censored

I guess I am not ready for the broadcast vulnerability of the blogging world. It turns out I do care who reads my blog. It changes what I write. And right now, for the last three weeks and for the next period of that same time frame I cannot write the absolute truth. Too bad.

right back at you

Generally, the answers to prayers fall into three categories: yes, no and maybe. However, I have had impressions much more deep than these single word responses. At those times, Heavenly Father turns my prayers back on me, a Socratic method of teaching. I struggle with understanding, but in the end I find a greater trust in Him and a new, clearer perception of my problem.

Once I went to the Lord with a burning, imperative question. I had to know the direction my life was meant to take. How else was I to follow His plan for me, if I didn't know what He wanted me to do? I asked, I begged, I fasted, and then I went to the temple. There I got my answer, so clear. It was a quiet voice that simply asked, "do you really want to know?" Through my mind flashed scenarios of just how much I could screw up my destiny if I were in charge of it. While my mind said shakily, yes I want to know, my heart cried out, no don't tell me! That answer was a no, but so much greater than the answer was the understanding. He explained nothing to me, but peace came anyway, peace to say, I'll wait and see.

Another time I felt the answers were hard in coming, I took myself to the small cluster of pine trees near the track at Helaman Halls. I couldn't decide which course of action would be best between two favored paths. Should I or shouldn't I? I felt only a shrug from the Spirit, a rather unsatisfying answer, like when a friend listens to your confidences and doesn't think the situation so important as you do. "What do you want to do?" asked the Spirit. So I said, if this were my choice, completely without guidance, I would do it this way. I paused. If that's okay with You, take away the distractions. Instantly there was peace, and I was contented with my decision. It is not that the Lord did not care, but that either choice suited Him equally well. This was a maybe.

Yesterday I got a yes, the most bizarre yes I have ever heard, and the most satisfying. My emotions have been like a rollercoaster. I needed to carry daisies with me just in case I needed to know how I felt about any new emotional development. Do I like him? Am I angry? How does macaroni and cheese sound? Am I jealous? Do I like him? My thoughts and feelings ran in circles around every issue imaginable. I cried not only at Gilmore Girls but also at Brawny Paper Towel commercials. Then I laughed in the middle of anger. So help me, these feelings were like PMS on steroids. I couldn't sort it out. I went to the Lord.

Tell me how to feel, I asked. I know I could sort it out for myself, but what if I do and the way I feel is contrary to what You'd like? It would save us both time if You would tell me how I am supposed to feel about him, about her, about this, about that. And what do You think about Luke and Lorelai ending up together; I'm having a hard time with that one too?

Silence.

I changed tactics. Okay, I'll try to listen to my feelings more, I promise. But will You still be there? Don't let me go astray. Watch my reactions, shape situations. If I listen, will You be there to help me know how to feel about it? Just tell me as it comes up. Thanks.

I went about my weekend with no clear signals. Life was usual. Actually, life was not routine. I went camping and slept in the back of a pickup truck. I went on paddle boats and played volley ball for the first time in years. The ordinariness came from the people with whom I surrounded myself: my four roommates and Ted. And my emotions were clear, my thoughts nonconveluted. I felt like myself before the flood, but I didn't feel any wiser or more far-sighted.

When I got home, I knelt in prayer before getting some much-needed sleep. "So," my prayer asked me, "how do you feel?" I contemplated momentarily before whispering, I know. Oh most gracious Father, it's not what I thought, not what I expected, not what I saw coming at all. This is not the answer I thought You would give. But this is how I feel, no buts about it anymore. What I thought I wanted, what I had decided You wanted for me, is no more. Here is my heart, Father, what do you see? A burning, swelling breathlessness seized me that said something very prosaic, like: "That's exactly what I expected you'd find if I gave you time. Good girl."

That was my Yes, and now I am left with more questions than answers. For instance: what now? The Spirit, alas, doesn't deal rhetorically.

rocking horse winner

I have had two images in my head for days now, maybe weeks. One is me diving off a cliff, arms spread wide not caring when someone catches me though the air streaming past my face is growing more ferocious and the ground is racing nearer; I don't care because I know I'll get caught before I hit the bottom, even if only barely. The next image is from D. H. Lawrence, the Rocking Horse Winner. When I think of that, my eyes flinch open and I see how very close the ground really is and wonder why haven't I been caught yet. I force my breathing to calm once more and my body to relax in free-fall. Instead my tension is transferred to a little boy feverishly racing his rocking horse to the finish line. There must be more money. There must be more money.

My short-term loan was due today.