My daughter just got home after being gone for several months and faced the herculean task of paring down her closet contents. She brought home two enormous suitcases and enlisted their powerful zippers to expand mightily, allowing room for all her wares. She also had a box shipped, in addition to the one we picked up this summer. Her methodology was straightforward: put everything on the bed, creating a teetering tower of color, pattern, texture, and mood, and then make cuts. It was a fabulous site and a daunting task: decide what to keep, what to purge, and what to think about awhile longer. She lined our stairs with shoes of all kinds streaming into the living room: sandals and hiking boots, dressy shoes from other decades and yesteryear formals, patterned platforms and so many Docs, snow boots and river wading shoes, running shoes and strappy heels. Fascinating how the blend of footwear, bags, clothing, and accessories spelled out her personality with clarity. I was intrigued by what she decided to let go of. But mostly by what she—minimally and very uncharacteristically—decided to keep.
We’ve had a bit of time to talk about not only how her style is morphing but how her thoughts and feelings from the past few months have changed and how she sees things now compared to when she was in high school. I love that we can share what we’ve both been learning throughout the time we’ve been apart. There are so few people we feel we can be especially vulnerable with and with whom we can share our innermost leanings. Absolutely love it.
One thing I told her is how free I feel these days: light and open and at peace. At the same time, I have more questions than I ever have. I think that’s how it usually works, the more we learn, the more we realize how much there is to know. I feel like those earthquake-proof buildings, anchored yet flexible, with my anchor being Christ. He is my rock. My foundation. My one absolute. My truth. My Savior.
I have a firm conviction of the love He, my Heavenly Father and Heavenly Mother have for me. These three are my lifelines. My everything.
A few years back I was like Avery and her bed of clothing. I went through a time when I felt like I needed to know what to do with all the stuff I’d both been given and bought into over a lifetime of collecting. So many different perspectives to consider, I questioned everything I thought I was sure about. And so I laid it all out, wondering what—if anything—I’d decide to keep.
I pared way down. Like those minimalist wardrobes they talk about. Keep a few key pieces and work with those.
I took Christ, God the Father, and God the Mother immediately.
And to be honest, that’s about it. I’m firm, secure, and certain they are real. Regardless of the talk around me, I’ve had too many experiences with them personally to deny their existence and their investment in my life. I know they are aware of me, care for me, and are guiding me. I feel their soft spirits, their strength, their love. I feel my identity in relation to them keenly, guiding every decision I make.
I know Christ came and lived here among people a lot like us, that he died and lives again. He is my one true friend who I count on for everything. I look to Him as my mentor, my safe place, my one ally who understands all the feelings of my heart. He is my go-to, my one sure thing.
As a result, I do believe he taught some things while he lived among his people. I believe he showed us a higher way to live. I believe there is a purpose to my life and to that end, true joy is my ultimate aim. I believe that although I declare that I know him and love him, I show my devotion best by following him.
As for all the other stuff, I have no idea. I have some leanings, I have some beliefs, yet I’m pretty wide open to other perspectives. I could be wrong about all sorts of things. I’m ok with that.
I have pages at the ends of my journals with questions. Every now and then I’ll go back and see if I can fill in any of the blanks. Sometimes I’ll have studied or learned something new in the interim and feel like I have some ideas to add, while at the same time acknowledging even these additional insights or “answers” could possibly change or be wrong.
But most of these questions just sit quietly unanswered, blank, waiting, unruffled, patient. And I’m not bothered in the least.
Because it doesn’t matter how many questions I think I need to have answers for. I will never, ever, ever have enough answers to satisfy me if I neglect to ask the right questions.
Did Christ live on the earth? Did he die and does he live? Is he the Son of God? Am I also a child of Heavenly Parents who love me? Does my life have meaning and purpose?
That’s it. Because when I’ve asked with an open heart, I know. And what I do with the answers to these questions makes all the difference in how I view and interact with the world.
