As I sat in church today, listening to the humbling music of our incredible ward choir and the carefully chosen words of the speakers, and as I teared up watching my two oldest children walking up the isle hand in hand to sing Silent Night with the rest of the primary and the choir, several thoughts came to mind. And the more I thought, the more humbled and determined I became.
The first thought that came to me was how many Christmases I have had. 25. How many of those Christmases have I spent being in service to those around me? And I don't count the buying of gifts for kids or other people or even making cookies for the neighbors. How much time have I spent in true service of my fellow man? With no thought of gain or reward? Not nearly enough. How many Christmases have I wasted being stressed about money and the possible lack of presents for my kids and friends? As I really listened to the words of each Christmas song that was sung, both in Sacrament and in primary, it hit me harder. Maybe it's having kids of my own now that makes me see things from a different perspective. To truly imagine how it must have been in that stable, knowing what that child was meant to grow up and be. It's not like I have never heard the story of Christmas. I know what Christmas is truly about. What hit me today is that I haven't been living it as well as I should and can.
The other thought that came to me is that my life is not my own. My world does not belong to me. Everything I am, I owe to my Father in Heaven. I was put on this Earth to serve others. It tells me that in my patriarchal blessing. I was given my personality as a gift, to attract those who need help, to make friends to all those around me, to help them find their own spirit. To forget myself and my problems. My Father will not leave me comfortless in time of need. He never has. My own problems will work themselves out. They always do. I owe my very existence to something much greater. My goal for this coming year is to forget myself, and live in service to those around me. To keep patience and kindness in my voice and my actions. To live each moment as it comes, and not take any of them for granted. For moments are fleeting and are gone as fast as they come. My goal is to teach my kids these things that I have come to realize. To instill in them the desire to serve others. To teach them patience and kindness. They are already far beyond me in these areas. My hope is to help them transition from the innocence of childhood into the perils of adulthood with their strength and faith in tact. I want them to grow up knowing that service of others brings far more joy than wordly aspirations.
Another goal is to increase my temple attendance. I can only do baptisms, since I haven't gone through the temple, but there's plenty of work to be done there. :) I can't let other things get in the way of that, as I have the last few months. My goal is to be able to go through the temple this year. I have to prove to my bishop that I am ready for that. I know I can do that this year.
A line in one of the songs we sang in primary today really stuck out to me. "Have faith, have hope, live like His Son. Help others on their way." It's so simple, isn't it? That's all we're really asked to do, when you get down to the bare basics of it all. It all gets so complicated and lost sometimes, in the chaos of adulthood responsibilities and all the different roles we play in this life. But if we strip it all down to what we're asked to do to return to Heaven to live with our Father, forever in peace, it's to have faith in this life, in this world, and that it's all for a purpose. To have hope to return there. And to help others come to this realization and to help them in their need. That's not hard at all. What makes it hard is where our priorities lay.
The true enormity of the Atonement, the sacrifice that was made for me has really come to light for me in a way that it never has before. It was not simply just a one shot deal for us. I have been given so many chances to get it right. And will still be given chance after chance, for I am human and extremely faulty in my striving to live as I should. But by the grace of God, I am strengthened and challenged to better myself, to try harder next time. To learn the lessons I am here to learn. To feel humility as I lean on my Savior and accept His help. Maybe it's that humility I'm finally feeling, deep within my soul, that's making it all so clear to me today. I wanted to write this all down, so that others know what I have learned about myself, and so that if I ever feel myself start to forget or go back to old ways, I can read this and remind myself who I have come to learn I am. I have accepted the Savior's help, and used his sacrifice over and over, without ever fully realizing what it is I am doing. Without ever fully being humbled to the core, to let the pride out and let myself be filled with the pure love of my Father. That is who I truly want to be. Someone who doesn't say things in anger. I want to return to being a child of God, to let go of the world, and what the world has taught me. I read this story the other day, and it has truly stuck with me.
The Room
By Brian Keith Moore
In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features save for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and right to left as far as the eye could see, had very different headings.
As I walked up to the wall of files,the first to catch my attention was one that read, "People I Have Liked." I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one. And then, without being told, I knew exactly where I was.
This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my entire life. The actions of my every moment, big and small, were written in a detail my memory couldn't match. A sense of wonder and curiosity, mixed with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories, others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching.
A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I have betrayed". The titles ranged from common, everyday things to the not-so-common-"Books I Have Read", "Lies I Have Told", "Comfort I Have Given", "Jokes I Have Laughed At". Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I Have Yelled At My Brothers and Sisters." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in Anger", "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents". I never ceased to be surprised by the contents. Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes less than I had hoped.
The sheer volume of the life I had lived overwhelmed me. Could it be possible that I had time in my 17 years to write each of these thousands or millions of cards? But each card confirmed the truth. Each card was written in my own handwriting. Each card was signed with my signature. When I pulled out the file marked "Songs I Have Listened To", I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of music, but more by the vast amount of time I knew that file represented.
When I came to the file marked "LustfulThoughts"; I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think such a moment had been recorded.
A feeling of humiliation and anger ran through my body. One thought dominated my mind: "No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!" In an insane frenzy, I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took the file at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it. Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh.
That was when I saw it. The file bore "People I Have Shared the Gospel With". The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than 3 inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand. And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that the hurt started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key.
Then as I looked up through my tears, I saw Him enter the room. No, please not Him. Not here. Anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. The few times I looked at His face I saw such sadness that it tore at my heart. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did he have to read every one?
Finally, He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put his arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me.
Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file, and, one by one began to sign His name over mine on each card. "No!" I shouted, rushing to Him. All I could find to say was "No, no", as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written in blood.
He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished." I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on the door. There were
still cards to be written.
How many cards do I have that He's had to sign his name to, over my own signature?
I will never be perfect, but I can definitely try harder. There is so much hurt and bad feeling to always let go of. I feel I have done a pretty good job of letting go of a lot. Obviously there are still things yet to let go of to help me become who I want to be. I feel that will be easier as long as I continue to move in the right direction, to hold to the rod and follow the narrow path that will lead me home. All things are possible with faith and hope.
