHwAU-N9XRWR18XLk6CqBAa9pAR0Jq-URFwEnZS3U8ut7_kX9mCPulN9SoX/s1600/Red+Grad+Caps+In+Air.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWfdJVoBaI97VOznelNEJpGJo8E_5weIbTRinT7ACUinib2WGjMcUGcY8DwWsB9GgUw2DG0FN0yTYqZuTqVEHwAU-N9XRWR18XLk6CqBAa9pAR0Jq-URFwEnZS3U8ut7_kX9mCPulN9SoX/s1600/Red+Grad+Caps+In+Air.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>It has been ten years since I graduated high<br />school.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As of May, it has been ten years since I finished high school. This July my ten-year high school reunion will take place. It’s hard to believe that a decade has passed since I was an eighteen year-old. The few years following my graduation in 2004 were some of the best and worst that I have ever experienced. This time in my life was highlighted by a number of firsts—new, fresh occurrences and events that I had never before experienced. Some would happen only once and never again. Others would be repeated over time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The christening event of my newly-acquired adult life was attending my first semester of college, just minutes from the home I was still sharing with my mother and stepfather. I enrolled full-time, with a government grant to fund my education, and began classes in January 2005, after a well-desired summer and fall break from educational responsibility.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">To summarize the misadventure of my first four months of higher education, it suffices to say that I didn’t apply myself at the full measure of my capabilities, making the entire semester a disaster. Consequently, my failure was the basis of my decision not to enroll for another semester, also making that the first time I dropped out of college (which I would do more than once in coming years).</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>After a brief summer on my own,<br />I had to move in with my dad.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">With my college career ruined (for a time), I sought out other ways in which to become independent and grown-up. Naturally, at least for me, the best way to do this was to get out into the world (or at least the next town) and try living on my own. So, I packed a few things from what little I had of my own at my mom and stepdad’s house, and moved with a friend into a cheap student apartment just a few blocks from where I had attended college. This was another of my firsts during those years—living away from parents under my own roof that I was paying for myself.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My brief summer stay in that apartment was a time of my life that I think back on often, and with a lot of happy feelings; sometimes I wish I could go back and experience that summer all over again, even if I didn’t get to change anything that happened. All of it could happen the same way again—like the retelling of an epic story, tragedies and triumphs altogether—and I would still be content just to live it once more. I made new friends, experienced new things, and had plenty of room to stretch my independence. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">There were some difficult lessons learned that summer, and they were learned in the hardest ways; but I’m grateful for that now, because those things have stayed with me, and have made me better. It was in that apartment, pondering alone one night with a<span style="color: #e69138;"> <a href="http://www.mormonnewsroom.org/article/standard-works" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">set of scriptures</span></a></span> that I reconnected with my spiritual self, from which I had been separated for some time. One highlight of that summer was attending my first <a href="http://www.kellyclarkson.com/us" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Kelly Clarkson</span></a> concert that July, which substantiated a long-time obsession with the singer that I am well known for among my friends and family.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After that incomparable summer—my last summer as a teenager—I had lost another job (my second time being fired that year), and was forced to move in with my father back in my hometown; my mother and stepdad hadn’t given me the option to move back in with them when I left, which, looking back, was a blessing. My relationship with my father during those years was not the best, which encouraged me to get back out on my own once my finances were in better order. I moved back into my childhood home with my father in August 2005, and stayed for a little over a year.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>I began attending church again, this time with <br />young single adults my own age.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Back in my hometown again, and a bit more comfortable in familiar surroundings, I began attending church again, this time with other young single adults, another first for me. I had been largely absent from the Sunday worship services of my faith—the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (<a href="http://www.mormon.org/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Mormons</span></a>)—while I was away on my summer exile. As an adult aged 18 to 29, I had the option to attend church and other activities with members of my faith who fell within the same age range, in a special, separate congregation, or <a href="http://www.mormonnewsroom.org/article/ward" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">ward</span></a>. There I met new friends and reconnected with old friends from high school with whom I have stayed very close.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">During that time, I worked in telephone customer service and as an aide in a care center for disabled children and young adults. Neither jobs were really ones I wanted to keep long-term, but they helped me pay my bills while getting free rent from my father. Both jobs, however, didn’t last long, and I was again fired from both; the growing trend with me and employment was a problem with attendance. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">This began a crescendo of an addiction, you could say, with sleep; I used sleep like a drug to forget and temporarily escape my responsibilities and problems, or anything I didn’t want to deal with at any given moment. This escape tactic and coping mechanism began with problems in high school, which you can read about in my other posts, “<a href="http://myshatteredsilence.blogspot.com/2013/02/walk-like-man.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;"><i>Walk Like a Man</i></span></a>” and “<a href="http://myshatteredsilence.blogspot.com/2013/06/dear-andy.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;"><i>Dear Andy</i></span></a>.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The next of my firsts would shape my financial stability for the next year or two. I spent my nights in the late spring of 2006 in a trade school to earn my nursing assistant certification (CNA). It was the first successful course of education I had completed since high school, and it boosted my ability to find jobs that I enjoyed, where I could help and serve others, while earning better pay. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>My sins weighed down upon my for years until<br />I finally confessed them.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In the summer of 2006 (though I wish I could remember the exact date), I made another first-time decision that would change my life forever. It was when I went to my <a href="http://www.mormonnewsroom.org/article/bishop" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Bishop</span></a>, the leader of the first ward I ever joined, and confessed to him that I was attracted to men. Not only that, but I had been having sex with men since I was 17 years old and still in high school. My promiscuous activities were spiraling out of control, and I felt that getting closer to God and attempting to forsake my sins would bring about more peace in my life. To learn more about the teachings and beliefs of the LDS Church in regards to homosexuality or same-sex attraction, click <b><i><a href="http://www.mormonsandgays.org/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">HERE</span></a></i></b>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Subsequent to my confession and the beginning of a process of <a href="https://www.lds.org/topics/repentance?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">repentance</span></a>, I also began reparative therapy, also known as <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Conversion_therapy" target="_blank"><i><span style="color: #e69138;">conversion therapy</span></i></a>, with a locally-renowned psychologist. The aim of the therapy was decrease my same-sex attractions, and possibly even make me straight. But I quickly became frustrated with my therapist’s attempts to help me, and ended my weekly sessions with him, never going back to anyone to attempt to change my sexual orientation again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I dropped out of the therapy because I felt that I couldn’t be content in my homosexuality until I had tried—successfully or unsuccessfully—to have a monogamous relationship with a man. These feelings led to another first-time event as I got my first boyfriend. My relationship with him only lasted three months before I decidedly couldn’t be happy living contrary to God’s commandments anymore. I broke things off with him in the early fall of 2006, and returned to the spiritual care of my Bishop and the process of cleansing I had begun a few months before. It was the only time I ever tried to date my same sex. To read about this experience in more detail, see my post “<i><a href="http://myshatteredsilence.blogspot.com/2013/08/the-greener-side.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">The Greener Side</span></a></i>.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">By late fall of that year, I would land a job working as a CNA for a home care and hospice company, travelling all over the county caring for individuals of all ages. Perhaps it is a little embarrassing to say, at my age, but this was the best job I’ve had in my life (thus far). And true to form, I would lose it, too; a combination of things led to that loss, which leads into another first.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>My uncontrollable swearing tics cost me the best<br />job I ever had, and others, too.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It was in 2007, while I was working as a CNA, that my battle with <a href="http://www.tsa-usa.org/aMedical/whatists_cov.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Tourette syndrome</span></a> became even more grueling. That was the year I developed <i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coprolalia" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">coprolalia</span></a></i>, a rare symptom of Tourettes that involves vocal tics of swearing, cursing, and the (often loud) uttering of inappropriate words and phrases, often at the most inopportune moments. My one-time boyfriend, with whom I spent a lot of time, had the habit of swearing recreationally, and I am almost certain now that joining in with him in his foul-mouthed talk eventually brought me to a point of no return.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Soon I was swearing every few seconds, especially when excited, upset, or stressed. Most unfortunately my word of choice was the dreaded “<i>F-word</i>,” which slipped in between sentences like an impatient, interruptive child begging for attention. The patients for whom I cared daily, most of them elderly, began to notice my foul language, though they knew I had Tourettes and had seen and heard my other tics. Slowly my patient load decreased as more and more patients or their spouses or family members began calling my boss to request a new aide in their home.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Immediately I requested a dose change in my tic-inhibiting medication, which only increased my level of lethargy, drowsiness, and drained me of energy; this did not at all help my “sleeping addiction.” My supervisors were amazingly understanding, and did everything they could to help me. But eventually we came to a crossroads, and, regrettably, they had to let me go. It was a terrible blow to my financial circumstances, and my self-esteem. I would eventually recover to some point, and even make it back to college again, but I have yet to hold another successful job as long as I held my CNA position.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i><span style="color: #ffd966;">After months of spiritual cleansing, I could enter<br />the temple to perform baptisms for the dead.</span></i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">By the winter of 2006, my Bishop felt that my repentance was complete. I was once again able to partake of the <a href="https://www.lds.org/topics/sacrament?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">sacrament </span></a>of the Lord’s supper, similar to the Catholic communion; this is a crucial ordinance in Mormon worship that takes place every week in <a href="http://www.mormonnewsroom.org/article/what-to-expect-at-church-services" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Sunday church meetings</span></a> as a way to reflect upon the sacrifice of <a href="http://www.mormon.org/beliefs/jesus-christ" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Jesus Christ</span></a> and renew our devotion to Him. I also received a temple recommend, which allowed me to enter <a href="https://www.lds.org/topics/temples?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Mormon temples</span></a> to perform the ordinance of <a href="https://www.lds.org/topics/baptisms-for-the-dead?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">baptism for the dead</span></a>, as <a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/1-cor/15.29?lang=eng#28" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">mentioned by the Apostle Paul</span></a> in the New Testament.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My circumstance were finally beginning to improve; and with a small financial gift from my Bishop (from <a href="http://www.mormonnewsroom.org/article/tithing" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">donations of my ward members</span></a>), I paid the deposit on a new apartment in a new town not far from my hometown, and moved out of my father’s house to start a new life. I moved in February 2007. While I worked as a CNA, before the coprolalia began, I was enjoying the bachelor life, and a life clean and pure from sin and transgression. I began attending a family ward in my new town—a little reluctantly because of the swearing tics—and it was one of the best decisions I made while living in that apartment for the next two years.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">By 2008, I was highly active in my faith, attending regular Sunday meetings as well as weekday activities with my ward members and their families. I developed more relationships, and have held on to many of them to this day. After a period of time, my new Bishop and I agreed that I was ready to advance in my <a href="http://www.mormonnewsroom.org/article/priesthood" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Priesthood authority</span></a>, and I was ordained an <a href="https://www.lds.org/topics/elder?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Elder </span></a>in the <a href="https://www.lds.org/topics/melchizedek-priesthood?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Melchizedek Priesthood</span></a> in August 2007. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Then, in January 2008, I began preparing to enter the temple, God’s holy house, to receive the <a href="https://www.lds.org/church/temples/why-we-build-temples/what-happens-in-temples?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">higher ordinances of the Mormon faith</span></a>, known as the <a href="http://www.mormonnewsroom.org/article/endowment" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">endowment</span></a>. I was open about my homosexuality with my Bishop and other leaders, and they supported me in my desire to receive my temple rites; I viewed it then as the icing on my spiritual cake, so to speak—the last official step in my spiritual journey, in order to better prepare myself for the possibility of a lifetime as a single gay Mormon. I have since become more open to the opportunity of marrying a woman, which would also <a href="http://www.mormonnewsroom.org/article/sealing" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">take place in the Temple</span></a>. To read more about why a gay Mormon would consider marrying a woman, try my posts “<a href="http://myshatteredsilence.blogspot.com/2012/07/the-road-less-travelled-by.html" target="_blank"><i><span style="color: #e69138;">The Road Less Traveled By</span></i></a>” and “<a href="http://myshatteredsilence.blogspot.com/2014/02/when-man-loves-woman.html" target="_blank"><i><span style="color: #e69138;">When a Man Loves a Woman</span></i></a>.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeMKC3Mg0f-1XZyv10MSmBtjkmhntcX71Sa-SaxLuBVtkVh-ncQfCjf44pMMqqEXgRcBH1PjE9_HKktotr94Ai2WLsrB3Jixjlbv7FKaPkfqhx-uAmdn-ZS3pB8u_SFtL5dmHBVC0l4dqZ/s1600/Provo+Temple+From+Afar.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeMKC3Mg0f-1XZyv10MSmBtjkmhntcX71Sa-SaxLuBVtkVh-ncQfCjf44pMMqqEXgRcBH1PjE9_HKktotr94Ai2WLsrB3Jixjlbv7FKaPkfqhx-uAmdn-ZS3pB8u_SFtL5dmHBVC0l4dqZ/s1600/Provo+Temple+From+Afar.JPG" width="340" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>This photo of the Provo Utah Temple was taken the<br />day I entered that building to receive my endowment.</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">On March 8, 2008, I entered the <a href="http://www.ldschurchtemples.com/provo/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Provo Utah Temple</span></a>, accompanied by many friends and family members, to receive my temple ordinances. It was one of the happiest days of my life so far, and the crowning moment of all the experiences I had had during those four years since my high school graduation. Today, six years since my endowment in the temple, I remain steadfast in the gospel of Jesus Christ and active in my faith, in spite of my continued attraction to men, which passion I must carefully bridle.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Truthfully, not all my firsts have been accounted for in this post. I have left out one of my most beloved and significant influences of the past nine years to create a more poignant effect for this inclusion in my blog. It is not an event or a happening, but a person—someone who was by my side during nearly all of the events I have just listed. In a previous post, “<a href="http://myshatteredsilence.blogspot.com/2013/08/the-greener-side.html" target="_blank"><i><span style="color: #e69138;">The Greener Side</span></i></a>,” I wrote a little about my relationship with this person: a special girl named Danielle.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I actually went to high school with Danielle; she was a year older than me, but I really only knew <i>of </i>her rather than actually interacting with her on any occasion. However, we finally made a friendly connection during that first semester of college in 2005. She also happened to be good friends with the cousin of my best friend, so I had a chance to talk to her a few times. Though I’m not entirely sure how it started, we began meeting up on campus in between or after classes. We wrote notes to each other, and traded them in between our meetings. Soon I invited her to my parents’ house, where I was living then, to hang out. We would eat snacks and watch our favorite childhood cartoon reruns, something we shared in common (adults though we were).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I couldn’t possibly contain all of my memories with Danielle in this post without it becoming a novel; but from that semester on, she and I grew only closer. Several of her friends became my friends, and mine hers, so we were spending even more time together socializing. When I moved out for the first time, she was a constant guest in my apartment. It was my blossoming relationship with her that made that summer unforgettable. We stayed up late, often with other friends, watching movies, hot-tubbing and swimming, and playing games. After she would leave my place in the early hours of the morning, she would call me when she got home, and while lying in our beds in different towns, we would talk on the phone until the sun came up. Then the next day we would do it again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY5pTB5nzG6rMqA_5zrBhx3ErdUlspMGWCmcoqwspVTB9LVG90OrbSehz68-WwBRL6wiIqVkmbf4Ju3ZrLF5kNfFh_TITTcKPPnaBePGiTopp3zATsk-sfEgelwAzFibuAQBix3npmcmNV/s1600/Holding+Hands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY5pTB5nzG6rMqA_5zrBhx3ErdUlspMGWCmcoqwspVTB9LVG90OrbSehz68-WwBRL6wiIqVkmbf4Ju3ZrLF5kNfFh_TITTcKPPnaBePGiTopp3zATsk-sfEgelwAzFibuAQBix3npmcmNV/s1600/Holding+Hands.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>I wanted Danielle to be my girlfriend; it seemed<br />only natural with all the time we spent together.</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I remember the night that I thought that I wanted to date Danielle steadily. It just clicked that I liked her, a lot actually, and that the most natural step to take next was to ask her to be my girlfriend. There was protest from one mutual friend when we made our plans to date known, and it caused us some grief; but we moved past the issues involved, and started dating. She was by my side during that first Kelly Clarkson concert, and we sang every song together.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">She was there for me when I lost several of those jobs. She attended that single’s ward with me, though we were paired off together, and I was proud to display my love and affection for her. I kept a secret inside me, however, because of my attractions to men. I still desired her, but I also wanted to experience the other world of homosexuality; I was intimate with men many times while she and I were together. I found out later that she suspected I was gay, but she never mentioned it to me directly. She allowed me to wait until I was ready to tell her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">She was the one who told me about the nursing assistant school, which was owned and operated by a family friend of hers; she even came to some of the classes with me. She helped me study and fill out and practice my flash cards. Indeed, she was involved with so much of my life. She was my best friend. After months of knowing her, taking trips together, and becoming intimately connected in so many ways, I knew that I loved her—I had fallen in love with Danielle. I felt like she could be the woman I could marry. But I was still conflicted in my sexuality and wasn’t ready to give up my sexual encounters with men, which I felt were necessary to fill a longstanding void in me and alleviate my psychological turmoil.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Even on the night I went to my neighborhood church building to confess to my Bishop that I was gay and sexually active, she was there to support me; though she knew nothing except that I wanted to make some changes in my life that would require confession. She gave me a note of encouragement to take with me on my walk to the church, which I read just before I entered the building; it brought stinging tears to my eyes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEtX1U9HFKTFEBfVDtge0MxHXs2dVxhyphenhyphenhyAEX8Nkg-3MgCw00NweP5Xy9BC-UsB3atdOeiYBIQSh1713JLFeMHhPzqLTTUbSmZntcmMiVrSk7vgvXwKs-NptdNzVxEvkkdIg02PRNR5v3q/s1600/Mountain+Road.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEtX1U9HFKTFEBfVDtge0MxHXs2dVxhyphenhyphenhyAEX8Nkg-3MgCw00NweP5Xy9BC-UsB3atdOeiYBIQSh1713JLFeMHhPzqLTTUbSmZntcmMiVrSk7vgvXwKs-NptdNzVxEvkkdIg02PRNR5v3q/s1600/Mountain+Road.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>On a drive alone up the canyon one night, my admission to <br />Danielle that I was gay finally came, and not to her surprise.</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">A few months after the meeting with my Bishop, I told Danielle, too, that I was gay, and confessed every act of indiscretion I had committed while dating her. That was September 2006, and we drove up the canyon together just to be alone for the occasion. It was more of a funny thing for us, as close as we were at that point. We laughed about the odd and crazy experiences I had had, and about how she had really known all along, and was just waiting for me to be ready to tell her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Just as I can’t really tell where my romantic relationship with Danielle began, I can’t really tell where it started to end, either; but end it did. As we attended the single’s ward together, she was introduced to other men, and I was at that time deciding that I, too, wanted to date a man monogamously. We were the best of friends still, and occasionally kissed each other, but there was no real definition to our relationship any longer. Things between us had evolved, and they would never be the same. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">She confessed that she liked some of the guys in the ward, and I expressed how much I wanted to start dating men myself. She was shy, and I did my best to encourage her to flirt and show interest in other men. I still was in love with her, and I didn’t expect my encouragement to lead her into the arms of another man. But I also couldn’t expect her to wait for me to figure out whether or not I was happy dating men and possibly return to her if I wasn’t. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDn8CJBkpsab9IzunD6pjacu3UZBrpu7rF-WFJ9XPFvOA1AOG0PZ0O0O9C9kRX1s-YUPPDlr5FWm_FO_oYhJRqn612KSDJh6TzUoaSY6cCI0yPe8ILvcQvFF1uhlbMuIk6Q3dUkisAiwdq/s1600/Golden+Gate+Bridge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDn8CJBkpsab9IzunD6pjacu3UZBrpu7rF-WFJ9XPFvOA1AOG0PZ0O0O9C9kRX1s-YUPPDlr5FWm_FO_oYhJRqn612KSDJh6TzUoaSY6cCI0yPe8ILvcQvFF1uhlbMuIk6Q3dUkisAiwdq/s1600/Golden+Gate+Bridge.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>Some bridges were burned between Danielle and I; but we<br />never completely lost our powerful connection to each other.</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As my relationship with my boyfriend began and ended within three months (and I even introduced him to Danielle once), I desired to return to the church and back to Danielle. But her closeness with one particular man had grown stronger during that time, and they had declared themselves a couple. My feelings told me that that man was not good for her, but I wasn't sure if it was just because I selfishly wanted to keep her as my own. I remember standing before both of them on one occasion, outside a church during a single’s dance, crying almost uncontrollably and begging Danielle to leave the other man and be with me. The man knew that she loved me, and said so, trying to console me; Danielle confirmed her love for me, but told me gently that dating her new lover was the path she wanted to take then. I left their presence devastated.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
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</div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Eventually Danielle would marry that man; then in a few years, they would also divorce. I continued down the path that I had chosen, progressing in the gospel, and making lasting changes in my life after experiencing so much difficulty. Danielle wasn’t living far away, and we were still best friends. But our time together became shorter and less frequent. The enjoyment and pleasure of her company seemed to be only a glimmer of the bright shining romance that we shared that summer of 2005. And though our relationship would never really be the same again, sometimes talking to her or seeing her makes me feel like nothing has changed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Danielle is still the one person, besides probably my mother, who knows me best—all my likes, dislikes, favorites, faults, skills, abilities, traits, feelings, emotions, experiences, tastes, talents, and all the rest. She’s still the person who can laugh with me about things that were funny to us five, seven, or nine years ago. She’s still the one woman whom I can look in the eye and honestly feel that, had circumstances been a bit different, I could have made her my wife. And though we don’t get together often, she is still my best friend, and the only woman I have ever truly been in love with.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvtxfPSOJCNDYayyq95XgXntnrNYfftsgmh5U7jCXlj7zBa0x8uC0wn0oWJF2gFpJdkH65GwH_xjgSXTk1fkHmXaPNeicscw5CdQkRbP8Cb_pz2SzL7hjQ940TkSX1bovmxS2FJSTurd55/s1600/Faded+Love.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvtxfPSOJCNDYayyq95XgXntnrNYfftsgmh5U7jCXlj7zBa0x8uC0wn0oWJF2gFpJdkH65GwH_xjgSXTk1fkHmXaPNeicscw5CdQkRbP8Cb_pz2SzL7hjQ940TkSX1bovmxS2FJSTurd55/s1600/Faded+Love.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>The poem I wrote for Danielle, about our changing love,<br />still reminds me of what we could have had together.</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Not a tenth of my legacy of friendship and courtship with Danielle can be told here; but I hold it all my heart. And all of what we went through together has built me into the man I am now, in many ways. I’m not sure if it is a good or a bad thing, but Danielle is the pattern to which I compare all other women nowadays, if and when I date them. All I know is that I would want any woman who would become my wife to be just like Danielle: My best friend in the whole world, the one I can laugh with, cry with, and the one I desire to be with forever.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Once, Danielle asked me if I would write a poem for her. I don’t normally accept such requests, because inspiration for writing isn’t something I can force. But when things started getting rocky between us, and emotions were high, some inspiration did come to me, and I wrote a poem for Danielle. It was a May evening, and there was a soft rain pour outside, which started the pattern that repeats in the verses. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It was not the romantic sonnet that perhaps she and I had hoped it would be, but it was meaningful and accurate of our relationship. It remains one of my favorite free-form poems that I’ve ever written, and a beautiful portrayal of two lovers drifting apart, but not forgetting each other as they embark on their individual journeys.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">❧</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>– <u><b>Not the Only Thing</b></u> –</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>~</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Raindrops are not the only things falling today—</i></span><br />
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I look into your eyes and can see the tears you are holding back.</i><br />
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></i>
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>The color of my eyes seems to reflect my somber emotions.</i></i><br />
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></i>
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Love is not the only thing I feel for you—</i></i><br />
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>The frustration and pain I possess condenses in my eyes; it’s so unusual to me.</i></i><br />
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></i>
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Time becomes almost still as a single tear falls;</i></i><br />
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>My imagination magnifies the sound as it meets the pavement; it pierces my thoughts.</i></i><br />
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></i>
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>I am not the only one who is alone here—</i></i><br />
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>My offering to you lies coldly on the ground, unnoticed.</i></i><br />
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></i>
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>You turn away, but don’t seem to want to go;</i></i></div>
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>If I reach out, will you take my hand?</i></i><br />
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></i>
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>I fear we are so far away that no one can save us.</i></i></div>
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></i>
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Our moments together are not the only things being wasted—</i></i></div>
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Your hope for a better day waits upon my ultimate decision;</i></i></div>
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></i>
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>My serenity lies only in you.</i></i><br />
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></i>
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>We are heading for unknown destinations, both not knowing what may become of us;</i></i></div>
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>But I hope you can see me there on the horizon.</i></i><br />
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></i>
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>The sun descends upon who we once were, </i></i><br />
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">setting the firmament aglow with orange and red;</i><br />
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></i>
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>But the sky is not the only thing burning tonight—</i></i></div>
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Already abandoned bridges are aflame in the darkness,</i></i></div>
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>The light of them guiding us on journeys down diverging paths.</i></i></div>
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></i>
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>I know I must leave, but I do not know where I’m going;</i></i></div>
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>My stubbornness enshrouds all my doubts and gives me false hope.</i></i></div>
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></i>
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>But I am not the only one who is uncertain of my future—</i></i></div>
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>You continue to run from everything that you know is right, </i></i><br />
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>determined to reach happiness.</i></i><br />
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></i>
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Can’t you see that we are both lost, slaves to our own indecisiveness?</i></i></div>
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></i>
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>But I know, even now, that our hearts will lead us to each other again.</i></i></div>
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></i>
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>I hope to find myself out there, though I’m not sure if it will really happen.</i></i></div>
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></i>
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>But if I do find something more that this life can offer,</i></i><br />
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>How much will it really matter if you’re not here to share it with?</i></i><br />
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></i>
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>A beloved friend is not the only thing I would lose if you left now—</i></i></div>
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>But if you go, you will take my whole heart with you.</i></i></div>
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></i><br />
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</i></div>
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>~</i></i><br />
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></i></div>
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></i><br />
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- </span><b style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Wade A. Walker</b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> -</span></div>
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>May 21, 2006</i></i></div>
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></i>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIt4TIN7P2iQ30jsBDRfneXHlv5ruy3BZA51YW6KpNjNwlbDEBFApt0B0QvFUkmfTaDi9nPeBx8YYEcVn2pKEqWUnYQ5YPH1GpRVKGummhZqj-qiTqBBozl7tV_KKTZluy_FIZoqyy3eh4/s1600/Kissy+Face+-+Summer+2005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIt4TIN7P2iQ30jsBDRfneXHlv5ruy3BZA51YW6KpNjNwlbDEBFApt0B0QvFUkmfTaDi9nPeBx8YYEcVn2pKEqWUnYQ5YPH1GpRVKGummhZqj-qiTqBBozl7tV_KKTZluy_FIZoqyy3eh4/s1600/Kissy+Face+-+Summer+2005.jpg" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><i>Danielle and Wade </i></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">— </span><i style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium;">Summer 2005</i></span></td></tr>
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>~</i></i></div>
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></i></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">** NOTE: I share my writing on this site trusting that visitors are scrupulous enough not to plagiarize. If you'd like to share this poem or other content with others, please share the URL to the entire blog post. Please DO NOT copy and paste any text for personal use without written permission. As the original writer of the content herein, I’d like the credit for these pieces to remain mine. **</span></b></div>
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Wade W.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09389169527454451047noreply@blogger.com2Orem, UT, USA40.2968979 -111.6946474999999740.2000099 -111.85600899999997 40.3937859 -111.53328599999998tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8378638217296140991.post-46874835582003103052014-02-15T05:42:00.002-07:002014-06-17T19:18:17.995-06:00When a Man Loves a Woman<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm3TC5PLWzsuhy_vA24vlHu9O0YQZVwen2YMfY5fA3v9G_v8Tx5CPfEqSqsKGFq2urbjDj_Y-vWN_QhS6xfimk3aifo1_9yjIVzOZzwwCMBvDhwuYxktJRZFCdepucjtgz2Vnx_WQPVTr3/s1600/Gold+Greek+Drama+Masks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm3TC5PLWzsuhy_vA24vlHu9O0YQZVwen2YMfY5fA3v9G_v8Tx5CPfEqSqsKGFq2urbjDj_Y-vWN_QhS6xfimk3aifo1_9yjIVzOZzwwCMBvDhwuYxktJRZFCdepucjtgz2Vnx_WQPVTr3/s1600/Gold+Greek+Drama+Masks.jpg" height="208" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><i>Emotions run deeply in me, and I am very <br />sensitive to an array of feelings.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I feel like I have a great capacity for emotions. There are some emotions that I experience more strongly or more often, and others that I don’t encounter much at all. For example, I tend to succumb to sympathy and empathy for others, especially those who have apparent physical challenges or hindrances. My heart automatically hurts for people who seem to struggle with disabilities or misfortune, and I’m always left feeling like I wish I could do something to make things better for them. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Also, I don’t typically become outwardly angry; confrontation makes me terribly uncomfortable, even when I’m not directly involved. And because of my passive-aggressive nature, I usually keep to myself when I get frustrated or upset, until the feelings pass or I have a chance to vent my emotions to a third party. Sometimes I feel as though I have more sensitive receptors for emotions. Things that would mildly bother some might be tremendously hurtful to me; or things that would normally put the average person in a good mood can leave me feeling absolutely elated.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGdFdm-6-uTht8oXIIDA_svN7I1Us7QmUFo4L4ReysHYkS1S-RbMn0sIb78W_iIMYEYP5y6zcNzUKkyCrHDyj8afZI0nLt44MDD0OTEfvb6hgtTrw5r3-qRmVvlMaYuI4hCp9Ko03sjXJn/s1600/Mother's+Love.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGdFdm-6-uTht8oXIIDA_svN7I1Us7QmUFo4L4ReysHYkS1S-RbMn0sIb78W_iIMYEYP5y6zcNzUKkyCrHDyj8afZI0nLt44MDD0OTEfvb6hgtTrw5r3-qRmVvlMaYuI4hCp9Ko03sjXJn/s1600/Mother's+Love.jpg" height="245" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><i>I learned the emotion of love from the amazing<br />women in my life, particularly my mother.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Love is one of those emotions that I have always had an abundance of. Between family and friends, especially particular women like my mother and paternal grandmother, I have never had to be without exceptional loving support and care in my life. Affection has always been an important way of showing love in my family, especially kisses and hugs; friends sometimes tease me for the fact that kissing on the lips is normal in my family, at least with female family members. My mother, my grandmother, and even one aunt have always greeted me and parted ways with a kiss on the lips, even now that I am well into adulthood. For my three older brothers, it is the same. To others it is awkward and abnormal; to me, it has always been the sweetest form of love and affection.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Aside from family, good friends have long been sources of love and caring in my life. It wasn’t until junior high that I feel like my friendships from school began to transition into personal relationships outside of the classroom. Many of my most enduring relationships that I still have today began in classrooms and other school activities. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><i>Crushes and infatuations with both girls and<br />boys started early for me.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The first crush I ever had on anyone was a girl with whom I attended first grade. I was infatuated with her. I still remember a dream I had about her one night; we were on the playground at my elementary school. We ran off together and hid under an outdoor staircase and shared a brief, innocent kiss. I woke up wishing that it had really been true. However, other crushes that I had at that time (around seven years-old) were usually on young celebrities—but they were all boys. Young movie stars, mostly, whose films I had seen and enjoyed. I began to obsess over many of these boys. I admired their talents and their looks; that’s when I really remember noticing an attraction to other boys’ facial features.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Looking back, I think early sexual involvement with boys my own age who lived in my neighborhood had triggered such same-sex attractions in me. The details of the beginnings of those behaviors are vague, and I don’t remember if I was the initiator or if someone else was. I knew that my parents and the parents of the boys with whom I did such things would be upset if they found out (and a few times they did), but to me they weren’t abnormal behaviors; I actually liked it, and I often sought opportunities to experiment with my and other curious boys’ bodies. I noticed boys, and even grown men more often after that, and was drawn to them in emotional and sexual ways. It wasn’t until I got older that I began to recognize what such attractions implied—a separate orientation altogether, different from all other people, one that I realized didn’t fit in with the rest of the world’s expectations of normal feelings or behavior.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><i>I felt more comfortable around girls than<br />I did boys; like I could be myself.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">As early pornography exposure turned to an addiction that fueled unhealthy sexual appetites and habits, crushes and infatuation with boys and girls became more intense. I was highly attracted to many boys and girls in my school; with the boys, my attractions were strictly carnal, lustful, and emphasized by a desire to act out sexually with them. I took immediate notice of the boys who were more handsome and good-looking, and they were the targets of my erotic thoughts; sexual fantasies were common place during those years. With boys my age, I felt inadequate and inconsistent as I constantly tried to act in a way where I could be measured according to masculine standards and expectations, wherein I always failed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Girl crushes and attractions were simpler, characterized by feelings of belonging, relation, and understanding; I could act like myself around girls because I felt more comfortable doing things that were considered to be more feminine, and that was okay with them. I admired girls for their talents and personalities, but there was no sexual attraction at all, and certainly no erotic fantasies involving girls. With girls I felt wanted and accepted, and my own personal talents like humor, kindness, and sincerity were able to shine through and were appreciated.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><i>My love for girls began to grow,<br />while with boys I could only lust.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">By my high school years, my admiration of my female friends eventually crossed the line into my first loves. I loved them romantically, affectionately, and emotionally. They were confidants and supporters. Attractions to their minds, personalities, and spirits shifted into physical attractions that in previous years I hadn’t experienced much, since a natural inclination towards women was </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">not</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">(and still isn’t) as normal for me. The boys, however, remained immediately attractiv</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">e in every physical way, and the subjects of my fantasies. But I had never been close enough to any attractive boy long enough to discover if he was also beautiful on the inside. Very few boys seemed to accept me as I was, and the ones who did were typically not the boys I felt the most physically drawn to.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Actually, I was doing it all backwards: I was getting to know girls on a deeper, more emotionally intimate level <i>first</i>, while physical attraction and true emotions followed <i>after</i>; with boys, I was awkward and struggled to see past their handsome looks and muscular bodies long enough to actually find out if I was even compatible with them as a friend. So, the boys remained sexy, but mysterious and elusive—strange creatures that were so different from me, despite the autonomy in our chromosomes and anatomy. Girls however, were the entire package—beautiful, smart, funny, sexy, sweet, and everything I felt like I could ever want in a relationship—a relationship that I felt could last and really mean something. And perhaps unlike other boys, my goal was not to run the figurative bases with the girls I loved; I wasn’t interested in what they were like underneath their clothes.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs8gT_UfSEaPGBIOro7S0O96FjB7-c-mbD2CCdOX0ktsLoHKQ0CqQtNu-0apWkYL-GcvMqvemVsRUdxtrK_nKDM9An5OZdvZrWlTZP2N4jik9C5McaoZoC-o8e7sTWOkLP0HZuFvsu5rUT/s1600/Young+Lovers+on+Couch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs8gT_UfSEaPGBIOro7S0O96FjB7-c-mbD2CCdOX0ktsLoHKQ0CqQtNu-0apWkYL-GcvMqvemVsRUdxtrK_nKDM9An5OZdvZrWlTZP2N4jik9C5McaoZoC-o8e7sTWOkLP0HZuFvsu5rUT/s1600/Young+Lovers+on+Couch.jpg" height="281" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><i>Even though I hugged, cuddled, and even kissed<br />some of my female friends, we never dated.</i></span></td></tr>
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<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">There were several girls during those years in high school, and the years following, who I truly had intense and loving feelings for. Because of the perfect match I felt we were as a pair, I would’ve loved to date them and make them mine—and I can’t say I didn’t try at some point with a few of them. But I knew (and they insisted) that all we would ever be was simply friends, and to this day, we are—even the best of friends, who have stood the test of time together. One or two girls I came very close to dating, and having as my girlfriends. Our relationships progressed from long hugs, into cuddling, even kissing a few times, and saying “<i>I love you</i>” constantly. But ultimately even those relationships weren’t meant to be anything more that lasting and beloved friendship. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">To this day, with many of these girls whom I truly loved, the emotion is still there. I could still see myself being with them, if things had ever happened differently. I can still feel the love that I had for them all those years ago, but with time I have seen how that love has gradually been molded into something more poignant and beautiful and deep—something beyond friendship—something eternal, and perhaps more meaningful than if we had been lovers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTMJJLOXfCdwMHTo5nuir9PPa8OVmqNdt-7ppnDVbDQhHUCb-Rw869qAx3ZB9Ul4EMkdLZyotIbYODfEa5fRjsLrOvzNztCXAFjxm6oDAGpWj99uvtI5CwJYwcQ-TfjyANcMENA5ic6Fun/s1600/Love+on+a+Swing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTMJJLOXfCdwMHTo5nuir9PPa8OVmqNdt-7ppnDVbDQhHUCb-Rw869qAx3ZB9Ul4EMkdLZyotIbYODfEa5fRjsLrOvzNztCXAFjxm6oDAGpWj99uvtI5CwJYwcQ-TfjyANcMENA5ic6Fun/s1600/Love+on+a+Swing.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><i>It was important for me to learn that<br />I could romantically love a woman.</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">To some extent, this may all seem like normal boyish emotion—something all males went through at that age. But to a boy like me, who from five years-old onward knew that he was different because he liked other boys more than he should, these emotions are significant. Now, as a grown man who is more or less openly gay, I have accepted the fact that I may or may not ever feel emotion and love strongly enough to make a relationship with a woman last a lifetime—even <a href="http://www.mormonnewsroom.org/article/temple-marriage" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">an eternity</span></a>. I may or may not ever find the girl to whom I can propose marriage, and make it actually work. But if the love for a woman has touched me so powerfully before, it can come again. And when it does, I will be open to accepting it. Most times I wait patiently; other days, loneliness can creep in. But I know that I have the capacity to love a woman, despite my strong attractions to men. And that gives me hope that maybe, somewhere, there is a girl out there for me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Here is a poem that I once wrote about a girl whom I was very in love with. I wanted her to be my girlfriend more than I desired anything at that time. She was afraid that dating would complicate our unique friendship and possibly cause damage to it, so we never did get together. But she was right to choose as she did, because she remains to this day one of the best friends I have ever had—one who knows me inside and out, better than many people do. Her love for me, and my love for her, as it is now, is something I would never give up or replace with anything. This poem reminds me of the powerful emotion that is present when a man loves a woman.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">❧</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">‒ <b><i><u>My Heart</u></i></b> ‒</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">~</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>My heart makes its journey</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>from my chest to my throat,</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>and then back down again.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>An up-beat tempo</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>rattles my ribcage</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>as it beats furiously for you.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>You look into my eyes</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>and smile laughingly,</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>and my heart leaps;</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>I gaze back into yours</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>and see into forever—</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>the soft hazel hue</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>reflects your genuine nature.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>My heart overflows with joy</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>at the sound of your voice—</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>only the enlightenment of your laughter</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>exceeds the beauty of your song.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>You occupy my thoughts,</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>lost in the corridors of my mind,</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>possessing only the key to my heart.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>I hold your warm body in my arms</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>and listen to your gentle breaths;</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>My chest rises and falls with yours,</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>while underneath my flesh</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>my heart melts away into ecstasy</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>and flows into my soul.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>My affection for you blossoms</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>each time I hear those words</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>pass through your lips:</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>“</i>I love you<i>,” you say,</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>and at that moment</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>my heart fills with excitement.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Your embrace ignites my bosom with passion;</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>blissful emotion fuels the flame</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>which burns in my heart.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>At the moment you pull away,</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>almost unwillingly,</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>I go cold—</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>My heart frozen in a state of longing,</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>With only the warmth of your tender touch</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>to keep me alive.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>I soar through the unique wonderland</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>that is your personality;</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>My already-frantic heart quivers with amusement</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>because of your matchless style.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Images of you circle like a whirlwind in my head,</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Mixing with the pounding sound</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>coming from within my chest.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Time slows as I listen to the rhythm,</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>and your name repeats with every beat</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>of my enamored heart.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">~</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>- </i><b>Wade A. Walker</b><i> -</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>November 30, 2004</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj7xIdWRD16OXnfdb84Akl91HfxiNuBaW65Af9PSHdH6NbJyE_kU8fyfdZP5abg86CLobaKiLmvRCMw3rXBBkah_08fHQ0zjGpMKOFLZP5jYka5qKc2oV19z2z1Ypyjc4jh2lWP8Y_Viw8/s1600/A+Kiss+in+the+Rain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj7xIdWRD16OXnfdb84Akl91HfxiNuBaW65Af9PSHdH6NbJyE_kU8fyfdZP5abg86CLobaKiLmvRCMw3rXBBkah_08fHQ0zjGpMKOFLZP5jYka5qKc2oV19z2z1Ypyjc4jh2lWP8Y_Viw8/s1600/A+Kiss+in+the+Rain.jpg" height="400" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><i><span style="color: #ffd966;">To read more about why a gay man would<br />choose to be with a woman, try my post,</span><br /><span style="color: #ffd966;">"</span><a href="http://myshatteredsilence.blogspot.com/2012/07/the-road-less-travelled-by.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">The Road Less Traveled By</span></a><span style="color: #ffd966;">."</span></i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">~</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>** NOTE: I share my writing on this site trusting that visitors are scrupulous enough not to plagiarize. If you'd like to share this poem or other content with others, please share the URL to the entire blog post. Please DO NOT copy and paste any text for personal use without written permission. As the original writer of the content herein, I’d like the credit for these pieces to remain mine. **</b></span></div>
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Wade W.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09389169527454451047noreply@blogger.com0Orem, UT, USA40.2968979 -111.6946474999999740.2000099 -111.85600899999997 40.3937859 -111.53328599999998tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8378638217296140991.post-75635813204425535732014-01-18T09:51:00.001-07:002014-06-17T19:17:38.640-06:00Of Good Courage<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBxWVfZ3X37J1Qyp3zmxGAwsoeVcmrwgA6ImD3WTut5L4BaQGJjBgIj8kTSVTQb4kDP6CEMb5FnMV2Xx6esx9By3ijuMOgElk0eeRGEu0ZJ34jjtOy9dhFf8OGNCc8RKFbUmIeXcvyaIUK/s1600/New+Year+Banner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBxWVfZ3X37J1Qyp3zmxGAwsoeVcmrwgA6ImD3WTut5L4BaQGJjBgIj8kTSVTQb4kDP6CEMb5FnMV2Xx6esx9By3ijuMOgElk0eeRGEu0ZJ34jjtOy9dhFf8OGNCc8RKFbUmIeXcvyaIUK/s1600/New+Year+Banner.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><i>I always prefer a fresh beginning to implement<br />new goals.</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A member of my extended family recently confessed on Facebook that she was an “all-or-nothing person.” There were many who spoke up to declare the same about themselves, including me. She was referring to the many New Year’s resolutions that she wanted to implement in the coming 365 days. She asked others for suggestions on how they stick to their annual goals of focus, especially with an attitude of black-and-white perfection like hers. I could only lament as I empathized with her; personally, if I can’t be a top performer in any one of my endeavors, my first instinct is to give up completely. Even worse, I so often let fear of failure (whether along the way or as my end result) stop me from even pursuing goals to begin with.</span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">With the New Year here, so suddenly as it always seems to me, many friends and family are using social media to toss around ideas and philosophies about life and where we need to be as individuals, families, communities, nations, and as a world. Many are taking time to reflect on the up and downs of 2013, and then setting a course correction for the journey through 2014. I am following suit, but not for anyone else; most of the changes I want to make happen this year are all for my own wellbeing and personal benefit as an individual. I am also going about it more privately, telling few about my goals in advance—probably so nobody has to know if and when I fail.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqRT3hH32Y2fm8AGdvDZkEasTnsMuLzA9HwKYAcUs1pLfvWjtq_xS3XMP_5YXXoIWnkIsvLST772xcr5pc22Jgt2TNQBeeSMzaXUxO7VXA3ap-Ic6U46l4iltT4bhyJ5z5I1q5O5hEcGsH/s1600/Firework+Burst.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqRT3hH32Y2fm8AGdvDZkEasTnsMuLzA9HwKYAcUs1pLfvWjtq_xS3XMP_5YXXoIWnkIsvLST772xcr5pc22Jgt2TNQBeeSMzaXUxO7VXA3ap-Ic6U46l4iltT4bhyJ5z5I1q5O5hEcGsH/s1600/Firework+Burst.jpg" height="267" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><i>My all-or-nothing think patterns and fear of<br />failure are an explosive combination.</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Once, a while back, I read through some of my old homework that I’ve saved as I’ve attended college. One response paper from a health class was really interesting to read again. I had to respond about how I could improve in all the areas of my overall health during the four months of the semester—physically, mentally, socially, and spiritually. The instructor wanted us to set small goals in each aspect of health, but to make one area of health our focus, and then try to make a behavior change in that area. I chose to focus on my mental and spiritual health.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My mental health goal was to seek more motivation and resolve in attending my classes, not procrastinating, and completing my assignments on time; each of these things I have struggled with in college, with the roots probably going back to some bad experiences in high school to which I never adjusted well. Daily I have been affected by these issues, even when not in school. Jobs have been difficult since I graduated from high school because of my apparent inability to care about whether or not I show up, and my tendency to crush under stress and responsibility.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnPaCOuM4MgD7jujOdSzkPYxe3qVZ-sBylicsMULEHP0dOzwu1Uqo0RQ8XbdCtRSij9LaARlNvqBKWpU1jX_mNAheXXa1ALJXTYWzyCBKgIW92k-x9a0s8hokME-8fcXArJvpMBaZjTJK8/s1600/Hands+Praying+Over+Scriptures.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnPaCOuM4MgD7jujOdSzkPYxe3qVZ-sBylicsMULEHP0dOzwu1Uqo0RQ8XbdCtRSij9LaARlNvqBKWpU1jX_mNAheXXa1ALJXTYWzyCBKgIW92k-x9a0s8hokME-8fcXArJvpMBaZjTJK8/s1600/Hands+Praying+Over+Scriptures.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><i>Even though it took me longer than expected, I<br />still reached my scripture-reading goal.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My second goal was to improve my spiritual health by reading more from the scriptures and saying my prayers more often. I made a goal to read from the scriptures every night or every morning, which ever was more convenient on a day-to-day basis, but at least once a day. I didn’t reach my goal by the end of that year like I wanted to, but I did reach my goal of reading the <a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Book of Mormon</span></a> front to back in the early months of the subsequent year. Through diligence, I was also able to make praying a more ritualistic part of my daily life; I prayed on my knees at my bedside every night before bed, and sometimes in the morning, too, if I remembered before I left the house. Since then I have been able to make prayer a daily habit in my life, and my communion with God has strengthened me immensely in many aspects of my overall health.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdkDvPoUU1HZ0Gg3xBZ7WiI6z4dVtH-3hsNUTHLXRKU_Ota8W5eG5Hxx8zjjGgeyO46eDIRsRObrIfn4Iz8PMbZ8oj1eYbBsdhPfKbetEp23dUHTLqgHeLNEAMeTBwdrcAqKDwewjt5YTm/s1600/Key+to+Success.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdkDvPoUU1HZ0Gg3xBZ7WiI6z4dVtH-3hsNUTHLXRKU_Ota8W5eG5Hxx8zjjGgeyO46eDIRsRObrIfn4Iz8PMbZ8oj1eYbBsdhPfKbetEp23dUHTLqgHeLNEAMeTBwdrcAqKDwewjt5YTm/s1600/Key+to+Success.jpg" height="320" width="251" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><i>My successes don't have to look like<br />someone else's successes.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">At the end of the semester, we had to write another response paper reflecting back on the health goals we made, what our experiences were, and if we felt we achieved the goals in the manner we wanted. Surprisingly, though I had not met my mental health goals as well I had wanted—I still missed a lot of days of class that semester, and put off a lot of things to the last minute—I nevertheless learned a lot about myself and why I behaved the way I do. I felt like my perfectionism in everything could be just as much of a curse in some areas of my life, as it was a blessing in other aspects. I understood better that my successes didn’t have to look like other people’s successes, and that my failures were truly better for me when they were learned from and then forgotten from week to week, instead of harbored and dwelt upon for unnecessary lengths of time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In my final behavior change paper, I came up with a unique analogy for what I had learned about the struggles I had been through that semester, and that I would likely go through every day in my life from then on. Here is what I wrote:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> <i>“We are not expected to complete the challenges of life by blazing triumphantly across the finish line on a majestic white stallion, clothed in a spotless, regal robe, with a glimmering crown of achievement resting upon our unfurrowed brows.<br /> </i></span><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> “Sometimes the only way we can make it to the finale is by crawling low through the dregs and refuse of mortality on raw hands and knees, bearing the weight of our long venture upon our twisted backs. And so often, there is no royal welcome—no fanfare to announce the feat which to us is so monumental.<br /> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> “It is, in fact, when the self-satisfaction of personal accomplishment and the promise of greater enlightenment fuel the body and mind through each endeavor worthy of our every strength that we find ourselves pressing forward to journey’s end.”</span></i></blockquote>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhegI3jlzH3AZpobrXSs3QUDrY1g5acn0tLbPdfPuOWaDrhSdK_DeH-tm1itfBvJYBrRLu9SbLOTWaJMM08qi4bwvybVFvyAG2ivKx9CMHarLZASw_q6EleGN_jxMTCpONMbRgzwZg2p3k8/s1600/Racing+Road.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhegI3jlzH3AZpobrXSs3QUDrY1g5acn0tLbPdfPuOWaDrhSdK_DeH-tm1itfBvJYBrRLu9SbLOTWaJMM08qi4bwvybVFvyAG2ivKx9CMHarLZASw_q6EleGN_jxMTCpONMbRgzwZg2p3k8/s1600/Racing+Road.jpg" height="250" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><i>In comparing life to a race, sometimes we can only<br />make it to the finish line by travelling slowly, but consistently.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I wouldn’t say that my lesson learned during that semester was utterly life-changing, but it did strike a chord with me. It helped me realize that, very often, success is not reached in a perfect manner, free from pain, struggle, or hard, dirty work. Very rarely do we look over our shoulders after completing the journey to a higher plane in life and say, “Wow! That was <i>easy</i>!” More often, I think we feel exhausted, drained, and humbly but honestly glad that it’s over and that we made it at least that far. And most likely, it will not be our last time making such a trek; if we find ourselves unhappy with where we are or who we’ve become, we should naturally seek to better our circumstances and move forward and upward to greater strength and enlightenment, and we will do so many times in our lives.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I also learned that living my life for the rewards I received from others was not the way to go about things. I couldn’t perform like a trained seal in order to please my parents, my friends, my teachers, my counselors, or anyone else. I had to stop living for the praises of the men and women who surrounded me, even when their encouragement and support were genuine and sincere. I needed to learn that doing my best for <i>myself </i>was what was required for ultimate happiness. I had to center my pride, satisfaction, and the joys of success upon my own efforts and abilities, and be willing to celebrate my own power in meeting my responsibilities. More importantly, I had to learn to rid myself of the guilt and shame that I was heaping upon myself by supposing that I had let everyone down. I needed to learn that <i>I</i> was the most important person in my life, that <i>I</i> was the one who would be most affected by my behavior, and that truly loving myself meant that it was important not to let <i>myself </i>down more than anything.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv6r3Xj9L9lhowzHeecWwTZAmJobzWzW8x01XZYqEpk24c5ccvjqEmtPjSBGK-m_m1Z5C_D_-9L-SkFqLb28VbgCM91FjXW9LSrxj4iXjPGn3oClvg-LsxXINYkDWps662QksalHmeCkKu/s1600/Winding+Staircase.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv6r3Xj9L9lhowzHeecWwTZAmJobzWzW8x01XZYqEpk24c5ccvjqEmtPjSBGK-m_m1Z5C_D_-9L-SkFqLb28VbgCM91FjXW9LSrxj4iXjPGn3oClvg-LsxXINYkDWps662QksalHmeCkKu/s1600/Winding+Staircase.jpg" height="232" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><i>Even taking the same steps every day can count <br />for something if you are reaching a higher plane.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Once again, and for the first time in nearly three years, I am enrolled in school in an attempt to complete my higher education. And so, these lessons of the past are ever more relevant as I face some of the same challenges all over again. So far my New Year’s goals are going smoothly. With some, there haven’t been any mistakes. With others, my track record for the year is not perfect, but not yet ruined or even tarnished. The overall goal with all of these smaller goals is to rise up when I fall, and carry on. To not dwell or sulk for unnecessary amounts of time on mishaps once they’ve occurred; to be better today than I was yesterday, and to be better tomorrow than I was today. Daily improvement is my resolution this year, even if the successes are few and small, and the rewards are celebrated only by me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Some days will be easy; others will be hard. And my resolve to be my best self will be challenged more than once, I’m sure. But as long as I am trying to be a little bit better each day, and accomplishing something—anything—that I didn’t accomplish the day before, then I will be more comfortable with my shortcomings and temporary failings and more willing and quick to overlook them. I also know that I can’t expect to be perfect every day, or any day. Some days I might just barely make it, other days I may only make it halfway. But where I find quiet courage to do it all over again with each rising of the sun, I will also find peace, hope, and joy in living. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Indeed, my mantra during this time in my life has been, and will continue to be this: </span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i> “Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the little voice at the end of the day, saying, ‘I will try again tomorrow.’”</i></span><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> ~ <a href="http://www.maryanneradmacher.net/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Mary Anne Radmacher</span></a></span></i></blockquote>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc0SIdGbUB944ffjS9r-RsMhfdHLvZtRsMWjCUbBbxS6enPkrFFjPt9eJOiOkTV8vMNGRBOWqUPiUJx4jzhvKhVS08BbpmxabY3dfSEGx17qigfUjVNAstqsA2r1EXLiR-GHnFYt2G7-Bp/s1600/Cowardly+Lion+Receiving+Courage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc0SIdGbUB944ffjS9r-RsMhfdHLvZtRsMWjCUbBbxS6enPkrFFjPt9eJOiOkTV8vMNGRBOWqUPiUJx4jzhvKhVS08BbpmxabY3dfSEGx17qigfUjVNAstqsA2r1EXLiR-GHnFYt2G7-Bp/s1600/Cowardly+Lion+Receiving+Courage.jpg" height="285" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><i>I relate so much to the Cowardly Lion in "The Wizard of Oz."<br />It was not until he went looking for his courage that he<br />discovered he had had it within him all along.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><b>**NOTE</b>: My personal inspiration for daily improvement, consistence, and courage to try comes from many recently published sources. See, for example, some of the following:</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">~ President <a href="http://www.lds.org/churchhistory/presidents/controllers/potcController.jsp?leader=5&topic=facts" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Lorenzo Snow</span></a>, <i>Teachings of the Presidents of the Church: Lorenzo Snow</i> (2012), 93-105 (<a href="http://www.lds.org/manual/teachings-of-presidents-of-the-church-lorenzo-snow/chapter-6-becoming-perfect-before-the-lord-a-little-better-day-by-day?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Chapter 6</span></a>).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">~ President <a href="http://www.lds.org/prophets-and-apostles/what-are-prophets/bio/thomas-s-monson?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Thomas S. Monson</span></a>, “<a href="http://www.lds.org/ensign/2012/01/living-the-abundant-life?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Living the Abundant Life</span></a>,” <i>Ensign</i>, Jan. 2012, 4-5.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">~ President <a href="http://www.lds.org/prophets-and-apostles/what-are-prophets/bio/dieter-f-uchtdorf?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Dieter F. Uchtdorf</span></a>, “<a href="http://www.lds.org/ensign/2014/01/the-best-time-to-plant-a-tree?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">The Best Time to Plant a Tree</span></a>,” <i>Ensign</i>, Jan. 2014, 4-6.</span></div>
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Wade W.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09389169527454451047noreply@blogger.com0Orem, UT, USA40.2968979 -111.6946474999999740.2000099 -111.85600899999997 40.3937859 -111.53328599999998tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8378638217296140991.post-38738381553422968072013-12-24T17:19:00.001-07:002016-12-23T11:49:24.643-07:00Five Truths I Never Knew About Christmas<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieHQ6joQDXjyu7y1jJiSfA95TxeoUY144iL04uRA0zsbALKdLP_cBX85AJbq7UTsQa9_Cs8XjfdWDLzfV8kNnF4zQ8Z7OQlxdfF6RfRPezi2xFbYch_wLetUZY51UMClr8bXJB1lJce4Qd/s1600/Stairs+Into+Frozen+Lake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieHQ6joQDXjyu7y1jJiSfA95TxeoUY144iL04uRA0zsbALKdLP_cBX85AJbq7UTsQa9_Cs8XjfdWDLzfV8kNnF4zQ8Z7OQlxdfF6RfRPezi2xFbYch_wLetUZY51UMClr8bXJB1lJce4Qd/s400/Stairs+Into+Frozen+Lake.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Faith was dormant in my home growing up,</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>and religion was never really discussed.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Religion was never part of my family life when I was growing up. My mother and father were both baptized at young ages, like many, as members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (<a href="http://mormon.org/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Mormons</span></a>); but to individually varying degrees and for numerous reasons, religion just didn’t stick with them as they reached adulthood and were married. Traditionally, when my two oldest brothers reached the proper age of eight, they too were baptized into the LDS Church. My parents likely had outside influences who convinced them that their sons’ baptisms were expected. But even though we were all raised in a loving environment by dedicated parents, the shreds of my brothers’ faith would not be nurtured to blossoming within the walls of our home.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMbUDr6GjfrShWqc4N-DttYp-8ddeoZCOp1S5KNDngJMoRBE6ZplTkdlyA17eATXc85M_1J1hssorPnhCYXto3EDlfgtWqxNlzCUgE-Q6XIcHQOcVgKAdl_M6cAT-lDEeTLC9WBN2VuWqS/s1600/Birthday+Cake+&+Balloons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMbUDr6GjfrShWqc4N-DttYp-8ddeoZCOp1S5KNDngJMoRBE6ZplTkdlyA17eATXc85M_1J1hssorPnhCYXto3EDlfgtWqxNlzCUgE-Q6XIcHQOcVgKAdl_M6cAT-lDEeTLC9WBN2VuWqS/s320/Birthday+Cake+&+Balloons.jpg" width="210" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>We celebrated holidays<br />like other families.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We were a typical nuclear family: My father worked from early morning to afternoon in a steel plant, and my mother worked from home as a seamstress and stay-at-home mom and was always around when my brothers and I got home from school. We lived in a four bedroom house in a middle-class neighborhood. We had dogs and a cat, nice furnishings, a beautiful, well-kept yard, and as far as I know we never went without. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Probably, we celebrated all the same holidays and events that our neighbors did, with our own unique traditions. We feasted on buttery boiled shrimp and steak on New Year’s Eve; always got cake, ice cream, and balloons on our birthdays; my mom and dad were always slipping us dollar bills to go buy candy and drinks, or go to movies or to the swimming pool; when school started we always got to go to the mall with my mom to buy all new clothes; Halloween costumes were homemade and old pillowcases held our loot; Thanksgiving was plentiful and made from scratch; and Christmas never disappointed—presents galore, just about everything we wanted and more, neatly wrapped and stacked on the living room furniture by morning.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoHRPo9VQoaIg0vnmAxrUF58-CkAPSiXQQGYCv8DsWMHpknFn2ZPw5pS5FUHEaaV5Ei-I2uPKHQSshe-JY4kFkphCpc0oonrMZDNRcsw93e-3lObNAo2RU9Yq2upwtq5tJQuHZLiO5AZjl/s1600/Abinadi+Appearing+Before+King+Noah+by+Arnold+Friberg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoHRPo9VQoaIg0vnmAxrUF58-CkAPSiXQQGYCv8DsWMHpknFn2ZPw5pS5FUHEaaV5Ei-I2uPKHQSshe-JY4kFkphCpc0oonrMZDNRcsw93e-3lObNAo2RU9Yq2upwtq5tJQuHZLiO5AZjl/s400/Abinadi+Appearing+Before+King+Noah+by+Arnold+Friberg.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"Abinadi Appearing Before King Noah"<i><br />by Arnold Friberg. This was my favorite picture<br />in the Book of Mormon.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Both of my parents worked hard in and out of the home to provide for our family. But there was one area of my wellbeing that I was never properly taught to embrace or nurture—my spirituality. Coming from a Mormon background, my family had a few things lying around the house that I curiously approached a few times as a child; an old <a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Book of Mormon</span></a> is the item I remember the most—a gift to one of my older brothers when he was baptized, but likely cast aside soon thereafter. There were pictures inside the book of scripture that I loved to look at; epic paintings of scenes and people and stories recorded within that book’s pages.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I remember several times trying to commence reading the book from the beginning, but the language was difficult to understand, and I gave up only a few pages into the volume. Still, I was curious about the book’s contents and about the pictures therein. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgShEt7j92rCAdPqF2xi09wHbBJ1Qr9vVH9DuNiVK83-Td46j_FmSqWLmNtehqaxdGLEXwzymkB7Ny7LFYMbgRKawP5doPj4EmspL4Dsf5sRd5TOhFVpvTxPiiw7okw4aImWcNrQbgH634d/s1600/Book+of+Mormon+Reader.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgShEt7j92rCAdPqF2xi09wHbBJ1Qr9vVH9DuNiVK83-Td46j_FmSqWLmNtehqaxdGLEXwzymkB7Ny7LFYMbgRKawP5doPj4EmspL4Dsf5sRd5TOhFVpvTxPiiw7okw4aImWcNrQbgH634d/s400/Book+of+Mormon+Reader.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>I loved the stories from the Book of Mormon, but<br />I had no idea they really occurred long ago.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When I turned eight years-old myself, some missionaries from our local congregation came over to talk to me. My mother told me that I didn’t have to talk to them if I didn’t want to, but I was curious about the men and their sudden interest in such a young boy as me. The men gave me a large book, like a comic book, with lots of small pictures and brief captions. It was a Book of Mormon Reader, a summarized account of the events recorded in the Book of Mormon, only tailored for children. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I read the children’s book several times. I loved the stories of <a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/gs/nephites" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Nephites</span></a> and <a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/gs/lamanites?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Lamanites</span></a>, of the righteous and the wicked, and of a man called <a href="http://mormon.org/beliefs/jesus-christ" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Jesus Christ</span></a> who lived anciently and visited the Book of Mormon peoples. I wasn’t sure who He was—not exactly. But as I looked at pictures of Him as a baby in a wooden box filled with hay, and angels surrounding the stable where He lay with His mother and father, I thought that He must be the same Jesus about whom I sang in my favorite Christmas carols. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5e9-GGIWD2iocZoKsEOZBXYMPzWNbf1MOWL0goFedgpEVxPGzs9NOrKASn94X5OWxXvnh8nQTFzvXB9Acx-Ii6Bh14PwWpcz_rHnEVNdKMviPV0Jrqkuys5kPgau3LHNaaDYI-TG2FM2K/s1600/Nativity+Set.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5e9-GGIWD2iocZoKsEOZBXYMPzWNbf1MOWL0goFedgpEVxPGzs9NOrKASn94X5OWxXvnh8nQTFzvXB9Acx-Ii6Bh14PwWpcz_rHnEVNdKMviPV0Jrqkuys5kPgau3LHNaaDYI-TG2FM2K/s400/Nativity+Set.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>I didn't know who Jesus was or why He was<br />important.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">He was the same baby Who was the centerpiece of the Nativity scene that my mother set up on our fireplace every Christmas. And as the pieces came together slowly for me, I began to understand that He was the same man whom I had seen in pictures with His hands and feet nailed to a giant wooden cross and raised up on a mountain, bleeding and dying in portrayed agony that even a child could understand.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">At eight years-old, I was beginning to understand that there was more to Christmas than Santa Claus and presents, or decorated pine trees and stockings. Christmas was the celebration of the birth of Jesus, long ago, in a stable in a town called Bethlehem. I knew that Jesus was important to some portion of the rest of the world, but I still didn’t know if He was important to me. Christmas carols proclaimed that Jesus was a Savior, the Lord, the Son of God. But what that actually meant to me, I wouldn’t find out for at least another eight years of my life.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxb_-FRz4ItGh9RGg-GMABdJqeVfGzDgg9ZJhK0HWBe-t6oh7X8g9Vlok2hiK-Ka6nY-uJ-JUFAXRmKq-Fg-O43sLJ6rDTyOn2_HIAQiPQeFmMgXoMDYWUKtyT0K-LBHoJCsBrugIBpGuI/s1600/Christmas+Tree+&+Gifts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxb_-FRz4ItGh9RGg-GMABdJqeVfGzDgg9ZJhK0HWBe-t6oh7X8g9Vlok2hiK-Ka6nY-uJ-JUFAXRmKq-Fg-O43sLJ6rDTyOn2_HIAQiPQeFmMgXoMDYWUKtyT0K-LBHoJCsBrugIBpGuI/s400/Christmas+Tree+&+Gifts.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-small;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;">I began to realize that Christmas was about more<br />than pine trees and presents; it was about Jesus.</span></i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As a teenager I listened to the testimonies of others, my Latter-day Saint friends and religion teachers, as they expressed their love and appreciation for Jesus Christ in all seasons, not just at Christmastime. I learned words like <i>atonement</i>, <i>sin </i>and <i>repentance</i>. I came to know concepts like <i>salvation</i>, <i>redemption</i>, and <i>eternal life</i>. Little by little I realized that Jesus was indeed important to me; I just never knew the reasons why. I learned Jesus’ commandments and His teachings, and I made the choice to follow Him. I was baptized into the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints at age sixteen, and took upon myself the name of the Savior of the world.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In the past eleven years, I’ve learned even more about Jesus—who He was before the earth existed; who He was as He walked the dusty roads of Palestine; who He is now as our resurrected Lord; and who He will be when He returns to the earth to rule as King of kings. Not only that, but my knowledge has helped to create my own testimony of the divinity of the Lord Jesus Christ, and His integral role in my salvation. Indeed, it’s difficult to imagine that for the first years of my life, I was oblivious to the existence of a God or a Savior when both my Heavenly Father and my Lord Jesus Christ are now at the very center of my life and my joy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As I pondered all this recently, and in light of the holiday season, I discovered that there are, essentially, five truths about Christmas that I never knew as a child, but of which I am now able to testify. These truths are inseparably entwined into my life and my faith as a Latter-day Saint and a disciple of Jesus Christ.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #93c47d; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><u>Truth #1: The Old Testament and the Book of Mormon foretell the coming of a Savior, Jesus Christ.</u></b></span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Seven-hundred years before the birth of Christ, the ancient Prophet Isaiah foretold the coming of a Messiah who would redeem the world from sin:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “<i>For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.” </i></span><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> ~ (</span><a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/ot/isa/9.6?lang=eng#5" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Isaiah 9:6</span></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">)</span></i></blockquote>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"The Prophet Isaiah Foretells Christ's Birth" <br /><i>by Harry Anderson.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Likewise, the Book of Mormon P</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">rophet, Nephi, recorded his vision of the coming of the Savior six-hundred years before the advent of Christ: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> <i>“And it came to pass that I looked and beheld the great city of Jerusalem, and also other cities. And I beheld the city of Nazareth; and in the city of Nazareth I beheld a virgin, and she was exceedingly fair and white.</i></span><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “And it came to pass that I saw the heavens open; and an angel came down and stood before me; and he said unto me: Nephi, what beholdest thou?</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “And I said unto him: A virgin, most beautiful and fair above all other virgins. …</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “And he said unto me: Behold, the virgin whom thou seest is the mother of the Son of God, after the manner of the flesh.</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “And it came to pass that I beheld that she was carried away in the Spirit; and after she had been carried away in the Spirit for the space of a time the angel spake unto me, saying: Look! </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “And I looked and beheld the virgin again, bearing a child in her arms. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “And the angel said unto me: Behold the Lamb of God, yea, even the Son of the Eternal Father!”</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> ~ (</span><a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/1-ne/11.13-15,%2018-21?lang=eng#12" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">1 Nephi 11:13-15, 18-21</span></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">)</span></i></blockquote>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Adam & Eve performed animal<br />sacrifice in similitude of Christ.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The <a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/bd/law-of-moses?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Law of Moses</span></a>, given by the Lord to the ancient Israelites after their deliverance from slavery in Egypt, was a type and a shadow of things to come, namely, the advent of the Son of God. Ordinances of animal sacrifice and burnt offerings were practiced by ancient Jews as a similitude of the Only Begotten of the Father, who would enter the world to be sacrificed, and whose blood would atone for the transgression of Adam and bring immortal life to all of God’s children, past and present. This practice began with Adam and Eve after they were cast out of the Garden of Eden </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">(<a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/pgp/moses/5.4-9?lang=eng#3" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Moses 5:4-9</span></a>)</i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Many other prophets in the ancient Americas, as recorded in the Book of Mormon, proclaimed that the Son of God would come into the world, Whom would be called Jesus Christ. Many inspired men foretold the Lord’s birth, His ministry, His atonement, death, and subsequent resurrection long before Jesus actually came; and the righteous among God’s children in the ancient Americas also followed the Law of Moses until it was fulfilled by the shedding of the blood of Christ <i>(<a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/alma/25.15?lang=eng#14" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Alma 25:15</span></a>)</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The <a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/ot?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Old Testament</span></a>, too, has many instances in which revelation was given to men of God about the coming of Jesus Christ; to many in our day, these ancient prophecies in the Bible can seem confusing. But for those who knew and studied the word of God before the advent and Christ, the condescension of God was clear and hopeful. Prophets like Abraham, Moses, Isaiah, David, Zechariah, and others knew of, wrote of, and looked forward to the birth of a Holy Son, the Only Begotten of the Father in the flesh.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #93c47d; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><u>Truth #2: The New Testament records the mortal life and ministry of Jesus Christ.</u></b></span></h3>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"Boy Jesus in the Temple"<i> by Grant Romney Clawson</i></span><br />
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<i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Copyright © 2002 by Intellectual Reserve, Inc.</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Apostle Luke wrote a detailed account of the life of Jesus. Luke begins with the Savior’s humble birth in a stable in Bethlehem; then he describes an occurrence in the Lord’s youth when Joseph and Mary found the twelve year-old Jesus in the temple at Jerusalem conversing with doctors and learned men. When His mother, Mary, questioned Jesus about his seemingly thoughtless behavior, her Son’s response was, <i>“[Knew] ye not that I must be about my Father’s business?” (<a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/luke/2.42-49?lang=eng#41" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Luke 2:42-49</span></a>)</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The four gospels—the books of the apostles Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John—all tell of the Savior’s miracles among the people of the Holy Land. Jesus went about healing those who suffered from all manner of ailments. The blind received their sight<i> (<a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/matt/9.27-31?lang=eng#26" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Matthew 9:27-31</span></a>; <a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/john/9.1-11?lang=eng#primary" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">John 9:1-11</span></a>)</i>; the deaf were made to hear <i>(<a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/mark/7.32-35?lang=eng#31" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Mark 7:32-35</span></a>)</i>; the lame walked <i>(<a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/john/5.1-9?lang=eng#primary" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">John 5:1-9</span></a>)</i>; lepers were made clean and the sick were made whole <i>(<a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/luke/17.12-19?lang=eng#11" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Luke 17:12-19</span></a>; <a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/mark/5.25-34?lang=eng#24" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Mark 5:25-34</span></a>)</i>; and those who had died were raised once again to life <i>(<a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/mark/5.21-24,35-43?lang=eng#20" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Mark 5:21-24, 35-43</span></a>; <a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/john/11.41-44?lang=eng#40" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">John 11:41-44</span></a>)</i>.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"The Sermon on the Mount"<br /><i>by Carl Heinrich Bloch (1834 - 1890)</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Jesus confounded the wise and the learned who opposed him. He struck down the corruption of the <a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/bd/pharisees?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Pharisees</span></a> and <a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/bd/sadducees?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Sadducees</span></a> whose skewed beliefs and practices kept the gospel from reaching the hearts and minds of the Jewish people. Jesus’ sermons and teachings established a new law among the people of the world who professed to follow the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Hatred became love. Enemies became friends. Revenge changed into childlike submissiveness. Haughtiness turned to humility. Dominion gave way to meekness <i>(<a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/matt/5?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Matthew 5-7</span></a>)</i>. And with the death of the Son of God, the ritualistic sacrifice of animal flesh and blood would instead become a striving to offer to God a broken heart and a contrite spirit <i>(<a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/3-ne/9.19-20?lang=eng#18" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">3 Nephi 19:19-20</span></a>)</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Apostle John tells of the Lord’s instruction to His disciples on the night of the Last Supper, when Jesus gave the Twelve Apostles charge over the kingdom, and each other:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> <i> “Ye have not chosen me, but I have chosen you, and ordained you, that ye should go and bring forth fruit, and that your fruit should remain: that whatsoever ye shall ask of the Father in my name, he may give it you.</i></span><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “These things I command you, that ye love one another.”</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> ~ (</span><a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/john/15.16-17?lang=eng#15" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">John 15:16-17</span></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">)</span></i></blockquote>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>The Jews would crucify their Messiah.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Then, with His betrayal by one of His own disciples and His subsequent arrest and trial by corrupt officials, the innocent life of Jesus of Nazareth was outspokenly professed to be of less worth than that of a convicted murderer <i>(<a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/mark/15.6-15?lang=eng#5" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Mark 15:6-15</span></a>)</i>. To appease the raging people, Pontius Pilate, a Roman governor in Judea, ordered Jesus whipped and scourged for His purported crimes, while Roman soldiers mocked Christ’s divine kingship by crowning him with thorns<i> (<a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/john/19.1-3?lang=eng#primary" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">John 19:1-3</span></a>)</i>. But more of the Lord’s blood would be required to meet the demands of the angered crowds, who cried with loud voices to crucify the Man with whom Pilate had found no fault <i>(<a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/john/19.6?lang=eng#5" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">John 19:6</span></a>)</i>. The Jews would kill their own Prophet, their Messiah.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #93c47d; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><u>Truth #3: Jesus Christ is the Son of God, the Firstborn of our Heavenly Father.</u></b></span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Jesus Christ is the only person ever to be born on earth of a mortal mother and an immortal Father. From His mother, <a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/bd/mary" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Mary</span></a>, Jesus inherited His mortality—He was subject to hunger, thirst, pain, fatigue, and death. From God, His Holy Father, Jesus inherited divine powers; because of the immortal seeds given to Him by His Father, Jesus’ life could not be taken from Him until He had willingly fulfilled all that the Father had sent Him to earth to do.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The Father and The Son appeared together to<br />Joseph Smith.</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The mighty God, <i>our </i>Heavenly Father as well, has declared on several occasions in recorded scripture that Jesus Christ is His Only Begotten Son. In records kept by Moses, Heavenly Father says that Jesus was with Him <i>“from the beginning” (<a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/pgp/moses/2.26?lang=eng#25" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Moses 2:26</span></a>)</i>. Upon Jesus’ baptism by John, the voice of the Father was heard from heaven, saying, <i>“This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased” (<a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/matt/3.17?lang=eng#16" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Matthew 3:17</span></a>)</i>. To the ancient Nephites in America, the Father announced the visitation of the resurrected Christ by saying, <i>“Behold my Beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased, in whom I have glorified my name—hear ye him” (<a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/3-ne/11.7?lang=eng#6" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">3 Nephi 11:7</span></a>)</i>. Likewise, the Father introduced His Son in a similar way, when He and Jesus Christ appeared to the boy Joseph Smith to usher in the last dispensation, an event known as the <a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/pgp/js-h/1.15-20?lang=eng#14" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">First Vision</span></a>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Apostle John writes the account of the Lord Jesus’ encounter with Nicodemus, a member of the </span><a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/bd/sanhedrin?lang=eng" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Sanhedrin</span></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">, the highest order of leadership among the Jews. During their secret nighttime visit, Jesus testified of Himself and His own purpose on earth with this well-known declaration:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> <i> “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.</i></span><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved.”</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> ~ (</span><a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/john/3.16-17?lang=eng#15" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">John 3:16-17</span></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">)</span></i></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Word had travelled among many of the people of ancient Palestine, among whom Jesus had lived and ministered, that Jesus of Nazareth proclaimed Himself to be the Promised Messiah, the Son of God. For this reason was the Lord arrested and brought to a mock-trial before the high priests of the Sanhedrin. Upon being questioned by a member of the Jewish leadership the night of His arrest, Jesus held His tongue—until He was asked flatly if the rumors about His claims of divinity were true:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> <i>“Again the high priest asked him, and said unto him, Art thou the Christ, the Son of the Blessed? </i></span><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “And Jesus said, I am: and ye shall see the Son of man sitting on the right hand of power, and coming in the clouds of heaven.”</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> ~ (</span><a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/mark/14.61-62?lang=eng#60" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Mark 14:61-62</span></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">)</span></i></blockquote>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Jesus was accused of blasphemy for declaring<br />that He was the Son of God, the Savior.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The gospels of the Bible are filled with Jesus’ declarations to many concerning His truly divine connection to God the Father. Jesus spoke often of doing His Father’s will<i> (<a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/john/6.38-40?lang=eng#37" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">John 6:38-40</span></a>)</i>. He prayed to the Father, to the witness of others <i>(<a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/matt/26.39?lang=eng#38" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Matthew 26:39</span></a>)</i>. Jesus expounded the scriptures and announced that in Him were the prophecies of the Messiah fulfilled <i>(<a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/luke/4.16-22?lang=eng#15" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Luke 4:16-22</span></a>)</i>. The corrupt leaders of Jesus’ native faith, however, would only perpetuate prophecy with their claims of blasphemy that would ultimately lead to the death of the Savior of the World.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After His death and resurrection, Jesus appeared to the righteous Nephite peoples in the ancient Americas, declaring once more in sacred record that He was the Only Begotten of the Father:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> <i> “Behold, I am Jesus Christ the Son of God. I created the heavens and the earth, and all things that in them are. I was with the Father from the beginning. I am in the Father, and the Father in me; and in me hath the Father glorified his name.”</i></span><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> ~ (</span><a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/3-ne/9.15?lang=eng#14" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">3 Nephi 9:15</span></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">)</span></i></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Even in modern times, recorded again in scripture, Jesus has declared, <i>“I was in the beginning with the Father, and am the Firstborn” (<span style="color: #e69138;"><a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/dc-testament/dc/93.21?lang=eng#20" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Doctrine & Covenants 93:21</span></a>)</span></i>.</span><br />
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<h3>
<span style="color: #93c47d; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><u>Truth #4: Jesus’ conception and birth were miraculous and announced by angels.</u></b></span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Again from the writings of Isaiah, we read the prophecy of Jesus’ unprecedented mortal advent:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> <i>“Therefore the Lord himself shall give you a sign; Behold, a virgin shall conceive, and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel.”</i></span><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> ~ (</span><a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/ot/isa/7.14?lang=eng#13" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Isaiah 7:14</span></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">)</span></i></blockquote>
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<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">“The Annunciation:
The Angel Gabriel Appears </span></div>
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<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">to Mary”<i> by John Scott</i></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Copyright © 1997 by Intellectual Reserve, Inc.</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Before Mary would be told by an angel about her destiny as the mother of the Lord, an angel visited her cousin’s husband who was a priest in the temple at Jerusalem. The angel told the man, Zacharias, that his wife Elisabeth would conceive a child whom they should name John, and that their son would be a forerunner in bringing people to the Lord their God. Elisabeth, though advanced in age and unable to have children all her life, would indeed conceive and bear a child, who would become John the Baptist, the prophet who prepared the way for the coming of the Savior<i> (<a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/luke/1.5-25,%2057-63?lang=eng#4" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Luke 1:5-25, 57-63</span></a>)</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">There seems to be but little known of Elisabeth’s cousin, Mary, the mother of Jesus, except that she was a descendant of David living in the town of Nazareth, and espoused to a man named Joseph. Of importance, the scripture tells us, is that she was virtuous and pure, and had not known a man. When the angel named Gabriel appeared to her, he told her she was highly favored of the Lord; he informed Mary that for that reason, she would be overcome by the Holy Ghost and <i>“conceive in [her] womb, and bring forth a son, and … call his name JESUS,”</i> all while retaining her perfect virtue <i>(<a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/luke/1.26-38?lang=eng#25" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Luke 1:26-38</span></a>)</i>. This unique circumstance was the sign and the miracle of the coming of the Son of God into the world as foretold by prophets.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Elder <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_E._Talmage" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">James E. Talmage</span></a>, a Latter-day apostle of Jesus Christ, explained in beautiful and understandable terms how such a conception could have taken place between an immortal Being, God the Father, and a mortal woman of Galilee:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> “That Child to be born of Mary was begotten of Elohim, the Eternal Father, </i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">not </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">in violation of natural law but in accordance with a </i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">higher manifestation</span><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> thereof.”</i><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i> ~ Elder James E. Talmage, </i><a href="http://www.lds.org/media-library/audio-interim/jesus-the-christ?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Jesus the Christ</span></a><i> (1981), 81 (emphasis added).</i></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">God, the Eternal Father is the literal parent of Jesus, just as much as Mary was; but the woman’s conception took place without stripping Mary of her virginity. Therefore, Mary remained a pure and chosen vessel for bringing forth the Son of the Everlasting God, while also keeping her commitment of espousal to Joseph.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The errand of angels was still not over in announcing the good news; Mary returned after a three-month visit to her cousin Elisabeth’s home, heavy with child. Her fiancé, Joseph, was worried about their engagement under the new and embarrassing circumstances, and desired to put an end to their marriage commitment—until he, too, was visited by an angel. In a dream of the night an angel spoke to him:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> “Joseph, thou son of David, fear not to take unto thee Mary thy wife: for that which is conceived in her is of the Holy Ghost.</i><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></i><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> “And she shall bring forth a son, and thou shalt call his name JESUS: for he shall save his people from their sins.”</i><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></i><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> ~ (<a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/matt/1.20-21?lang=eng#19" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Matthew 1:20-21</span></a>)</i></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Jesus was born to Mary and Joseph in the most<br />humble of circumstances.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Finally, as the birth of her first Son drew near, Mary made her way with Joseph from their home in Nazareth to Bethlehem to be counted in a census ordered by Caesar. While there, Mary and Joseph were forced to spend the night in a stable because they could not find a room at any inn. It was there, in the humblest of circumstances that Mary labored and gave birth to the Savior Jesus. While uneventful to the rest of the quiet world, angels would again hail the happening among others who were themselves of humble means:</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"Glad Tidings of Great Joy"<br /><i>by Walter Rane</i></span><br />
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<i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Copyright © Intellectual Reserve, Inc.</span></i></div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.</span> </i></blockquote>
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<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.</span> </i></blockquote>
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<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.</span> </i></blockquote>
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<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.</span> </i></blockquote>
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<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.</span></i></blockquote>
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<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,</span> </i></blockquote>
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<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.”</span> </i></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i> ~ (<a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/luke/2.8-14?lang=eng#7" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Luke 2:8-14</span></a>)</i></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Messiah had come! The Savior was born! Lying in a box where feed was kept for animals, and tightly-wrapped in strips of cloth known as swaddling clothes, the Only Begotten Son of God, had come down from His throne on high to live amongst men and to fulfill the plan of His exalted Father. From the simplest and humblest of beginnings, the babe of Bethlehem would pass through pain, suffering, and death to rise to the status of King of Kings and Lord or Lords.</span><br />
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<h3>
<span style="color: #93c47d; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><u>Truth #5: Jesus Christ was sent to redeem the world from sin by sacrificing His own life.</u></b></span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Once again from the poetic verse of Isaiah, written hundreds of years before Christ, the mission of the Promised Messiah was beautifully told:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief: and we hid as it were our faces from him; he was despised, and we esteemed him not.</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></i><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows: yet we did esteem him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted.</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></i><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> “But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed.”</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></i><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> ~ (<a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/ot/isa/53.3-5?lang=eng#2" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Isaiah 53:3-5</span></a>)</span></i></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After His resurrection, Jesus Christ ministered for forty days in His glorified form among His friends and disciples in the Holy Land. After the Lord had ascended into heaven, His apostles continued to testify of the Savior’s glorious triumph over sin and death. They did this by recording their experiences with the Savior of the World, and by sharing the message of the gospel with the others. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Matthew the Apostle records Jesus’ institution of the sacrament, a lasting act performed in remembrance of the sacrifice of the Lamb of God, which, at the time Jesus gave the instruction, was only hours away:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> “And as they were eating, Jesus took bread, and blessed it, and brake it, and gave it to the disciples, and said, Take, eat; this is my body.</i><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></i><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> “And he took the cup, and gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying, Drink ye all of it;</i><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></i><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> “For this is my blood of the new testament, which is shed for many for the remission of sins.”</i><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></i><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> ~ (<a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/matt/26.26-28?lang=eng#25" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Matthew 26:26-28</span></a>)</i></blockquote>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"In Remembrance of Me"<i> by Walter Rane</i></span><br />
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<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Copyright © Intellectual Reserve, Inc.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The resilient apostle and missionary Paul dedicated his life to preaching the gospel of Jesus Christ to the world after experiencing a miraculous reprimand from the risen Lord Himself. Later, in one of his epistles to the people of Corinth, Paul testified of the crucial truth of the divinity of Jesus the Redeemer, the first basic witness that Paul had also received:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i> “For I delivered unto you first of all that which I also received, how that Christ died for our sins according to the scriptures;</i></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><br /></i></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i> “And that he was buried, and that he arose again the third day according to the scriptures.</i></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><br /></i></span><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> ~ (</span><a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/1-cor/15.3-4?lang=eng#2" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">1 Corinthians 15:3-4</span></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">)</span></i></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In his last written record, John the Revelator’s most important final witness was of Jesus Christ, <i>“him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in his own blood,” (<a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/rev/1.5?lang=eng#4" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Revelation 1:5</span></a>)</i>, and that the Lord would come again to reign on earth.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The risen Christ Himself also bore witness of His foreordained role in His Father’s plan, and of the purposes He accomplished in the flesh through His atonement and resurrection from the dead. Gathered with His other sheep in the ancient America’s, Jesus said:</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Jesus visited the ancient inhabitants of the New<br />World and organized His Church.</i></span></td></tr>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i> “Behold I have given unto you my gospel, and this is the gospel which I have given unto you—that I came into the world to do the will of my Father, because my Father sent me.</i></span> </blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i> “And my Father sent me that I might be lifted up upon the cross; and after that I had been lifted up upon the cross, that I might draw all men unto me, that as I have been lifted up by men even so should men be lifted up by the Father, to stand before me, to be judged of their works, whether they be good or whether they be evil—</i></span> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i> “And for this cause have I been lifted up; therefore, according to the power of the Father I will draw all men unto me, that they may be judged according to their works.”</i></span> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i> ~ (<a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/3-ne/27.13-15?lang=eng#12" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">3 Nephi 27:13-15</span></a>)</i></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And in modern revelation given to the <a href="http://mormon.org/beliefs/joseph-smith" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Prophet Joseph Smith</span></a>, Jesus Christ has testified numerous times of His suffering for mankind, which, the Lord says, caused even He, “<i>the greatest of all, to tremble because of pain, and to bleed at every pore, and to suffer both body and spirit—and would that I might not drink the bitter cup, and shrink</i>.” But the glory goes to the Father, says Jesus, that the Son faithfully completed His task and brought redemption to the children of men <i>(<a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/dc-testament/dc/19.18-19?lang=eng#17" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Doctrine & Covenants 19:18-19</span></a>)</i>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">~</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Jesus Christ is my peace in a<br />turbulent world.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I testify solemnly that these five truths of Christmas are indeed a reality. These simple truths have profound meaning to the inhabitants of the earth in all places, and in all periods of time; my knowledge and belief in them has blessed my life beyond measure. These truths are the fountain of my joy through every life experience. They are the roots of the character I strive to live by. They are a solid foundation for my perspective of the past, my faith for daily living, and my hope for the future. That fountain is endless in its abundance of mercy and peace. Those roots are strong in their resolve to be an example of the love of God. And upon that foundation, which is Jesus Christ, I know I cannot fall.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I add my own witness to those of prophets, apostles, angels, shepherds, and wise men: A Messiah was promised. A Savior was born. The Son of God did live on the earth. Jesus Christ gave His life for all mankind. The Redeemer of the world broke the bonds of death to live again. The Master still lives today; He loves us all individually and personally, and His arms are outstretched to receive us.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I testify to all who receive my words that the true and most important gifts of Christmas were given long ago: The Father gave His Son, and the Son gave His life, that all may come unto Them and be saved. I pray that broken hearts, contrite spirits, and willing minds can be our gifts to our Heavenly Father and our Savior not just at Christmastime, but always.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>May the most important gift we give during Christmas be our<br />dedication to follow the Savior of the World, Jesus Christ.</i></span></td></tr>
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Wade W.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09389169527454451047noreply@blogger.com0Orem, UT, USA40.2968979 -111.6946474999999740.2000099 -111.85600899999997 40.3937859 -111.53328599999998tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8378638217296140991.post-87148874190000579452013-11-12T14:57:00.001-07:002014-11-06T18:52:29.664-07:00Rest Unto Your Souls<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF2G9Bf1wIlOZhzeOiqHFcVL0fCKmkppl9bY7QaNR9ZNGc3glna_bsaEVHz56Y7L4TmvCndAynkPT1NyP6IlwhNPQVZ_oHzAYdbIyfYAecdZFDq-TUJenChBB2BgJHB31V_pwJitEwG63y/s1600/Christus+Hand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF2G9Bf1wIlOZhzeOiqHFcVL0fCKmkppl9bY7QaNR9ZNGc3glna_bsaEVHz56Y7L4TmvCndAynkPT1NyP6IlwhNPQVZ_oHzAYdbIyfYAecdZFDq-TUJenChBB2BgJHB31V_pwJitEwG63y/s200/Christus+Hand.jpg" height="200" width="134" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I’ve had trouble sleeping for years. Even when I’m exhausted it can take me upwards of an hour to finally slip away into rest. Other times, I don’t sleep at all because my mind is anxious or my body can’t hold still and relax. A great deal of that has to do with having <a href="http://www.tsa-usa.org/aMedical/whatists_cov.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Tourette Syndrome</span></a>, and the rest is probably from the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Obsessive%E2%80%93compulsive_disorder" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">obsessive compulsive disorder</span></a> that couples it. Even as a baby, though, my mother says I was the worst sleeper of all her four boys, and that I have been ever since.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcjOa621uuGQXaeZDE0K4ATDu_0pp-UDnxh7lw5EPUlz6nfw2XeyNdfW-HC5Z5vhys-npbKEDYZP3JlBXDq1tH6z7-R0hv5TWG_D0uV0a-TpcEJxVTs3kOoYGQzRaceTh_9XzEVkHOYdfi/s1600/The+Road+to+Bethlehem+by+Joseph+Brickey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcjOa621uuGQXaeZDE0K4ATDu_0pp-UDnxh7lw5EPUlz6nfw2XeyNdfW-HC5Z5vhys-npbKEDYZP3JlBXDq1tH6z7-R0hv5TWG_D0uV0a-TpcEJxVTs3kOoYGQzRaceTh_9XzEVkHOYdfi/s320/The+Road+to+Bethlehem+by+Joseph+Brickey.jpg" height="224" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">"The Road to Bethlehem"<i> by Joseph Brickey</i></span><br />
<i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Copyright © 2010 Joseph Brickey</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Like my mother, when nighttime comes and I crawl into bed, my mind so often races as I retrace my day’s events unnecessarily or mentally prepare for or plan the events of the day to come. Finding a comfortable, healthy balance between sleeping too little and sleeping too much (when I am finally able) has been perhaps the most difficult trial of the past five or more years, even more so than my disorders and my same-sex attraction.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I’ve had to come up with several tactics for combating my nervous mind and body, and when one doesn’t work, I keep trying others until my eyelids start to feel heavy and I know I’m passing into a dream world. My most usual and effective plan of attack for insomnia is to recite memorized texts, consisting mainly of scriptures, hymn texts, and the sacred, familiar ordinances of the <a href="http://www.lds.org/church/temples/why-we-build-temples/inside-the-temple" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">holy temple</span></a>. I do it as a way to focus my mind on something else until the repetitions and strain of my active jaw finally wills me to be silent and slide out of consciousness.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">"Jesus as a Youth in the Carpenter's Shop" </span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><i>by Del Parson</i></span><br />
<i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Copyright © 2002 Intellectual Reserve, Inc.</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I will start at the beginning of the Bible and quote every scripture aloud that I know by heart, from <a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/ot?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Old Testament</span></a> to <a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">New Testament</span></a>, then going on to the <a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Book of Mormon: Another Testament of Jesus Christ</span></a>, and the <a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/dc-testament?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Doctrine and Covenants</span></a>. If I’m still awake then, I jump to the always-verbatim <a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/dc-testament/dc/20.75-79?lang=eng#74" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">prayers</span></a> that Latter-day Saints offer in the blessing of the bread and water of the<span style="color: #e69138;"> <a href="http://www.lds.org/topics/sacrament" target="_blank">sacrament</a></span>, through which we remember and worship the Lord <a href="http://mormon.org/beliefs/jesus-christ" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Jesus Christ</span></a>; then I go on to the <a href="http://www.lds.org/church/temples/why-we-build-temples/what-happens-in-temples?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">saving ordinances</span></a> of the House of the Lord, which I have long had memorized, beginning with <a href="http://www.lds.org/topics/baptisms-for-the-dead" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">baptism for the dead</span></a>, then <a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/bd/confirmation" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">confirmation </span></a>to receive the Holy Ghost, then on through proper sequence, ending with the <a href="http://www.mormonnewsroom.org/article/temple-marriage" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">sealing ceremony</span></a>, which binds husbands and wives and their families together for all time and eternity.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">"John the Baptist Baptizing </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">Jesus" </span></span><br />
<i style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-size: small;">by Harry Anderson</span></i><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><i>Copyright © Intellectual </i><i>Reserve, Inc.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">If none of these things works in putting me out of it, my last resort (if I don’t end up starting over at the beginning with the scriptures again) is to quietly sing or recite my favorite <a href="http://www.lds.org/music/library/hymns?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">hymns</span></a>. There are many hymns that I have memorized—both words and tunes. But as for the rest of my favorites, I only have their melodies committed to memory. In the case of those, I will usually remember a few lines from perhaps the first verse of the hymn, and for the rest I will simply make something up that fits the rhyming pattern.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Earlier this year, and for many months, I would often come back to one particular hymn tune that I really liked—“<a href="http://www.lds.org/music/library/hymns/my-redeemer-lives?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">My Redeemer Lives</span></a>,” with words written by <a href="http://www.lds.org/churchhistory/presidents/controllers/potcController.jsp?leader=15&topic=facts" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Gordon B. Hinckley</span></a>, the fifteenth <a href="http://www.lds.org/topics/prophets" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Prophet and President</span></a> of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (<a href="http://mormon.org/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Mormons</span></a>). This particular hymn’s tune is shorter than most, and only has three verses; but the melody is soaring and triumphant, like the regal fanfare that might be played for a noble and royal ruler. How fitting it is, then, that the text of the hymn provides worship in words to the Ruler of all things in heaven and earth, the Lord Jesus Christ.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">"Jesus Healing the Blind Man"<br /><i>by Carl Heinrich Bloch (1834 - 1890)</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The first, powerful verse of this hymn would always stick in my mind:</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I know that my Redeemer lives,</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Triumphant Savior, Son of God;</i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Victorious</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> over pain and death,</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My King, my Leader, and my Lord.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">”</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The trouble was that I didn’t know the rest of the verses (short as they are) by heart. So as I typically do, I started forming words in my mind that matched the established rhyming scheme, and fit in with the theme of the characteristics of Jesus Christ. Night after sleepless night, this hymn was the first to enter my head, and many times I successfully fell asleep humming the tune and wracking my brain still for a few more lines that fit with it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Soon I had a few verses that I had created myself and memorized, and I always sung them to myself when I sang that hymn. I didn’t even care what the real lyrics were, I liked mine more! So one day I sat down at my computer and typed out the verses that I had written myself, just for fun. But I felt that they were too good to leave alone by themselves, and determined to add more verses until I had a finished, new hymn text of my own.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">"Gethsemane"</span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966;"><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">by Carl Heinrich Bloch </span></i><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">(1834 - 1890)</span></i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I tried several times over the coming months to force some of the original creativity that had given birth to those random lines, but as it so often happens with me, I cannot force a creative flame from the ashes of past inspiration; and I never know when the ashes might stir into embers and suddenly catch fire, like they finally did in September. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I intentionally sat at my computer with a desire to write something—anything. I get this craving a lot. I opened files for several unfinished pieces and skimmed their familiar words, but didn’t feel any warmth from them. Then I opened the file titled <i>“Unfinished Hymn Text”</i> and read through the verses I had churned out so far—some solid, others needing a little tweaking. Just then my mind was enlightened, and the words began to flow. Not only that, but I discovered my own theme for the text, which mirrored key events from the life of the Savior, from His miraculous birth, to His fateful death and glorious resurrection.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Within minutes I had adjusted a few verses, and written several new ones, and arranged them chronologically with Jesus’ miraculous life. I had eight verses total, which seemed like enough at first; but my obsessive-compulsive side whispered that I would be much more mentally satisfied with ten verses when, after all, I loved to count most things in intervals of five. Not only that, but I realized that I needed to highlight a couple more events from the ministry of Jesus, and two verses would be just enough to do so.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">"Ecce Homo (Behold the Man)" </span><br />
<i><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">by Antonio Ciseri (1821 - 1891)</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I was surprised how quickly the additional two verses came, and the text was finished! I changed a few words over the next week or so, as I shared the poem with a few friends and tested the flow of the rhyming pattern. But the changes were minor ones, and I was very proud to have a new poem under my belt; even though I love to write, I don’t write rhyming poems very often, and it’s always a pleasure to finish one.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">However, as I hummed through the poem all the way using the tune of “My Redeemer Lives” as I had intended, I found that the contemplative, reverent theme of the text I wrote no longer matched the energy of the tune. I needed something calmer, sweeter. Even though that hymn tune was my inspiration for the text, I knew I would need to pick a different tune to put with my completed words to better complement it. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAJlf-mgdttoQwj9jGEbOsAG6meUaOQMIO69vgV5oOadkg5oCKUyuIoMAiMtNukg0eAwICb07yMNFUnosIsb0njdFyDXueBs0hgdvNKHcg2LI0Var8d2J5FzeKmzXW2P-vEg1ifqpaGeIr/s1600/The+Crucifixion+by+Carl+Heinrich+Bloch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAJlf-mgdttoQwj9jGEbOsAG6meUaOQMIO69vgV5oOadkg5oCKUyuIoMAiMtNukg0eAwICb07yMNFUnosIsb0njdFyDXueBs0hgdvNKHcg2LI0Var8d2J5FzeKmzXW2P-vEg1ifqpaGeIr/s200/The+Crucifixion+by+Carl+Heinrich+Bloch.jpg" height="320" width="275" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">"The Crucifixion" </span><br />
<span style="color: #ffd966;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><i>by </i></span><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Carl Heinrich Bloch (1834 - 1890)</span></i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">That was as simple as looking up the tune meter in the back of my hymnal, and comparing it to others with the same meter; I listened to a few familiar melodies until I settled on the one that best matched a serene and grateful reflection on the life and ministry of the Lord Jesus Christ—<i>“<a href="http://www.lds.org/music/library/hymns/know-this-that-every-soul-is-free?lang=eng" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Know This, That Every Soul Is Free</span></a>.”</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">With everything falling into place, I still didn’t have the most important part of the poem—a title. It was still listed in my files as <i>“Unfinished Hymn Text.”</i> In my mind I kept coming back to <i>“King of Kings,”</i> a title for Jesus Christ that I use in the poem. I had almost decided that that would be the title, until I remembered that there was already a hymn in the LDS hymnal with a similar name: <i>“Come, O Though King of Kings.”</i> My title needed to be decidedly different, so I changed my mind.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">As I shared the poem with a few others, I had an epiphany one day shortly after making some punctuation changes to the text. I have recently been reading the Book of Mormon, and a common scripture from that volume came to me suddenly one day. The </span><a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/2-ne/25.26?lang=eng#25" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">verse</span><span style="color: #ffd966;"> </span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">from the Second Book of Nephi reads as follows:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i></i></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEGZ6WyUjrc7WDRZA8bgXBOlecYzanBZDjP8chOWSFw58KljfOHii79-UtlokuU-DCmUx3N7veT1sL8wpCk6Wi5AzIkww-8LPshe0ui7AB6Hur8F-qX6Z8dkjPEWKkNQ67tBgMJ4rnYhgq/s1600/The+Resurrection+by+Carl+Heinrich+Bloch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEGZ6WyUjrc7WDRZA8bgXBOlecYzanBZDjP8chOWSFw58KljfOHii79-UtlokuU-DCmUx3N7veT1sL8wpCk6Wi5AzIkww-8LPshe0ui7AB6Hur8F-qX6Z8dkjPEWKkNQ67tBgMJ4rnYhgq/s1600/The+Resurrection+by+Carl+Heinrich+Bloch.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">"The Resurrection"<br /><i>by Carl Heinrich Bloch (1834 - 1890)</i></span></td></tr>
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> “And we talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ, we preach of Christ, we prophecy of Christ, and we write according to our prophecies, that our children may know to what source they may look for a remission of their sins.”</i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It was perfect. “<i>We Talk of Christ</i>.” It fit so comfortably at the head of my poem, and matched just what I had written the text about in the first place—the life and ministry of the Savior Jesus Christ. It is my new favorite poem that I’ve ever written, and my second hymn text. The first one I wrote is discussed in my post “</span><a href="http://myshatteredsilence.blogspot.com/2012/03/thy-faith-hath-made-thee-whole.html" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e69138;">Thy Faith Hath Made Thee Whole</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">,” which I was inspired to write about my rocky, but triumphant journey of faith in the Latter-day Saint Church.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I realize that this poem is likely too long to ever really be sung. But with music as my inspiration to write the words, I had to keep music incorporated into the feel of the piece. Really, it’s just one way that I enjoy expressing my faith in God and His beloved and Only Begotten Son; and it’s a way for me to share that testimony with others.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjzteibDJCsTawVGyM807lXajsAr-fBUQf3Ab_pzEIqiirzcIwxmQxvtSWUKTIcPACWPXAE7QnJXt4yc2PeogX_XoprMb3PYWaxQBfeG_LmbXJwKNvGHKAUUQTV-XuX8TaflDwqJiBjbXx/s1600/Christus+Foot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjzteibDJCsTawVGyM807lXajsAr-fBUQf3Ab_pzEIqiirzcIwxmQxvtSWUKTIcPACWPXAE7QnJXt4yc2PeogX_XoprMb3PYWaxQBfeG_LmbXJwKNvGHKAUUQTV-XuX8TaflDwqJiBjbXx/s200/Christus+Foot.jpg" height="200" width="135" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When I think of the parallels between the poem I wrote and how that it came to be—from restless nights of prayers and wishes that I could simply rest—I came to discover that my text was a reminder that my true peace and comfort, my real rest, comes by and through Jesus Christ, the Son of God, and through His Father and mine; through faith and action on their precepts and saving ordinances, and through enduring to whatever end, even unto death, as the Lord did. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I hope you and enjoy my poem, and that it helps you reflect and ponder upon the life of our Master and Redeemer Jesus Christ, and how you can become closer to Him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">❧</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">‒ <b><i><u>We Talk of Christ</u></i></b> ‒</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Sung to the tune of</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>“Know This, That Every Soul Is Free”</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">~</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>While all the world was hushed and still,</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>A babe was born as Mary’s Son;</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Divinely chosen to fulfill</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>His Father’s plan, God’s will be done.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>A simple boy, a Nazarene,</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>No beauty that we should desire;</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>A sinless man, perfect and clean,</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Baptized by water and by fire.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>His miracles did never cease;</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>He healed the lame, the sick, the blind.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>While in His yoke He offers peace—</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Take up your cross and be refined.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Within a grove of olive trees,</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>The blood of Jesus stained the ground;</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>“Remove this cup,” His only plea,</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Then suffered He without a sound.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>He held His tongue ‘mid scoffs and scorn,</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Beneath the whip He did not yield;</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>The Son of Man was crowned with thorns,</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Condemned to die, and none appealed.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>The Cross of Calvary He bore,</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>His flesh was pierced for all mankind;</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>That sinners should not suffer more,</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>If their Redeemer they will find.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>In Jesus’ death one hope remained:</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>His promise, “I shall rise again.”</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Immortal life to clean and stained—</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>The resurrection of all men.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>The morning came—how bright the day!</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Behold the empty garden tomb!</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>The chains of death do not hold sway,</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>The pow’r of Christ doth all consume.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>The Son of God, the risen Lord</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Ascendeth to His throne above!</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Salvation doth His life afford,</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>The sweet gift of His perfect love.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>When Jesus Christ shall come again</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>To reign on earth as King of kings,</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>An age of peace shall there begin,</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>And praises to His name we’ll sing.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">~</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>- <b>Wade A. Walker</b> -</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>September 20, 2013</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">~</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>** NOTE: I share my writing on this site trusting that visitors are scrupulous enough not to plagiarize. If you'd like to share this poem or other content with others, please share the URL to the entire blog post. Please DO NOT copy and paste any text for personal use without written permission. As the original writer of the content herein, I’d like the credit for these pieces to remain mine. **</b></span></div>
Wade W.http://www.blogger.com/profile/09389169527454451047noreply@blogger.com0Orem, UT, USA40.2968979 -111.6946474999999740.2000099 -111.85600899999997 40.3937859 -111.53328599999998