Labyrinth

I was introduced to a new religious archetype this weekend, the labyrinth.

Some friends and I were exploring the grounds of Vanderbilt University in Nashville, Tennessee and we found ourselves at the Scarritt Bennett Center, a religious institution and retreat.  We followed the signs toward the garden and found a labyrinth set into the ground with paving stones. It was in the center of a lovely courtyard with trees dropping vibrant yellow and red leaves onto the grass below. The air was fresh with just a nip of cold in it, something that I didn't realize I missed, having spent my fall in humid, rainy Dallas. It was a lovely, affirming morning.

But it got even better.

The labyrinth is an interesting icon. Anthology has taught us that it was an important symbol in Greek myth, Tantric Buddhism, Native American mythology, and Egyptian culture. Many people use it the word synonymously with "maze," but they are not the same thing.

I started at the beginning of the labyrinth, sort of as a lark, but with each turn, I got more and more emotional until I was almost in tears by the time I stepped into the center.  It was such a beautiful experience. My friends and I discussed it and made a few realizations.

The first is that if you look at the center or the other paths, you're going to be confused when the path you're on changes course unexpectedly. The best move, for motion-sickness-avoiding sake, is to look as far down your own path as you can and look for the turn ahead, then look for the next turn after that, and so on, and turn by turn, you'll eventually get where you're going.

The next is that there will be times when you're really close to the center, but your path will suddenly bear farther away for a few moments. It's actually really frustrating being one bank away from the center one moment and then four banks away the next.  But that's how it goes.

The final thought we had is the difference between mazes and labyrinths. As the plaque in the SBC's courtyard explained, a labyrinth has no tricks or dead ends.  There is one path and it always leads to the center if one presses forward long enough.

Do you remember the experience I had with my Heavenly Father a few weeks ago? When His soft, gentle voice told me that it would be okay someday, even though now was shit?  Since then, my life has been exponentially easier.  Don't get me wrong, it still sucks being me in a lot of ways (and it rocks being me in just as many ways [US Grand Prix was this weekend and I was there :) ]), but through it all, I have hope that it will be okay, and the mere presence of that hope makes all the difference.

That's what this labyrinth was to me.  It was proof that life turns out okay, even if the path you're on is circuitous, serpentine, and inefficient.  If you press forward and only look as far ahead as the next turn, you'll get there eventually.

I took a video of the path.  Feel free to watch and experience it through my eyes.

This is a post about my family fasting for me. Titles are hard.

Read this one to the end. It's scattered and confusing, but the end is what matters.

My weekend was very interesting.  Friday began as usual, then rapidly descended into so much homework and projects that I didn't end up leaving my house until 9 pm. So all of this might have happened sooner had I not been so consumed with homework that I almost literally didn't have space in my head for emotion.

Saturday is when the real story begins. I woke up with a general sense of ennui. I fixed my breakfast and went back to bed for a few hours, trying to escape the clamor of my roommates making breakfast for their various and noisy love interests. I read my book for awhile (Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel García Márquez. Dense but interesting), got out of bed, cleaned the kitchen, showered etc., but all with a looming fear or anger or something hanging over my head. It finally hit at about four in the afternoon. I lost myself in angst. Everything set off my rage and loneliness.

It was about this time that my mom called to simply tell me that my family was fasting for me the next day. She said that they knew that I needed a boost and was feeling depressed and they wanted to help. At that, she closed the conversation and hung up.  The feelings of angst lifted a bit. I drove into town, found a place to read my book, and spent the evening in vague contentment. The raincloud that was hanging over my head had lifted a bit and sun was beginning to spill through ever so slightly. It was still a grey day, but there was promise of sun tomorrow.

Can I Bear His Cross?

One of my best friends wrote a very beautiful musical fireside presentation that was performed tonight.  It was about the Atonement of Jesus Christ, told from the point of view of some of the "supporting characters" from the Gospels. People like Mary of Bethany, the Roman centurion who understood Jesus' divinity, Joseph of Arimithea, and Pontius Pilate each had a story to tell through beautiful music.

One song absolutely cut me to my core. Simon the Cyrenian, a passerby during Jesus' burdensome walk to Calvary, was compelled to carry the cross for Jesus by the Romans. My friend told his story through the most beautiful song I've heard in a long time.

Can I Bear His Cross?

Lauren Woodbury

I was only passing through, unaware of the reason for the throng,

But something in me knew as I walked along.

And then I saw the man, bruised, wearied and tried

And I didn't understand why he was to be crucified.

Suddenly they pulled me from the crowd and laid his cross on me.

I was compelled to follow this Jesus on the road to Calvary.

And as I struggled to stand, I wondered,

Can I bear His cross? Can I ease His pain?

If my will were lost, what would be the cost and would He complain?

And when this burden has passed, who will keep the stain?

Can I bear His cross? Can I ease His pain?

I was only halfway there, stumbling under the weight of my load,

Following his footsteps with care as we walked up the road.

And then I saw the place. Gratefully I fell to the ground,

Looked up and saw His face, and in His eyes I found

The anguish of a thousand souls was deeply written

In expressions of determined love and mercy never hidden.

And as I looked on this man, I wondered,

Did I bear His cross? Did I ease His pain?

If my will were lost, what would be the cost and would He have complained?

And now this burden has passed and He keeps the stain.

Did I bear His cross? Did I ease His pain?

Then they seized Him, He was cruelly driven

To that dark hill where His fate was set,

And they raised Him as He raised His voice to Heaven

With pleading words that I will never forget.

For if we're only passing through, unaware of His suffering that day,

We won't know the pain He knew and we won't hear Him say,

I will bear your cross. I will ease your pain.

When your will is lost, I will pay the cost, and I won't complain.

And when your burden has passed, I will keep the stain.

I will bear your cross, I will ease your pain.

Even if no one ever reads those lyrics all the way through, I am glad I wrote them here. I am glad that in writing them, I relived the moment in which Simon of Cyrene sang the last verse. 

My cross, while something that I know I can manage with the Lord's help, has been feeling heavy lately. I'm struggling with some pretty intense loneliness and a case of unrequited love from both the girl I think could be the one and the straight best friend that I just can't help being attracted to. On top of that, my beloved and underinsured car was stolen just a few days after I spent 12 hours and 1000 dollars fixing it and I've been having trouble signing up for classes, finding a ride back to school, and getting housing that's close enough for a recently-carless individual.  I don't mention these things to complain (much), but instead to show how much relief I felt at hearing this song tonight.

Jesus is bearing my cross right now. He knows how much I love my best friend and He knows how hard I want to make it work with a woman.  He knows that getting on a mission is hard and that I'm trying, but failing occasionally. He knows about my collegiate stress and my unfortunate loss of a car I patiently and lovingly restored. He knows my money woes (of which I have little and shouldn't even complain about). He knows how nervous I am to uproot myself yet again and move to a new city, leaving behind family and friends, some of whom I'll likely never see again in this life.  

Christ has taken all of that and willingly put it upon His shoulders.  His Atonement and grace are sufficient to bear me up, even when the trials seem too difficult to bear. He's leading me until I stumble and can go no further, and then He's picking up the cross from off of my back and carrying it the rest of the way.

This Simon the Cyrenian was right. Jesus' burden wasn't the cross, it was the knowledge of each of our pains, sicknesses, sins, and sorrows. And that burden which He willingly bore so long ago is what now enables Him to lift us up and bear us home when we feel like we can take no more.

I have such a strong testimony of that and I am so grateful for the knowledge that I have that, by trusting in Jesus Christ's grace, everything will work out alright.

I'm filled with emotions tonight, some happy, some sad, and some bittersweet, but this life is good.

Easter Sunday

I have about a jillion things on my mind today, but I'm going to save them for later.

Today is about Easter.

I love holidays. That's not news.  However, I treasure Easter for a great many reasons. The food is always wonderful. My mom is a maverick in the kitchen; her cooking is always good and her baking even better. Dinner's good, dessert's great, every single day. 

The day always seems a little slower than most Sundays as well. There's the requisite Easter basket hunt before church, followed by a good breakfast and a hot, slow shower. Church passes and is followed by a nap and a big dinner with family.  We retire outside for a some conversation and, if my nieces and nephews are around, an Easter egg hunt. Finally, we watch an uplifting movie, a musical, or reruns of Music and the Spoken Word and then it's bedtime.

But foremost, Easter is a time of rebirth. I love this time of year anyway, watching the tulips and violets and lilacs bloom around my parents' garden.  Seeing the grass wake up and watching the trees' new leaves pop from tiny buds is the perfect backdrop to that ultimate rebirth, the resurrection of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

So said the angel to Mary Magdalene and Mary of Cleopas, "He is not here: for he is risen, as he said. Come see the place where the Lord lay."  As Jesus promised, His terrible, yet vital Atonement was followed in just three days' time by the peace of His resurrection.

Last year, I wrote in my journal about an experience I had performing in the choir during BYU-Idaho's production of Savior of the World. The characters Mary Magdalene and Mother Mary sing a song in Act II wherein they shout alleluias of praise and joy for the Savior's resurrection. Here are my favorite lyrics:

Angels brought the joyful tidings,

Fear not, Christ is risen this day.

Heaven came down to tend his body.

Why I grieved I cannot say.

Why do we grieve?  Why?  Mary Magdalene grieved following the Savior's death and then was perhaps sheepishly reminded that He promised to return three days hence. It's the same for us. We have been promised that as we enact that marvelous, enabling power of the Atonement in our lives, we will be returned a zillionfold everything we sacrifice in the name of discipleship.  That is a promise, a binding covenant the Lord makes with us when we enter at the gate.  And, for those with the faith enough to believe, the Lord has a great track record of keeping His promises.  And yet, we doubt. We wonder and fall and think that there's no way it could possibly be worth it. We grieve the loss of our spiritual well-being and yet do little to regain it.

I also acknowledge that grief is a necessary part of being human and recovering from sad events. It's unrealistic and unjustifiable to expect followers to wander around in a borderline-medicated joyous stupor even in the face of hardship.  

I also am intimately aware that I have fallen (and continue to fall) victim to that soul-sucking despair to which I alluded earlier.  But this life need not be sad.  Our sorrows will come and go, but they can be punctuated with that hope that everything will turn out alright in the end. Our hardships and heartaches, if viewed within the proper perspective, can be invaluable sources of strength, not only in this life, but in the life to come as well.  And all will be restored to us.  The Lord won't leave us wanting because we followed Him.

Happy Easter.  Christ was risen this day and the literally earth-shattering ramifications of that miraculous event continue to be felt today.  We can "press forward... having a perfect brightness of hope" that as we obey and love and serve our Heavenly Father and his son Jesus Christ, we will receive of their glory.  I testify that He is risen and continues to advocate for us and lift us as often as we will ask him.  I love Him, He loves you, and I love you too.  

As always, if you need support, love, a shoulder to cry on, or a punching bag to abuse, e-mail me.  Address in sidebar.

Watch this video!

Sharing the Gospel Through Social Networking

According to the Mormon Facebooksphere, today is the day to spread the Gospel through social networking.  I'm not big on being part of the crowd; in fact, if you want me to not do something, tell me everyone else is doing it.  But, I do have some semblance of a testimony, so I'll share it today.

This song has been stirring my soul lately.  I'll just jot down a few of my favorite lyrics if you're too lazy or busy to listen to it:

How long can rolling waters remain impure?  What pow'r shall stay the hand of God?

So hold on thy way, for I shall be with thee, and mine angels shall encircle thee.  Doubt not what thou knowest.  Fear not man, for he cannot hurt thee.

And with everlasting mercy will I succor thee, and with healing will I take thee 'neath my wings, for the mountains shall depart and the hills shall be removed and the valleys shall be lost beneath the sea, but know my child, my kindness shall not depart from thee!

I've said it before, I think, but music is one of the best weapons in anyone's arsenal to get me to listen to a message, and this one speaks peace to my soul.  It tells me that no matter what I am called upon to bear, things will work out for my good.

(I'm feeling somewhat hypocritical, because last night I was talking on the phone with a friend about how obnoxious it can be when people nullify or trivialize their complaints or the complaints of others by saying things like, "Eventually it will work out," or "God is trying to teach me something."  But as annoying and condescending as those words are to hear in the moment, they're still true.)

The message of the song is easier for me to hear right now, as I'm still pretty happy about life.  But even when things have been bad, this song and its message have spoken profound peace to my erstwhile stricken heart.

Isaiah 54

Some Thoughts I've Had This Week

This week, I went on a retreat for a volunteer activity I'm involved in now.  There were your typical getting-to-know-you games, funny confessions of embarrassing moments, a meat-and-cheese sandwich lunch, skits, the whole, Mormon-roadshow nine yards.  It was a really fun day that has me excited to work with the other volunteers for two hours a week.

At the end of the retreat, there was a congregational meeting and spiritual thought given over the power of volunteering and the similarity to the Atonement that service to others has.  It was a pretty good meeting, one that made me feel good for volunteering, but there wasn't anything too earth-shaking or faith-affirming given in the meeting until the very end.  A video about the Atonement was shown, and if I'm honest, it wasn't a video I was really interested in watching.

Lately, spiritual experiences have been very bitter for me.  Part of that is related to my current status as a sinner, but much of it comes from this feeling of abandonment I've felt for the last few weeks. I know that Heavenly Father will never forsake me, and yet, for the last several days, I've felt lonely and depressed.  I've spent some nights checking my phone and my Facebook every three minutes, hoping someone texted or someone sent me a message or a chat.

In any case, the video about the Atonement played.  I experienced every emotion I expected: marvel at the Savior's strength in the Garden, shock and horror at the awful events on Golgotha, joy and peace on Sunday morning, and hope that someday I too can experience that peace in real life.  But after the video, a quote was shown on the screen.  It was taken from an address given by then-Elder Henry B. Eyring:

"Whether or not you choose to always remember Him, He will always remember you."

What a perfect way to end the meeting!  I felt real tears, rather than the rote ones from before, begin to wet my eyes.  I could feel my throat choke up a little bit.  My body's twitching and fidgeting began to subside.  A strangely bitter peace washed over me: bitterness for the lack of reverence I've had lately for my Savior, but peace knowing that He would wait for me to come to Him.

Then, a few days later, at the campus devotional, one of the hymns was, "Master, the Tempest is Raging."  A line in the chorus struck me:  "No waters can swallow the ship where lies the Master of ocean and earth and skies."

Am I a ship wherein the Master lies?  If so, then nothing can swallow me up.  I fully admit that I have lots and lots of work to do in that regard, but if I strive to be a vessel in which the Lord can dwell, then what need have I to fear?

 Robert C. Oaks, a former member of the Quorum of the Seventy, has this to say on the matter:

"The Gospel of Jesus Christ is not a gospel of fear; rather it is a gospel of joy, peace, and hope."

Amen.