Lift Up Your Heads

There are lots of reasons to go to church. At church you renew your covenants, regain the spirit, receive a remission of your sins, strengthen your faith, learn Gospel doctrine, associate with good people, and the list goes on.

My own, personal reason for needing to go to church every week played out once again today.

The most frustrating thing in my life is my own fallen nature. The fact that I make mistakes, have limits, and sin, just drives me crazy. Though it is crazy and unrealistic, I wish that I could just be perfect right now. I wish that I didn't ever have to relearn a lesson that I've already learned once. I wish that I didn't ever recommit a sin that I've already repented of once. I wish that those moments when I feel like, "yes, I've figured it out!" would last forever, instead of fading away and once again permitting me to exercise faith in a daily, enduring-to-the-end kind of way. 

Today was one of those days when I felt burdened by my fallen humanity. I walked into church praying for help and hope, but feeling like I might never find it, because haven't I walked into church praying for hope before? Haven't I found it, left promising that this time would be different, this time I wouldn't make the same mistakes again, and then ended up falling again?

As I sat, feeling dejected and lost, the choir stood up and started singing "What Child is This?" As I listened to the beautiful lyrics, I stopped thinking about myself and started thinking about Christ, the one whose birth we celebrate this season. I picked up my Book of Mormon and started reading through 2 Nephi, and found the following words.

"Let us remember him, and lay aside our sins, and not hang down our heads, for we are not cast off." 

The Spirit bore witness of the words as I continued reading. 

"Wherefore, I know that thou are redeemed, because of the righteousness of thy Redeemer; for thou hast beheld that in the fulness of time he cometh to bring salvation unto men.

"Wherefore, how great the importance to make these things known unto the inhabitants of the earth, that they may know that there is no flesh that can dwell in the presence of God, save it be through the merits, and mercy, and grace of the Holy Messiah."

That is the truth that I need to remind myself of every week. That it isn't my own perfection that will get me to heaven--I already sunk that ship with my very first sin, which was years and years ago. No, it isn't my own perfection that will get me to heaven--it's His. Christ, the Lord's. 

And even as I write this, I'm guessing there will be another day when I feel burdened and saddened by my fallen, sinful nature. But there will also be another sacrament meeting when God can speak to me and remind me that I was never going to be saved by my own grace anyway. 

Is It True? Thoughts on my Testimony of Jesus Christ After my Grandmother's Death

I wrote this post on Thursday, October 30th, just a few minutes after my dad called and told me my grandmother had passed away that morning.

I just received news that my grandmother passed away.

While I was surprised by the news, it wasn’t completely unexpected. Her health had been declining for the past several years, and she suffered a stroke several weeks ago that put her in the hospital for several days. Still, she was my grandma, my dad’s mom, and she was gone, and so I decided to look for a quiet place on campus where I could think and be alone.

I found the Joseph Smith memorial court, a lovely little outdoor area inside the Joseph Smith building with a statue of the prophet looking up into the air. Finding myself alone, I sat down, cried a little bit, then started thinking.

“Jason,” I said to myself, “I need to know if you really believe all this stuff. Do you really think that your grandma is still alive, in the spirit world, meeting her parents and brothers and sisters and maybe even Jesus, and that one day  you will all be resurrected and live together again? Do you really believe,” I thought as I looked at the statue, “That Joseph Smith saw God the Father and His son Jesus Christ, and that through Joseph Smith the authority to seal families together was restored by God?”

The response I gave myself was quick and solid. “Yeah, I do,” I said. “I know it’s true. I’ve asked if the Book of Mormon is true and received an answer—several times. I knelt down in this same courtyard a few months before my mission to ask if Joseph Smith was a prophet, and God said yes. I’ve felt Christ’s love, and seen His light, and as fantastical as it all may seem sometimes, I do know it’s true.”

I felt at peace. I still felt sad, but I felt at peace.

I pulled out the pocket-size copy of the Book of Mormon I always carry in my backpack and turned to Alma chapter 40. I read, “The spirits of all men, as soon as they are departed from this mortal body, yea, the spirits of all men, whether they be good or evil, are taken home to that God who gave them life. And then shall it come to pass, that the spirits of those who are righteous are received into a state of happiness, which is called paradise, a state of rest, a state of peace, where they shall rest from all their troubles and from all care, and sorrow.”

As I read these words I thought about my sweet grandma. I remembered conversations that we’d had recently about her young adulthood, and about how proud she was of her children and grandchildren. I remembered the famous cookies that she used to bake by the hundreds, it seemed, for every family gathering. I thought of the legacy that she has left behind, a legacy of faith and obedience to God.

Then I turned back to Alma chapter 40 and read one more passage: “The soul shall be restored to the body, and the body to the soul; yea, and every limb and joint shall be restored to its body; yea, even a hair of the head shall not be lost; but all things shall be restored to their proper and perfect frame… And then shall the righteous shine forth in the kingdom of God.”

This morning my grandmother died, but death is not the end. Death is not an empty void; it is the turning of a page to a new part of life. I know that she is still alive, in the spirit world, and that one day I’ll get to see her again. It will be wonderfully glorious, that meeting, as we rejoice in the miracle that is life, and death, and resurrection. 

'Murica

This is another post about my time as an efy counselor. As a counselor at a camp for teenage boys, there were several critical questions that I needed to have ready answers for. Questions about going through hard times, about how to know what is true and what is not, and, of course, about who was my favorite super hero.

This third question made me stop and think. Which super hero was my favorite? Why him or her? What would differentiate my favorite super hero from all of the others, how could he or she be awesome enough to be significantly more awesome than all the other heroes' awesomeness?

Eventually, I decided on Captain America. Though he isn't as witty as Spiderman, or as roguishly cool as Iron man, I appreciate that Captain America pairs his super strength, ultimate frisbee skills, and good looks with a real, true, deep, goodness.

Captain America doesn't go about hero-ing because he wants to be rich or famous. He doesn't use methods that are shady or inappropriate to achieve worthy goals. He is a hero because he wants to help the world be a better place; he firmly sticks to his moral code, and refuses to sink to the same low levels as his enemies.

From the very beginning, Captain America focuses on doing what is right no matter what the consequences. In fact, this is what differentiates him from his competitors in the super-soldier program--the scientist in charge of the program notices that, while other soldiers were bigger and tougher, they didn't have his strong moral compass. Or, in the words of the Lord to Samuel, "Look not on his countenance, or on the height or his stature; because I have refused him: for the Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appeareance, but the Lord looketh on the heart" (1 Samuel 16:7).

Tender Mercies

A few years ago Elder David A. Bednar gave a talk about Tender Mercies. He mentioned a scripture in the first chapter in the Book of Mormon which says, "But behold, I, Nephi, will show unto you that the tender mercies of the Lord are over all those whom he hath chosen, because of their faith, to make them mighty even unto the power of deliverance." (1 Nephi 1:20). He said that, the way he understands tender mercies, they are like post-it notes that the Lord leaves in our lives to say "I love you." Little miracles that, in some divine and special way, communicate how much He cares about us.

Last Thursday, I finished studying at about 11:00 PM. I was exhausted, drained, and brain-dead. I knew that I would need to be awake by 6:00 AM the next morning to continue studying and working on homework if I was going to be able to finish all of the week's homework assignments. As I started the walk back home from campus, a 15-20 minute walk, I said a little prayer: "God, I'm tired, and I'd love a ride home."

As I walked down the hill towards the street below, I started thinking about miracles and tender mercies. In my experience, miracles usually come when I have given my best effort and have nothing else left to give, when my best effort isn't enough to do whatever I'm attempting. However, if I haven't yet given my best effort, sometimes God withholds a miracle so that I have a chance to learn and grow before receiving divine help. Maybe that's what was going to happen here? I'd grow stronger by making the 15 minute walk home even though I was exhausted and would have to get up early the next day. 

In fact, that would probably be the best thing for me down the road, I began to rationalize. So, I shouldn't actually expect anyone to be there to give me a ride at the bottom of the hill, even though God definitely does have the power to do something like that.

I smiled to myself and started forward. A car honked; I ignored it.

"Jason! Hey! Where are you going, and do you want a ride?" This time I turned around. 

A friend from North Carolina that I hadn't seen in 3 years gave me a ride back home. Along with resting my tired legs, I got to catch up with him as we talked about our missions. 

After I thanked him for being a literal answer to my prayers, I hopped out of the car and walked to my apartment, thinking about tender mercies. Little miracles that God really doesn't have to do--I would have survived the walk--but that let Him tell me He loves me. 

Of Love and Mountains

Last Saturday my brother-in-law and I hiked Mount Timpanogos, a 11,752 foot behemoth of a mountain just a few minutes north of BYU. It was an invigorating, exhilarating, exhausting, rewarding experience.

During the hike, it stuck out to me how cordial and polite all the hikers on the trail were. Not only did they smile and say "good morning," but they would move to the side and wait while we passed on the narrow trail. Those who were already coming down the mountain path encouraged us, telling us that we didn't have far to go and that we could make it.

I was especially impressed by a comment I overheard on the summit of the mountain. Several groups of hikers sat around enjoying the view, exchanging small talk, and recouping energy to begin the trek back down the mountain. One man said, "Even if we didn't hike up at the same time, in a way we all did this together. We've shared something here."

A day later, as I was studying a talk from the last LDS General Conference in April, I understood why the hikers' cordiality and friendliness stood out to me. In his talk entitled "Love--the Essence of the Gospel," Thomas S. Monson, President of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, compares our mortal experience to a journey. He states that God's great commandments for this journey are to love God and our fellow men. The hikers on Mount Timpanogos understood this, and had demonstrated love for their fellow travelers by sharing kind, encouraging words, by getting off the trail to let them pass, and even just by exchanging a smile and a greeting. As expressed by the man on top of the mountain, all of us were in it together.

As I reflected on these experiences, I came to realize how important it is that I love and serve all those around me. As President Spencer W. Kimball said, "We must remember that those mortals we meet in parking lots, offices, elevators, and elsewhere are that portion of mankind God has given us to love and to serve." If I am able to remember this principle and maintain an attitude of selflessness, then I'll be able to help people along this difficult journey, just as the kind smiles and words of encouragement helped me hike to the top of Mount Timpanogos.

Snapshots: End of Summer

Looking toward the river, I begin to scramble down the slope. My worn shoes slide for a split second on some loose dirt, then I regain traction on rockier ground. I scramble down the rocks at a slightly reckless speed, almost falling several times before the ground levels out. Then, tentatively, carefully, not wanting to fall in and spend the rest of the day with wet shoes, I venture out onto the rocks in the middle of the river. Hopping from one rock to the next I arrive at the middle of the river. I crouch down and dip my hand in, feeling the cold water, snowmelt from Mount Hood, flow between my fingers. I stay there a moment, living, feeling, experiencing; I stand. Lifting my head, I can see a sliver of the waterfall around a bend in the river. I glance back down at the river flowing by my feet one more time, then resume hopping, clambering, climbing, and sliding on toward the waterfall.

"Gather round, children," I yell in my best British accent. A dozen freshmen come forward and form a semicircle around me as I proceed to introduce them to my beloved campus. I point to the buildings, giving them their names and their (sometimes seemingly unrelated) acronyms; I explain what each building is used for, then tack on my personal touch, the secrets that it took me months to learn that have enriched my time here at BYU, the things I hope that each of them get to experience during their first year--I tell them about the musicals and the dances, I advise them to search out their classes early in the building that is built like a maze, I crack a joke and, more because I'm speaking in a British accent than because it is actually funny, everyone laughs. Then I turn to a girl in my group that is actually from England and hesitantly ask, "how's my accent?" 

"It's really good," she says, giving me a bright smile with a hint of pity behind it, "but you should stop it."

More laughter. 

Mickey Mouse

I started writing this blog post with the words “one of my favorite parts,” then realized that I use that phrase way too often. Redo:

One thing I loved about being an EFY counselor was playing games for “Family Home Evening” on Monday nights. We would play ridiculous games with names like “Gotcha!” and “Killer Frog,” then ask the simple question, “How does this relate to the Gospel of Jesus Christ?” Every single week I was astounded by the deep connections that 14-18 year old kids could draw from playing silly games. Even more than any of the individual lessons that I learned from the games we played, I learned that “all things which have been given of God from the beginning of the world, unto man, are the typifying of [Christ]” and His Gospel.

It comes as no surprise then that on my trip to Disney this last week I learned things about the Gospel from Mickey Mouse.

I’m going to preface this by saying that, as a kid, I really didn’t get Mickey Mouse. I’ve always loved Disney, but I’ve looked on Mickey Mouse as more of a predecessor to later, greater icons than as anything special by himself. But now I feel I understand Mickey, and here’s why.

Wednesday night I watched a water show called “World of Color.” It was a really spectacular combination of fountains, lights, mist screens, projectors, bubbles, and jets of fire. The story, or focus, of the show seemed to me to be about love—love for life, for family and friends, and for that special someone. It was a truly joyous experience, and it made me think about how wonderful my life is when I’m focused on loving others.

Right after “World of Color” we raced off to watch a show called “Fantasmic,” starring Mickey Mouse. The plot of the show goes something like this: Mickey dreams amazing things, Peter Pan fights Captain Hook on a life-sized pirate ship, Princes and Princesses dance and sing, evil villains plot to take over Mickey’s dream and turn it dark, Mickey has a great one-liner (“you may think you’re powerful, but hey, this is my dream!”) and blasts away all the baddies with his awesomeness. Fireworks ensue. Here’s what I got from this show—good beats evil, and does it really awesomely. The world may try to paint its way of life as being glamorous, powerful, and even inevitable, but God’s way, the good way, Mickey’s way, is truly and actually awesome. It’s fun, it looks cool, it involves dancing and singing and swinging from pirate ships, it’s awesome.

I thought I was done with shows after Fantasmic on Wednesday night, but luckily one of my buddies talked me into going to see one more, “Mickey and the Magic Map.” It was a Broadway musical quality show, with about 30 minutes of singing, dancing and cool costumes—basically it was right up my alley, the stuff that I live and breathe for. The story of this particular show was all about following your dreams, never giving up, and being yourself. While watching it I got excited for the future and all the amazing things that it will bring, and even more committed to working hard to accomplish the goals that I have set for myself.

After seeing all of these shows about Mickey Mouse, I revisited my apathetic opinion of him. I decided that Mickey isn’t just a precursor to greater icons, but rather, he is the symbol of them all. Mickey represents goodness, purity, chasing your dreams, and always striving to be better.

Those aren’t the only things I learned this week (and did I mention the amazing people I met and how much fun I had?) but I think that’s probably good for one blog post.