A Mother's Musings: Seeking Thy Pavilion

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].

A Mother's Musings: When the Heavens are Silent

Through Addie's entire life (these past 16-months), I have sought counsel from the Lord as to how to proceed in her care, what resources I needed to look to, how I could advocate for her, and basically what is the best way to help her.  However, I have neither felt nor heard the Lord's counsel.

I felt like the author of the poem "Footprints in the Sand," who queried God:

"LORD, you said that once I decided to follow you, you'd walk with me all the way.

But I have noticed that during the most troublesome times in my life

there is only one set of footprints.

I don't understand why when I needed you most you would leave me."

I knew that if He would just answer me, I could move forward with confidence in what Addie needed--I could demand the doctors to give her good nourishment instead of taking away her mother's milk; I could say no to drugs; I would know what genetic tests to order; I could wean off her seizure meds with certainty instead of self-doubt. I could just act in Knowledge of what would work instead floundering in Faith of what I hoped would work!  Wouldn't that be better than me bumbling along and making so many errors in the life of this fragile gift from Heaven?  Surely Heaven wants me to succeed in this most important endeavor.  Why the silence?

I analyzed my life thoroughly over and over to see if I had breached my covenants in any way that would prevent me from receiving answers.  I asked for understanding behind such limited, counsel sent my way. Was I too tired? Yes. Too time-constrained? Yes.  Too mentally and emotionally preoccupied? Absolutely. The state of my life then and now isn't going to change any of those barriers to revelation, so I prayed in repentance for a way around them.

This month, as I worshiped in the temple, I pondered again how I could get the heavens to unlock for me to give me the revelation I seek on so many matters--not only Addie.  As I performed Initiatory ordinances, I listened intently to the promises given.  Suddenly, my mind and heart felt enlightened.  I realized that I have been promised a mind that can decipher between options.  If I'm not receiving guidance from God then He must trust me to exercise the intelligence he's already given me. He must trust that I can take care of Addie and all my other assignments. He expects me to "use my brain!"   I had to laugh at that!  I also felt humbled.  Here the wisest Man in the universe, who could so readily give me the answers I seek, knows I will grow in wisdom if I learn to use the mind He's already blessed me with.

Put another way, Sister Sharon Eubank spoke in a Relief Society Fireside in my Stake earlier this year.  She said that President Packer once said in a meeting regarding receiving revelation: "If the light is green, its always a Go." Another image that comes to mind is the way an Islander taught his kids to swim: he simply tossed them out of the boat into the ocean.   If the Lord gave us instruction and counsel on everything, how would we ever learn to think, to test, to explore, to grow?  We need times of silence to stretch our capacity to become as He is: able to "counsel in wisdom over all His works" (Jacob 4:10).

Beware, however, of rationalizing away His command to "counsel with the Lord in all thy doings" (Alma 37:37). He may choose to be silent for our personal growth, but we need to ever seek His counsel regardless. To do otherwise, cuts us off from Him by eroding our faith and trust, for we have been commanded "to repent and call upon God in the name of the Son forevermore" (Moses 5:4).  

Knowing that there are times the heavens are just going to be silent for our own growth, we can take confidence, after ensuring we are keeping our covenants, that God trusts us.  We can move forward with faith in Him, His work, and especially in the faith He has in us. Then, we can conclude as does the final stanza of "Footprints in the Sand:"

"My precious child, I love you and will never leave you

Never, ever, during your trials and testings.

When you saw only one set of footprints,

It was then that I carried you."

The Book of Esther: Insights into Temple Worship

In the April 2009 General Conference, Elder Bednar stated, "There is a difference between church-attending, tithe-paying members who occasionally rush into the temple to go through a session and those members who faithfully and consistently worship in the temple."  Since I fell into the category of the member rushing into the temple occasionally, I pondered, "What is the difference?"

Up to that time, I felt content with my hurried, monthly temple attendance.  After Elder Bednar's statement, however, I realized that my rushing into the temple, fretting about the little children I left at home, and my anxiety to get into the exact session I needed to minimize my time in the temple so I could get on with my life were hindrances to my  spiritual growth. As a second witness to the need to change my time-focused temple attendance, Elder Richard G. Scott in the same April 2009 conference counseled temple worshipers to "remove your watch when you enter a house of the Lord."  

It took an act of faith and obedience to set my watch in the car console; I remember feeling panicked about staying too long in the Celestial Room.  I can testify, though, that following this counsel has strengthened me spiritually.  As I forget time and stay focused and prayerful, slowing down the normal rush of my life, I have found greater sensitivity to spiritual teachings, a broader perspective of the temple ordinances, and a deeper personal commitment to holiness both in and out of the temple.  An unforeseen blessing came when I learned in my daily walk to rush less, to focus on one task, instead of multi-tasking every minute of every hour, and to ponder and meditate.

This overall slowing down and focusing less on the clock enabled me to learn, at least in a small degree, the difference between members who rush in and out of the temple occasionally versus those who consistently worship there.  The story of Esther illustrates what I've learned most effectively.

When King Ahasuerus of Persia sought a new queen, his officials combed the empire looking for "fair young virgins" to bring into the House of the Women.  Esther, "fair and beautiful," took her place among the women gathered at the Palace in preparation for their "days of purification."  Esther shone out among all the women gathered due to her contented, kind nature, and found favor with Hegai, keeper of the women, who advocated the best place for her in the house.

What purpose did the House of the Women play in the lives of these virgins?  Coming from the various provinces and backgrounds, these women lived very different lives than royalty.  Were some peasants? merchant's daughters? low-level gentry?  In the case of Esther, we read of her uncle Mordecai before the King's gate, implying that Esther's family lived on the outside of royal circles.  Since Mordecai instructs Esther not to reveal her ancestry, her Jewish heritage also indicates the low social status of her family in the Persian city of Shushan.  

Regardless of backgrounds, not one of these women was prepared to meet a king.  The House of the Women, then, became their educational center to prepare for their eventual private meeting with King Ahasuerus.  Not only were they bathed with water, but for 6 months oil of myrrh diminished their calluses, buffed out their rough elbows and knees, glossed their tresses, and softened their coarse skin.  The remaining 6 months left time for soaking up sweet odors to cleanse the daughters of the stench of commoners.  Meanwhile, these virgins were most likely given opportunity to learn every royal grace and palace manner.  Instructed in the customs, language, accent, history of the royal family, these maidens learned their role as women in the house of a king and were prepared in every needful way for their inevitable interview.  Every maiden was given the same opportunities to learn and the same items for purification, but their haste or conscientiousness in learning and applying these resources would eventually reveal itself before royalty and in their personal confidence before a king.

At the day of their reckoning, with veiled faces, the maidens, one by one and one-on-one met with the King.  Of all the virgins, Esther found grace, favor and love in the eyes of the king.  Chosen as queen, she received royal robes, a crown made to fit her fair head, and a place of residence in the King's mansion.  At a banquet proclaimed in her honor, Esther presided with her husband and feasted with him.  

In humility, Esther approached the King and bowed before him at least three times.  She nurtured the king and sought His will and welfare first before seeking her own interests.   The king, in turn, honored her three requests and bequeathed upon her power to conquer her enemies and to become a "savior" to them, preserving both her family and her genealogy from extinction.  Through Esther's influence and her uncle's valiance and honor in promoting the king's interests, Mordecai also entered as an invited guest into the King's palace and eventually was also endowed with power to stand next to the king in authority and might.  Seeking the welfare of his people, Mordecai taught the gospel of "peace to all of his seed."  (See the Book of Esther)

Astoundingly, this story teaches about the purpose and the power of the temple.  Like the House of the Women, the temple becomes a place of purification and learning.  There, access to the cleansing power of Christ's Atonement and the refining fire of the Holy Ghost comes to full fruition.  Like royalty of old, we are cleansed with water and anointed with oil, clothed in royal robes and brought to a place of instruction.  Here we have potential to become well-versed in the customs, manners, qualities, and graces of God's Kingdom.  If we are valiant, and not hasty, in applying these lessons in our everyday lives, we grow from grace to grace in holiness.  Through obedience to covenants, we turn from the stench and decay of fallen man, and seek, instead, the "sweet odors" of repentance.  We wash our minds of all carnality and evil, refusing to soil our hearts anymore with the degrading sins of the natural man (commoner).  We are granted power over all our enemies, blessed with the ability to save our ancestors, and through our service can bring them into the presence of a king.  The temple becomes the training ground for our eventual interview, one by one and one-on-one, with the true King.  If found worthy and virtuous, the veil separating us from Him will be lifted, an invitation to feast at the Lord's banquet will be offered, and we shall be given a place in His mansions.  Through our righteous influence and service, our influence will extend over "all our seed" and the gospel of peace will inspire generations.   

As I've lost track of time in the temple, I've learned to focus more upon the holiness lessons taught within those sacred walls.  Focus leads to greater understanding and deeper application.  Now when I leave the temple, the temple stays with me.  Promptings of the Spirit come more readily and my sensitivity to recognize them increases.  I learn to apply my "things for purification" daily, instead of randomly dabbling in them.  This more frequent, deeper immersion in "holiness treatments" from the temple may be the "difference between church-attending, tithe-paying members who occasionally rush into the temple to go through a session and those members who faithfully and consistently worship in the temple." (expanded from Sacrament Meeting talk on January 12, 2015)