He loveth those who will have him to be their God

I've been thinking a lot lately about faith and desire and belief. Actually, I've probably been thinking about this for years, but recently it's begun to crystallize in my mind. I was reading a comment board on NPR. The story was about a former nun who now writes books about her views of God. I don't know her, and haven't read her, and it's not that central to this particular train of thought, but what struck me was this comment (taken out of context of the rest of his post, I know, but I'm going to think out loud about it anyway. If you want to read the comments and listen to the NPR story, you can find it here--http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=112968197)

Anyway, this is the man's comment--"If a deity were suddenly to appear and offer proof of their existence, many atheists including myself would undoubtedly reevaluate our lack of belief." Hmmm.

I'll come back to that. But let me begin another thread to weave in. Ten years ago when I was on my LDS mission, my pres. said something in a zone conference that has stuck with me more than anything else has during those 18 months. No, it wasn't "A sister without makeup is like an elder without deodorant," although I, unlike others on the mish, found it funny and apropos. He described a weed that has such strong, tenacious roots, that once it is in your field, it ain't never coming out. He asked us to consider how deep our roots in the gospel are, to consider what it would take to get us out of our faith, to give up our God. I remember clearly at that moment, praying that my answer would be nothing--that my roots would be so deep, so firm and persistent that no power could separate me from my God. And feeling not exactly fear, but something like fear, that I was not deep or firm or persistent enough.

Another thread. A friend and I had a conversation about faith and religion and the afterlife and all that the other night. He's probably best described as an agnostic, and as we talked about our beliefs, I began to articulate what I've come to understand about myself and my faith. I don't know that God exists in the sense that the atheist commenter or my agnostic friend would define knowledge. I've not touched him, or sat in the same room with the Savior. I'm still very much exercising faith in a plan that beyond just believing, I desire to believe. I want to believe it, so badly that my desire to believe overwhelms my many, many doubts and weaknesses.

Where that desire comes from? I'm not entirely sure. Moments too personal and sacred to discuss here are certainly part of it, but they are few and far between, and usually very quiet and quick. They sustain in some ways, but if I depended only on these experiences, there would be long, long periods of strain and sadness and trial, and I would not stand faithfully in the stretches between. Desire is part of it, but it's a desire buoyed by will, by the choice I make to want God and his will for me more than anything or anyone else. One is the spark and the other the fuel. Which is spark and which fuel? Again, I don't know. All I know is that I can't keep the fire of the covenant burning without both the desire and the will to believe.

I was struck by the words of Nephi this week as I read the Book of Mormon. Nephi is commanded to do a lot of things that his brothers Laman and Lemuel are not so keen on. When God commands him to build a ship, his brothers try to stop him, and he recounts God's power, his creation and his dealings with his prophets and people, trying to exhort Laman and Lemuel to cease their unfaithfulness. In 1 Nephi 17:40, Nephi tells his brothers "and he loveth those who will have him to be their God." I had never noticed this verse before, but it jumped off the page at me this time. God offers himself--his love, his plan, the opportunity to live the quality of life he lives--to us, his children. He doesn't force himself upon us, only offers. Beyond that, it's up to us to "have him to be our God." I think it is such a tender statement. Here is the creator of the universe--the possessor of unlimited power who could, if he so desired, force us to do his will--offering this gift like a humble suitor. Beautiful.

Last night at the General Relief Society meeting, I was reminded of this again. We sang (as we do in every conference, every spring and fall, for as long as I can remember. Why is that?) How Firm a Foundation. The last verse of that hymn touched me more than anything else last night. It reads

The soul that on Jesus hath leaned for repose,
I will not, I cannot desert to his foes.
That soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake,
I'll never, no never, I'll never forsake.

I will not. It comes before "I cannot." I cannot turn from my God because it would be against my own will to do it. I have leaned on Jesus for repose, at times without even realizing it. Feeling that love has created in me a desire for him and his gospel, one that I have bent my will to, a desire that I have chosen.

I think that atheist poster is missing the point of faith. Given the evidence he requires, his reevaluation of deity would unlikely really matter. He could know, in the sense that he lacks now, that God exists and Christ is the savior of the world. In fact, the scriptures say that every knee will bow and every tongue confess that Christ is the Lord. I believe that statement. There will be a time when deity provides undeniable proof of his existence, but it will have no efficacy in the lives of those who waited to be forced to believe.

You become what you desire and what you will. God, in his infinite power and wisdom, asks his children to choose him. He will not force himself upon any of us because it would never save us. It certainly could not exalt us. We have to become partners with God, covenanted to him and faithful to the covenant, to achieve our greatest potential. Some will never desire or choose that. My prayer is that I will. I will, not in the sense of assurance, but in the sense of agency. Christ's infinite sacrifice gives me the chance to choose, and my desire and will is for him.

I feel his hand extended to me, and I reach my hand willingly to him. There is a gap, a gulf really between our fingers. My roots are not yet deep or firm or persistent enough. But I'm learning to stretch, learning to lean into him, learning to desire his will above my own. One day, I know, his hand and mine will finally bridge that gap, and he will lead me into the life that I most truly desire.

Random Observations--The Deluxe Edition!

Here we go again...

1- Romance novels suck when they are serious. I'm not kidding. I can't take it. I know, I know, I'm supposed to swoon when the lovers finally find themselves in each other's arms, but I'm just not the swooning type. I'm the laughing type, and I want a major helping of giggles, intentional or otherwise, along with the lurve. In fact, in some ways the lurve is kind of optional. I just really want to laugh.

Which is why I find supernatural YA romance particularly disturbing. These full grown adult woman are writing ridiculous fantastical romance novels and feeding them to teenage girls (and, let's be honest, their own demographic, cause you know many Twilight fans haven't been under 18 in years..) without even a hint of awareness that what they are selling is laughably false. Now, let's be clear. The fantastically false part is not the vampires, fairy kings, werewolves or other paranormal creatures. It's the teenage boy who sits in a teenage girl's room (or sometimes in her bed! Shame on you, Maggie Stiefvater.) watching the object of his affection sleep, and doesn't touch her, tries valiantly to "behave" and doesn't seem to mind that the idiot girl is torturing him. Do these women know any teenage boys? You invite an 18 year old male into your bed (or your bedroom, in the case of the infamous Edward Cullen) night after night after night, and you're either going to have sex, or he's going to hate you for the provocation. There aren't many other options, and I think perhaps we should be honest about that.

See, I can't laugh at that kind of illusion, as ridiculous as it is. I can laugh at the romantic heroine who ends up with bioluminescent plant life all over her hindquarters after her first romp in the hay (quite literally) with her botanist paramour, or the high school humiliations of Janette Rallison's teen rom-coms, or the inappropriate use of the word fecundity in a historical romance, but I just can't take another paranormal teen romance with a hero who does not exist in real human relationships. Real men are fantastic. I'm just waiting to find anything that resembles one in a contemporary fantasy romance written for teens.

2. Okay, so not all real men are fantastic. Some of them are just weird. That's all.

3. I made a goal last week to pay off all my credit card balances in a year. Any guesses what happened next? Who do you know who needs new tires and a plumber? Oh well. I'm gonna pay for the tires, and fix the sink without a plumber (scary, I know, but I think I can do it) and still pay off the ccs. By the end of 2010. I'm also going to lose about 50 lbs, because I'm pretty sure I can't do it and still buy food on a regular basis. Any advice for how to live for a year without spending money on anything? I'm trying to figure out if this is evidence that God doesn't like me very much, or that He foolishly believes I'm way tougher than I look. Or, you know, there's option number 3--the one where God has nothing to do with it, and I just keep letting things get out of hand, and if I only knew how much worse it would be if He didn't have my back...

4. Speaking of tires, I'm really dumb, and I think my poppy is starting to get a little concerned about it. What tipped me off is when he called me today and said, "Hey, are you dumb?" When it comes to cars, I am terminally stupid. This is just a fact. These are the dumb car situations I have found myself in during the last 12 months:

-Today, my front passenger tire was so bad, the tread was entirely gone and it was split on one side. My steering wheel has been shaking for weeks, and it finally had a major seizure as I was driving home on my lunch break to make bread dough. So, I faced my worst fears and checked the tires. And that's when I realized that my worst fears were not the worst possible fears. Paying for new tires is not as bad as a blowout, especially if the blowout happens at high speed and causes pain and damage. Duh, Clarky.

-Every winter I get stuck in the snow at about 2 or 3 in the morning. This happened on Christmas night last year. I got stuck pulling into my driveway. I live alone. You don't wake people up at 2 am unless they share your DNA or are covenanted to remain with you in the conjugal sense throughout eternity. So I spent an hour and a half last Christmas digging and pushing my car out of the snow alone. Good times.

-I ran out of gas in my dad's big black truck in the parking lot of the Orem Fitness Center. I was in the way, so I tried to push the truck and steer myself into an empty space by myself. (Are you seeing a trend here? Whatever you do, never, never ask for help. That's my mantra.) So, finally this guy comes over and asks if he can help, pushes me into the space, asks if I'd like a ride to the gas station. Marden and Gina and the girls were coming to swim, so I declined. Then he tells me this: "Ya, so my wife and I were pulling in and I saw you and I was like, hey, do you think that guy needs help, and my wife was like, honey, that guy is wearing a dress. Of course she needs help." *crickets* Wow, thanks man. Like pushing a two ton, out-of-gas truck through the parking lot alone wasn't humiliating enough. You are one helluva ray of sunshine, dude. But, I thank him for helping me push the dang truck. May heaven bless you, sir, never to run out of gas, and to learn when it's better to hold your tongue.

-I've needed a jump after leaving my headlights on all day. Twice.

-And finally, my fave dumb car moment was when I locked my keys inside in the parking lot at work. While the car was still running. I called my dad, who kindly went to my house, got the spare key, and saved me. The first thing he said when he pulled up? "Hey, are you dumb?"

4.Um...I have to have this:

It speaks to my soul.

5. Do you remember those wildlife shows like Wild Kingdom, where they would chase big dangerous animals around the savannah in a jeep or a helicopter so they could shoot them with a tranquilizer dart and remove them to a secure location so they won't be a danger to themselves or others? These last few days I've been looking over my shoulder, straining to hear the chop-chop of the helicopter blades, hoping they're coming at me with a nice knock-out dose of sleepy juice. A girl can dream, can't she?

7. Speaking of dreams, I've had some weird ones lately. I dreamed I broke my iPod, and I woke up in tears. It's become a crutch. Every time the world gets to be too much, I plug in so no one will talk to me. This is not a good sign, is it?

6. I also need one of these:

Not necessarily of someone else's dog, but dang-a portrait in legos? I could have had one with what I spent on new tires this week. *sniff* Someday...

My inner mountain goat is grounded indefinitely

So, I've lived in Orem since I was five, with short hiatuses (hiati?) for mission and college, but I had never, never been to the summit of good old Timp. I figured it was about time to rectify this situation. I wanted to do it last summer, but it didn't work out. At the last minute this week, I decided Saturday was as good a day as any, the only problem being little time to recruit a hiking buddy. But I'm sick to death of not doing things because I'd have to do them alone. I'm old, all my friends have husbands and children who monopolize their time, and at this point in your life, unless you have a spouse (also known as the built-in date, and I don't want to hear about how hard it is to coordinate child care so you can use your built-in date. Waa. I would move mountains to go out with a man I liked even a little bit. You liked him enough to marry him, so quit whining, hire a babysitter, and go have fun together. Trust me, someone should be having fun on a date, and heaven knows it ain't me.) who is sort of obligated to coordinate schedules with you on a regular basis, it's kind of hard to get together, especially at the last minute. Like I said, I'm kind of pissy about not doing things I want to do unless I can wrangle someone into joining me, so I said to hell with it. I'm climbing Timp. Alone.

Which is cool, except for one thing. I struggle to follow a trail. I don't know what's wrong with me. I think of myself as a generally capable, reasonably bright kind of girl. I have a college degree, a career, a mortgage that gets paid on time every month. I can do hard things. Until I'm hiking, then I just can't seem to figure it out. I can't spot the cairns, or I totally miss switchbacks. How do you miss switchbacks? In fact, how do you miss the end of the trail? But that's another story for another day.

I referred to my hiking guru, bro-in-law Marden. His opinion was as follows: a sunny Saturday in September? There would be more than enough BYU students alone to keep me from getting lost, not to mention the boy scouts and mutual groups. All I had to do was get to the trailhead, and follow the other folks. He so does not understand the extent of my navigational disability.

So, I got up early this morning and drove to American Fork Canyon. Of course, the parking lot was filled. There is apparently some dirt road you can park on without getting ticketed, but I couldn't find it, so I asked the ranger guy where I could park. He said park on the turnouts on the road, or if there's nothing there, go park at the Salamander Flats campground, and take the Great Western Trail from there to the trailhead at Timpanooke. It's about a mile or so long, so it's an extra couple of miles on an already long hike, but what are you going to do. There were no spaces on the road, so it was off to the Salamander Flat parking lot. Remember, the sun has not come up yet, so I haven't really seen where I was going. I also figured there would be a sign that would say Great Western Trail. I was wrong. They number the dang trails, and ask me if I knew which number the trail that would take me to Timpanooke was. So I just took a trail that looked like it might be the one.

Luckily the sun was coming up by now. Unluckily, I was on the wrong trail. I started getting suspicious when I noticed about a mile into it that I was totally alone, and going in not quite the right direction. So, I turned around, found the right trail, and finally got to the trail head at Timpanooke. Mind you, at the trail head I had probably already gone 21/2 or 3 miles just to get there. But, no big deal. I started booking it up the trail, passing a couple of groups here and there in my efforts to make it a real workout and not just a friendly little stroll. (I've been lazy this week with the whole exercise thing, so I was feeling guilty.) All good. I got lost, but I recovered.

Somewhere along the trail, I got confused again, I think because there were a bunch of teenage girls resting at the switchback, so I didn't really see it and the rocks just kept going in the same directions. Luckily (but sort of humiliatingly) the teenage girls directed me. Disaster averted again. I got up to the saddle and the summit without incident, starting to feel the effects of my enthusiastic start nonetheless, but it was all good. So, my feet hurt. Big woop. I'm tougher than my feet. And it's a beautiful view. Breathtaking, and unnerving, but in a good way.

Coming down from the summit to the saddle, though, apparently my inner mountain goat took over. I missed another switchback. I had gone about a quarter of a mile along a very difficult route, when I realized the people who were right behind me were no longer right behind me, and the trail smelled suspiciously like livestock, and I was going in the wrong direction, AGAIN. Dang. I think I was on a portion of the mountain that is primarily used by goats. I sheepishly (get it? Sheepishly? Ha ha ha) turned around and found my way back to the people trail, where I'm sure the other folks were thinking something along the lines of "Has this chick been lobotomized? Does she NEED to be lobotomized?", but I just laughed and continued on. Third disaster averted.

Of course, I wasn't anywhere near done, yet. Just below the saddle is where the trail diverges into the Aspen Grove and Timpanooke sides. Of course, I attempted to take the Aspen Grove side. Then I realized I'd taken a wrong turn again. Well, the two old ladies who pointed out to me that I was heading toward Aspen Grove realized I'd taken a wrong turn again. Aaaaargh. I swear I'm not as stupid as this sounds. Or I hope I'm not as stupid as this sounds.

The rest of the way down was okay, except my feet were killing me (I hate rocky trails because they mess with your feet, but what's happy feet to rocks and mountains? Classic author reference? Anyone? Anyone?). And, I just have to interject here. College freshmen are idiots. Especially the girls. I'm sorry to say it, but oh my...can we possibly find more inane conversationalists? Luckily I had my iPod. If I had to listen to that any longer, I might have had to slit my own wrists. Plug me in, honey.

Anyway, back to the saga. After almost 9 hours of hiking (remember the extra miles before I got to Timpanooke? I was really, really feeling those at this point), all I wanted to do was get to my car, drink the rest of my water, and head in a hurry to a very hot shower. This time, I knew which trail to take-the Great Western Trail is #150. At the road, I hesitated...do I continue on this trail, which is supposed to hook up with the Salamander Flat campground, or just follow the paved road? I went with the trail for maybe a half a mile before I determined that perhaps trusting my own judgement was a mistake, and turned around to make it back to the road. That's another superfluous mile, mind you. I made it back to the road and started hoofing it. But Salamander Flats didn't show up when I thought it should, and I freaked out. In hindsight, I should have just kept going, seeing as I was maybe 200 feet away from the entrance, but I couldn't see the sign around the corner, and nothing was looking familiar. Of course it wouldn't, because it was dark when I drove there in the morning, but at this point I was too dang tired to think logically. So, panicked that I had missed it, or turned the wrong way onto the road, I turned around and walked back down looking for the entrance to Salamander Flats. When I got back to the entrance to Timpanooke campground, I was totally ready to cry, and of course, my cell phone got no reception. It did on the saddle, when I had no need for it. Aaaaargh! I was ready to call my brother and beg him to come pick me up at the Timpanooke campground. But I couldn't, so I turned around again, and headed back up the road, praying that a grizzly would appear, take a swipe at my head, eat my liver and put me out of my misery. The bear didn't appear, but about another mile up the road (and I mean that in the literal sense, as in after all this hoofing it out in the woods, I was on an incline, again), the entrance to Salamander Flats did, and I finally made it home.

I should be grateful, really. I can just imagine what a task it is for my guardian angels to keep me out of trouble on the trail. If it was all up to me, I would probably still be on trail 189(where does trail 189 go? I still have no idea), somewhere deep in the Uintah forest, wondering why in the name of all that is holy there weren't more folks on the trail, and where the dang book you sign at the summit is. It's probably good that winter will be here soon. I don't even try in the wintertime. And just for the record, I love hiking, even when I'm lost (which is most of the time).

Better than the alternative, or How can I be lonely when I'm surrounded by all these people?

I had an epiphanous (not a word, I know) moment the other day at the library. My YW teacher from when I was about fourteen came in, and I helped her find a book and we talked for a minute. She asked me what I was doing these days, where I was living. I told her I had bought a place here in Orem. She asked me if I lived alone, to which I answered yes, then she asked me if I liked living alone. What I should have said at this point was an enthusiastic, and entirely dishonest, yes--of course I'm thoroughly enjoying living alone. See, as a single Mormon woman, you are supposed to desire to be a wife and a mother, but you're never, ever supposed to feel sad about not having it. And you're certainly not supposed to express that sadness.


I don't quite know yet where I'm going with this, and it's scary to tell the truth about how I feel. So bear with me. Or stop reading here. Your call.


I do want to be a wife and a mother. I want it more than anything. I've tried and tried and tried to make myself want other things, to be ambitious about other things. But this is what I want. I don't want a dog, or a roommate or another degree or a prestigious career. I want a really good man to love in my bed and a baby or two or five sleeping (or not sleeping, I don't care!) in the other rooms. And I am confused and frustrated and so sad about my inability to fulfill the one real desire I have. I don't get it. It hurts. Some days (like Tuesday), it flattens me. If I'm lucky, and I usually am now, it waits until I'm all alone before it flattens me, but it does. Runs me down like a Mac truck.

But when someone asks me if I like living alone, I can't say that. I can't tell the truth because in addition to continuously failing at this one real desire in my life, if I admit how rotten I feel about it, I've failed again. If I don't feel all bright and shiny about it, well, then I've failed at service, compassion, charity, and the use of the Atonement, as well. I'm selfish if I even care that I have feelings about it at all.

The only thing worse than being the sad sack spinster is being the sad sack spinster who doesn't put on her happy face when in the company of any other human being.

So, I'm supposed to find comfort and peace in what? My nieces are kind of fascinated by my living alone. Leslie, who is nine, asked me the other day about it. "Who comforts you, Aunt Mar? When you're alone and you get scared, who comforts you?" Wow. The only person I know who is intuitive enough to both understand how hard it can be, and willing to state the truth of it, is a nine year old. The truth is, nobody does. When the bogey man comes at 3 am, and every fear and hopeless thought and dissappointed desire crawls out from under my bed and spreads its cold tentacles over my mind, the only ally I have is God. And as much as I love Him and know He loves me, I generally find Him disturbingly silent at these times. I beg and plead for Him to remove this cup. And yet His will...His will.

So I fight the fears, the hopeless thoughts, the disappointed desires. I know intellectually that I'm not alone, because honestly, I know I couldn't take it alone, but it sure as hell feels like I am without aid at those moments. Then I come to work, try to be kind and compassionate to the people at the library when I'm exhausted and sad. When people ask how I am, I say great and smile and try to change the subject. And I look around at all these people who are close to me physically all the time--patrons and colleagues and church folks and sometimes even family--and yet I can't find a way to move beyond the mundane surface of our lives. I can't make them kindred, can't let them see me any more than I can break through their facades.

Intimacy takes so much time. It requires time and touch and a willingness to bear one another's burdens in an exhausting way. It means we eat together, and decide what color to paint the walls together, and pray together and disagree together, and wind our arms around each other, and sometimes fight and then make up together. And that requires face time, every single damn day. And it is essential. That's why we mate. The comfort of an intimate friend can literally save us. Yet we can't, with mortal limitations, offer the comfort of our intimacy to all that many souls. You can't be with me at 3 am when my demons arrive, because you need to be there at 3 am for your wife, or your husband, or your child.

I don't begrudge you that. Don't misunderstand me. But you'll have to understand why, when I'm fighting the hell out of my demons at 3 am alone, the discomfort of living in a house with people I share no intimacy with does not appeal to me. The only thing worse than living alone for me would be sharing my house with strangers, and that's the alternative. So, that's what I said to my YW advisor who only sort of knew me 20 years ago. When she asked me if I liked living alone, I told her the truth--No. I don't like living alone. But it's better than the alternatives. And, with a tinge of discomfort, she politely closed the conversation and went on her way.

I've written myself into a tearful corner, I fear, and it's 11:16 pm and I still need to walk home. There are happy, joyful things in my life. Trust me, there are. So many that I am embarrassed that this effects me so. But it does. I crave an intimate friend, yet I no longer no how to build that kind of relationship. And I fear putting that kind of effort into another friend of the kind who finds a new best friend and doesn't have time to eat, and fight, and laugh, and talk with me very much any more. In the Garden, God commanded Adam and Eve to cleave unto each other. I need the kind of intimate friend I can cleave unto, I can remain with. A decidedly un-modern, entirely un-feminist perspective, I know. And yet.