We have what my friend calls “open mike” on the first Sunday of the month at church. He makes me laugh. What’s really going on is that we come to our main meeting (worship service) in the spirit of fasting and, after the sacrament portion of the meeting, anyone who wants to is invited to go up to the front for just a few minutes to share their convictions and feelings about Christ and principles of His gospel. We might share a poignant event or meaningful experience. But mostly we share our feelings about Christ and what he has done for us.
I rarely go up. Rarely. You know me. I’m not afraid to give a talk or presentation really. Because I have notes and have prepared. But this is extemporaneous, from the heart. And I trip over my words when they aren’t written down. But mostly I don’t have a story. Anything that interesting or different from the last time I got up. And honestly, I don’t know if my motives for getting up are entirely sweet. What if I’m just trying to show off? What if I’m doing it just to prove how spiritual I am? Those feelings weigh on me, I want to be sure my intentions are pure, and yet I’m never quite sure. So I stay seated most of the time.
But as I remained in my pew yesterday, I couldn’t help but reflect on the feelings of my heart. Which is what most of us are doing as we listen to our friends. And I couldn’t help but think about what I’d share if I had the courage and felt inspired.
I thought about the previous night. Several teenagers were over along with another family. We talked freely in small groups and one on one. We played games, some till nearly midnight. I thought about our friendships with a variety of ages. How much I loved these kids. And the adults. I thought about how I totally feel like they are my brothers and sisters. How we are all brothers and sisters. And how that knowledge propels me to be charitable and kinder than I naturally would be. I’m so grateful for the knowledge I have of a Heavenly Father and an elder brother, Christ. I’m so grateful for his example and life. He helps me know a perfect way to see and treat others. And his atonement fills in when I fail at it.
I thought about the rough patches of the past two weeks. (And I guess over the past year, although the sting of past events has diminished to simply happy memories in my mind.) But I thought about my recent feelings and felt an overwhelming gratitude for perspective. To know that we are here on earth for such a short time. That we are learning to love and serve while we’re here. That this isn’t the end. Or the beginning. That love is stronger than fear. I’ve felt crushed a couple of times lately. But I’ve been surprised how short-lived those intense sad feelings have been. A day, sometimes less. Because then I remember all that I know. And I know I’m not alone. That Christ is more powerful than satan. That I am strong. And that families are strong. I have hope because I trust that the atonement is real. I have used the atonement so much in my life. I know its potential to change us and to help us. And that reassurance has calmed me. And buoyed me up.
I thought about all the truths we’ve been blessed with. And how this knowledge cradles me. Comforts me. And strengthens me. I couldn’t help but think of the harsh realities of life like jagged rocks with prickly points. But how the perspective of the gospel softens them. So that they are more like smooth river rocks. Still rocks. But softer. I can’t help but think about my Savior and how willing he is to carry our rocks for us. He is the refiner who takes our jagged pains and mistakes and polishes them, making me think of those shiny colored rocks that we long to handle in the rock store “Please Touch” section. A souvenir of a now-distant memory, made beautiful because of Who we were with.
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