Shrinking Our Fears

Is it possible to not have fear?

Can our faith really be so strong that we feel great hope and peace in the face of deep trials or pain?

I've been thinking a lot about this question lately.

Neal A. Maxwell once said,

"If our love of God is sufficiently deep, then we will be sufficiently assured of His enveloping loving-kindness. With this perspective, our fears can shrink. Dread can dissolve. Additionally, there need be no ultimate fear for mankind's future solely because of proximate circumstances, vexing and besetting as the latter may be."

Our fears can shrink?

What an image. I picture fear as a cancer. And the medicine is whatever causes it to shrink. So just what is this medicine? ... So powerful to cause fear to shrink?

The answer that comes right to mind is the word faith. But this can be such a broad term in my mind. What exactly does this mean? According to the above quote it is according to the depth of our love of God.

The wise Neal A. Maxwell again said,

"We are to "look to God and live" (Alma 37:47). Peter advised that we are also to cast our cares upon God, because He cares for us (see 1 Peter 5:7). Why not do the same with our fears?"

Okay. So, to shrink our fears we must cast our cares upon God. How exactly is this done?

Neal A. Maxwell:

"Yet, hesitantly, we poise on the brink of real submission. But since God has given us life and all else we have, anyway, how can we really withhold ourselves, our attitudes, or our substance from His shaping love? Our degree of submissiveness thus becomes a true reflection of the degree of the consecration and love we have developed for Him.

Similarly, the dimensions of our fears expose the degree to which our love for Him remains yet to be developed."

I had to re-read this last quote over and over. It really hit something with me. The answer lies in our "deep" love for God and our Savior, Jesus Christ.

Will our fears ever shrink?

Perhaps if I surrender to Him more. Acknowledge His grace. And more fully trust that He loves me too.

Maybe shrinking our fears is something that takes a lifetime.

I've had many moments of calm that have come to me in my times of great worry. Most often my worry is strongest within the imaginations of my mind. The "what ifs" that could turn bad. It is usually in the moments I turn to Him humbly that He speaks peace to my soul. And my fear starts to shrink.

So, I guess the real question to my first question is,

How do I deepen my love for God?

Patience is Becoming a Virtue

As I think about the different hurdles in my life and the different ways in which they have come I can't help but think that some of the most difficult ones to face, let alone jump, are the ones that come because of decisions other people in my life have made. It seems like when I have caused the problem it is easier to fix, or at least easier to accept. I can look at the situation and think about what I need to learn from it, what I will do different next time, and what I need to do to make it better. But when the trials come because someone I am close to has made a life decision that affects me it makes it much harder for me to adjust to, mostly because I don't get to control how or when it is fixed.

I once heard someone say that our biggest trials in our lives we either married or gave birth to. Anyone who is married with children can probably relate to that philosophy. As much as I love my family, learning to live with other people and accept the fact that they have their own opinions and way of doing things is a big life lesson, especially when their choices or priorities are different from my own. I think I must be a little bit of a control freak, or maybe it is human nature. But I know I have a tendency to want to push my husband and my children to do the things I want them to do, at the time I want them to do them. But when I step back and think about it, I realize that my Father in Heaven does not handle me in that way, and it must be disappointing to Him when I try to handle His other children in that way.

The only person I can change is me. The only actions I can change are mine. And the only attitude I can improve is my own. I have to allow other people that same opportunity. I have to let them make their own bad decisions and allow them to fix their own problems in their own way. Sometimes it is quite challenging, a big hurdle, to stand back and watch someone I care about suffer through a learning experience without trying to fix it for them. But how else will they learn? How else will they grow?

When I was younger my mother would always remind me that “Patience is a Virtue”, to which I always retorted, “But not one of mine!” But I really am trying to learn patience, to trust that when trials come through no decision of my own that there is a learning opportunity there even for me. Even if it is only to learn how to have patience with the trial, or to trust that God has a hand in it, and be patient with His timetable.

One of my favorite quotes is by Neal A. Maxwell. He says, “Patience is tied very closely to faith in our Heavenly Father. Actually, when we are unduly impatient, we are suggesting that we know what is best--better than does God. Or, at least, we are asserting that our timetable is better than His. We can grow in faith only if we are willing to wait patiently for God's purposes and pattern to unfold in our lives, on His timetable."

I think the most important thing I have learned with trials in my life, no matter the trial, our doing or because of someone else, God knows what we are going through. He knows and He cares. He always sees a bigger picture than we do. He knows what we need to learn and how we need to grow, and He patiently waits as we learn and grow. And if it is a trial that someone close to us needs to go through, He will comfort us while we wait. He is always there for us! I am so grateful for that knowledge, it makes the hurdles in life so much easier to face, no matter where they come from.

Stand Strong

After reading the poem "The Oak Tree" I immediately thought of an article by Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin entitled "Deep Roots".  In the article he talks about a time when he and his wife were visiting one of the islands in Hawaii.  While there they passed two very large trees that had been uprooted and blown over by strong winds.  He said that as he looked at those trees he wondered if they might have survived the winds and storms if their roots had been deeper.  I loved his comparison of the beautiful palm trees and the might oak trees.  Palm trees are beautiful to look at, but when the strong winds come along these trees are easily swayed and if the wind is strong enough, they can be easily uprooted and blown over.  In contrast, the mighty oak tree, no matter how severe the storm and how strong the wind, the oak tree will continue to stand tall - branches may break and the tree may be stripped of it's leaves, but through it all it will continue to stand tall.   He also pointed out an interesting fact, of which I was unaware, that the roots of an oak tree can extend down into the ground up to two and one-half times their height.  Now that, my friends, is a deeply rooted tree.

Now the question for each of us is -- how deeply rooted are your values?   Do you let yourself be blown to-and-fro with what is popular at the time?  Or do you stand for what you believe in?  I think that what we stand for defines who we truly are.  What we do in private when no one is looking, defines the type of person we are.  I truly believe that one way we can influence this world for good is through our example.  By defining ourselves by our values and beliefs and then sharing those values and beliefs with others through our example we can influence others for good.  Do not waiver, do not lower your standards to fit in or to be popular - raise your standards so that you can raise those around you.

Several years ago an odd, yet interesting thing happened.  I was teaching an early morning class for the youth of the church.  Each morning I and several other women would arrive at church and go to our separate classrooms and teach.  We had to be dressed in Sunday dress.  Because the mornings were chilly and because I went to work immediately afterwards I wanted to be comfortable so I started wearing my Dansko's (my favorite brand of shoe of all time, and trust me - I know shoes) with opaque tights.  I liked the look and it was comfortable and warm.  A few months later my teaching partner shows up in opaque tights and clogs.  She laughed about it and said she decided to copy me.  Well, shortly after she began imitating me I noticed several other ladies were following suit and wearing clogs with opaque tights!  Now, I'm not telling you this to say that I am a fashion icon and trendsetter - I'm telling you this because it really made me think.  It was on of those "ah ha" moments that made me realize that people really do take notice of what we do and may follow our example.  I thought that if these women were influenced by such a small and insignificant thing, how do my bigger and more significant actions affect and influence others.  With roots deeply planted I can withstand the winds of change and stand strong for what I believe and be a positive influence for those around me.  I will live a life consistent with my values and beliefs. 

You never know who is watching you and who you are influencing - your neighbors, your children, your spouse, your friends, and even strangers.  If your roots are not deeply planted and you begin to compromise your principles in favor of something that is a popular fad - people will notice.  We need to stand tall and resist the winds of temptation that are blowing in our world today.  We need to stand strong for that which we know to be right.  We need to stand strong and set a positive example for our children and youth of today.  We need to stand strong through adversity.  We need stand strong with each other.  In a world of ever changing values and moral decay - we need to build a forest of strong oaks that will protect our families and youth from the storms to come.  

The Sapling

The first time the strength of my roots was seriously tested was when I was sixteen. Two weeks before my Junior year in high school, my best friend and two other close friends were killed by a drunk driver. I was working away from home for the first time that summer, and in retrospect I believe it was by divine design that I was absent. Had I not been hours away at work, I most definitely would have been the fourth victim of that accident, for there was no one in my life that I was closer to at that time than my dear friend.

When I heard the news I went into shock. My brain couldn't process the sudden anguish, and I sort of shut down. Everything was a blur. Voices came at a distance, as though my head was under water. Nothing mattered. All I wanted was peaceful oblivion from the complete onslaught and overload that came upon me. I remember falling asleep for a time, just to escape. When I woke I had to hear the grisly details of the accident. As I heard a description of the three girls' injuries, I didn't even weep. Not yet, anyway.

I isolated myself in the bathroom. I sat motionless in the bathtub until long after the water turned cold. My sister came, knocked on the door, and asked if I was okay. It took me a few minutes to respond as I thought about what a completely ridiculous and inane question that was. Was I okay? Of course I wasn't. My world had just been shattered. As I pondered the question "was I okay?" it eventually dawned on me that my sister was just making sure I wasn't catatonic or lying there with slit wrists, or something. Somehow, I responded. I dimly registered through my pain that I didn't want my family worrying about me, though I knew they would regardless.

I'm not sure when the crying started. I just remember how long it lasted. Though my external crying and audible screaming was frequent enough, it did abate. I was able to breathe in and out, shower, eat, go to school, do my homework, and pretend to care about all my friends who hadn't been killed. But truthfully, the the internal sobbing never really ceased. At least not for a year or two. I allowed myself to be completely consumed by my grief. It probably wasn't the healthiest way to handle the pain, but I couldn't help it. I wanted to drown in it. I wanted to be so overcome that my heart would stop beating, just to still the pain.

I began to ostracize myself from my friends and most social activities that high school presents. Somehow, it was easier to cope when I was alone. The more people I was surrounded by just made her absence seem more acute. I began to avoid any place that held memories of her. I cut off my friendship with almost everyone who had known her. I formed new friendships with people who hadn't known her, so I wouldn't be reminded at every turn. She was so much of my world that when she was gone I lost half myself. I had to redefine myself and recreate my life. Time passed. Life eventually went on.

How did I survive the storm? To be honest, I don't think I had a very deeply developed root system by that time. I was just a sapling, not a mighty oak. I had just enough faith in my Heavenly Father that He carried me through the torrential winds and crashing rain. It was as though the sapling was tied to a strong iron stake in the ground. And as the storm beat upon me, my roots deepened, my trunk thickened, and my branches strengthened. In the midst of the storm the only thing that grounded me was my Father in Heaven. I cried out to Him in many a mighty prayer. I devoured the scriptures nightly. Though I had abandoned church and seminary attendance, my personal relationship with my Heavenly Father and my Savior was never so complete, so dependent, so thorough.

That time of faith amidst suffering is was gave me the root system I have today. It gave me empathy. It gave me perspective. It gave me gratitude. It made me who I am. Intense like the refiners fire, this experience prepared me for the challenges that yet lay ahead. It helped me become the type of person that others could rely on during their own personal hurricanes.

Since that time I have dealt with chronic health problems. I have helped my mother cope with the effects of chemotherapy and the attendant fear. I have struggled with the usual challenges that face young people as they pursue education, marriage, work, and happiness. Through every trial, big or small, I have stood strong. How? By understanding that complete dependence on God is the only way to survive this life. Those who get by without a faith in God are merely unaware and ignorant of how He sustains us and blesses us with the ability go on.

"I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me."
Philippians 4:13

My Life as an Oak

I’d never read The Oak Tree a week ago. Honestly, though I consider myself reasonable well-read, I’d never even heard of it. Little did I know the part this poem was about to play in my life. I was in my carefully constructed world of chaos, blissfully unaware of the plans that my friend, and soul-sister, Mamma Mia was making for me.

Then the email came. “Would you contribute to a blog that my friend and I have created?” Of course, at first I think she’s joking. Just a few months before this, she had been chastising me about my infrequent writing on my own blog. She had added the comment, “You are the worst blogger in blogging history.” Sounds mean, I know, except if you knew Mamma Mia you would also know how she can make you feel like Queen of the Universe while laughing at you. It’s a fabulous talent of hers. Also, that I didn’t even know she had added the comment until a good two months after the fact didn’t help my defense.

So I logged on to this site, read the poem several times, and have spent the last week agonizing over what to write. The truth is, some days I do feel like an oak. Some days I don’t. It turns out this wasn’t a good week for being an oak. Two huge problems at work collided on the same day. The first was my boss, a new principal of ours, who increased tension at our school by tenfold when he accused a coworker (and friend of mine) of being “toxic.” This roughly translated means “a woman who isn’t afraid to speak her mind.” Secondly, I lost my favorite novel to teach. How does one lose a book? The district took it. They had decided that To Kill a Mockingbird would be best taught in 10th grade.

Of course, several of us junior high teachers (9th grade is taught in junior high in our district) objected and the decision was made that we would each be able to present a case for keeping it. However, in the end, it came down to mixed messages, secret meetings, and a decision that was already made long before our opinions were asked. Of course, to add to it, my husband has been working out of town for months, leaving me all alone with three young children nine days out of fourteen. Am I whining? I’m sorry. Mamma Mia was clear that this was to be a blog about hopeful things, uplifting things. Keep reading. I promise it’s coming.

Please don’t get me wrong. Most of my adult life I have felt like an oak. It’s that strength that comes from somewhere deep underneath the surface. Many times you forget that it is even there. You see the wind coming and brace yourself for the hard smack against the ground. But then the wind subsides and drifts away and you unclench your eyes to see that you’re still standing. By the grace of God, everything is okay.

I was 14 when I first became aware of how deep my roots stretched. When I was 12, my mother was diagnosed with a brain tumor. She battled it for 2 years. I wouldn’t say that I dealt with the situation well. I dealt with it like a confused, self-centered teenager. Throughout her willful war against cancer, I was most concerned with how MY life was affected. In my 9th grade year, she passed away. Suddenly I couldn’t be mad at her anymore for being “sick.” I was still angry. Even though I knew it was wrong, I couldn’t stop thinking that she had given up, had left her 4 daughters behind. But the effectiveness of being angry was lost in mourning.

There was the funeral, lots of family, and little time to think. Eventually it was time to go back to school. What a surreal feeling to look around and wonder how many of my classmates were going to leave school, go home, and find a mother waiting with open arms. It didn’t seem fair at all. Then less than a month later, my beloved grandmother passed away. Another kick, and I hadn’t even had the chance to stand up yet.

The death of my mother and grandmother wasn’t just a wind blowing leaves and branches; it was an earthquake. The entire landscape changed that year. Everything looked upside down: mountains perched precariously on their snow-covered peaks, rivers pouring from gaping holes in the sky. I was entering a new world where death played an important part. For the first time, I had to make a choice about who I was. Would I blame God, hate the world? Would I give up home, withdraw myself into a world of darkness? Would I ever truly be happy again?

This week, as I thought about that pivotal point in my life, I had my first epiphany about oaks:

If you are an oak, you can’t pretend to be something else.

Believe me, I tried. I tried to lie down and wilt like a spent blossom in the fall. I tried to give up myself like the grass and just blow wherever the wind wanted me to go, no feeling, just movement. In the end, when the wind stopped blowing and the earth congealed and hardened, I was still standing tall and strong.

Upon hearing my story, people often remark to me, “I don’t know how you dealt with losing your mother at such a young age.” It’s a funny comment to me. It’s not like I had any choice. No one asked me if I wanted to lose her. How did I “deal” with it? That’s part of what is means to be an oak, I guess. In times where I felt like giving up, something larger than myself kept me going. Even now, as I tell you my victory story of making it through, deep inside I know it wasn’t me. It was my Father in Heaven. Somehow, through all of the heartbreak and anger and confusion, I still knew that He loved me, that He knew my sorrow. Those are the roots that held me up during that time. They have names: Faith, God’s Love, and Peace. They’ve only grown stronger since.

So back to this week; I’m having trouble at work. I survived losing my mother at age fourteen; this should be no big deal, but it is. This has been the most disheartening experience of my teaching career. On Wednesday, I was talking to my fellow English teachers who are also dear friends about losing our favorite book. My conversation starter went something like this, “I am not asking any of you to go farther with this, but personally I have to. I have to go to the district office with this. I have to feel like my voice is heard. If I don’t, it will eat me up.”

“If you’re in, I’m in,” Bethany responded. “If you fight, I fight. That’s the way it is.” It was that statement, that unconditional support, which gave me the second epiphany about oak trees, even if it doesn’t quite fit the poem:

Where you find an oak, you will find a forest.

I didn’t become an oak all on my own. I have always been and continue to be surrounded by strong people who try to do what is right. Each one has been an inspiration to me, a root that delves deep below the surface. They all have names: My mother, Ella, who taught me to make hard decisions. My father, Daniel, who taught me to weather life’s storms with patience. My step-mother, Deborah, who taught me to have confidence in myself and what I can do. My grandmother, Evelyn, who taught me the power of laughter. Mamma Mia taught me the power of a good friend and most recently, “Quiet women don’t make history.” My children have taught me that love IS sacrifice. My darling sweetheart has taught me that I have unique gifts to offer the world. My Savior has taught me that I am of great worth and that life is a gift. Each one, a core, winding between rocks, maintaining a firm hold to the ground. Each one a crucial part of my stability.

I am still standing.