Effortless

This post is part of the General Conference Odyssey. This week covers the Sunday Morning Session of the October 1980 Conference. 

I think a lot about "rats in the cellar." (You know the C.S. Lewis quote.) That is, I think a lot about who I "really am" and how my behavior shows, or doesn't show, that. One thing I am frequently lamenting is how rarely I have the "right" reaction as my first reaction! A common phrase for me to say in my prayers is, "I'm sorry I have to try so hard for [desirable trait]. I wish I could do it instinctively instead of with such effort!"

I just can't help but notice how natural goodness looks in people I admire. "She doesn't even have to TRY to be nice!" I think wistfully. "She just IS that way!" It seems like it would be so great to effortlessly think the best of people, for example, instead of having to force away envious thoughts or unfair judgements first.

But lately I've been wondering if I'm overestimating the benefits of having something "come naturally." I think it's probably still a good "someday" sort of goal to strive for (maybe if I practice being nice for fifty more years it will become second nature!) but it may not be as important as I thought it was.

Here's why I think it might not matter: I was practicing the piano accompaniment of some difficult choir music, and I wrote above one passage, where the notes cascade down in a sort of waterfall:  "Effortless!"—meaning, this part needs to sound effortless. And then as I was bashing out the notes over and over again, and circling accidentals and writing in fingerings, I was snickering to myself about that word "effortless." I thought, "If this ends up sounding 'effortless' I will really have fooled people! No one will know how much 'effort' was actually involved."

And I was thinking: would it matter at all if this had been really easy for me? Assuming that the final performance is beautiful—would it be MORE beautiful, somehow, if it was arrived at without effort? Would people hear that lovely waterfall passage and think, "Nice… but I hope she didn't have to practice that part much!" Ha ha. Obviously…they wouldn't care! At "final performance" stage, it really doesn't matter.

But of course, "final performance stage" isn't where I'm interacting with people, most of the time. So I feel self-conscious because my "effort" is so obvious! There was a bit of discussion in Relief Society a few weeks ago about not wanting to seem "forced" when ministering to others. None of us like feeling awkward, and one lady asked, "When you are just getting to know someone, how can you make sure it doesn't seem forced? I never want someone to think they are only an assignment to me!" I totally relate to that sentiment, and I've even sometimes thought, "It would be better for me not to visit someone at all, if I don't come across as a real friend!"

But when I think of ministering as a skill, like playing the piano, it's absurd to expect it not to be awkward at first! Of course it's awkward when two people try to get to know each other on a new level! Of course it feels a bit forced! We should be surprised if it doesn't! It makes sense to me that easy and "effortless" ministering (which of course takes a lot of effort) can only be developed after repeated less-than-perfect attempts. And it makes sense that putting in those first awkward efforts is a vital step on the way to getting better at it!

Elder Marvin J. Ashton presents two sets of corollaries about doing hard things:

Those who yield to adversity become weaker. [But] to the valiant, it is a stepping-stone to increased power. 

Satan wants us to feel unequal to our worldly tasks. [But] if we turn to God, He will take us by the hand and lead us through our darkest hours.

Or to rephrase that, it is only through effort that things become effortless. That is why adversity is so valuable. It shows us that we are weak, at the same time it gives us the means and the motivation to become strong. Because as Elder Ashton says, it is only as we turn to God (even in our powerlessness) that He can grant us increased power.

Other posts in this series:

• Power to Overcome the World by Jan Tolman
• Facing Adversity with Dignity by Nathaniel Givens

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Filters

This post is part of the General Conference Odyssey. This week covers the Priesthood Session of the October 1980 Conference. 

I loved Elder H. Burke Peterson's talk "Purify Our Minds and Spirits." It reminded me of some other talks I've liked that use water as a metaphor for our lives. Elder Peterson talked about how, like flowing water, our spirits pick up impurities over time, and how we must filter out those impurities if we want to maintain spiritual strength.

This idea of purity and impurity resonated with me because I am often wishing that my motivations and desires were less "mixed" and more pure! I liked the idea that the bad parts of my motivations, the impurities or places where I don't really have an "eye single to the glory of God," can be systematically filtered out! Elder Peterson says:

First, there are large grates and nets of coarse screens that filter out leaves, branches, and dead animal life. The filtering system gets finer and finer as it removes other harmful impurities.

This part reminded me of something I'd heard somewhere, about how we often don't notice we are making progress in combatting sin, because as we conquer our bigger/more obvious sins, we start to be more aware of our smaller ones!

Throughout the talk, Elder Peterson gives a series of steps for performing this "filtering" process in our lives:

The secret to cleansing our spirit of whatever the impurity is not very complicated. It begins with prayer every morning and ends with prayer every night. This is the most important step I know in the cleansing process.… 

Secondly, an added refinement will come in the filtering process: [it] can be found in a daily study of the scriptures—not long, perhaps, but every day…

Third…refreshment to your spirit…comes when you do something good for another that he or she doesn’t expect. Keep it simple, but do it—daily.

I thought it was interesting that these are all daily things; you'd think it would take awhile for the water to become impure and maybe you wouldn't have to filter it until it got really bad. But obviously, if you think of drinking water, the filtration system is always in place. It has to catch the impurities constantly as the water runs by. And I like the idea that even when I don't feel much progress in the matters of purifying my heart and making my "eye single" to God—as long as my "filters" of prayer and scripture study and service are in place, I can be confident that I am indeed becoming more pure.


Other posts in this series:

• Accountable For Better Ministering by Jan Tolman

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It shall save thy own

This post is part of the General Conference Odyssey. This week covers the Saturday Afternoon Session of the October 1980 Conference. 

Awhile ago, one of the Young Men's Leaders in our ward shared a letter sent from one of the widows, to the young men. The letter told how her husband, before he died, had gone out every time it snowed and shoveled snow from the sidewalks of his entire street. His wife, knowing that he was sick and weak, asked him, "Why do you feel like you have to do all that shoveling?" He answered, "Someday I will be gone, and when I am, I hope someone will do the same for you." The lady told the young men that now, every time they shoveled her sidewalk, she felt close to her husband.

In that same meeting, another man told the story of how when he was worried about his aging mother who lived in another country, he found an older woman in his own ward to sit next to, hoping that someone would likewise find his mother and reach out to her since her son was far away.

I've been thinking about this…reciprocity?…and wondering if it is a generally applicable spiritual principle. I know we usually get MORE than we deserve from Heavenly Father, when we serve. But I like the idea that if I am seeking or hoping for a specific blessing, I might look for a way to meet that specific need for someone else, and by doing so, gain more confidence to ask Heavenly Father to help me with my own request.

Elder C. Reeve, Sr. said:

I’d like to tell you that a person is never nearer the Lord than when he is reaching out, Savior-like, to bring another soul to Christ. The words of the poet Whittier say this truth: 

Heaven’s gate is shut to him who comes alone;/ Save thou a soul, and it shall save thy own.

Often when I am praying for someone and I ask for a certain blessing on their behalf, I will think "…and really, I could use this too, please!" So I love the idea that what we seek to help others attain, we can attain ourselves. I think I've felt it happening when I become really invested in trying to show someone else that God loves them. In the very act of doing this, as I ponder how I can be God's messenger, and think about the things He would want the person to know if HE were here talking to them, I often find myself feeling an outpouring of His love myself!

An example of a time this happened is once when I was worrying about a friend who was feeling discouraged. As I prayed, I was going in my mind through all the things I admired about her—things God must be so proud of her for—things that I wished she would believe about herself. As I went through the list, I found myself feeling the impression, "And God wants ME to know that about myself, too." It was unexpected and very comforting to feel that heavenly approval, which is something I'm always wishing for, but hadn't even explicitly asked for right then!

It makes me look differently at the idea of ministering, too, when I think that my own deep longings for love and friendship may be best met as I give those things to others. Of course I know that people have different needs. And sometimes one of my sisters may need something different than I need myself. But still, I like this idea of reciprocal blessings, and I'm going to try to be more intentional about seeking that reciprocity, looking for ways to give the very things I most need.


Other posts in this series:

• Putting Salt and Baking Soda in Your Cookies by G
• A Remarkably Difficult Truth by Nathaniel Givens
• The Light We Wield by Jan Tolman

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The Blue Barn, and way too much about snake grass

We stayed in such a great little place in Smithfield. It was big, actually—a big blue(ish) barn that had been converted into a darling house. We loved it!

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I loved the little "stage" behind the kitchen table. It was covered by screens, which could be slid aside any number of ways to reveal the toy area. The kids settled in and were playing happily there from about thirty seconds after we walked in the door. They liked making shadows on the screens, too.

What Ziggy wanted most of all was to crawl to the edge, drop a toy down onto the bench below, and then dive headfirst after it. We prevented this…mostly.

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There was a big fireplace in the middle of the room, which we didn't use since it was so hot outside, but it was a good place to sit and read, and no one fell and cut a lip or chin on it, so that was good.

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Gone? To the North Country? In the middle of the night?

A couple months ago Sam's family had a reunion at Bear Lake, and we couldn't go, so I started thinking maybe we could plan a trip of our own. (We haven't been there since 2010!) I found the cutest little place to stay in Smithfield, above Logan. And even though it was only a couple hours north of home, it felt special, just like anytime you go somewhere different: new places to eat, new roads to drive, new places to run. We loved it!

Our rental house was in Smithfield Canyon, and the road up the canyon was gorgeous! Everything was green, and it seemed so quiet and peaceful, even though we weren't that far from the town center. I loved running up the road in the mornings, even though I usually try to avoid going uphill because it makes me go even slower than my usual tortoisian pace. The first morning, I didn't know Abe was out running too, and it was a lovely surprise to find myself suddenly waving hello to HIM as I waved hello to the other runners enjoying the downhill while I was still toiling upward.

Another day, we ran together and Abe nobly stayed with me the whole time, even though I kept telling him to go on ahead. I was so pleased with the sight of our two shadows running together. Who would have ever thought I'd have my own son to run with? I loved it.

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Space

This post is part of the General Conference Odyssey. This week covers the Saturday Morning Session of the October 1980 Conference. 

As I've expressed before, it's hard for me, at this time in my life, to ever feel truly "settled." That is, I always have a nagging feeling crowding in, that I really ought to be somewhere else, doing something else. I have this feeling even when I'm doing something I KNOW is good—reading to or snuggling with my kids, for example, which is one of those things everyone always says you will never regret, and I don't, but I do think, "I really should be getting dinner started—" or "I ought to be working on my lesson—" while I'm doing it. In the same way, even while I'm doing Family History, or cleaning up the house, or reading conference talks, I can't escape a worry that I should be enjoying and treasuring every moment with my children instead. (And of course if I'm doing something more marginal, like lying on my bed looking at Instagram and putting off thinking about what to make for dinner…or writing a blog post…the crowding feelings that I should be doing something else are even worse!)

Anyway, I have gained some perspective in the eight years (!) since I wrote the post I linked above, and I've learned some coping skills, and no, I don't think this persistent unsettledness (or "guilt," if you want to call it that, but I'm not sure it's the best word) is The Church's fault for making me feel like I have to be perfect—I think it's just a natural result of having agency, and being a mother, and living in the dimly-lit space of mortality. Maybe this feeling will always be with me to some degree.

But there are some rare and precious times when the feeling lifts, and I have the peace of knowing there is nothing else I should be doing besides what I am doing! One of them is the first week or two after having a baby. Another time is every week when I go to church, or when I watch General Conference. This is one way that Sunday, while not overtly "restful" in the matter of physical work to be done, is SUCH a welcomed Day of Rest—because (while at church, anyway) I have a rest from the stress of figuring out if I'm spending my time the best way. I know I'm where God wants me to be! And another place where that crowding worry seems held at bay is when I'm in the temple. For that reason, I have come to associate the temple with space. Not empty space, or hollow space, but light-filled, healing space. I feel like when I'm there, I have space to just BE—to breathe and think and be still without the encroaching fears crowding in.

I've thought about this scripture in Alma a lot:

Nevertheless there was a space granted unto man in which he might repent; therefore this life became a probationary state; a time to prepare to meet God.

And in my mind, the companion scripture to that one is this one:

And the light which shineth, which giveth you light, is through him who enlighteneth your eyes, which is the same light that quickeneth your understandings;  

Which light proceedeth forth from the presence of God to fill the immensity of space—

I know that the "space granted" to us for mortality—the space to make mistakes and to try again without the immediate consequences that justice demands—is a great blessing. I probably don't even feel quite how great of a blessing, not having known the alternative. But I'm especially grateful for the "spaces granted" within that larger space, spaces like prayer and the temple, where I can feel the effects of God's light bringing peace and calm and stillness and silence! I don't mind the happy chaos of a big family. The crowding, the chattering, the constant happening. I'm grateful for it. I even like it. But it makes me feel so desperate, sometimes, for SPACE. And in the temple, I find it.

May I declare without apology that every living person should seek earnestly for the blessings of the temple as his ultimate goal. For there you will find peace; there you will come to know what security really is. There, in the house of the Lord, you can learn what you need to know to be truly free. There, tucked away from turmoil and strife, is the chance to be totally unselfish—a rarity in today’s world.  (Elder Robert L. Simpson, "The House of the Lord.")

Other posts in this series: 

• Forty-Year-Old Conference Messages that Speak to Our Day by Nathaniel Givens
• Fellow Saints, Not Fellow Citizens by G
• Chastity: Using Restraint and Responsibility by Jan Tolman

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Lilacs

This post is part of the General Conference Odyssey. This week covers the Saturday Morning Session of the October 1980 Conference. 

There's a piano piece by Rachmaninoff called "Lilacs" that I've been trying to learn for probably fifteen years now. Admittedly, I don't practice much. And I have learned and performed other things in that time. But something about "Lilacs" seems to have defeated me. I can't ever really perfect it because I can't figure out how to memorize it. And I can't memorize it because I don't know quite how to practice it. And I can't practice it because I can't understand it! It has just been a baffling effort for me, all around.

But I LOVE the piece, so I can't quite bring myself to give up on it! I keep trying, off and on. I asked my cousin, who taught me piano at BYU, and he said, "Memorize each hand separately." I tried that. But even then something seemed to stop me from mastering the piece. I knew the notes. I could play through the piece reasonably well. I practiced slowly, I practiced each hand alone, I practiced in sections, I practiced with the metronome. But I just didn't GET it!

Ever since we got our new grand piano, I've been trying to do more practicing again, and I got out "Lilacs" for the millionth time. One evening as I was bashing my way through it yet again, I suddenly had the thought that I ought to pray for help learning the music. "Okay," I thought, "I can pray for that in my prayers tonight"— though I also felt hesitant, like it would be a weird thing to pray for, since I'm only learning "Lilacs" for fun and not because I NEED to for any reason. (Certainly, I have often prayed fervently over performances or accompaniments, and I've prayed general "help me get better at playing the piano" prayers—but I'm not in the habit of praying over each practice session!) And furthermore, I wasn't sure it was even a prayer that could be answered, because obviously what I needed on the piece was just MORE work! I already know how to practice the piano! I've been doing it for my whole life! When the music doesn't sound good yet, it just means you need to practice harder. Heavenly Father isn't going to just suddenly make me able to play a piece if I haven't done the required work! …These are the thoughts that were going through my head.

As I thought these dismissive and doubtful thoughts, again the feeling came: "Pray for help NOW." Surprised, I took my hands off the keyboard, closed my eyes, and said a quick and apologetic prayer for help. Then I started practicing again. And I don't know if I can describe exactly what happened next, but I'll try.

Almost immediately, I noticed similarities between two sections of the piece I'd never noticed before. One was a slightly-modified "echo" of the other. Seeing that connection made me look at the organization of the piece in a new way: the form was not quite as I had always thought it. I saw that I could break the music down differently into sections, and that the sections related to each other more deeply than I'd realized. I saw what had always seemed to be disparate elements suddenly coalesce into supporting and interdependent parts of a larger structure.

All that probably sounds abstract, but it was most undeniably specific in its effect. I felt like this piece, which had remained opaque to me for so long, was suddenly clear in my vision. I could see how it was put together, and simultaneously how I could dismantle it into its component parts and then reassemble those parts through my practice. Thirty minutes after my prayer, I felt I had made more progress toward learning the music than I'd made in the past fifteen years. It was amazing! I kept saying, "Oh! So that's it!" as I played and looked at this music that almost seemed made up of notes I'd never seen before—or maybe more accurately, of notes I was recognizing for the first time. I could not deny the dramatic, instantaneous effect of my prayer for help.

Pondering it afterwards and wondering what on earth had happened, I had so many questions! Why did the sudden understanding come NOW? Why that clear prompting to pray for help with something I didn't ever think of asking for help with before? If I'd asked ten years ago, would I have learned the piece faster, or was I not even ready to receive the help until I'd put in some preliminary amount of work on my own? And maybe the biggest question of all—why did Heavenly Father even CARE if I learned "Lilacs" or not? "Developing my talents" in a general way so I can play the organ for church, I can understand. But learning a specific piece that was not for a funeral or a primary program or a sacrament meeting or a concert? Why would it matter? To teach me that God knows EVERYTHING better than I do? Even how to practice the piano?

I still have those questions. And I'm still not proficient at "Lilacs." (It's improving, though! In ways I never thought it would!) But I thought of this experience when I read Elder Ronald E. Poelman's talk quoting Brigham Young on the Spirit of the Lord:

In the words of Brigham Young: “If a man is called … to manufacture the clothing that is necessary for the Saints, and he goes at that business with his eye single to the building up of the kingdom of God on the earth he is entitled to the Spirit of the Holy Gospel, and he will receive and enjoy it just as much as if he were preaching the Gospel. … [He will have] the spirit to know how to raise sheep, to procure the wool, to put machinery in operation to make the clothing for the advancement, benefit and building up of the people of God on the earth. And the Spirit of the Lord is here in these labors—farming, merchandizing and in all mechanical business just as much as it is in preaching the Gospel, if men will live for it” (in Journal of Discourses, 11:293–94).

I'm not sure if my experience is an example or a parable, but either way I can testify that the Spirit can, indeed, teach us anything. I've been asking myself how much other amazing help I've been missing out on by not asking for it more specifically. I said half-jokingly to Sam, "What else should I be praying for help with? How to make the bed? What ingredients to add to a recipe?—but I really do wonder. If God can show me a transformative view of a difficult piano piece, what other parts of my temporal, practical, everyday routine—or the things I usually think of as merely temporal—can He transform?

At the same time, I've been thinking about President Young's promise that if we "go at our business" with the "building up of the kingdom of God" in mind, we will have the Spirit guiding every aspect of our lives. It makes me want to find more creative ways to deliberately MAKE my "temporal labors" into spiritual ones. Is there some way my learning "Lilacs" COULD become important, and bless other people? Is there some way I could more specifically devote or dedicate my everyday labors to God? And if I did, would I receive even more help from the Spirit of God?

I don't know if there's someone out there who literally needs to hear my "Lilacs" or if that was a blessing just for me. But I now know better than ever that God can teach us anything—anything!—we need to know. How much more will He teach us if we ask for help in carrying out His work?

Other posts in this series:

• More than Soup and Muffins by Nathaniel Givens
• Self-reliance is Spiritual by G
• Take Care of Their Wants First by Jan Tolman

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