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| Photo by Jens Lelie on Unsplash |
Stunning. That's what this silence has been.
I've gone the rounds in my mind trying to seek the cause of what feels like
being...
CUT-OFF.
When I try to emolliate my anguish and confusion,
I try, “Well—maybe the heavens are silent because they’ve given me Addie.” Its
true--her powerful spirit radiates through our entire home and does so much to
calm and soothe me and anyone in her presence.
Still—she is not Father. And try as I might, nothing compensates for the
loss of God.
NOTHING.
I've pondered the scriptures, and I've found too
many instances of others feeling this abandonment to bode well for me. For Adam and Eve, the record states,
"and after many days" they received instruction (see Moses 5:6). For
the apostles of Christ battling contrary winds on a violent sea, the Redeemer
came in the fourth watch of the night, after observing their struggles from the
shore for some time (see Mark 6:48).
Job's wife lost patience waiting for assurance from a loving Father. She
expressed her hopelessness, "Curse God and die" (see Job 2:9). Who can forget the discouraged plea of the
Prophet Joseph Smith as he cried out from his comfortless prison, "O God,
where art thou? And where is the pavilion that covereth thy hiding place?"
(D&C 121:1). Lastly, the words of our dear Savior, "Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani? which is, being interpreted, My God, my God, why hast thou
forsaken me?" (Mark 15:34), ring through the ages reminding all of us that
sometimes seeming abandonment comes at the most inexplicable of times.
Well--I'm certainly no prophet, nor am I any
scriptural hero, but the Lord is "the same yesterday, today, and
forever" (1 Nephi 10:18). Therefore, is it unlikely that His dealings with
me would be any different than His dealings with those who are prophets and
scriptural heroes? The question, then,
becomes not, "Why are you abandoning me when I need you most?” but
"What do you want me to learn from your silence?"
This fall, I finished milking the cows, a quiet
time in my day when I can sit and ponder.
I continued my meditation upon God's stark silence and the attendant
discouragement as I walked from the barn towards the house. I paused when I felt the tiniest whisper
brush my soul. Nearly imperceivable, it
was as if the messenger was under strict command to not to break the silence,
but conflicted, just mouthed the words. Had I reached my busy,
bustling house, I would have missed that faint message. Likewise, in the distracting barn of buzzing,
biting flies and swishing, whippy cow tails, I would never have heard that
subtle impression. Right there, though, in that passageway between barnyard and home-yard, all nature stilled enough for me to feel that cobweb tug of my soul:
"Desi, what did you pray for?"
In only the way the Holy Ghost can teach, my
mind expanded to many a time before Addie came when I prayed for
faith--powerful faith as described in Jacob 4:6:
"And having all these witnesses we obtain
a hope, and our faith becometh unshaken, insomuch that we truly can command in
the name of Jesus and the very trees obey us, or the mountains, or the waves of
the sea."
How can faith grow if it is not tested?
In my youth, my parents separated and eventually
divorced. The pain of those years felt crushing. One night in a moment of weeping and praying,
I felt someone come up behind me and put their arm around me. Powerful
assurance that God knew what I was suffering, that He cared beyond measure, and
that He sent angels to comfort and calm my troubled heart-storms, reverberated
from that moment in all the storms that followed. Faith came easy; after
all--God would be there to "wipe away all tears" (Revelations 21;4).
How can faith grow if it is not challenged?
Untested, unchallenged, faith remains
stagnant. As an active, living virtue,
faith and stagnation cannot coincide.
Think of a seedling. It takes
much effort to come alive in the dark soil and push up into the light. If, at that point, the seedling stagnates, it
dies. It’s tiny stem and cotyledon
leaves will never be strong enough for it to survive the lashing spring winds
or the burning summer sun. The seedling must continue to push roots deep into
the soil to bring up nourishment that will thicken its dermal tissue to lock in
water for parched days, to create sturdy, yet malleable, height and strength to
withstand high winds and to push out a foliar canopy to shade against
brilliant sunshine and smother weedy thieves. And ironically, plants must be
parched from above to put down deep roots below in search of that nourishment
that will strengthen them for their entire life cycle.
One year, our corn fell flat to the ground when
a summer storm burst upon it. Our good intentions of giving it an abundance of
water in hopes of growing large kernels totally backfired on us. The irrigating
water created shallow-rooted stalks that could not withstand the angry winds of
that one summer storm. We lost the entire crop. After that, we learned to let
the youthful plants suffer a bit. We stressed them just enough to get their
roots to anchor into the soil. Deep and strong nets of roots now keep all our
stalks upright, despite fierce gales and pounding hail. Those strong roots keep
the plant continually upright, reaching for the sun, even when that sun is
hiding behind dark clouds.
The Creator knows a thing or two about
gardening. How my little corn plants must cry out to me, “Gardener—give me
water. Let me know you’re there. I’m
parched; I feel abandoned. Are you leaving me to wither away?” Likewise, I’ve
cried out, “Creator—give me Living Water. I’m parched; I feel abandoned. Are
you leaving me to wither away?” With perfect observation, I water my six-inch
corn leaves at just the right time. With perfect precision, I must trust that
the Creator will dispense Living Water upon me when my roots are anchored
deeper and stronger in the soil of faith.
I realize now, it was naïve of me to think that
the experiences and faith I grew as a youth would sustain me throughout my entire
life. That would be comparable to thinking your 3rd-grade multiplication facts are all you need to know to pass the ACT in 11th-grade.
God must work our faith—test it, challenge it—see if it is ready for more
power. In that gateway, I learned that
this silence is just one of many plateaus to cross in my quest to ascend a
mountain of faith.
Thus, as Robert Frost would say, “Two roads
diverged in a wood” (Frost, 1916). I’m looking down each one as far as I can see. One path leads uphill. If I take it, I put my hope into action. I
continue to trust that, though lost, confused and abandoned, God is still
aware, still cares, and will still comfort me at some point. He hasn't forgotten me, but He does need me
to learn how to stand upright and reach for the Son, regardless of the clouds
behind which He is hiding. . . there is purpose behind the silence. The other road is downhill. It leads to
cynicism, doubt, anger, and apostasy. In it, I rail, shaking my fist at heaven,
"You said you would be there for me! You're not! I can't trust you! You
are nothing more than a fable!" I turn from God and decide, "If
you're not going to help me, I'll help myself!"
So-which path do I choose? “I [take] the one least traveled by.” I’ve
come to realize that God will not reveal to me the pavilion covering His hiding
place. But—that doesn’t mean I cannot seek it!
So, I’m putting my feet on the uphill path—the quest that seeks the
Living God. Though there is immense
silence, I will believe that He is there, that He knows what I’m going through,
and that He will still send angels to comfort and guide me. I’m seeking His pavilion in every sunset, in
the service rendered by so many godly friends and neighbors, in the revitalizing
truths of scripture, in the holiness of sacred temple space, and in the walks
from the barnyard to the home-yard where tiny tugs query, “What did you pray
for?” I’m seeking until I can say face to face: I see it—
THY PAVILION.
Thank you for your perfect tutelage, especially
and even amidst eloquent, tutoring, stunning . . .
SILENCE.
References
Frost, R. (1916). The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost. [online] Poetry Foundation. Available at: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44272/the-road-not-taken [Accessed 7 Feb. 2020].
