We are that we might--hopefully will--have joy

Mom loved red. She loved polka dots. She also loved having options. So, I bought two dresses for her funeral. 

I wore the blue dress with white polka dots at her service. 

This is the other dress. I am wearing it today, exactly two weeks after the day she passed, and I am smiling. 

My eyes are tired. My heart hurts, but I’m smiling because I know she would have liked it. I’m smiling because I love her. 

I’m smiling because I’m choosing to not let grief make me feel guilty for being happy even if she’s not with me anymore. 

So, today, the red dress is for her. But it’s also for me. 

And it’s for you.

I want you to have joy.

Guilt is a thief that would rob you do all peace and joy. It would tell you that you should not feel happy when you’re grieving. It would tell you that you should not feel joy when others aren’t. 

Its logic is faulty and false. If we wait for conditions in our lives and the lives of others are perfect (whatever that means) to embrace joy, we never would because there will never be a time when everything is right in the world. 

It’s not possible. It’s not meant to be that way.

Joy isn’t meant to only come when all the boxes are checked, when there’s nothing to grieve, when all resistance to our expectations is gone. 

Joy isn’t a result of our circumstances. 

Joy is what helps us through our circumstances. 

Joy is a gift from a loving God for us to feel today. Now. Regardless of what our circumstances are. 

Men and women are that they might HAVE joy.  This is what Lehi taught his son in 2 Nephi2:25.

I find it interesting that he says "have joy" not "feel joy."

To have somethings connotes that joy is something that we can possess, that can be a part of us.

This elevates joy from something external that we feel the effects of, like when we feel the sun on our faces, to something that is internal, a part of us. Something that can always be with us, on sunny or cloudy days.

A few years ago President Nelson spoke of joy. He said, 

"My dear brothers and sisters, the joy we feel has little to do with the circumstances of our lives and everything to do with the focus of our lives. When the focus of our lives is on God’s plan of salvation . . . and Jesus Christ and His gospel, we can feel joy regardless of what is happening—or not happening—in our lives. Joy comes from and because of Him. He is the source of all joy."

My friends, this is so true.

This is how I can have joy--not just feel joy, but have joy without my mother here. I don't have joy because of her absence, but through my Savior, I can and do have joy in spite of her absence.

Whatever you're experiencing in your life right now, whether it's a loss of a loved one, illness, financial struggles, fear in an uncertain world, you can have joy in your life right now.

It's okay to smile with tears in your eyes and an ache in your heart.

And it's also okay if you can't smile right now. Smiling and joy are not mutually exclusive. 

Today, I'm able to smile. And I am because of Him. I am because of Mom.

And I am because of me.

We are that we might have joy. And I am claiming mine.

Now go and claim yours.

Messpirational

Way-too-long-vulnerable post warning ahead:

I have a new term: messpiration. 

I discovered it this weekend when I thought I broke. 

As many of you know, one of the things I do is write and speak on inspirational topics for women. I am all about perspective and choice laughter and the power of will and resilience and God. 

This can be a tricky thing, for teaching about inspiration and empowerment means I know a lot about it. And in my mind, I equate knowledge with performance. If I know these things, then I shouldn’t struggle with them. 

But I do. 

Not all the time. But I sometimes I do. 

Sometimes I wonder if I am enough. I wonder if I’ve failed my kids. I wonder what people think of me. I hurt and doubt and am afraid.

Then I beret myself because I feel like I should know better, and this means I should do better. I should think and feel better. 

I do. But sometimes I don’t. 

So then I feel like a fraud. How can I advocate and inspire when I feel like this way? How can I have anything to offer when I have moments of struggle myself? Why can’t I keep it all together all the time?

I was talking to a friend the other day and I said, “You know, after all this time studying and writing and speaking, I’ve realized something. I’m a mess.”

I love a perfect God and His perfect plan and principles. But, man do I trip all over them. I love hope but sometimes I lose it. I hate fear but sometimes I cling to it. I trust Him but sometimes I get frustrated and impatient. I understand I have control over my reactions, but sometimes I want to ram my car into the guy in front of me who cut me off (just a tap, really.) Damn slips from my lips too often and I love sleeping in and eating ice cream for breakfast. I think waaaay to much and over analyze everything-except the dumb things I do and say without thinking at all. I’m complicated and messy. 

Circumstances were a bit challenging and I dipped pretty low this past weekend. The weight of fear and pain pushed my thoughts down. I began to doubt my contribution to my family, my church, my writing and speaking. How can I help anyone when I feel so broken? (I have soooo many thoughts on “broken”, but that’s for another long-winded post.)

I was bemoaning my state of messiness to my daughter who, after listening to me whine and cry said, “So, you’re human then?”

I suppose I am. Very much so. 

You won’t find anything close to perfection here. I’m no example.

But, I believe in God and what He can do for and with me. I get excited when I think about progression and problem-solving and who we really are and second and third and thousandths chances. I love that the Savior gets me and has the power to ease my pain and strengthen me if I let Him. I love laughter and cookie dough and organizing. I love to make people happy. And I love real. 

So often we see people trying to inspire us with perfect appearances and programs (for a small price). They post their best as proof their answers will solve all your problems too. 

But here’s what I’ve discovered. We are all a mess. Even them. And anyone who tells you differently is trying to sell you something. Sometimes literally. 

We buy into the idea that happiness and joy are the “right” places and if we feel anything other than complete faith and serenity somehow it’s wrong and we are deficient. Pain and struggle have turned into sources of shame. We see them as weaknesses, proof we can’t cut it. Proof we aren’t enough. 

Look, life sometimes is really hard. It’s messy. And we struggle. This is part of our experience. We don’t wallow in it, glorify it, or use it for attention. But we shouldn’t be ashamed of it either. Pain is pain. It’s not our enemy or our friend. What we do with it is.

I’m almost always happy, but when I’m not, I’m really not. 

In my lowest moment this weekend after I had cried on the shoulder of my 21-year-old daughter, I looked at her and said, “I want you to remember this moment- the moment your mom broke.” 

She nodded. 

Then I said, “And I want you to remember what I’m going to do next.”

She nodded. 

“I’m going I let you help me today. I’m going to wipe my tears. I’m going to seek God’s help because there is some pain that only He can lessen and some strength only He can give. And I’m going to chose to be okay.” Then I smiled and got up. 

Even though I’m a mess, I’m going to continue to teach and write inspirational stuff because I believe in Who I’m teaching and writing about. I’m not an inspirational person. I’m messpirational. And I like it. And I love Him. 

So, why share all this? And why post this pic of me that’s not smiling and joyous? Why not keep such personal matters to myself?

Because I hurt still. It’s getting better- but there’s still a struggle to be had. And maybe you’re hurt or are struggling too. And because I hope we can still believe that we all have something to give even when we feel like we are small and broken. 

I don’t think we need to be happy and perfect all the time to contribute or inspire. I just think we just need to be real about it all. Life is hard and wonderful and painful and lovely and scary and fantastic. 

We don’t need to bask in the low times, allowing our struggle to define our capacity or value. Acknowledge it. Accept it. And move on with it. Wipe our tears. Let others help. And choose to keep going. 

I choose to believe we all have something to offer, in happiness and pain, in joy and sorrow. 

I believe we are all messpirational.

Five lessons writing taught me about life.

A few months ago, I received a strong impression to write a booklet on a specific topic. It was a welcome revelation because as far as my writing has gone it has seemed that God has had no real strong feelings that past few years. I know He cares, of course. But as I’ve prayed about what to write in recent years, passing ideas by Him or asking for direction, it’s almost been as though His answer has been, “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. You could do that. Whatever you feel you want to do is fine with me.”

Not always the answer I want, because honestly, sometimes I want God to tell me what to do. I want Him to give me an idea, who me a direction.  Not because I can’t think of my own ideas. I can. But because there’s a part of me that is perpetually checking and rechecking that I am doing His will, not mine. I want to write what He wants me to write, not what I want to write.

When specific impressions regarding what to write didn’t come, I was concerned and talked with my husband about it. Was I praying wrong? Not being specific enough? Did God not want me to write?

He reminded me of a truth I knew, but somehow had forgotten it applied to me. He said something like, “Maybe God really is okay with whatever you write. Or even write at all.” I have always been a firm believer that God is extremely invested in our lives, that we have a collective purpose and an individual purpose, that all we do is important to Him. So, it had not really occurred to me that there were some things in this life that He could go either way on.

And it was . . . scary. What do you mean, I could write or not write? It’s a huge part of my life. Why wouldn’t He care?

We had many conversations after this one where I’ve come to realize a few things.

First, He does care. But God does not want to, nor intend to, script every moment of our lives. He gave us agency and expects us to use it.

Secondly, He trusts me more than I allowed myself to believe. I think often times the heavens quiet down not because God is far from us, but because we are closer to Him. We don’t need to be told to turn right or left, to wear the purple shirt or blue, to write or not write. We can think and pray and consider and choose what we feel is right for us. Then we can take it to Him for confirmation.

Thirdly, God wants me to be happy. Sometimes we are asked to do hard things because they are the right thing. Because of this, it can be easy to equate righteousness and His will with suffering. Sometimes the right thing is simply choosing what brings us joy.

Fourth, as I considered all of these things, I came to believe that God wasn’t going to tell me what to do in every facet of my life—that I could and should choose for myself, that He did have faith in me, that if writing made me happy, I should do it, and if it didn’t, He’d be okay if I stopped.

But—and this is a really big but—these things only worked if I kept my communication with heaven wide and open and often. Rather than asking Him for constant direction and validation, I realized that if I focused on staying close to Him through obedience and prayer, and I strived to become like Him, that, by default, much of what I wanted was already what He wanted for me. He could give me the space to learn and grow because, even though I stumble, I was stumbling in the right direction.

If I turn my back on Him and fly solely by my own gauges, and decide that God doesn’t care if I keep the commandments or dive off the deep end and leave my family to follow my dream of being a parade dancer in Disneyland, then I could very well get into dangerous territory. I could easily learn to (and love) the quest of “finding my own truth” and “doing whatever I want as long as it isn’t hurting others.” 

The difference is the direction we are facing. It might seem like a spiritual nuance to you, but it is so much more. When we are facing God and moving towards Him, our desire for and ability to choose the life that is best for us grows. We can make choices—even really important ones—without His constant handholding. We can be spiritual grownups as we begin to walk by His side, not in His shadow. And it can bring us joy because we—He and us—are a team, working for the same purpose, the same intention, the same goal. Facing any other direction takes us away from His side and His goal.

I am not saying we don’t need to pray for direction. We should pray to Him in all that we do, everything. But we do not need to be immobilized when specific revelation doesn’t come. It doesn’t mean He is ignoring us, or can’t even hear us. It doesn’t mean He doesn’t care.  Sometimes, it simply means that He knows we can choose for ourselves what He would have chosen for us, and He wants to give us that chance—that freedom to do it.

So, I sat down and had a serious talk with myself about what I wanted to write. I checked my desires and decisions against what I thought He would want for me, then I did it.  And guess what, it brought me joy. And not only that but eventually I received confirmation that He was truly pleased with me and my direction.  I learned my life wasn’t a scripted path I had to follow. Yes, the way to heaven is straight and narrow. But the path can be colorful and filled with things that bring me joy. And He’s okay with that. As long as they accompany me on the path and not lead me from it.

This brings me back to the impression I received a few months ago, and the fifth lesson I learned from writing.

I was plugging along, writing what brought me joy, when, as I mentioned, I received an impression to write something very specific. I welcomed it and begin writing at once. The words came to me easily and joyfully. I knew I was writing what He wanted me to write, and I was happy. I submitted it promptly to my publisher, knowing they would offer to publish it on sight. After all, it was God’s idea and He approved. Why wouldn’t they?

It took them weeks and weeks to discuss the project. Waiting was easy because I knew they’d pick it up.

But they didn’t.

They rejected it, and I was left to ponder about the entire thing. Did I not feel impressed to write it? Was this not the home it was destined for?

After some internal deliberations, I came to realize my fifth lesson: Just because we feel the Spirit guide us to do things, it does not mean the way we hope or think it will end is how it’s going to end up. I’ve been guilty of this in the past, thinking that if I feel impressed to do something, then that confirmation is the same thing as a promise of the outcome. But it’s not a guarantee.

When things don’t turn out according to our expectations, we might question God or doubts ourselves. But the truth is, sometimes He has other plans and needs us to take two steps towards one thing so He can lead us to another. And, sometimes, things just simply don’t work out.

And it’s okay.

That’s what I’ve learned through all of this. Trust God. Keep close to Him and try to be like Him. Choose the best I can what I feel is right and what will bring me joy. Communicate with God every day. And accept what happens.

So, I keep writing. I am prayerful and doing what I can to stay close to God and seeking His guidance. But when it doesn’t seem to come, I step ahead in the confidence I feel He has in me, and keep moving forward towards Him and the things that bring me joy. And it is not only okay. It’s good. Really good.

A real anything

This has been my view for the last three days. I'm here at my annual writers retreat in the beautiful Northwest.

The ocean, the people, the creativity. . . they are the balm for my soul and the sugar for my muse.

The great and wonderful Kaylee Baldwin was the special guest. She is kind and witty and wise. She was also my roommate. And I have to tell you, she is authentic--the same person when she is "on" in front of a crowd as she is in her pajamas at midnight chatting away.


Kaylee gave three presentations for our lucky group. The first was a brilliant class on editing. Seriously. I will never edit the same. Her second presentation, which she called "Writing for Such a Time as This" not only changed my writing but how I see myself. Her last presentation was on hope--which we all need--and how it begins in the darkness.

She is a lovely person and a fantastic writer. You should go by her books now. Like, right now.  HERE.

In her presentation last night she talked about something that resonated with me, not just as a writer, but as a person.

She talked about the word "real'. Especially when we attach it to our worth.

She said, "I wish we'd all stop using the phrase 'real writers.'  It has too much baggage. It doesn't matter if you have a dozen published novels or write poetry no one will see beyond yourself. Real writers write. It doesn't matter how much or when. If you write, put words on a paper or screen, you are a writer."

I stopped and thought about how often I have used that phrase myself. I wanted to be a "real writer". And I never felt like I was. 

In my true spirit of self-analysis (flirting with a healthy dose of borderline neuroses), I tried to figure out why, why didn't I feel like a real writer and would I ever be a real writer.

At this time, I had been writing blogs and books for a while. I had "proof" I was a writer, but I still didn't feel like it. Why?

Kaylee's words last night echoed and confirmed my conclusion.

The problem wasn't in my goal or desire of being a real writer, but it was my definition of what a real writer was.

I took the beautiful word "writer", opened it, and packed it with all my own things: my interpretations, my definitions, my perceptions. My baggage.

And that baggage changed as changed. It got heavier as I achieved more.

In the beginning, I had decided being a "real writer" meant to have people read my words.

When people began to read my words, the definition changed to putting my words into a book.

When I put my words into a book, the meaning changed to publishing a book.

When I published a book, the definition changed again to publish multiple books.

And when I published multiple books, it changed again.

Being a "real" writer became a goal I feared was unreachable.

What I couldn't see was why it was unreachable. I couldn't see that I was one the who was pushing it back farther and farther. I was the one who kept opening the words "real writer" and packing it with more and heavier expectations.

I was the antagonist in my own story.

It was a shocking realization. But empowering.

I put the baggage there, and I had the power to unpack the word.

I pulled out my expectations--which many were false--and changed the definitions. Until all that was left were seven words:  "I am a real writer because I am." No qualifiers. No goals. No benchmarks.

It wasn't about what I did, but who I was.

Who I am.

Most of you reading this aren't writers. But many of you struggle with being a "real" something.

A real:

mother
friend
artist
woman
daughter of God
ministering sister
baker
wife
person
________ (Insert your "real_____" here)


I am guilty of having packed doubt and fear and false expectations of perfection and success into a lot of these words on a time or two or hundred. It never works out well. The only "real" thing I feel like is a failure.

How sad I am what this happens.

I also know it affects the people around me. And I'm pretty sure it makes Heavenly Father sad. He celebrates with us when we celebrate, and He mourns with us when we mourn. Even if it's mourning our perceived failures. But, I believe He mourns not because we've failed, but because we are causing ourselves so much pain.

Women are that they might have joy.  But ladies, we often don't allow us to have joy. It's almost as though when euphoria and success permeate our lives, we must irradicate them, like pest exterminators, with lethal--but almost imperceptible--spray of doubt, fear, guilt, new definitions, harder goals, and unhealthy expectations.

You are real.

Let me repeat. YOU ARE REAL.

If you breathe, you are automatically a real person, a valid person--a daughter of God who is deserving of ALL of His love. All of it.  No qualifiers.

You have many roles who play. Some are similar to mine and some are different. I hope you can look at each of these roles through God's eyes, packing the word "real" with His definitions and expectations.

I hope you and I can strengthen our ability to allow ourselves to feel good about who we are and what we do. Imperfection is our expected mortal state. Growth is our goal.

Our job isn't to reach perfection here. If that's what we are striving for, we are missing the mark.

Our job is to trade our will for His and love others. It's a simple as that.

That included loving ourselves, and trading our definition of success, "real" anything, achievement, and expectations for His.

If we do this, I think we will find that we are more real than we ever knew.  And then we need to allow ourselves to claim that. To feel joy in that. Yes- WE CAN FEEL JOY IN WHO WE ARE AND WHAT WE DO.

Seeing ourselves through His perspective, coupled with our determination to learn grown and our efforts to seek His will and trade it for ours will lead to greater peace in our lives, a more accurate understanding of ourselves and God, and joy in our imperfect state.

This applies to any role in our lives.

For me, this weekend, it applied to me being a "real" writer.

I've allowed publishers to tell me I am the next big thing and believe them.

I've allowed publishers to tell me I'm gimmicky and believe them.

I've allowed the success of other writers to define my success.

I've allowed my definition of what God's expectations were for me to feed my sense of failure.

I've allowed so many things to be packed into that "real" word that there was no possible way to ever be a real writer.

But I am.

I write words. I am a writer.

And God doesn't expect me to get published. Not even once. He gave me a gift and He wants me to find joy in it. That's it.

And if I take this gift of a love of words coupled with righteous effort and healthy goals and expectations, topped with gratitude, I know I can have joy in saying "I am a real writer" now and always.

Thank you, Kaylee, for the real reminder.

Now I'm going to go write some more words. Because I am a writer. :)

Women are that they might tolerate?

ˈtäləˌrāt/

I've been thinking a lot lately about life and peace and joy . . . and tolerance.

Not tolerance in the meaning of putting up with other people's views/habits/difference.  I'm not referring to tolerating (accepting or condoning) sin or evil, either.

Tolerance as in personal tolerance--what can we tolerate. And why is that important?

But first I want to back up and talk about joy.

It's been taught, and I've said it before, that "men are that they might have joy." I believe that. I believe joy comes from knowing who you are and why you're here. Joy can be found in family, faith, fun, growth, and more. Yes, God wants us to have joy.

But-- contrary to what some may think (Hold onto your faith-loving hats for this), joy and happiness isn't the only goal of this life. It is a by-product of other things. 

Why is this an important principle to understand? Because when we go through life feeling that joy is the goal, then anything we feel that might be otherwise is considered opposite of the goal, or bad.

When sorrow comes, we pray it will be taken from us. When grief and anger, fear and frustration weigh us down, we pray that we can find relief. We want to get out of these awful situations and get back to the way life should be--filled with joy.  And we often equate joy with the absence of heartache, discomfort, sadness, or pain.

I want to add joy's best friend, peace, to the mix. We like to feel peace. We associate it with ease and comfort.

When we look at securing peace and joy as the goals of life, rather than a byproduct of the goals of life, we can put ourselves in a harmful frame of mind and spirit. 

When we are suffering we can sometimes feel angry at God. Why is He letting me experience this? Doesn't He want me to be happy? Doesn't He care? Why doesn't He simply let me have peace and joy? Why does He allow me to suffer so?

When we feel that peace and joy are the main goals in this life, the seeming absence of peace and joy--or ease and comfort--can create a multitude of problems:

• spiritual entitlement (Why am I suffering? I keep the commandments.)
• resentment towards God (Why aren't You giving me peace and comfort?)
• guilt (What am I doing to disqualify myself from the blessing of peace and joy?)
• doubt (Since God isn't taking this pain away, I wonder if He loves me.)
• shame (I don't deserve to feel peace and joy.)

When we search for and work towards a state of only peace and joy--as interpreted as ease and comfort--we create in our minds the idea that suffering is bad. We tell ourselves that if we are experiencing the opposite of comfort and ease, we are not feeling peace and joy.

But not all suffering is bad. Especially suffering with perspective and purpose.

What if we tweaked our mentality a bit?  What if we were to want joy and peace, of course, but we extend our sights to another goal?

What if our goal was to learn to tolerate discomfort and pain?

I know. It sounds horrible.

In part, because we associate the word tolerate with meanings like "put up with" or "accept because we have to". In addition, most things we "tolerate" are bad. We tolerate going to the dentist, getting shots, having Thanksgiving dinner with certain family members. We "tolerate" things we don't like and wouldn't choose.

These fall under the first, and most commonly associated, the definition of tolerate: to accept or endure something unpleasant or disliked with forbearance. In this light, tolerance is a noble way of handling an unwanted, or even wrong, situation.

But, I want to focus on the other definition of tolerate: to be capable of continued subjection without adverse reaction.

It's not merely about mindset or surviving, but about our capacity to adapt and thrive in challenging conditions.

The reason a cactus can survive in extreme conditions is because they have adapted themselves and can thrive in heat and drout that would wither most other plants. Through adaptation and change, it's found a way to thrive in severe conditions. And, I think it's fair to say, that the cactus has some measure of joy in its existence as well.

Life is hard. And learning to tolerate difficulty is key. Enduring to the end means we train ourselves to tolerate being uncomfortable. (Remember, it doesn't mean we "put up with it.")

It means we strengthen ourselves so we can handle pain and discomfort, and even find purpose and understanding in it, therefore experiencing joy. How can we do this? 

We:

• choose to believe that pain does not always equal bad
• choose to believe that pain does not mean God doesn't love us
• understand that pain and discomfort can be consecrate for our good, if we allow it
• seek God's guidance and perspective during hard times
• rely on the grace and mercy of the Atonement to alleviate unnecessary pain (more on that below)
• Nurture gratitude in difficult times
• accept the fact that sometimes life is simply hard, and 
• learn to love the "nevertheless"

What do I mean by the last one?  

A look at the first verse of the Book of Mormon gives some insight.

1 Nephi 1:1  "I, Nephi, having been born of goodly parents, therefore I was taught somewhat in all the learning of my father; and having seen many afflictions in the course of my days, nevertheless, having been highly favored of the Lord in all my days; yea, having had a great knowledge of the goodness and the mysteries of God, therefore I make a record of my proceedings in my days."

Nephi penned (or etched) his history later in life. So, he had the knowledge of hindsight when he recorded this verse. He understood that hard times doesn't mean we are unloved or unblessed.

He adapted in strength and spirit to his conditions, until he could not only survive, but thrive in them. He could tolerate much and celebrate much.

I watched a great Ted talk by Harvard psychologist, Susan Davis. She talks about the danger of pushing aside negative emotions as bad and replacing them with false positivity. We might lose our ability to deal with the world as it is, not as we wish it would be.

"Tough emotions are part of the contract of life," she says. "You don't get to have a meaningful career or raise a family or leave the world a better place without stress or discomfort."

Then she ends with a powerful statement:

"Discomfort is the price of admission to a meaningful life."

Women are that we might have joy. And having joy--real joy--means learning to tolerate being uncomfortable and even hurting.

Our main goal isn't to have joy. We are that we might and can have joy, but joy comes when we become more like God, through conversion and the gaining of knowledge and choosing right over wrong and His will over ours. It comes through feeling all the emotions and still seeing and trusting God. It comes when we learn to adapt and thrive in this harsh mortal world.

Our level of joy can rise with our level of tolerance. As we practice our faith in God and use our agency to repent and make good choices, we can gain strength and understanding.

This means, we can have joy in any circumstance in our lives, even the most difficult ones.

How tolerant are you?

Can you thrive when life gets hard? If you were told that your life were to be like Jacob and his family, could you have joy? 

Of his life, Jacob said, "The time passed away with us, and also our lives passed away like as it were unto us a dream, we being a lonesome and a solemn people, wanderers, cast out from Jerusalem, born in tribulation, in a wilderness, and hated of our brethren, which caused wars and contentions; wherefore we did mourn out our days." (Jacob 7:26)

That sounds like it sucked. 

And yet, Jacob testified of God's mercy unto them, and he marveled and gloried in the Lord's plan of happiness. 

He could tolerate a lot, and because of that, he could see, feel, hear, and know God even more. And feel joy.

I had the strangest thing happen to me this weekend. Compared to the trials Jacob went through, and that some of you are going through, it may seem small. But to me, it was big.

Between my calling as stake Relief Society president and my speaking as an author, I do a lot of teaching in front of a lot of people. My process is always the same: I prayerful prepare until my nervousness turns to excitement. When I become excited to share my message, I know I've figured out what God wants me to say. Then, right before, I invariably feel His approval through the Spirit, and as I speak, I am given further inspiration to make adjustments and additions. I never walk away being proud of myself as a speaker. But I always come away feelings that I've done a good job in His eyes.

Until Saturday.

A few weeks ago I was asked to speak in our adult session of stake conference. I started prayerfully studying and pondering the subject immediately, but found no inspiration. I struggled to think of a clear direction and I couldn't remember the things I'd just read.

Because there was to be a change on our stake presidency, we had two general authorities come to visit. If that didn't make me nervous enough, my (then) stake president asked me not to use notes. I don't write my talks about, but I do like to have some bullets points to keep me on track.

But not this time. Ten minutes, no notes, on caring for the poor and needy.

So, I prayed and read and made outlines to memorize and nothing came. The day of the conference session came and I drove to the church with tears in my eyes because God had yet to bless me with inspiration. Any inspiration. Not even a warm fuzzy.

Feelings of inadequacy began to take over. Fear, frustration, doubt all grew louder. I was an hour away, half hour away, ten minutes away, then it was my turn, and I still had no idea what I was going to say.

I thought it was a lack of faith, do I decided to stand and open my mouth, fully believing He would put words into it like He has before.

But He didn't.

I stood there, facing 700 people and my mind was blank. A quick mental scramble produces some key points, but I stumbled over words and fumbled over thoughts. I stopped in the middle and prayed for some guidance, some feeling, some sign of His presence or approval. 

Nothing.

I was rattled.

What was supposed to be a 10-minute inspirational talk about caring for the poor and the needy turned out to be a 7.5 minute mess.

I sat down and wanted to cry. But, as I was the first speaker, and sitting shoulder to shoulder with a GA, I felt it best to put on my brave face and save the crying for the ride home.

And yes, I did cry.

Feelings and questions came. Why did God abandon me? What is He trying to tell me? Had I failed? Should I not have opened my mouth? And, honestly, what on earth had I even said?

Questions fed doubts, as they often do, and soon I had convinced myself that this uncomfortable and even painful experience meant one thing: something was wrong. Either I'd failed him, or I was too proud, or He doesn't want me to speak anymore.

None of the things I'd figured out were good. But, it was an uncomfortable situation and those are, you know, bad.

I had the thought to blog tonight when I looked into my drafts and saw the beginnings of this one. I had started it a month ago and set it aside to finish later.

I'll admit, I chuckled when I realized God used my own words to answer some of my own questions. Tricky one, He is.

I realized tonight that I went through something really uncomfortable. I felt abandoned by God. Even if it was just for a talk, the feeling was real. And awful.

But, what can I tolerate? Can I still endure, thrive even, in situations like this?

Can I choose happiness and hope and trust when the evidence points to other things?

Can I choose to believe that there is a really good reason for this experience? And the reason may simply have been for me to experience it and gain knowledge and wisdom from it.

Can my testimony grow and can I change for the better even in the moments I don't feel Him near.

The answer is yes, I can.

I can tolerate this. And I can tolerate a whole lot more.

Because I know that this life is a test--our proving grounds for eternity. And if I fold or buckle every time it gets rough, I will weak and blaming others for my pain. I will be angry and perhaps even inconsolable. I would drive to the store at 11pm to buy a new purse then go home and eat ice cream out of the carton for like 30 minutes then Instagram it. (Oh wait, I did do those things.)  I would be a sad case in the end indeed.

And it's not just the talk. Like you, I have a glaring list of hard things in my life right now. I've got super proof in my arsenal that life stinks sometimes and pain is bad. But, But I want a meaningful life. And I refuse to give more power to harsh conditions that they already take. 

When I was eight years old Spencer W. Kimball said, "There are great challenges ahead of us, giant opportunities to be met. I welcome that exciting prospect and feel to say to the Lord, humbly, "Give me this mountain", give me these challenges."

I echo his words now.

Though I still feel wounded a bit, I am ready to meet the challenges of life.

I am ready to pay the admission for a meaningful life.

Give me this mountain.

Give me these challenges.

I can tolerate them.

I can thrive.

And I can have joy.


And so can you.