FAITH HOPE LOVE

My bipolar collided with my OCD and caused the psychosis to take flight. It’s been a rough few days.

I had set myself the deadline to always post on Monday and Thursday. Because of who I am, (or is it better to say what I am?), I don’t ever miss deadlines.

Since I am never sure what each day will bring, I have tried to write a few blogs ahead and have them ready for the appointed day to publish. But last week we had a doctor appointment in Salt Lake, a family visit, another trip to Provo, and my self-imposed list of work around the house to validate my existence.

I worked ahead and was ready for Thursday. Whew, made it. All is well.

Now to get ready for Monday.

Nothing.

I crashed.

My mind raced but the thoughts were jumbled. My body was simply done with movement and motion, it was staying put. The OCD kept banging “It’s Monday, the world will end in a firey crash if you don’t post RIGHT NOW!” And I escaped into a far more enjoyable reality where staring at the ceiling was the completely right thing to do.

I don’t consider myself a quitter. In fact, if you ask me, I would tell you that I fight pretty hard.

All the time.

But to close my eyes and have it all stop. Even if just for a little while.

A little rest.

Is that so bad?

With my eyes closed, I can hear the quiet whisper “Just let go.”

It’s funny. Often when I lie down I feel as if the bed is tilted at an angle and I am sliding out to the right. I can’t really tell where my arms are and I have to look down to make sure they are still at my side. It feels more like they are floating a bit around my head.

I realized the other day while lying on the bed and listening to the whisper, that my body was actually really tense, my hands in fists, and I was “holding on.”

I consciously took the deep breaths and relaxed, only to discover a few minutes later the same thing: I was tense and holding on.

I tried again to relax.

But each time I stopped focusing on it I found myself back in the hard grip to keep myself from falling.

I think there is a lesson there.

No matter how tired we get, no matter how discouraged, no matter how loud the whisper grows to “just let go”, there is always a piece of us that is clearly ready and able to fight.

To hold on.

I’m what you would call a “constant pray-er”. Before my eyes open in the morning my conversation begins and continues until my eyes have become too heavy to keep open at night, and I thank God for the day and all the good that surrounds me.

Sometimes my expressions are pretty eloquent and I feel up to scratch to converse with Deity.

Sometimes there are no words, but feelings that cross over and somehow understanding happens anyway.

Sometimes when it is rough and there are no discernable thoughts, I just think single words. It’s on days like this that I will cry with my soul “Faith Father, please.”

Faith to keep moving. Faith to keep trying. Faith to hold on.

And love.

It is always followed by love.

So if you were to spy on me as I move around the house with the vacuum or the dust cloth, not really clear on what I’m doing but enough of a creature of habit that I can do the rote tasks, you would hear me mutter over and over “Faith. Love. Faith. Love. Please Father. Faith. Love.”

Help me to move forward even though it doesn’t seem like it will work out.

Help me to do it with love in my heart.

Turn on the I-pod and let some great music wash over me.

Circle the church parking lot and let the sun shine on my face and warm my skin.

Faith. Keep moving. Keep going.  

Love. Open my eyes and look around me. See.

The whisper “just let go” is silenced. And in its place, perhaps just as quiet, but more real, more solid, is “life is good.”

Hope.

3 Nephi 31:20  Wherefore, ye must press forward with a steadfastness in Christ, having a perfect brightness of hope, and a love of God and of all men. Wherefore, if ye shall press forward, feasting upon the word of Christ, and endure to the end, behold, thus saith the Father: Ye shall have eternal life. 

I don’t think we are that much different from each other. Everyone has days when they want to “just let go.”

The recipe is the same for all of us.

Faith. Hope. Love.

May you have a moment, today, when you have the courage to continue on, your eyes open to those around you, and you hear the sweet whisper that “life, indeed, is good.”

   

WHY ASK WHY?

It feels like the last few weeks have had an extra helping of heart breaking news stories reported. So much pain and suffering at the hands of others.

It feels senseless.

I have been struck, however, on several of the stories at the difference between the reaction of the news reporters covering the story and of the actual people hurt the most by the horrific acts.

From the outside, looking in, we don’t have the same vantage point as those encircled by the fires of heartache.

Again and again, as has been the habit for millennia, the question is asked “Why?”

“Why did he shoot those people, people he had never met?”

“Why did she kill all of her babies and hide them in the garage?”

“Why did the fire start and get out of control so quickly, before they could get out?”

“Why did they leave a bomb to hurt so many strangers?”

“Why did the tornado come so quickly and destroy so much?”

And in the pain and grief that turns to anger so it doesn’t consume the sufferer, the question invariably turns to one final query:

“Why would God allow this to happen? Why would he let this happen to me?”

For many years I have had the thought process that it isn’t very productive or helpful to ask why in these circumstances. It just happened. It was horrible. Now, what do we need to do to move forward? How do we help each other to heal?

But, not surprisingly, I think I may have been a little shortsighted.

I always associated asking why with the need to find someone to blame. Somehow, if we knew who was really responsible then we could express righteous anger. Somehow it allowed the asker to make sure that he/she was in the right and in no way responsible for the tragedy.

There may be something to that. Certainly there are cases when those hurt by these situations were partly or fully responsible; just as there are cases when those hurt had nothing to do with it and are completely innocent.

Either way, I struggled to see how that helped people to move on and do what needed to be done.

I guess it matters why we are asking why and what we do with the answer we receive.

I go back to the news reports seen earlier this week and the differences noted between the interviewers and the interviewees.

The reporters were shocked and sickened at what they were reporting. They should be. We all should be.

But one report has stuck with me. It didn’t end with everyone feeling helpless and hopeless and angry and frustrated.

It actually left me feeling hopeful, like there was something I could do.

When closing up the interview, the reporter said “Please know that our hearts and prayers go out to you during this very difficult time.”

And the woman who had lost both her father and her son responded “Thank you for your prayers. We feel them and they are what are getting us through. Please keep praying.”

Instead of being angry with the God who had allowed this random act of insanity and evil to completely change her life forever, never to be the same again, she was clinging to the support she felt was coming in her greatest time of need. She asked the rest of us to soften our hearts as well and quietly kneel and petition for help, for healing, for love to fill the pain ravaged hearts.

And in this case I found myself asking “why.”

“Why does this woman demonstrate such composure?”

“Why is she not filled with anger and venom at the man who took the lives of her family?”

“Why does she know that God is with her, and not against her?”

It’s the answers to these questions that ring true to me and bring peace to my soul in the middle of what could only be described as hell. I certainly understand the frustration of the crowd looking in, not understanding the senselessness.

But when I close my eyes and ask for help for them, for healing, for love, something within me changes. For a moment, I am invited inside the circle of fire and I get to see a close and personal view of her suffering. I expect her to be looking back out, desperate for help. But she is not. I change my view to match hers.

I look not outwardly at those looking in, but up.

I now see what she sees.

And I understand why.

When we ask “why” in the spirit of desperation, frustration, and anger, we generally keep asking until we find the answer we are looking for. But it can be a fruitless search because often there really is no “why.” Well, not a “why” that would satisfy our need to understand. No explanation would be enough.

When we ask “why” in the spirit of compassion, humility, and with a quietly broken heart, we inevitably look up. We may not understand any more than we did before we asked, but we remember that we are not alone.

And it is enough.

For now.

Years later, when we can look back without all the pain, more often than not we see the person we used to be.

It surprises us a little how different that person is from the one we have become.

And while we would never wish our experience or experiences on our worst enemy, we find that we need to swallow once or twice and may brush at the tear in the corner of our eye as we recognize what has happened to us since.

Why can we be made into better, stronger, happier people after going through unimaginable difficulty?

Because He can take senseless, random, hurtful acts and create a path out, a path that saves us from getting stuck there. Our faith is stronger than our fear. Our love is stronger than our anger. From the ashes we emerge as fine steel.

And we are a little more ready the next time the storms come. 

O DEATH, WHERE IS THY STING?

Ann and I just returned from attending the funeral of a wonderful, wonderful lady whom I have known for at least 35 years.

From the first encounter, it was obvious that this person was extraordinary. She didn’t just speak, she effused energy and enthusiasm.

I remember the story she shared with us at church about an experience she had walking through a cemetery. As she shared, I could tell that many people were feeling uncomfortable and raising their eyebrows. It was obvious by the look on their faces that they weren’t sure that this was appropriate.

But I was only about 10, so I wasn’t so concerned with what was and what wasn’t appropriate. I was able to just listen to her as she poured out her feelings.

I learned that she would go to the cemetery when she was discouraged and quietly walk among the headstones, stopping to read each one as she passed it. Soon she would find herself thinking about each individual person. She imagined that they must have been kind and loving because of the phrases that had been etched in stone about them.

After years of this, she had come to feel that she knew them. They became friends and examples. She could feel love and gratitude for the contribution they had made to their families, to their communities, and by extension, to the world.

And buoyed up, she could clear her mind of discouragement and was ready to again stand tall, choosing to continue with the same type of life, one that would make a difference.

And she did.

This wonderful, bright, happy, optimistic spirit was housed in a body that was stricken with multiple sclerosis. She had it for more than 40 years, so I never knew her without it. It was revelatory to me to look at pictures of her today in a cheerleading uniform, full of free movement and all the invincibility of youth.

But I realized that it was a perfect picture of her, for she had been cheering on those around her, everyone she met, her entire life. When I looked at her outstretched arms and immediately recognized the selfless expression on her face – she was just experiencing the joy of what the others were doing – I felt that was the Nancy I had always known.

Will always know.

Easter morning comes each year to quietly remind us of exactly that fact. It is not “Nancy was…”; it’s “Nancy is.”

This wonderful, sacred time is not so much a remembrance of the reality of death, as it is a bright, energetic, optimistic celebration of life.

It takes away the worry and panic about the day when others may reflect that “I was…” and gives me permission to find joy that “I am.”

“I am”, right now.

So are you.

Regardless of what any of us may profess from a pulpit or share passionately through expressed word, the truth is that we give every day of our lives for what we actually and honestly believe.

Our actions boldly declare where our thoughts and hearts lie.

What will I do today that will show what I truly believe?

What will you?

Will we slow down enough to really hear what someone says? To clearly see the hope in their eyes as they dare to express, dare to dream, dare to do? Will we cheer them on?

Nancy did.

No.

Nancy does.

Life is eternal and precious. After our experiences here we will go on. I’m sure that there are many different and wonderful things that we can go on to, but the real point is that we will go on.

We will continue.

So it’s time to start now to do the things that we would like to be in a position to keep doing.

The final speaker at the funeral today painted a wonderful scene that each of us immediately saw as clear and true. He helped us to see the bright, energetic, optimistic Nancy continuing on. I closed my eyes and saw her in her cheerleading uniform. Her jumps were high and her movements were strong as she glowed, awash in the joy of life.

The love that was at times contained by the confines of her bedridden body is now shining free and pure, lifting all around her. Perhaps in this lifetime she was slowed down by physical limitations; but in that housing her spirit soared and grew and she learned to fly.

I hope that the next generation will take the time to walk through the cemetery and stop to read Nancy’s headstone. I hope they will take the time to think, and listen, and feel, and get to know her as a friend and an example.

And I hope that each of us will find the way to not only move haltingly forward, but in our own way to learn how to fly.  

HIDING THE MONSTER WITHIN: WHO TURNS ON THE NIGHT LIGHT?

Today is one of those days when I am just trying to get through.

I feel like I should be able to take a deep breath and get going and get the things done on my list for the day. But the harder I try, the more I have to hold back the tears.

No, not tears.

Sobbing.

I feel like I am on the edge and it’s a pretty long fall. For some reason, hitting my head hard comes up as the most logical solution to the problem.

But of course, it doesn’t really help much. It just adds guilt that I’m not in better control.

Control. It’s all about control.

I can’t think clearly. My thoughts are like a water color painting that has liquid spilled on it – everything softly runs together and I can’t really tell one thought from another. This is unusual for me; I can usually run with many, many thoughts at the same time and I understand each one.

Or, at least I clearly distinguish each one.

But not now. Now they are far away. They are someone else’s thoughts. I find that faintly interesting.

My head is going to explode and I can’t really keep pushing, so I lie down on the bed and stare up at the light fixture.

I know the mental exercises to go through. What am I feeling right now? Are they real feelings or imagined? Listen to the real Greg to differentiate. Separate fact from fiction and hold on to reality.

I close my eyes and start the analysis.

I realize that I’m really not afraid anymore. I’ve gone through that list so many times and internalized the solutions in place for potential problems that I find it hard to listen to the fear message when it gets sent.

Even though the emotion for sadness is there, I don’t feel sad. No, it’s almost more of a slightly amused detachment. I’m on the outside looking in. It almost seems silly that this person would just be lying on the bed in the middle of the day when there is so much to do.

My usual friend, anxiety, isn’t there either. I don’t feel anxious about not getting the things done that I need to. That’s a bit unusual. I must be making progress. It is good not to be worried about something. Well, about anything really.

And there it is.

I realize that I just don’t care if I ever get up off the bed again. Everything is far away. I am far away. But I don’t know where, because my thoughts have now been hit with a burst of rain and all the muted colors are becoming one; yet separating into millions more at the same time.

Just close my eyes, and slip away. Sleep. I don’t even care if I ever wake up.

Should there be alarm bells going off at this point?

If you ask me, not really. What could be so wrong?

And that may be the reason that after bad things happen and mental illness is discovered, we so often hear: “I didn’t see any warning signs. They seemed to be doing all right to me.”

You see, mental illness has been such a part of us for so long that we stop being surprised by it, or scared by it, or even able to keep feeling as we work our way through it.

And if no one is really watching…

Then there is another tragedy to report on the evening news.

But I am determined that I will never be one of those stories. In my case, someone is watching. In fact, there are several someones.

I don’t really enjoy it, but each night when Ann comes home she gets out a little calendar book and we talk about how I felt during the day.

And she keeps track.

So when I hit the euphoric points when EVERYTHING is AMAZING and I can’t really remember things being tough, we know that, in fact, just yesterday things were actually hard for me.  

And when, in my mind, I don’t see the point of the medication, especially because I don’t like the way that it feels and I ache to just be “me” again, Ann quietly opens the book and I can see for myself.

And I close my eyes and I work again at separating the fact from the fiction, and I hold on to reality.

Isn’t that what we all need? An anchor to secure our line to so that when we each begin to drift a little, we don’t get lost in the tide and find ourselves somewhere completely different than where we set out to be?

What are your anchors?

Just as important, what are the anchors your family and close friends are using? Do you know they have them? Do they?

Part of what keeps me focusing so hard on reality and working to keep feeling is my understanding that my anchors need anchors. And I have the great privilege of being one.

So I open my eyes and focus on the light fixture. I analyze if the best course is a short nap to refresh my body or if I need to get up now and fight a little harder. I roll myself off the bed and hit the floor on all fours and begin my prayer of gratitude for all I have and all I am a part of.

I stand up.

I make the bed and I move on.

I’m ready when Ann comes home to have our conversation about how my day went. Because, you see, we will also talk about how her day went.

And she knows that I’m watching her right back.

Everyone needs an anchor; and everyone needs to be an anchor. Together we stay secure through the storms.

CONFIDENT HUMILITY: AN OXYMORON OR THE RECIPE FOR STRENGTH?

I received a wonderful and kind message from someone I haven’t heard from or known anything about for 25 years. I find it inconceivable to be able to say that I am old enough to have not seen someone for that long. Aren’t I still about 25? Well, maybe 30 at most.

John was the force of energy and enthusiasm behind a performing group I had the chance to be a part of in college. It was electrifying for me. I had always wanted to sing and dance and perform, but was too shy and afraid. For the first time in my life I was stepping forward and working with others who knew so much more than I did and doing something that I loved. It scared me to death and for the first few weeks I was physically sick before going in to the early, early morning rehearsals.

But everyone kind of took me in and taught me what they knew and soon we were learning together. I felt like we would be more than friends, we would be family all our lives. They had had such a significant impact on me and my vision of myself.

Of course, things change. People graduate, get married, go to post graduate studies, and move on with their lives. I wouldn’t have wanted it to be any other way for any of them. They deserve every opportunity and possibility that life has to offer.

I noticed though, that not only had my situation changed, but I had changed. I now had the courage to do difficult things in front of other people. This was an important part of my college education because it went with me into my career. I could now travel to different parts of the country and learn, teach, train, and create.

While doing this I crossed paths with some pretty incredible people. Again, I thought that we would be more than friends, we would be family all our lives. My vision of myself continued to take shape and I dared to dream.

But as the dream got bigger, my ability to keep the symptoms of mental illness in check diminished. The confident Greg who learned that he could do scary things and make big decisions was there some days; others, however, the young and inexperienced Greg seemed to come back. Things were scary again.

The dream, of necessity, had to get smaller.

And smaller.

And smaller.

This journey through mental illness has changed me, changed who I used to be. For a while I thought that it was robbing me of who I was meant to be. You see, I felt I was headed to be quite a mover and a shaker, someone who was doing big things for a big salary.  

I was going to make a difference.

It was a pretty hard blow to accept when Ann and I made the decision that it was time to leave the workforce before I did something pretty terrible and got fired, or hurt someone, or just gave up and ended it all.

I think it was safe to say that the Greg who could get up on stage and sing and dance and perform and absolutely love the thrill of it all wasn’t there anymore.

The confidence was gone.

Being the question asker that I am, I wondered, where does confidence come from?

Had I based it in a series of accolades and positive reinforcement from others? I think those things always help build someone up and lets them know that they indeed can do something hard.

But if you can’t do those things anymore, then what?

As we approach the Easter season, our minds are drawn to the One who lived a life of complete success. He never failed at anything. If anyone deserves to be raised up on a pedestal and revered, it is He.

To have that kind of confidence, that surety of direction, that ability to conquer fear would make one powerful beyond description. Certainly, we have witnessed many who have attempted to duplicate that kind of record of never getting it wrong.

But in the process, haven’t they ended up getting the things that matter the most, terribly, terribly wrong?  

Maybe the secret isn’t in being bigger and bigger and better and better. Those who are larger than life don’t really have any advantage over the one who quietly supports and makes sure that things are cleaned up and taken care of after the lights are turned off.

“I have come to do the will of the Father.”

“Not my will, Lord, but Thine be done.”

Even the person who only attends a worship service on a yearly basis knows these verses.

We know the verses, but do we know what they mean?

I think they mean that the secret isn’t really a secret.

Yes, my life is completely different than it was planned to be. I would bet that yours is too. It happens to most of us.

And in the end, aren’t we grateful that it is?

Some days it is still too hard to dare to dream. I’m learning how to get through those.

But some days, I begin again. I feel like that young college student driving through the cold early mornings to rehearsal , a little sick, a little afraid, but heading toward it nonetheless.

Because this time through, I get to take all my learned experiences and memories with me. Who I am is a wonderful mosaic made of countless interactions, inspirations, successes and failures.

And knowing that I failed and succeeded and will most likely fail again, I reach out and take the offered Hand, the Hand that was always there but I somehow missed before in my excitement and enthusiasm.

We have become more than friends, I know that we will be family all our lives. My vision of myself is clearer now than it has ever been.

This is who I am meant to be. I want my will to match His. I want to do the things that He would have me do.

Now I am quietly confident in the new and better dream, and I am humbly grateful for it.

I CAN’T CHOOSE FOR YOU; YOU CAN’T CHOOSE FOR ME. SO WHO MAKES THE CHOICE?

Compared to world history, in the short 238 years that the United States has been the United States, we have changed dramatically. Other nations seemed to go on for centuries with relatively little differences. Of course, the industrial age and the unfathomable rate of technological discoveries have affected everyone in unanticipated ways.

I wonder what our founding fathers would tell us if they were able. Maybe the more important question is, would we even listen?

Probably not.

We have become in large part a society where we each belong to a subgroup that feels that we know exactly what is best, where the right line is to draw in the moral sand, and what should be seen as unacceptable.

And we know that it should be that way for everyone.

Those who don’t see things from our point of view or embrace our solutions are just too stupid to know anyway, so let’s go ahead and make the decisions for them. After all, we really do know what is best.

Our founding fathers may be surprised to read through all the laws that are on the books. It may be a good thing they are dead, as it would probably take more than a natural lifetime to even get to them all.

Close your eyes and imagine them sitting around a table.  

“Why do they need all these laws?”

“Most of these things are just common sense; you just do them because it is the right thing to do.”

“It seems like they have lost the ability to think for themselves.”

“Or it seems that the government has decided that it is a better thinker than the common man.”

“Generally it is the voice of the majority that keeps the logical common sense, not the few who are in power.”

“What kind of a mess have they gotten themselves into?”

“Is this what we worked so hard for?”

Of course, I could be wrong. They may be watching and doing a jig and saying that this is exactly what they had in mind when they drafted the constitution.

But I don’t think it is very likely.

I’ve thought a lot about it and it seems to boil down to some simple but disastrous pitfalls.

One would be that we’ve reversed the accountability direction on the responsibility to choose.

It seems that I want to choose for you. I know what is best and you just need to agree with me. I just don’t want to have to make a definite decision and choose for myself. No matter what, I want a way out if I don’t like how things go.

That sounds like a pretty tempting plan at first glance. I don’t have to really choose for myself because I can blame anything that doesn’t go my way on you and then make you pay for it through a lawsuit. Who knew that pain and suffering was really worth millions and millions of dollars? The best part is that I get to stand up and tell you how all of us must do things my way, and if you don’t see how this is the best way, then you really are stupid.

Sounds like a first grader’s dream.

Unfortunately, we don’t get to stay in first grade past the age of six. We are expected to learn and progress and grow and become an adult.

How are we doing? It seems that there are an awful lot of playground skirmishes and bullying going on among those who are 30, 40, 50, and so on.

The truth is that we have to understand just how important it is to choose. To choose for ourselves.  

I am responsible for the choices I make. You are responsible for the choices you make.

Now, how do we somehow manage to live together, knowing that we have made different choices?

It is interesting to read and listen to debates and arguments over exactly this question. Each side has their “talking points” that seem to come up in each conversation; you can almost say out loud what they are going to say before they say it. It seems to be the same argument each time. I guess the way you tell if someone won was if they were the last to repeat their slogans or spoke more loudly over the other person.

Why is there no movement in the conversation toward a solution?

Is it because we refuse to listen?

I think so.

Is it also because we are trying to use reason and logic to somehow mathematically score more points and win the fight?

Yet some of the things that we are fighting the most about don’t seem to be based in logistics and figures. They are based in feelings and beliefs.

We are trying to change each other’s minds, while we are actually talking about matters of the heart.

The court suit being fought right now over the issue of same-sex marriage is a pretty good example. I’ve read the arguments and statistics on both sides. Each proponent has done a lot of research and has made it very academic, proving how their view is correct.

But for me it is very simple: I believe that God has told us through His prophets that marriage is the most amazing and wonderful gift and is to be between a man and a woman. I know that my marriage has brought me more joy and happiness and self-esteem and friendship and security and hope and on and on and on, than anything else I have done in my life. I don’t really need to go any further than that. I know in my heart and my soul that this is right.

There really isn’t a logical argument that is ever going to change what I know deep within. 

Obviously there are good people who believe that same-sex marriage is right.  

So, what do we do?

Well, I don’t think that we spew anger filled venom at each other in words and actions. I don’t think we treat each other like vermin and say that I won’t hire you or work with you or let you live near me. I don’t really think protesting or parading around and shoving one lifestyle in another’s face will help.

Popular or not, my view is not going to change. Not because I am stubborn or mad or vindictive. It’s because I am at peace with it. I see it as truth. Truth is truth.

There are many truths. 

I also see as truth that extra marital affairs are wrong. I see as truth that creating a child out of wedlock is wrong. I see as truth that a date does NOT consist of sexual intercourse.

There was a time that the majority also saw these as truths. Yet society now fully accepts that each of the above is not only acceptable, it is understandable and just a part of being an adult.

How did we get growing up so wrong?

Perhaps now it is a little easier to see why I am so deeply concerned that, yet again, another huge chunk is being taken out of the moral granite that made our nation the world’s leader.

I think we have to be realistic and ask ourselves, what will be next? Because past experience tells us that we won’t stop here, just like we didn’t stop with extra marital affairs but moved on to having children out of wedlock and dating being a sexual free for all.

I have to choose for me. You have to choose for you.

And we all have to live together after the choices have been made. Hopefully we will make the choices now that will allow us all to keep choosing what matters most tomorrow.    

LOTS OF SCARY THINGS GOING ON: WHAT SHOULD WE REALLY BE AFRAID OF?

The alarm went off the other day and I waited a few minutes for the news at the top of the hour. I was struggling with that great period between being asleep and awake (and definitely leaning toward being asleep) when they reported an 8.2 earthquake in Chile with tsunamis resulting.

Now I was awake.

Our son Nick is in Peru and I was worried about how close he might be. Would there be aftershocks? How far up the coast would the trouble go?

I felt concern as I got out of bed and went to the TV for more comprehensive coverage.

These things are happening more and more: Earthquakes, tsunamis, landslides, droughts, floods, tornados, fires, famine and starvation, planes disappearing, one country invading another, talks of war.

I would think that those in Chile during the quake were afraid. Very afraid. I think that anyone in that situation would be. You’d have to be kind of a robot not to feel something pretty terrifying.

Life can be pretty scary. We never really have an assurance that we will make it to the end of the day all in one piece, or even at all. We can’t guarantee the safety of those we love or keep them right at our feet all day to make sure they are okay.

So, how can we deal with all of these scary possibilities that could realistically happen to us at any moment?

Should we be afraid?

Going back to the earthquake in Chile, Ann and I listened carefully to the news to know what step to take next. We have phone numbers and contact information for Nick. Our passports are ready and the money for plane tickets is sitting in an account just in case. We didn’t have to waste time wondering how to do what needed to be done. We could focus instead just on what needed to be done.

As we listened and looked at maps, we knew that, for now, things are okay and the appropriate course of action was to do nothing but wait.

Because of that, our level of fear was ratcheted down to concern.

After that we read our scriptures together and had family prayer.

And we went on with our day.

I think there are scary things that are going on, and I think there are things that we should be appropriately afraid of.

I’m just not sure they are the same things.

We can make reasonable assessments of our surroundings and potential problems that may arise. For example, Ann and I have earthquake insurance on our home. It seems that there is a likely probability that we could experience that specific type of natural disaster, so it only makes sense to be prepared. We have 72 hour kits and a pretty healthy food storage. Our community practices natural disaster drills and we know exactly who to contact in case something happens so that we are accounted for and can offer our help.

More than that, I’m not sure what else we can do.

But you know, I don’t spend any time being afraid of an earthquake. We’ve done what we can. It will be a power far beyond any I can imagine and I can’t stop it. But I do know that Ann and I will pick up and move on, together.

But there is something that I would be afraid of: Not picking up and moving on with Ann.

Am I as prepared about that as I am for an earthquake?

These things are also happening more and more: Adultery, divorce, addictions that destroy relationships, rebellion, anger, apathy.

Given the choice, I’m more afraid of these than I am the natural things going on around me.

So what kind of insurance am I taking out to help me be ready for these potential disasters?

Would I make a reasonable assessment of our family and potential problems and come to the conclusion that it would not be very likely that we would experience any of the above?

That may be tempting seeing as how we are so darn happy.

But it would be foolish.

Just like our experience with the earthquake in Chile, Ann and I must be cautious to listen carefully each day to the words that are said and not said, the actions that happen and don’t happen. This helps us to know what step to take next.

We have put in the time and care to have open lines of communication, to watch and talk about concerns that come up before they become fears. It’s kind of like having our passports ready and money for plane tickets in an account. We don’t waste time trying to figure out how to do what we need to do, we can just focus on doing what we need to do. 

And as we listen to each other and look into each other’s eyes, we know that, for now, things are okay.

Because of that, our level of fear is ratcheted down to watchful concern.

After that we read our scriptures together and have family prayer.

And we go on with our day.

TO QUESTION OR NOT TO QUESTION: IS THAT THE QUESTION?

I read an interesting article recently about people feeling judged unfairly for asking questions on things they didn’t understand. I’m not sure if I was having an off day (okay, maybe they are all off, who knows?), but I reacted strongly to the message. I went down to the kitchen and told Ann about it, complete with righteous indignation and all of the feelings of superiority that come with it.

Thank heavens that I am not a huge social media monkey who would have tweeted and texted my ranting and raving. I’m grateful for that cool down period where I get to think about things calmly and rationally.

How different would things be if everyone had to count to ten, or 100, before hitting send?

At any rate, I realized that I was exactly who the article was complaining about.

Okay, so was I right or were they?

The more I thought it through, the more I came to understand that actually we both were.

We’ve all been in a math class at one time or another where the teacher is going step by step through the problem and coming to the solution at the end, only to turn around and have the entire class looking back at her with dumbfounded expressions. Right?

The teacher patiently (or not so patiently) begins again, more slowly this time, and turning around for questions all the way through. Slowly, one by one, the light turns on and a dawning expression appears on the faces of the class.

That experience is not so bad because we as a class were all in it together. We didn’t understand. It didn’t make sense. As one, we went back and questioned, reasoned, and found a way to understand.

But I think we have all had the experience where the teacher gets done with the problem, turns around and finds every member of the class nodding in agreement.

All except me. I am the only one who doesn’t understand. The class doesn’t have time to stop and wait for me to see what everyone else is seeing. We have to move on.

But I still don’t get it.

And unless I am able to stay after class with the teacher, or get a peer to help me while on the bus ride home, or have Mom or Dad help me that night to get caught up, then the next day I walk back into class behind.

And I kind of stay there.

Because when everyone understands the next lesson, but I don’t because the pieces aren’t fitting together, then I am twice as behind. And so on, and so on.

Pretty soon it is easier to just daydream during the class. Then I gravitate to the back of the class where others who got left behind are sitting. Before long we are passing notes rather than listening and laughing about the teacher and the other “brainiacs” who are just big nerds.

Then the next year I am in a lower level math class with the same kids from the back of the class the year before, and we gravitate to the back because that is where we are comfortable, and we just start the year off talking and passing notes rather than listening.

Because now that is just what I do in math class.

Dreams of becoming an engineer or a scientist slip through my grasp. Which is too bad, because I really wanted to be an engineer or a scientist.  

All because I had a question that I didn’t understand the answer to.

Going back it seems that the tipping point happened that first day when I was the only one with the confused look on my face. That was the point that I needed to yell “Stop!” and find the desired help so that I could move forward the next day.

One day of extra effort could have made all the difference.

Why didn’t I ask?

Remember my reaction when I read that article about people feeling judged when they asked a question that others seemed to already understand?

That’s why.

How much patience do we have for people who struggle with things that come so easily and naturally to us? How much compassion? How much understanding?

So, from that perspective, those who wrote the article had a really valid point. Sincere, honest questions must be confirmed and patiently listened to so that understanding and acceptance can be had by all, not just the few who got it the first time.

Let’s go back to our imaginary math class.

What if I walk in each day and I just keep asking the same question “That doesn’t make sense to me. I think that equation should have the answer of 4, not 10. How can you be so sure that it is 10?”

In math, we agreed to accept certain theorems and corollaries so we could move on and get to the heart of the lesson. We didn’t try to prove again and again these theorems and corollaries.  

I can remember times when I just had to accept that what they were telling me would work, then follow the steps, and trust that I would get the answer.

And sure enough, eventually, I would come to my own understanding of the process. But I had to accept that someone smarter and better trained than I was knew what they were talking about.

But to get there, I had to trust and just do for a while.

And then it made sense to me.

In that way, my quick-to-judgment response to the article had some validity.

We are in a far more important and serious type of math class now.

When we do understand and others do not, we have the responsibility to return with patience and compassion. After all, the day will come when they understand and we don’t.

When we don’t understand, we have the responsibility to ask the questions and keep going until we find the answers. When we give up, we only hurt ourselves. How badly do I really want to become that engineer?

When we get stuck on a question that seems to block us from seeing the rest of the lesson, it may be time to look at who is teaching. Do we trust them? Can we just accept, apply, and continue on in the hope that someday we will understand?

Maybe the point is not whether or not we should ask the question.

Maybe the point is, why are we asking the question?

Are we asking because we sincerely want to know the answer, whatever it is? Or do we want the answer to be what we want it to be, so we keep asking in hopes that eventually the answer changes?  

Are the questions I’m asking helping me become that scientist? Or are they actually keeping me from becoming the scientist I want to be?

Truth comes when we ask questions. But it doesn’t change when we don’t like the answer.