God's Love

For the billionth consecutive Sunday, I was unworthy of the Sacrament last week. Normally, I make it to church in time to miss the Sacrament. Lately, I've been telling myself I need to be present to all of church, to show God that I'm serious about repenting, so I take the kids to the back, on the hard chairs, in the overflow. It's embarrassing to pass up the Sacrament. I've written about this before. My kids don't even ask about it anymore. I want, so badly, to be a mother who can take the Sacrament with her children. How can I really teach them its importance when I don't participate in it?

Last week, the cultural hall was closed because they refinished the gym floor, and it needed to be free of feet for a time period. So the whole ward had to crowd in the chapel. I was early but only barely. The kids were at their dad's, so it was just me. Finding a spot for one body wasn't going to be difficult. But I was nervous to see that I was bound to the chapel. And since all the rows were filled, I was bound to sit next to someone. Or, I could walk out till the Sacrament was finished. I decided to face it. I looked around for someone who wouldn't be judgmental of me when I passed the trays on without partaking. I found my visiting teacher. She's wonderful. I approached her but then realized she was saving the row for her family. Of course. And she has a very large family. There was some room on the row behind her, right next to Sister Michaels. I don't know Sis. Michaels well at all. I do know she has a heart of love because she's my son's primary teacher, and she is so good with him. She's new in the ward, though. I thought I already looked awkward looking for a place to sit, and it would be just as well to sit next to her than anyone else. I asked if the spot was taken, and she said no. I sat, and we didn't speak to each other.

Before I went to church that day, I'd prayed to feel God's love while I was there.

Well. We sang the Sacrament hymn. I was becoming more and more nervous, trying to convince myself that it didn't matter what she would think, trying to remind myself that the fact that I was unworthy of the Sacrament was a much bigger issue than what Sis. Michaels would think, trying to comprehend the seriousness of my sins, praying that I could be forgiven, trying to make myself believe that this time, I was worthy. It'd been a few weeks, after all. But, I didn't feel worthy in my heart. These thoughts continued during the prayer as I listened to the words "to all those who partake" and knew that I was not among those blessed ones, not today. I have rejected the love and grace of the Savior, which I illustrate when I pass the trays of the Sacred Emblems.

I was hoping the deacon would deliver the bread and water on my side. Sis. Michaels, that way, may not know that I didn't take the Sacrament before passing to her. But it didn't happen like that. Instead, it was passed down the pew to Sis. Michaels and then to me. First the bread. She offered the tray after taking a piece. I wished that I could partake. I hoped she wouldn't gossip. I hoped she wouldn't sit and think about what I had done, trying to guess. I hoped she didn't think I was a bad mom. I hoped she didn't think I lacked a testimony.

Avoiding her gaze, instead of taking a piece of bread, I took the tray handle and passed it to the deacon to my left.

How humiliating.

I held on to a hymnbook, closed my eyes, and prayed. I tried not to worry about what Sis. Michaels was thinking.

I also passed on the water with shame, humiliation, and sorrow for my sins. I prayed some more as the deacons offered the water to the rest of the ward.

Soon before the deacons were finished, Sis. Michaels leaned in toward me, put both her arms around me, and told me, "You need to know that you are loved." Before my tears could swallow my voice, I told her "thank you." Soon, I was sniffling and wiping my face. She hugged me again, and as I wiped a tear, I smiled at her and said "you did this," jokingly, about my daggum tears. She whispered, "I was only following an impression, which is something I do often."

I reflected on that. He loves me, my reader, even as I am passing up the offering of His Son. He loves me so much that He will inspire a good and righteous sister to tell me, on a prompting, that I am loved, even while I reject the offering of His Son.

How humbling.

I was rewarded for being on time. I was rewarded for not running away. And now I will make every effort to never skip any portion of church to avoid the Sacrament, or for any other reason. I know that I won't experience something so incredible every week, but I never want to miss out on feeling God's love. If I'd run away, like I'd been tempted to, I would have missed that beautiful answer to my prayer. Sis. Michaels would have missed an opportunity to listen to the voice of the Spirit.

I'm so grateful for His astonishing, astounding love. I can't wait for church tomorrow. And I hope that the following Sunday, I'll be among the partakers.

Take It, Lord

For years, many many years, I have asked the Lord to take this away from me, take this tendency, this addiction, this desire for sin away from me.

I knew He could do it.

He's healed the blind, the deaf, the lame, the leper. He's changed hearts. I knew He could heal me, too. He could take my heart of stone and replace it with a soft heart. He could squash every temptation before it reached me. He could make me new.

Why wasn't He?

I figured there was something wrong with my faith. I just needed to change my faith, increase my faith, so that He could heal me. I knew that it was a righteous desire; I desire to be free of this addiction, and to take the Sacrament each Sabbath, and to go to the temple, and ultimately experience Eternal Life as my Father intended it! That is the desire of my heart; what desire has ever been more righteous? And so, I knew my desire was good. I asked in prayer, sometimes begging my God, soaking midst my tears, "Oh, Father, take it from me! Oh, take this from me, please! I hate it! I'm sick of it! I know You can take it, please take it!" And so it seemed the only ingredient left was faith. I thought I had faith, but I kept messing up.

How many scriptures promise that if we pray, in faith, we will be given our desires if the desire is good? I almost saw it as a checklist. Pray: check. I pray all the time. I pray and I ask Him to take it away from me. Good desire: check. I know the desire to be free from sin is a good desire. Those two are pretty solid- measurable. But faith? Well that was the only thing I couldn't measure. I concluded that my faith must not have been strong enough. Often were my prayers, "Help thou my unbelief."

But the thing is, sometimes He heals the sick. But, sometimes, He doesn't.

I had a good talk with my bishop. He explained that I didn't get in this mess alone. You see, I'd always said "I dug this pit myself and jumped in, now I need to get myself out." It didn't seem right that I should need a Savior to help me out of something I ran into, willingly. I didn't want to need Him. I wanted to show myself that I could get out of this mess, that I could take responsibility for my own mistakes. That's pride, really. But, the bishop helped me realize that I did not dig this pit alone. Indeed, without the Adversary, my sinful desires wouldn't be nearly as strong. I didn't dig this pit alone. I listened to the whispers of the devil and his helpers, and they were there digging the pit with me. I didn't get here alone and I certainly cannot get out alone. I need my Savior.

After my good bishop illustrated that for me, I went home and knelt just to pray, just to talk to God. During the course of our conversation, I realized that under no circumstance would He remove this from me at this time. He made it quite clear that I have to go through it get past it. This is my burden, this is the load I must carry. I am an addict. I may just be an addict until my dying day. This may just be a lifetime struggle for me.

The very idea that I will bear this my entire life was far too frightening for me to even consider for a moment, until that moment. Because even as He was saying, "I will not take this from you," He was also saying, "But I will help you through it. I won't take it away, but I'll be here when you need me, when you seek me. I won't eliminate this burden from your life, but I will help you carry it."

So, I have to do it, but I can do it.

If my son were to ask me to do his homework for him, of course I would not. To do so would be to cheat him of an education, to cheat him of valuable learning, to cheat him of self respect. Likewise, I think my Father looks at this situation in my life similarly. To remove it from me would be to cheat me out of incredible, valuable lessons.

However, if my son were to request my assistance on a specific problem, of course I would help him. I'd go over the steps with him, and remind him of the process. Likewise, God will help me when I ask Him to. He will help me with problems, but He won't take the whole lesson from me.

And, really, what a beautiful and tender act of mercy. That He would allow His Son to suffer for my arrogance, my pride, my constant repetition of this sin, just so I could learn some lessons? Sometimes it would be easier for me to do my son's homework for him than to sacrifice my time to help him with problems. But it would be a sacrifice I'd happily make for my boy. But if my daughter had to suffer in order for my son to succeed.... that would change things. I don't know what I would do. Father let Jesus suffer so I could succeed.

Now that I know that He won't take this out of my life, I am filled with relief. My energies can go somewhere more fruitful.

Dear Reader, I am learning so much. I feel like I am learning beautiful truths that I wouldn't be able to learn any other way, unfortunately. But I'm learning them. I hate this addiction. I hate it and I can't wait to be free. But in way, I love it because of all the truths I've found by it. The cost is too high so I need to find a better, more humble way to learn these lessons. But you know what? I'm learning how to do that, too.

I'll be alright.