Over the past several weeks, I have been mulling over what I believe - what I really, truly and mostly unwaveringly hold to - and why I adhere to these axioms.
For almost a year, my cousin kept a blog through which the reader was allowed to accompany her on a personal journey. Simple paragraphs described anguish and heartache. More powerfully, words also danced together to form sentences that expressed exhilarating happiness. I think reading this poetry of the last 10 or 11 months has steeped my faith in what I regard as truth.
Sometimes, the sky is full of sunrises and rainbows, the air is scented with roses and lilacs and soft rain. I've twirled along, filling my arms with bouquets of roses and lilacs and hummed favourite melodies, often aware of and appreciating- and occasionally oblivious to - my golden fortune. Sometimes, the sky darkens, flashes of lightening blind my eyes, crashes of thunder drown out the tune I was singing only moments before. Flowers are trampled over. My heart might be broken and my spirit crushed.
Some might think that fortunate is the person on whom fate never rains, but is this really so? When thick fog makes my course difficult to navigate, I've learned that instead of wandering a delicately paved path in a pretty garden, a sure crosscut can still be formed amidst loose pebbles and wilting blossoms.
I guess what I'm saying is that sometimes, life isn't so pretty. Sometimes my main course is a little under- or over-cooked, or I'm handed an entree that I didn't order, but I can't send it back to the kitchen. Or sometimes, I get just what I wanted, but it doesn't seem as good as I thought it would be. Sometimes, the steak on the other table or the desert passing by on the cart looks much tastier than what I've decided on. And the sounds of contentment from satisfied patrons around me makes me wonder if they all know something I don't. Do they have a different menu than mine? Did someone suggest what they should order before they came into the restaurant? Are their palates more sophisticated than mine? Am I the only one whose meal isn't right?
I know I am not alone in recurrently feeling the pull of two powerful, yet opposing crosscurrents. Usually, when we are floating on placid waters, we feel no compunction about evaluating our beliefs. It seems that in my life (and most others') it is when the waters begin to get choppy and splash over the side of the boat that I frantically look around me for the nearest point of land. But is that outcropping where I really want to go? Or is it better to plot a course and fight the storm? There are maps to consult and instructions from more experienced sailors that can be recalled that will surely help me in determining my way. A choice must be made, even if it's simply to do nothing but hold on tightly and let the winds take me where they may. Sometimes, I may be sailing solo and must independently make decisions. Sometimes, I may have others with me who will help hold the rigging and steer the ship the direction we together choose.
Ultimately, the choice is to either believe what I've always believed, or I can believe something else. I choose to believe what I've always believed. And that is that I
do have a Father in heaven who loves me. He does have a plan for me, and for my family. I believe that Heavenly Father's Plan of Happiness is for everyone and its precepts can be found in the doctrinal teachings of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Sometimes, my path will be clearly marked with rainbows and glorious vistas. Sometimes, He will let me cry when I've tripped before He picks me up and tends my scraped knee. Sometimes, in the stark face of the what I see around me, those simple tenets may not make so much sense. And sometimes, the alternatives to my beliefs may be more vibrant than my own faded petals set in a vase.
Sometimes, the symphony's music coming out of the concert hall
does seem more enchanting than the quartet on the lawn I chose instead. And more than sometimes, after I make my choice to hold to my presuppositions, I wait for a sense of peace to come, whispering softly in my ear that I've made the right choice. And sometimes I keep waiting. And I wait still more. Sometimes, my hope may begin to waiver, I may even doubt that peace will come. But I hang on anyway, because I've chosen this path. Because in my heart of hearts, I believe that the teachings of Jesus Christ about a benevolent Father in Heaven, who knows far better that I do that joys and sorrows will meld me into a better wife, mother, sister, daughter and friend- if I trust in and follow God's guidance - are true. I hold dear to these beliefs even when the alternatives might appear a little more gratifying, or just more palatable. And I hope for encapsulating peace that answers, to me, that my beliefs are not in vain.
My searching soul is answered in soft whispers I must listen quietly for and gentle hugs I must sit still enough to feel. Is my hope rewarded? Yes. Even when I am too distracted to recognize that winter is slowly giving way to spring. I found this wisdom on my cousin's blog, and I want to share it with you:
".... I think peace is often like love - it sneaks in when we are not looking, not waiting for it and makes itself at home....and then one day, when things are quiet, you will realize with a smile that it's already there." A wise woman named Annie left this comment and you all know I am partial to the erudite observations of Annies.)
Keep her in your thoughts.
