I will go, I will do...
Sometimes I'm a little slow to the punch. Let me tell you a little story and see if you get there before I did. I use the word "little" in the figurative sense. This post is longer than normal. You've been warned.
Last Sunday, I received an invitation to speak in church. I like to speak in church. I like to prepare my talks, write them up and have them ready to go ahead of time. I always tweak them and leave stuff out at the last minute, and sometimes I'll add an impromptu story that feels appropriate in the spirit of the moment. My assignment was to talk about 1 Nephi 3:7. This is a single verse that is pretty much iconic to members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It is the statement of a 16 year old Israelite named Nephi who tells the prophet (also his father), upon being asked to do something pretty big and dramatic, "Yes, I'll go and do this thing, because I know that whenever God asks us to do something, he prepares a way for us to accomplish the task." Nephi is legendary for his faith, his can-do attitude, and ... well, for pretty much everything. He's kind of the epitome of good-guys.
I love the scripture. I love Nephi and his history. I looked forward to preparing the talk. What angle would I take? What perspective? What insights could I share? What had I learned from Nephi's example?
All week long I thought about it. "Why do we go and do?" I thought. That would be a good subject -- what motivates us to act in faith like Nephi did? Why was he so willing to be obedient? I started thinking about obedience in terms of faith and works and the fact that those things don't save us, but that they do indicate our willingness to seek God's grace ... that faith without works is just meaningless rhetoric, and that works without faith is hypocrisy. I wandered this way for most of the week, gathering some great quotes and scriptures about receiving and retaining a remission of sins, the power of the Atonement to change our hearts (which is all repenting ever was), and lots of other great stuff. I thought about how fear keeps us from going and doing, and about how there are different kinds of fear, both positive and negative. I prayed about what I should say. I examined my motives for the things I wanted to say. I thought about this a lot.
Our talks in church are intended to build faith, strengthen testimonies, testify of truth, and uplift and encourage the members of the congregation, with the intent to bring us all closer to Christ. I have known for some time that I like to be center stage, and for a lot of years I've tried to work on making stuff less about me and more about . . . well, anything else. When I give a talk or teach a lesson, I measure my success on how I feel -- do I feel the Spirit, or am I just talking to hear my head rattle? Is it real or is it rhetoric? When my heart feels flat, I think I'm failing. When my heart feels soft and warm and full, I think I'm doing okay.
When the university closed on Friday, I was happy to have a snow day. I spent some time jotting down notes for my talk, marking scriptures, and thinking about just how I wanted this talk to come together. As the blizzard raged on Saturday, I sat down at my computer, praying just a little for the power to stay on while I typed. I didn't have a clear concept of where this talk was going, and with one day left, I felt nervous about that. So, I just got busy. I typed up every scripture I had found that I liked, I wrote down every thought I had been having. I pulled out pieces of paper I had been scribbling on all week, and typed up the snippets from those, elaborating and filling out some of the ideas. It seemed like the talk was going in six different directions. I printed off seven full pages, thinking I could go at it with a red pencil and re-arrange things to make more sense out of it.
This went on for most of the day on Saturday. I stopped to spend an hour or so shoveling the cars out so our neighbor could plow the driveway (bless him), and took another break just at dusk to finish shoveling the sidewalk so we could walk to the cars without wading through waist deep snow. By six o'clock I was no closer to being done than I had been that morning, except that I had pages and pages of gibberish . . . spiritually uplifting gibberish, but gibberish nonetheless. I forced myself to finish the last two sections of notes, closed the computer and declared myself done. Not done with the talk, but done. I told John, "I don't know what I'm going to say." He asked, "Do you have any stories to tell?" He always likes my stories - and I can always find a story to tell to illustrate a principle. I don't think he'd mind my saying that 30 years ago, he was a facts-and-doctrine kind of a guy. I have watched him become a the-doctrine-is-found-in-the-heart-of-the-stories-that-change-people's-hearts kind of a guy, and he tells some of the best stories ever, opening his heart and sharing things that have changed him over the years.
I had no stories. My talk had no heart at all. It was tons of scriptures, and quotes, and principles of truth, but it didn't feel like anything. I went to bed hoping that it would gel in my brain and in my heart over night, and that somehow in the morning I would know how to fix it.
Sunday morning, I got up extra early to give myself time to get ready and to fix and finish my talk. Halfway through getting ready, I noticed a book on my nightstand that I had started to read, but had put down after a couple of very enjoyable chapters. It was Henry Eyring's "To Draw Closer to God." I love Elder Eyring, and I love his talks. I sat down on the bed and started reading where I had left off. As I read, I felt my heart softening. I grabbed a pen and started underlining sections, adding notes in the margin and exclamation points everywhere. This was it! This was what I needed. He talked about the change of heart being an ongoing process and while it was nearly instantaneous for people like Paul, and Enos, and Alma, and king Lamoni (and king Lamoni's father, I might add), for most of us . . . the vast majority of us . . . it is a slow and nearly imperceptible process.
Just like how I learned Spanish! I thought . . . so slowly and over so much time that I was stunned on that afternoon in 2010 when I realized I had just been led on a walking tour by a Spaniard for nearly two hours, and had understood almost everything she said; I hadn't asked John to translate even once. I had nearly burst into tears at the realization that day, and I still get a little choked up when I think about it now.
I hurried to finish getting ready, and sat down at my computer with a half an hour to spare before I needed to leave for church so I could play the organ prelude (it's my turn this month). As I typed up my new thoughts and cut and pasted pertinent pieces from the previous version, I felt panic rising in my chest. I don't know how to do this. I don't know how I'm going to do this. I don't have time to do this. How can I do this? I don't know how to make this work! I kept typing and cutting and pasting, sticking bookmarks in Eyring's book to mark the two or three spots I thought would help me the most. With no time left, I printed off the scant two pages I had for my 20-minute time slot and drove to church.
As I played the organ, the music helped to calm my anxiety a little, but I just kept thinking, I'm not ready. This is going to be one of those dull, flat, lifeless, Spirit-less talks. I don't like to bore people, and this was shaping up to be disjointed and confusing at best, with boring following close behind. I looked up when I noticed the stake president walking up to the stand a few moments before the meeting began. Perfect! I thought in despair. Just what I need. I know my stake president is a very nice man, and he is a good friend. I just didn't want to sound disorganized, or much worse, give a talk that failed to invite the Spirit. My heart sank. I don't know what to do to make this work.
As the other two speakers spoke, I closed my books and purposely focused on their messages. There was nothing else I could do now. I was pleased to see how many of the scriptures I had gathered and then cast aside were used in the other talks. Even though our topics were quite different from each others', there were so many pieces that connected - Adam spoke about how we are saved by grace after all we can do, and Minda talked about fear and its corrosive influence on our spiritual progression. I felt the Spirit as they spoke, and I let go of my worry.
Finally it was my turn. I began my talk by saying that if we want to understand Nephi's courage as demonstrated in 1 Nephi 3:7, we really have to go back to 1 Nephi 2:16 to examine how he gained that courage. Suddenly I found myself telling about my wonderful family, and my older siblings, most of whom have spent a good part of their adult life not participating in church. I talked about how much I love them, and about how often I have wondered why it was that I never felt the need or desire to step away from church activity; why did it "stick" with me? I was no better, or smarter, or anything else than them. But Nephi says how young he was, and that he had a desire to know about the things of God, and so he prayed and God softened his heart so that he was able to believe the words of his father, Lehi the prophet. One of my brothers had once compared me to Nephi, the younger brother who set an example for his older siblings struggling with their faith. I had always been uncomfortable with the comparison until I read this scripture years ago. Nephi wasn't so different from Laman and Lemuel -- he just had a softened heart and he wanted to understand spiritual things enough to work at it.
I have long had a soft spot in my heart for Laman and Lemuel -- they take such a bum rap. They are used at every turn as examples of how not to act, how not to think, but they did some pretty amazing things. They tried. They went with Nephi, and they did, and when things got rough and didn't work out, they got discouraged, and they got scared, and Nephi had to remind them that God promised them that He would provide a way to do what He asked them to do. And then they tried again, using everything they could think of. In the end, all their best efforts proved fruitless, and they found themselves hiding in a cave to avoid being found by the men who had been sent by their own uncle to kill them so that he could keep the valuable things they had offered to give him in exchange for the scriptural record that he held - the object of their assignment. They were more afraid of Laban's guards than they were of God . . .
Fear is a funny thing. Scripturally there is a good kind of fear -- godly fear, which means respect, reverence or worship, is the kind of fear we're supposed to have. It's more like love than it is like fear, actually. It draws us towards something.
The other kind of fear stops us in our tracks. It makes us want to hide and protect ourselves. It may make us feel ashamed. It is cast out by pure love. It brings darkness, weakness, despair. It separates us from those who love us. It destroys the confidence we should feel in a loving Heavenly Father. Ever since the Fall, God has been teaching His children to NOT fear, but to trust Him, and to ask forgiveness with a humble heart, in full confidence of receiving that forgiveness. In full confidence.
The apostle Peter teaches us that we should fear God more than we should fear man; that we should obey God rather than obeying man.
So how do we fear man? I see three ways:
1. We share the same fears that the rest of mankind feels -- we find fear instead of faith around us.
2. We are literally afraid of people in this world and what they'll think of us; either the world or
society in general, or specific people whose opinions we fear.
3. Or, just like that first kind of positive fear that we're asked to reserve for our Heavenly Father,
we love, respect, and honor men/mankind/the teachings and philosophies of the world more
than we love God.
This is where I found the difference between Nephi and his older brothers, and maybe this is the source of Nephi's amazing courage to go and to do, regardless of the challenges - the confidence that he has that the Lord will do His part. When their plans fell apart, when their thinking and logic and best efforts failed, and they were faced with a powerful enemy, Laman and Lemuel's strength and faith weakened. Nephi, having full confidence that if God said that there was a way to do this He would provide some means to do it, making up for their mistakes and human weaknesses, went back one more time "not knowing beforehand what he should do." This time, the Spirit whispered to him and gave him clear instructions on how to get that record from Laban.
The key was Nephi's willingness to fear God (in the good way) more than he feared man. So, how do we get to that place? How do we develop that kind of faith and trust and unshakable confidence in our Heavenly Father? Well, like Elder Eyring said, unless you're Paul or king Lamoni, it's probably not going to happen overnight. Instead, it might be more like the way I learned to speak and understand Spanish.
In 1980, I went to Madrid, Spain with John and a study abroad group from BYU. I didn't speak any Spanish. At all. I couldn't go anywhere without him. That was hard for a newly married, relatively independent 21 year old. I loved my husband, but it was hard to not be free to wander and explore on my own, and even harder to not be able to express myself to people I met, or understand what anyone was saying. I studied, and I learned some Spanish. I sang in the choir, and I played piano at church for meetings, and by the time we left, I could spend a few hours with a Spanish friend in her home, and generally make myself understood. I tried to imagine what it must be like for John to be able to understand what people said with so little apparent effort, and to able to tell stories, joke with friends, and truly communicate in Spanish. It seemed impossible.
In 1995 we went back to Spain, to Granada this time, with UNH's study abroad group. This time I played piano at church, and also taught piano lessons to an 11 year-old boy who wanted to learn how to play.
In 2001 we returned for another semester. I helped my children in Primary at church, translating for them and helping them make friends. I led the music for the children and taught them songs. In the meanwhile, I learned more vocabulary and gained confidence.
In 2006 I served in the Primary presidency, often filling in for teachers who arrived late or who didn't show up. My language skills were still sub-par, but with the help of a manual and some 10 year olds who were pretty nice to me, we learned a lot together. That was the year John and I were asked to speak at the last moment in church and, without any time for preparation, I was able to express myself without serious embarrassment; to say what I wanted to say.
When we went back in 2010, I was asked to be in the Relief Society presidency (women's auxiliary), and taught lessons to the women at church. It was then, thirty years after my first trip to Spain, that I had the miraculous experience when I realized that I was actually understanding most of what I was hearing. Week after week, month after month, year after year of trying and failing and trying again until there in Plaza Nueva on that chilly late winter day, I felt a surge of wonder and pride. I understood! How did that happen? How did I get to this place?
One foot in front of the other, that's how. Just like Nephi. And whether or not anyone in the congregation learned anything from my talk, I was taught an important and personal lesson.
It wasn't until I got home yesterday that I realized that I had just had my own "go and do" experience. I stood up to give that talk, not knowing beforehand what I was going to say -- all those hours writing and reading, having tried everything I knew to prepare myself, but having received no confirmation of the Spirit as to which of those prepared words might be meaningful. I opened my mouth to speak, and the words came, and I knew exactly what to say; which pages to turn over unused and which to follow. The words that came were warm and soft in my heart, and they filled me even as I released them. I felt the Spirit, and I knew that the words I spoke were true, "... for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save He shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which He commandeth them."
Last Sunday, I received an invitation to speak in church. I like to speak in church. I like to prepare my talks, write them up and have them ready to go ahead of time. I always tweak them and leave stuff out at the last minute, and sometimes I'll add an impromptu story that feels appropriate in the spirit of the moment. My assignment was to talk about 1 Nephi 3:7. This is a single verse that is pretty much iconic to members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It is the statement of a 16 year old Israelite named Nephi who tells the prophet (also his father), upon being asked to do something pretty big and dramatic, "Yes, I'll go and do this thing, because I know that whenever God asks us to do something, he prepares a way for us to accomplish the task." Nephi is legendary for his faith, his can-do attitude, and ... well, for pretty much everything. He's kind of the epitome of good-guys.
I love the scripture. I love Nephi and his history. I looked forward to preparing the talk. What angle would I take? What perspective? What insights could I share? What had I learned from Nephi's example?
All week long I thought about it. "Why do we go and do?" I thought. That would be a good subject -- what motivates us to act in faith like Nephi did? Why was he so willing to be obedient? I started thinking about obedience in terms of faith and works and the fact that those things don't save us, but that they do indicate our willingness to seek God's grace ... that faith without works is just meaningless rhetoric, and that works without faith is hypocrisy. I wandered this way for most of the week, gathering some great quotes and scriptures about receiving and retaining a remission of sins, the power of the Atonement to change our hearts (which is all repenting ever was), and lots of other great stuff. I thought about how fear keeps us from going and doing, and about how there are different kinds of fear, both positive and negative. I prayed about what I should say. I examined my motives for the things I wanted to say. I thought about this a lot.
Our talks in church are intended to build faith, strengthen testimonies, testify of truth, and uplift and encourage the members of the congregation, with the intent to bring us all closer to Christ. I have known for some time that I like to be center stage, and for a lot of years I've tried to work on making stuff less about me and more about . . . well, anything else. When I give a talk or teach a lesson, I measure my success on how I feel -- do I feel the Spirit, or am I just talking to hear my head rattle? Is it real or is it rhetoric? When my heart feels flat, I think I'm failing. When my heart feels soft and warm and full, I think I'm doing okay.
When the university closed on Friday, I was happy to have a snow day. I spent some time jotting down notes for my talk, marking scriptures, and thinking about just how I wanted this talk to come together. As the blizzard raged on Saturday, I sat down at my computer, praying just a little for the power to stay on while I typed. I didn't have a clear concept of where this talk was going, and with one day left, I felt nervous about that. So, I just got busy. I typed up every scripture I had found that I liked, I wrote down every thought I had been having. I pulled out pieces of paper I had been scribbling on all week, and typed up the snippets from those, elaborating and filling out some of the ideas. It seemed like the talk was going in six different directions. I printed off seven full pages, thinking I could go at it with a red pencil and re-arrange things to make more sense out of it.
This went on for most of the day on Saturday. I stopped to spend an hour or so shoveling the cars out so our neighbor could plow the driveway (bless him), and took another break just at dusk to finish shoveling the sidewalk so we could walk to the cars without wading through waist deep snow. By six o'clock I was no closer to being done than I had been that morning, except that I had pages and pages of gibberish . . . spiritually uplifting gibberish, but gibberish nonetheless. I forced myself to finish the last two sections of notes, closed the computer and declared myself done. Not done with the talk, but done. I told John, "I don't know what I'm going to say." He asked, "Do you have any stories to tell?" He always likes my stories - and I can always find a story to tell to illustrate a principle. I don't think he'd mind my saying that 30 years ago, he was a facts-and-doctrine kind of a guy. I have watched him become a the-doctrine-is-found-in-the-heart-of-the-stories-that-change-people's-hearts kind of a guy, and he tells some of the best stories ever, opening his heart and sharing things that have changed him over the years.
I had no stories. My talk had no heart at all. It was tons of scriptures, and quotes, and principles of truth, but it didn't feel like anything. I went to bed hoping that it would gel in my brain and in my heart over night, and that somehow in the morning I would know how to fix it.
Sunday morning, I got up extra early to give myself time to get ready and to fix and finish my talk. Halfway through getting ready, I noticed a book on my nightstand that I had started to read, but had put down after a couple of very enjoyable chapters. It was Henry Eyring's "To Draw Closer to God." I love Elder Eyring, and I love his talks. I sat down on the bed and started reading where I had left off. As I read, I felt my heart softening. I grabbed a pen and started underlining sections, adding notes in the margin and exclamation points everywhere. This was it! This was what I needed. He talked about the change of heart being an ongoing process and while it was nearly instantaneous for people like Paul, and Enos, and Alma, and king Lamoni (and king Lamoni's father, I might add), for most of us . . . the vast majority of us . . . it is a slow and nearly imperceptible process.
Just like how I learned Spanish! I thought . . . so slowly and over so much time that I was stunned on that afternoon in 2010 when I realized I had just been led on a walking tour by a Spaniard for nearly two hours, and had understood almost everything she said; I hadn't asked John to translate even once. I had nearly burst into tears at the realization that day, and I still get a little choked up when I think about it now.
I hurried to finish getting ready, and sat down at my computer with a half an hour to spare before I needed to leave for church so I could play the organ prelude (it's my turn this month). As I typed up my new thoughts and cut and pasted pertinent pieces from the previous version, I felt panic rising in my chest. I don't know how to do this. I don't know how I'm going to do this. I don't have time to do this. How can I do this? I don't know how to make this work! I kept typing and cutting and pasting, sticking bookmarks in Eyring's book to mark the two or three spots I thought would help me the most. With no time left, I printed off the scant two pages I had for my 20-minute time slot and drove to church.
As I played the organ, the music helped to calm my anxiety a little, but I just kept thinking, I'm not ready. This is going to be one of those dull, flat, lifeless, Spirit-less talks. I don't like to bore people, and this was shaping up to be disjointed and confusing at best, with boring following close behind. I looked up when I noticed the stake president walking up to the stand a few moments before the meeting began. Perfect! I thought in despair. Just what I need. I know my stake president is a very nice man, and he is a good friend. I just didn't want to sound disorganized, or much worse, give a talk that failed to invite the Spirit. My heart sank. I don't know what to do to make this work.
As the other two speakers spoke, I closed my books and purposely focused on their messages. There was nothing else I could do now. I was pleased to see how many of the scriptures I had gathered and then cast aside were used in the other talks. Even though our topics were quite different from each others', there were so many pieces that connected - Adam spoke about how we are saved by grace after all we can do, and Minda talked about fear and its corrosive influence on our spiritual progression. I felt the Spirit as they spoke, and I let go of my worry.
Finally it was my turn. I began my talk by saying that if we want to understand Nephi's courage as demonstrated in 1 Nephi 3:7, we really have to go back to 1 Nephi 2:16 to examine how he gained that courage. Suddenly I found myself telling about my wonderful family, and my older siblings, most of whom have spent a good part of their adult life not participating in church. I talked about how much I love them, and about how often I have wondered why it was that I never felt the need or desire to step away from church activity; why did it "stick" with me? I was no better, or smarter, or anything else than them. But Nephi says how young he was, and that he had a desire to know about the things of God, and so he prayed and God softened his heart so that he was able to believe the words of his father, Lehi the prophet. One of my brothers had once compared me to Nephi, the younger brother who set an example for his older siblings struggling with their faith. I had always been uncomfortable with the comparison until I read this scripture years ago. Nephi wasn't so different from Laman and Lemuel -- he just had a softened heart and he wanted to understand spiritual things enough to work at it.
I have long had a soft spot in my heart for Laman and Lemuel -- they take such a bum rap. They are used at every turn as examples of how not to act, how not to think, but they did some pretty amazing things. They tried. They went with Nephi, and they did, and when things got rough and didn't work out, they got discouraged, and they got scared, and Nephi had to remind them that God promised them that He would provide a way to do what He asked them to do. And then they tried again, using everything they could think of. In the end, all their best efforts proved fruitless, and they found themselves hiding in a cave to avoid being found by the men who had been sent by their own uncle to kill them so that he could keep the valuable things they had offered to give him in exchange for the scriptural record that he held - the object of their assignment. They were more afraid of Laban's guards than they were of God . . .
Fear is a funny thing. Scripturally there is a good kind of fear -- godly fear, which means respect, reverence or worship, is the kind of fear we're supposed to have. It's more like love than it is like fear, actually. It draws us towards something.
The other kind of fear stops us in our tracks. It makes us want to hide and protect ourselves. It may make us feel ashamed. It is cast out by pure love. It brings darkness, weakness, despair. It separates us from those who love us. It destroys the confidence we should feel in a loving Heavenly Father. Ever since the Fall, God has been teaching His children to NOT fear, but to trust Him, and to ask forgiveness with a humble heart, in full confidence of receiving that forgiveness. In full confidence.
The apostle Peter teaches us that we should fear God more than we should fear man; that we should obey God rather than obeying man.
So how do we fear man? I see three ways:
1. We share the same fears that the rest of mankind feels -- we find fear instead of faith around us.
2. We are literally afraid of people in this world and what they'll think of us; either the world or
society in general, or specific people whose opinions we fear.
3. Or, just like that first kind of positive fear that we're asked to reserve for our Heavenly Father,
we love, respect, and honor men/mankind/the teachings and philosophies of the world more
than we love God.
This is where I found the difference between Nephi and his older brothers, and maybe this is the source of Nephi's amazing courage to go and to do, regardless of the challenges - the confidence that he has that the Lord will do His part. When their plans fell apart, when their thinking and logic and best efforts failed, and they were faced with a powerful enemy, Laman and Lemuel's strength and faith weakened. Nephi, having full confidence that if God said that there was a way to do this He would provide some means to do it, making up for their mistakes and human weaknesses, went back one more time "not knowing beforehand what he should do." This time, the Spirit whispered to him and gave him clear instructions on how to get that record from Laban.
The key was Nephi's willingness to fear God (in the good way) more than he feared man. So, how do we get to that place? How do we develop that kind of faith and trust and unshakable confidence in our Heavenly Father? Well, like Elder Eyring said, unless you're Paul or king Lamoni, it's probably not going to happen overnight. Instead, it might be more like the way I learned to speak and understand Spanish.
In 1980, I went to Madrid, Spain with John and a study abroad group from BYU. I didn't speak any Spanish. At all. I couldn't go anywhere without him. That was hard for a newly married, relatively independent 21 year old. I loved my husband, but it was hard to not be free to wander and explore on my own, and even harder to not be able to express myself to people I met, or understand what anyone was saying. I studied, and I learned some Spanish. I sang in the choir, and I played piano at church for meetings, and by the time we left, I could spend a few hours with a Spanish friend in her home, and generally make myself understood. I tried to imagine what it must be like for John to be able to understand what people said with so little apparent effort, and to able to tell stories, joke with friends, and truly communicate in Spanish. It seemed impossible.
In 1995 we went back to Spain, to Granada this time, with UNH's study abroad group. This time I played piano at church, and also taught piano lessons to an 11 year-old boy who wanted to learn how to play.
In 2001 we returned for another semester. I helped my children in Primary at church, translating for them and helping them make friends. I led the music for the children and taught them songs. In the meanwhile, I learned more vocabulary and gained confidence.
In 2006 I served in the Primary presidency, often filling in for teachers who arrived late or who didn't show up. My language skills were still sub-par, but with the help of a manual and some 10 year olds who were pretty nice to me, we learned a lot together. That was the year John and I were asked to speak at the last moment in church and, without any time for preparation, I was able to express myself without serious embarrassment; to say what I wanted to say.
When we went back in 2010, I was asked to be in the Relief Society presidency (women's auxiliary), and taught lessons to the women at church. It was then, thirty years after my first trip to Spain, that I had the miraculous experience when I realized that I was actually understanding most of what I was hearing. Week after week, month after month, year after year of trying and failing and trying again until there in Plaza Nueva on that chilly late winter day, I felt a surge of wonder and pride. I understood! How did that happen? How did I get to this place?
One foot in front of the other, that's how. Just like Nephi. And whether or not anyone in the congregation learned anything from my talk, I was taught an important and personal lesson.
It wasn't until I got home yesterday that I realized that I had just had my own "go and do" experience. I stood up to give that talk, not knowing beforehand what I was going to say -- all those hours writing and reading, having tried everything I knew to prepare myself, but having received no confirmation of the Spirit as to which of those prepared words might be meaningful. I opened my mouth to speak, and the words came, and I knew exactly what to say; which pages to turn over unused and which to follow. The words that came were warm and soft in my heart, and they filled me even as I released them. I felt the Spirit, and I knew that the words I spoke were true, "... for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save He shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which He commandeth them."
As usual, Linda, you have filled my heart with the Spirit just by reading your words. I wish I could have been there to hear your voice too. I hear you in my head and that makes me miss you all the more!
ReplyDeleteI miss you too, Camille . . . every day! Hugs to you!
ReplyDelete