This morning I was thinking about our recent hike to Delicate Arch in Arches National Park. It's a difficult hike for my students, but once they climb the big sandstone/mountain I pretty much know they will all make it. Most of the trail is outlined well but once you get to the big stone it tends to become a free-for all, even though there are cairns (piles of stone) to guide the way. Instead of a narrow pathway, there is a broad rock face offering multiple options leading to the top. My students huff and puff and complain but once we reach the top of the stone mountain, the rest of the trail is much easier and defined. Though Delicate Arch is the destination, it could not be reached without the help and support offered by this large sandstone mountain. In contrast to the delicate, fragile beauty of the arch it stands firm and strong as thousands of visitors trample across it each year. No one whips out their camera to take pictures of this rock like they do at Delicate Arch. They might snap a picture of the view, but never at the ground. Why would they? It's just a rock beneath the feet- a stepping stone to get where you really want to go.
I can relate to that sandstone rock. Last weekend I dropped my son off at college. He didn't really want me to go to "support" him. However, I knew he needed me for the first payment on his dorm and food and get him settled in. Though he is on scholarship and will be receiving financial aid, I needed to offer bridge monies as well as emotionally hold his hand as he started a new phase in his life. Most of my children know that their mother doesn't have the funds to really offer financial support-but I do what I can and sometimes more than I should. As parents we try so hard to support our children-we want to be that bridge to help them on their way. We want to "be there" for them every step of the way.
So as I was feeling all "parental" in this significant "drop my baby off to college" moment, I became UBER-FRUSTRATED when my son decided to "go his own way" instead of doing what I wanted him to do. To explain, I just wanted him to go to his dorm, get his swimsuit, drive over to the gas station to fill up HIS tank, and then spend the next hour at a fancy condo (generously provided by a neighbor) with his family to say goodbye. I didn't really think I was asking too much-especially since it was ALL FOR HIM. But NO, he wanted me to give him the gas card, have us "drop him a pin" and mosey on over when he felt like it. I guess in the back of my mind I figured since I had just dropped a thousand dollars in his behalf, that he might show some modicum of consideration for the emotional needs of his mother and sister. I felt ignored and stepped on-like the big stone. But then again, the stone doesn't ask for anything in return- it just keeps offering support and challenges us to make our own way and climb.
I suppose Heavenly Father feels stepped on all the time. Here he offers continual support- our every breath, our every heartbeat etc. etc- and we just take him for granted and go about our business as usual-walking our own way, not even noticing the daily stepping stones provided to help us go where we want to go. I am so glad he gives us a window to see into his own parenting issues. He is THE ROCK- My stone of support. My firm foundation. If I build on it, or in this case, climb on it- He will show me the way. I can choose to not only receive his support with gratitude but actually do what he wants me to do and follow the trail markers to reach my desired destination.
Sunday, August 31, 2014
Monday, August 25, 2014
Simple Choices
This morning I was thinking about Elsie Dee's upcoming funeral. Her sister wanted to make sure the congregation sings the hymn "Each Life that Touches Ours for Good." Though I did not really know Elsie Dee, her life and our very limited relationship matters to me. I say limited because when I came on the scene as one of her visiting teachers, Elsie Dee could not even acknowledge my presence. Sometimes she opened her eyes. Sometimes she uttered a unintelligible word. Sometimes she moaned. Not much 2-way communication...well none. We spent most of our time visiting her caregiver, Jackie. I learned that Elsie Dee's efforts to stay alive- by continuing consciousness and eating were done in service for Jackie to keep her employed. She was serving with her very limited resources-simple goals, simple lives.
Jackie's choices have also influenced me for good. Jackie is my age. Her life has been anything but glamorous- offering 24 hour bedside care for the last 2 years- I know she worked several years before that assisting Elsie Dee stay in her own home instead of a nursing care facility. Jackie rarely got out to do anything for herself. Though as visiting teachers we are supposed to care for her needs, she is the one who gave me a birthday present and offered to take me out to a restaurant. At that time I learned she began working at age 5 while living in the Philippines. Her father held a gun to her head. Her mother got mad at her for going to the city for one night to have some fun with friend. Basically she was like a family slave. To this day, she is considered the rich one in her family as they hit her up for money-and she gives, and gives, and gives. She shared many details about her hard working life and expectations for her future. She would like to work in America for another 10 years and then retire in the Philippines. She dreams of having a garden, living in her own place, and resting. It doesn't take a lot to please Jackie. Simple goals, Simple life.
Jackie hasn't ever asked me for anything, except last week. She requested I sing the same song I sung to her previously, "My Kindness Shall Not Depart From Me" to Elsie Dee during our upcoming visit. Her simple request came while I was at work thinking about personal issues, demands and questions. Last week I made several big decisions while trying to juggle my regular work; I accepted a modified home loan lowering my payments. I quit my early morning job. I went to St. George to get my son started for his freshman year in college. I chose to have our choir an rhythmically complex arrangement for ward conference. Instead of simplicity, I seem to create complexity. Jackie's phone call and my opportunity to sing brought perspective and focus. It's easy to compare my own situation to theirs- I'm not dying. I'm not a caregiver slave. Yet, rather than solely comparing their circumstances to my circumstances, I focused on their choices. As such, I was inspired. I was humbled. I was empowered by their example of purity and simplicity.
I unknowingly prepared to sing as I memorized the words while driving to work -which was a good thing since I had to close my eyes the whole time. The moment was so raw-I couldn't look at Elsie Dee without crying-and I wanted to sing my best-not have an emotional experience. Here I was, in the room alone with this woman I knew was going to die any moment. I wanted to give her something even if it was just a little part of me. Even though I did not know her personally, I had a very personal message to share. As with most service, the person who got the most out of our little exchange was me. The Spirit gave me my own personal message. It was a privilege for me to be in the presence of these 2 great ladies. Their choices influence my choices- to live simply and make simple choices-to touch each others' lives for good.
Jackie's choices have also influenced me for good. Jackie is my age. Her life has been anything but glamorous- offering 24 hour bedside care for the last 2 years- I know she worked several years before that assisting Elsie Dee stay in her own home instead of a nursing care facility. Jackie rarely got out to do anything for herself. Though as visiting teachers we are supposed to care for her needs, she is the one who gave me a birthday present and offered to take me out to a restaurant. At that time I learned she began working at age 5 while living in the Philippines. Her father held a gun to her head. Her mother got mad at her for going to the city for one night to have some fun with friend. Basically she was like a family slave. To this day, she is considered the rich one in her family as they hit her up for money-and she gives, and gives, and gives. She shared many details about her hard working life and expectations for her future. She would like to work in America for another 10 years and then retire in the Philippines. She dreams of having a garden, living in her own place, and resting. It doesn't take a lot to please Jackie. Simple goals, Simple life.
Jackie hasn't ever asked me for anything, except last week. She requested I sing the same song I sung to her previously, "My Kindness Shall Not Depart From Me" to Elsie Dee during our upcoming visit. Her simple request came while I was at work thinking about personal issues, demands and questions. Last week I made several big decisions while trying to juggle my regular work; I accepted a modified home loan lowering my payments. I quit my early morning job. I went to St. George to get my son started for his freshman year in college. I chose to have our choir an rhythmically complex arrangement for ward conference. Instead of simplicity, I seem to create complexity. Jackie's phone call and my opportunity to sing brought perspective and focus. It's easy to compare my own situation to theirs- I'm not dying. I'm not a caregiver slave. Yet, rather than solely comparing their circumstances to my circumstances, I focused on their choices. As such, I was inspired. I was humbled. I was empowered by their example of purity and simplicity.
I unknowingly prepared to sing as I memorized the words while driving to work -which was a good thing since I had to close my eyes the whole time. The moment was so raw-I couldn't look at Elsie Dee without crying-and I wanted to sing my best-not have an emotional experience. Here I was, in the room alone with this woman I knew was going to die any moment. I wanted to give her something even if it was just a little part of me. Even though I did not know her personally, I had a very personal message to share. As with most service, the person who got the most out of our little exchange was me. The Spirit gave me my own personal message. It was a privilege for me to be in the presence of these 2 great ladies. Their choices influence my choices- to live simply and make simple choices-to touch each others' lives for good.
Saturday, August 16, 2014
Can You Feel it Now? Broken Hearts and Being Whole
This morning I was thinking about last weekend and labels inadvertently slapped on me by others and myself. Labels such as still having an "aching heart" (from x husband in prison) being a "misfit toy" and one of the masses of "messed up" people (singles acquaintance) or even being spoken to as if I was the most broken woman in the family due to past soap opera events (relative). I know these labels weren't intentional, but their letters, words, or looks represented how they viewed me. And that's OK-I guess I'm becoming more comfortable allowing others to think whatever they want-they are free. I don't necessarily have to buy into it. I don't have to even care. I don't have to correct them to maintain dignity and self-respect. In one instance I did correct it when I stopped dancing and stated in a loud voice over the music,"I am not messed up." And even though others might not agree, that's my truth.
Well I actually corrected the relative too. My response was influenced by the powerful sacrament meeting preceding the family gathering. We attended the meeting together to listen to my niece's returned missionary report. It was such a powerful meeting. The first speaker highlighted the reasons why we "really" come to church- to cleanse and heal our broken, spotted hearts. It was followed by a "pull on your heartstrings" cello-piano arrangement of a sacrament hymn. Then punctuated by my sweet niece as she looked into the congregation and asked, "Can you feel it?" Though recently released, she was still being the missionary helping others recognize and feel the Spirit. The spirit of the Lord was strong in that meeting and it carried a witness of the truth. So I guess it was no surprise when I looked at my relative and testified, I'm doing fine-really. Though once broken, I feel healed. I really do. And whatever comes my way to mess up my heart again, I know where to go to get it put back together. And not even that, I want a whole new heart. And that's why I go to church each week. It is a great hospital, but even though we may go in broken- we can come out healed.
Perhaps I'm just fooling myself. Maybe I'm not healed. Maybe I haven't sufficiently processed all my trauma with the right authorities or therapists. I've been told I'm avoidant and bury my head in the sand- a lot. So what? Whatever, the cause of the "healed" feeling (and I do believe it comes from God) I'm not going to doubt it. Cause with IT I feel I can move forward with greater faith. Without it, getting sucked back to the past feels dark and confusing I can't solve all the problems in the world. Heck, I can't even solve my own problems. I may not ever know what "really" happened or have an accurate grasp of what is going on in the present, or a perfect forecast for the future. But, it doesn't matter. Because right now- I feel whole. Now that's the label I want smack dab in the middle of my forehead each week-whole.
Well I actually corrected the relative too. My response was influenced by the powerful sacrament meeting preceding the family gathering. We attended the meeting together to listen to my niece's returned missionary report. It was such a powerful meeting. The first speaker highlighted the reasons why we "really" come to church- to cleanse and heal our broken, spotted hearts. It was followed by a "pull on your heartstrings" cello-piano arrangement of a sacrament hymn. Then punctuated by my sweet niece as she looked into the congregation and asked, "Can you feel it?" Though recently released, she was still being the missionary helping others recognize and feel the Spirit. The spirit of the Lord was strong in that meeting and it carried a witness of the truth. So I guess it was no surprise when I looked at my relative and testified, I'm doing fine-really. Though once broken, I feel healed. I really do. And whatever comes my way to mess up my heart again, I know where to go to get it put back together. And not even that, I want a whole new heart. And that's why I go to church each week. It is a great hospital, but even though we may go in broken- we can come out healed.
Perhaps I'm just fooling myself. Maybe I'm not healed. Maybe I haven't sufficiently processed all my trauma with the right authorities or therapists. I've been told I'm avoidant and bury my head in the sand- a lot. So what? Whatever, the cause of the "healed" feeling (and I do believe it comes from God) I'm not going to doubt it. Cause with IT I feel I can move forward with greater faith. Without it, getting sucked back to the past feels dark and confusing I can't solve all the problems in the world. Heck, I can't even solve my own problems. I may not ever know what "really" happened or have an accurate grasp of what is going on in the present, or a perfect forecast for the future. But, it doesn't matter. Because right now- I feel whole. Now that's the label I want smack dab in the middle of my forehead each week-whole.
Saturday, August 9, 2014
Desires/Being Called
This morning I was thinking about my recent application to "try out" for the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. There are 3 phases to make the grade; First- application, audio recording, and bishop's recommendation. Second-challenging written theory test with an aural aptitude component. Last- on site audition where you basically need to be able to sight read anything and do it in the right key. The bar is so high it's a wonder anyone actually "makes" the choir. But I figured since I'm coming close to the age cut off (55) I might as well give it a go. If for some reason I'm able to run this musical gauntlet successfully, it will cement my decision to stay in Utah a while longer before returning to California. Anyway, regardless the outcome, at least I followed through with my goal of putting my application in the mail. It felt good to write ""Mormon Tabernacle Choir" across the front of the envelope in large letters with my black sharpie- as such a bold decision requires. This envelope represents my desire to serve as a formally called "Musical Missionary."
I remember turning in my papers to serve as a full-time missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints back in the 80's. Like the Tab. Choir application, it was just a piece of paper with information about me and my picture accompanied by an ecclesiastic recommendation. I remember having the picture taken wondering if it was too over the top to have a big red flower in my hair-but did it anyway. This Spanish Senorita look may have influenced my eventual call to the Spain Madrid Mission. Who knows? As potential LDS missionaries, we say "called" because we do not get to choose where we will serve. We can express a formal desire (through application) but ultimately it is the inspired decision of those acting for the Lord who decide when and where we serve. So when the assignment comes in the mail we can say we have been called by the Lord to serve him. Through the spirit, missionaries often receive confirmation of their formal call being from God, and not from some random "pick your place out of a hat" committee.
This time around for my Tab. application, I wasn't wearing a big red flower in my hair for my picture, but I did try to look my best. Everything I put in that orange envelope was an attempt at my best. In the vocal exercises, I even reached a high B. (which I typically cannot do). I practiced so hard as I drove to work trying to improve my control over my singing voice-flexibility, range, sound quality, staying in tune etc. In the end as I held my daughter's I-phone to record the billionth take for each musical tasks, I just had to stop and say, "I'm done-good enough" It was never going to be perfect. And I can't magically change my voice into some perfect choir soprano. It's just going to have to do. Once again, like the picture-I tried to do my best. I realize my best might not be good enough. In fact, who knows what the bishop's recommend said regarding my circumstances and my appropriateness for this possible call. It's out of my hands for now.
So where serve? How serve? Who decides? I love the scripture in Doctrine in Covenants Section 4-"if ye have desire to serve God, ye are called to the work." As choir director currently in my ward, I told the little girls in attendance- you are musical missionaries RIGHT NOW. Maybe not formally, but they use music to help others "feel" close to God. My very first solo in church was when I was 8 years old singing, "I Know My Father Lives." I'm sure my voice was not good and probably too loud- but I gave what I had and in some small way helped God's work. I love music. I love what it can do. I am so happy I can use this tool to help others increase the spiritual nature of gatherings. In a more secular sense, I'm glad I can use music to just FEEL (period). It lets me know I am alive-that we're alive and we're connected to each other and we're connected to God.
I love how that Mormon Tabernacle Choir envelope represents my desire to serve. To know where, and how, all I have to do is open my eyes and ears to the countless needs around me: Bedridden Elsie Dee needs someone to sit by her beside and sing to her, Claudia needs processional music for her daughter's weeding, students need campfire and lullaby music for the upcoming Moab trip, Primary needs a substitute chorister again for tomorrow, The hymn arrangement for the choir needs to be rewritten etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc. No, I might not receive a formalized call to serve with music, but if I listen to that still small voice, I will have plenty of work to do. He will certainly call, and I can answer.
I remember turning in my papers to serve as a full-time missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints back in the 80's. Like the Tab. Choir application, it was just a piece of paper with information about me and my picture accompanied by an ecclesiastic recommendation. I remember having the picture taken wondering if it was too over the top to have a big red flower in my hair-but did it anyway. This Spanish Senorita look may have influenced my eventual call to the Spain Madrid Mission. Who knows? As potential LDS missionaries, we say "called" because we do not get to choose where we will serve. We can express a formal desire (through application) but ultimately it is the inspired decision of those acting for the Lord who decide when and where we serve. So when the assignment comes in the mail we can say we have been called by the Lord to serve him. Through the spirit, missionaries often receive confirmation of their formal call being from God, and not from some random "pick your place out of a hat" committee.
This time around for my Tab. application, I wasn't wearing a big red flower in my hair for my picture, but I did try to look my best. Everything I put in that orange envelope was an attempt at my best. In the vocal exercises, I even reached a high B. (which I typically cannot do). I practiced so hard as I drove to work trying to improve my control over my singing voice-flexibility, range, sound quality, staying in tune etc. In the end as I held my daughter's I-phone to record the billionth take for each musical tasks, I just had to stop and say, "I'm done-good enough" It was never going to be perfect. And I can't magically change my voice into some perfect choir soprano. It's just going to have to do. Once again, like the picture-I tried to do my best. I realize my best might not be good enough. In fact, who knows what the bishop's recommend said regarding my circumstances and my appropriateness for this possible call. It's out of my hands for now.
So where serve? How serve? Who decides? I love the scripture in Doctrine in Covenants Section 4-"if ye have desire to serve God, ye are called to the work." As choir director currently in my ward, I told the little girls in attendance- you are musical missionaries RIGHT NOW. Maybe not formally, but they use music to help others "feel" close to God. My very first solo in church was when I was 8 years old singing, "I Know My Father Lives." I'm sure my voice was not good and probably too loud- but I gave what I had and in some small way helped God's work. I love music. I love what it can do. I am so happy I can use this tool to help others increase the spiritual nature of gatherings. In a more secular sense, I'm glad I can use music to just FEEL (period). It lets me know I am alive-that we're alive and we're connected to each other and we're connected to God.
I love how that Mormon Tabernacle Choir envelope represents my desire to serve. To know where, and how, all I have to do is open my eyes and ears to the countless needs around me: Bedridden Elsie Dee needs someone to sit by her beside and sing to her, Claudia needs processional music for her daughter's weeding, students need campfire and lullaby music for the upcoming Moab trip, Primary needs a substitute chorister again for tomorrow, The hymn arrangement for the choir needs to be rewritten etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc. No, I might not receive a formalized call to serve with music, but if I listen to that still small voice, I will have plenty of work to do. He will certainly call, and I can answer.
Saturday, August 2, 2014
Deserving Bad Things & Being Worthy
This morning I was thinking about 3 events that "happened" this week. Through choices I make things happen-I ACT, while other people's choices make things happen that effect me -ACTED UPON. (2 Nephi 2:26)
1st Event: Upon returning by carpool from an awesome water ski day, I discovered my car was broken-dead in the grocery store parking lot. It turned out to be the fuel pump,etc.to the tune of $350. Not fun. Maybe it was my fault for having less than 1/4 tank of gas in it, or maybe it was destined to break. Either way- it set a precedence for the rest of the week.
2nd Event: While driving to work in my beat up bug (since I had just put the other car in the shop) I got pulled over for a) not having working tail lights, b) not wearing a seat-belt, and C) incorrect address on my license. I think it was the first time I didn't have an adrenaline rush when I saw the colored lights. I don't know why. Maybe I'm becoming more accepting of bad things-or stressful stuff. Who knows? Either way, I just closed my eyes, soaked up the sun from the window that won't roll up, and tried to focus on my my breathing while being written up by the officer. When he returned, he gave me a written "warning" since I appeared to be having a "bad day". I started crying as I thanked the officer. I was proud of myself for not crying while giving excuses when he pulled me over. Nevertheless, I appreciated being given a break-a tender mercy.
3rd Event: A few days later, AFTER fixing all the above mentioned violations, when driving home from work I got rear ended. I suppose driving around in a car that looks like a bumper car doesn't help. It really wasn't too much more than a "love tap" (Jerry O'Malley speak) but it jolted me and gave my bumper a good work out. The guy said he had looked down for a second and didn't see me. We surveyed the damage and didn't exchange phone numbers. However, as I drove away I started bawling in reaction to my chain of thoughts. Whether it was my upbringing, or my marriages, or just my soap-opera life history, deep down I think I deserve to have bad things happen to me. Perhaps I even attract it. I don't know. I know my actions have hurt others and the actions of my closest family members, whether husband or children have also caused great hurt. Ultimately I feel responsible, in part, for the hurt. Maybe it's a knee jerk reaction in antithesis to family members who blame everything on everyone else, instead of looking in the mirror and trying to accept some sliver of responsibility. So as retribution, I guess I think it's just fair when I get hurt. Maybe it balances the grand scale in some way. I don't know.
4th Event: Last event, was on Thursday, while getting into that same beat up green bug , I found an anonymous and magnanimous gift of $200 (I guess that broken window comes in handy). It was wrapped up in a piece of paper addressed to me saying "I thought you might need this." signed "from a friend." I started to cry-again. I so appreciate this person's kindness. When it's done anonymously, all I can do is thank God for his loving care. Though the $200 was used for my stupid car bill, I still cried thinking how I don't really "deserve" this gift. It is needed-yes. Wanted- yes-but I'm not really "worthy" of these blessings.
Oh how I want to be worthy! Being worthy is different than being loved. I know I am loved, completely accepted and treasured by my maker. In addition to being loved, I also want to please God.. I know He desires for me ALL blessings prepared for the faithful.. I must exercise faith in Him. And before I go into a discourse of faith vs. works and Mormon perfectionist anxiety or whatever, I have to confess in that same wallet with my driver's license (now updated with the CORRECT address) I also carry my temple recommend. I just recently renewed it. During the temple recommend interview, the last question the priesthood leader (representing the Lord) asks is "Do you feel worthy in every way to enter the House of the Lord? And you know what? That broken down VW Beetle girl thinking she deserves "bad" things responded in the affirmative. And what's interesting is I totally believe it. I'm not perfect, but I'm worthy.
1st Event: Upon returning by carpool from an awesome water ski day, I discovered my car was broken-dead in the grocery store parking lot. It turned out to be the fuel pump,etc.to the tune of $350. Not fun. Maybe it was my fault for having less than 1/4 tank of gas in it, or maybe it was destined to break. Either way- it set a precedence for the rest of the week.
2nd Event: While driving to work in my beat up bug (since I had just put the other car in the shop) I got pulled over for a) not having working tail lights, b) not wearing a seat-belt, and C) incorrect address on my license. I think it was the first time I didn't have an adrenaline rush when I saw the colored lights. I don't know why. Maybe I'm becoming more accepting of bad things-or stressful stuff. Who knows? Either way, I just closed my eyes, soaked up the sun from the window that won't roll up, and tried to focus on my my breathing while being written up by the officer. When he returned, he gave me a written "warning" since I appeared to be having a "bad day". I started crying as I thanked the officer. I was proud of myself for not crying while giving excuses when he pulled me over. Nevertheless, I appreciated being given a break-a tender mercy.
3rd Event: A few days later, AFTER fixing all the above mentioned violations, when driving home from work I got rear ended. I suppose driving around in a car that looks like a bumper car doesn't help. It really wasn't too much more than a "love tap" (Jerry O'Malley speak) but it jolted me and gave my bumper a good work out. The guy said he had looked down for a second and didn't see me. We surveyed the damage and didn't exchange phone numbers. However, as I drove away I started bawling in reaction to my chain of thoughts. Whether it was my upbringing, or my marriages, or just my soap-opera life history, deep down I think I deserve to have bad things happen to me. Perhaps I even attract it. I don't know. I know my actions have hurt others and the actions of my closest family members, whether husband or children have also caused great hurt. Ultimately I feel responsible, in part, for the hurt. Maybe it's a knee jerk reaction in antithesis to family members who blame everything on everyone else, instead of looking in the mirror and trying to accept some sliver of responsibility. So as retribution, I guess I think it's just fair when I get hurt. Maybe it balances the grand scale in some way. I don't know.
4th Event: Last event, was on Thursday, while getting into that same beat up green bug , I found an anonymous and magnanimous gift of $200 (I guess that broken window comes in handy). It was wrapped up in a piece of paper addressed to me saying "I thought you might need this." signed "from a friend." I started to cry-again. I so appreciate this person's kindness. When it's done anonymously, all I can do is thank God for his loving care. Though the $200 was used for my stupid car bill, I still cried thinking how I don't really "deserve" this gift. It is needed-yes. Wanted- yes-but I'm not really "worthy" of these blessings.
Oh how I want to be worthy! Being worthy is different than being loved. I know I am loved, completely accepted and treasured by my maker. In addition to being loved, I also want to please God.. I know He desires for me ALL blessings prepared for the faithful.. I must exercise faith in Him. And before I go into a discourse of faith vs. works and Mormon perfectionist anxiety or whatever, I have to confess in that same wallet with my driver's license (now updated with the CORRECT address) I also carry my temple recommend. I just recently renewed it. During the temple recommend interview, the last question the priesthood leader (representing the Lord) asks is "Do you feel worthy in every way to enter the House of the Lord? And you know what? That broken down VW Beetle girl thinking she deserves "bad" things responded in the affirmative. And what's interesting is I totally believe it. I'm not perfect, but I'm worthy.
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