A Dose of Pilgrimage

  

                In Islam, one of the pillars of their faith is to go to Mecca, a city in Saudi Arabia where their prophet, Muhammad was born. It is a very sacred pilgrimage called the Hajj. Muslims often save up for years and sacrifice much to go to Mecca. Islamic countries have a special five-day holiday for the pilgrimage specifically. Those who return, respectfully called “hajjis,” are treated with deep admiration from their family, friends, and communities—similar to how returned missionaries are treated in Utah and Mormonism as a whole. For Muslims, the Hajj is an experience paramount to their spiritual growth.

                As I’ve thought about my experiences in Israel and the Holy Land, I’ve contemplated this concept of pilgrimage. The Hajj is the most encompassing embodiment of pilgrimage in any religion I know of. They have a date set for it, they have a ritual of worship for the Hajj, and they have arrangements made for millions of Muslims to enter the city of Mecca annually. It’s one of those few parts of Islam that is truly unifying. And for the most part, everyone sets aside disagreements, titles of Sunni or Shiite, to worship in Mecca for a few days out of the year. It’s beautiful.

I love few things as much as bare feet in the sand and sea.

Last sight of the Mediterranean.

                But this is not the case for any Christian pilgrimage to the Holy Land. There is no when, why, how, or even specifically where for Christians. The Holy Land is more an example of separation of denominations than unification. The perfect example of this is the Immovable Ladder. Located on a part of the roof of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, it has been there since the 18^th century. It has not been removed because for anything to be done in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the six denominations which reside there, all six have to agree. And no one is agreeing whose responsibility it is to remove the ladder. In fact, it’s not even the original ladder. The original ladder decayed so much that another ladder was put in its place to maintain the tense status quo. Pretty messed up, huh? The disagreement in Jerusalem runs deeper than I think we can really fathom here in the relative peace that is in the United States. We’re not old enough as a country to know that kind of generational tension. The saddest part of this turmoil is that this likely isn’t even where Christ was buried nor crucified.

There are two or more sites for any given event in the Gospels, dedicated as “the place” where it transpired. Often, you have a choice between the Catholic-chosen site and the Greek Orthodox-chosen site, and the likelihood of either being the actual place is really very slim. This is due to theologians favorite concept of scriptural ambiguity. The canon may speak of some specific places with defining markers, such as “place of a skull” (John 19:17) and “having five porches” (John 5:2), and educated guesses can be made.  Some are closer than others, such as the aforementioned “five porches” of the Pool at Bethesda has archaeological evidence. Some are very obviously far from the truth. For example, the Via Dolorosa, the alleged path Jesus walked to his crucifixion, is obvious to historians that it is not where Jesus walked because those streets simply did not exist two thousand years ago. Jerusalem has been built on layers upon layers of city. The actual path Jesus took is buried hundreds of feet down below the Ottoman built streets we now walk there in modern Jerusalem.

Pools of Bethesda

A few places come to mind as the closest we came to actually being where Jesus walked: the Western Wall tunnels, the steps by the Church of St Peter in Gallicantu (possibly where Christ walked from the Last Supper to Gethsemane), the steps in and out of the Temple of Solomon by the City of David, the Pools at Bethesda, and, of course, the Sea of Galilee. Every place else has a large margin of doubt or lack of any evidence.

Steps by Church of St Peter

In the Western Wall tunnel.

worth a read.

I don’t say this to be a pessimist or overly critical. I have no problem with Christians building churches to celebrate important biblical events. I welcomed the opportunities to think about the Bible stories and discuss events with our friends. But when it becomes a catty fight over who has the correct place where Jesus healed an unnamed leper in an unnamed place, we miss the point of the Bible’s telling of the story. If Heavenly Father really cared where a specific even occurred, he would have made it clear in His word. By arguing with different denominations and making your own holy sites kitsch to attract more tourists, you miss the point. It isn’t important where it happened, what’s important is that it did happen. Jesus did heal the hurt and the broken. He did feed over five thousand people—and maybe more than once. He did atone for us in the Garden of Gethsemane and carried our burdens, heavier than any cross of wood, and died for us to become whole. He did rise again to show us that we too can become new again and again and again. That’s the important part of this story, and that’s one that doesn’t take a trip to Israel/Palestine to learn. Heavenly Father is kinder than that. I don’t have any monopoly on sacred experiences just because I have been to the Holy Land. It could be just as effective to create your own “Via Dolorosa” in your neighborhood to remember and learn about Christ’s walk to Golgotha.

View from BYU's Jerusalem Center.

You can see a great lookout on Jerusalem, including the Temple Mount from the Jerusalem Center.

That said, I want to talk about my favorite parts of visiting the Holy Land. I recognize it is a rare experience not many will have, and I cherish my personal encounter with the land of Israel and Palestine. I had forgotten what a thrill travel can be. We had many unique opportunities to encounter different cultures and be taught by people who did not hold our same sentiments or opinions about religion, politics, or even what food is good. Our trip was unique how it incorporated politics and religion and history. The creator and dictator of the program, Dil Parkinson, did a masterful job of giving us polar opposites in opinions and forcing us to question a lot of our preconceived notions. It was an exhausting roller coaster. But here are the highlights for me:

At the mouth of the Jordan River, near Tel Dan.

Israel/Palestine is a different flavor of beautiful I haven’t encountered before. Our student group was rushed through most places, a quick walkthrough here, just long enough to snap a photo then back on the bus. I never felt we had enough time. But in cathedrals and churches, our professor always had us sing a hymn. That was my favorite part of the entire trip. What an opportunity! I’m no stranger to cathedrals. But to sing in them! Hymns that bring the Spirit in churches built to commemorate miracles and events of the life of Christ? That’s the best Christmas gift I could receive besides Christ himself.  I love hymns and I can think of no quicker way to feel the Holy Spirit than through music. It was one of the most uplifting experiences I’ve ever had. Especially in places frought with so much political violence and unrest, singing hymns in those places were a sweet reminder that we have the Lord God Almighty at the helm. Cathedrals were built to be sung in. They were built to not just turn the gaze upward, but to take your voice on high, to echo off the stone ceilings and arches, like a gentle prayer reverberates in the heavens.  I definitely see why Christians go to cathedrals to feel closer to God.

Gallilee outside Church of the Primacy

Near Garden Tomb, where it hailed on us something fierce.

Gethsemane.

We went to a lot of jaw-dropping, immense, gorgeous cathedrals with inspiring art and stained glass windows. The kind that your contacts go dry from staring at its splendor.  I don’t think there will be another time in my life where I go to so many different churches in such a short period of time. That in itself was worth the trip.

...

 

Vaughn and his roommate, Andy.

Dome of the Rock.

Dome of the Rock detail. 

The Galilee was the most rewarding visit for me. This area remains the most untouched, least commercialized out of the places we visited. Its natural beauty was splendid. We stayed right on the Sea a couple nights, and I could have looked at it for days on end. Here was really the only place I could imagine Christ actually walking. This was His land. This is probably what it actually looked like. This was the only place that really made Bible stories come alive for me. I could see the setting, the background for the signs and miracles of Christ and his followers. There weren’t cities to obstruct the scenery, no blockades, no massive walls, no checkpoints, no IDF soldiers with rifles. Just beauty as it has been for thousands of years. The churches we visited in Galilee were gorgeous, but humble compared to the larger cathedrals and basilicas in other areas. It was reminiscent of the small churches started at the onset of Christianity.

Sunset on Sea of Gallilee.

on a boat on the Sea of Gallilee

This lady is the bomb dot com!

Nazareth is in Galilee, but as a city, felt very different from just being on the Sea. Someone said it felt a bit like a beach town, and I completely agree. People were a lot more easy-going. I’ll talk more about Nazareth in later posts, but I want to mention the Basilica of Annunciation. This is where Catholic tradition places the angel Gabriel speaking with Mary. This Basilica is awe-inspiring. It has these massive, stunning mosaics lining the walls from all over the world.

Basilica of the Annunciation of Mary, Nazareth

Delicious Za'atar.

Another highlight was visiting the Wailing Wall (also known as the Western Wall). This is all that we remains of Solomon’s Temple of old. It is deeply sacred to the Jewish people, and every Friday evening at sundown, they welcome in the Sabbath through dance and song at the Wailing Wall. It’s a pretty ironic title when you see how joyful the Jews are who celebrate there. They celebrate that it’s the Sabbath (Jews celebrate the Sabbath on Saturday, and it begins at dusk on the Friday before), and they celebrate that they have a state to live in and they celebrate the opportunity to congregate. There are a lot of political overtones that are difficult to overcome, but if you take the situation as it is—that is, people celebrating their faith and freedom—it is inspiring. I, personally, am not so zealous about the Sabbath day, and I don’t celebrate the opportunity I have to express my faith as enthusiastically. There is a lot to learn from other faiths. One of the professors with us called it “holy envy,” when you admire traditions of another’s faith. I could definitely use more zeal and enthusiasm in my worship and in the ordinances of my faith.  I wish I could show you pictures of the dancing and joyful people at the Wailing Wall that Friday night, because it is incredible. But out of respect for Jewish Sabbath custom, I refrained from photography. Here are photos from another time when we visited the wall.

The Western / Wailing Wall.

Faith aside, we also visited some really cool historical places. I loved Caesarea Phillipi (I could have spent waaaay more time there), Masada, and the Herodian, all places built by King Herod. I had learned he was a megalomaniac, but seeing that mania manifest itself into such grandiose and expensive and challenging—nigh impossible projects really helped me to see why they called him insane. He did a lot of amazing things and forced progression in architecture and engineering. He was probably the first to do underwater cement for Caesarea, and built a circular port where there was once just sea. Masada is one of the remaining desert castles he built with enough storage to last for years if he ever needed somewhere to escape to. And the Herodian is a man-made mountain he commanded to be made as his tomb. So….yeah. He was a megalomaniac.

We also went to Qumran, where the Dead Sea scrolls were discovered. We visited Akko (a crusader castle), Megiddo (also known as Armageddon), Bethany (where Lazarus was raised from the dead), Bethlehem (a not so little town nowadays), Capernaum (Peter’s town), Jericho (the oldest city in the world!) and many, many other places, some of which I will talk about in another blog.

Dude. Mosaics. So many mosaics. Dil had a thing for them, so we saw a lot of them.

This is called the Mona Lisa of mosaics, in Sepphoris.

When we came into Jerusalem, I was reading a book called “Making their Own Peace” by Ann Madsen. It is a book about twelve amazing women of Jerusalem. They are Christians, Jewish, and Muslim. It’s about how they live in the situation in Jerusalem and maintain hope. These are amazing women who opened orphanages, worked in hospitals, taught in schools. Vaughn and I were had the honor of receiving a personal tour in the Spafford Children’s Center, a school started by one of these amazing women. It’s by the Damascus Gate in Jerusalem. Our tour guide, Yezzin, was the drama and art teacher, and he was amazing. Talk about cheerful! He was a ray of sunshine. He loved his job, and he was more than happy to show us where he worked. It’s an amazing place. It was a breath of fresh air amidst the heaviness you feel in most of Jerusalem, with children’s pictures covering the wall, brightly colored walls and doors, and happy teachers. I loved it there, and I can see why Ann Madsen thought it worthy to write about it and the women who started it.

me trying not to look too excited to be there.

playful pops of color was everywhere in the Spafford Children Center

To close, I would just like to touch back on this concept of visiting the Holy Land as a pilgrimage. I loved our visit to the sites. I loved the opportunity to ponder the events of Christ's life. I loved singing sacred hymns in cathedrals. I am extremely grateful for the experience, and recognize how rare an opportunity it is. But my faith in Christ would be the same either way. I knew who he was before I went to Jerusalem, and I still know Him. I know he died for my sins and for yours. I know He is why we can have hope, and especially after witnessing the turmoil and tension in Jerusalem and in the Holy Land, that hope is significant.

Nice to meet you, Jordan

            Many, many people have asked my husband, Vaughn, and I about our trip to Jordan and Israel. Since I have also been wanting to write more, I thought I'd kill two birds with one stone, and blog about my experiences. This will probably be the first of three-ish posts to summarize the entire trip, including Israel/Palestine, holy sites, and places where a lot of important history was made.  If you don't feel like reading ahead, in a nutshell: it was wonderful. And life-changing. And opened my eyes to a lot of things I didn't expect. 
             If you do feel like reading the rest of this blog, I want to start with my first impressions of Jordan.  My husband was in Amman, Jordan for fall semester in a course of intensive Arabic study through his university.  I stayed in Provo to work, cuz I guess that's what adults have to do. But  I got to go see him for the last portion of his program, which happened to be two weeks in Israel. We spent a few days in Amman before crossing the border, and I was pleasantly surprised by how much those three days impacted my worldview. So without further adieu... Jordan. 

             After twenty hours of travel, you feel gross. Not sure entirely why, and I don’t want to think about why, because it’s probably even worse than I think. Let’s just say my general sentiment upon arrival in Amman, Jordan was “ick, blech, gugggg.” But it was such a relief to see my husband after 99 days apart, it didn’t matter too much. He still hugged me despite the stench of airline grime. A car had been arranged to pick us up and drive us to where we’d be staying for the night and my initial experience in Jordan traffic was jarring. It made me ask the deep questions. Like, what are lanes? What are turn signals? What are speed limits? Where are the road signs that warn you when the highway comes to a screeching halt with a cement blockade? I didn’t feel unsafe, really. The driver did not seem concerned, and everything felt very much in control. It was more like an elaborate ballet that I did not understand, but everyone else seemed have learned the choreography. Actually, this is a good metaphor for colliding with an unfamiliar culture in general. Everyone else was aware of when it was okay to honk, when it was okay to cut someone else off, and when it was okay to turn unexpectedly--but to me, it was confusing and nonsensical. The entire first night in Jordan was very surreal and abrupt. Like when you take a drink out of a glass you think is filled with water but is actually milk. 

                Fortunately, this initial shock was abated by the presence of my stalwart husband who had overcome this months before and seemed very at home with all the craziness that is Amman, Jordan. I was very grateful to see this beautiful place through his eyes as he led me around his stomping grounds and introduced me to “his people.” The truthfulness of this last phrase was poignant. I knew he loved these people he had talked so fondly about in our many emails and video calls, but seeing them adore him back so affectionately was truly heart-warming. It’s beautiful to see someone you love so much was so well taken care of this far from home.

Syrian ice cream.

                I got a quick overview of all that is Amman. We went to the citadel, which has lots of old Roman ruins. We saw what remained of the Temple of Hercules, and we stood in the almost intact Roman theatre, where at its center you can hear your own normal voice echo across the stands. While there, we witnessed a group of Jordanian University Students with bright shirts on, making public commitments to better the community in the future and throughout their lives. That was beautiful to see.  We also strolled around the markets in downtown Amman, called Wasit al-Balad, and a more European style neighborhood called Rainbow Street. Vaughn spoiled me with lots of food too:  Kanaffa, shewarma, Syrian ice cream, mansof, baklava, mint-lime drink, and most importantly, pita bread and hummus. Comparing the hummus in the Middle East to the hummus we have in the States is like comparing the 49ers to the Utah Jazz. Not only are they not in the same league, they don’t even play the same game. I loved the hummus and the pita bread. I could not get enough of its smooth, creamy goodness.

Roman amphitheater

Temple of Hercules

                My favorite part of the short Jordan leg was meeting Lara’s family.  They are a family who took Vaughn and his friend Morgan under their wing and gave them a very safe, welcoming place to practice their Arabic. They welcomed me in with just as much zeal. With open arms, treats, laughter, and even gifts, Lara’s family helped all three of us feel like family. It is obvious this family will miss Vaughn and Morgan terribly. They took us to a Christmas bazaar organized by several Christian churches in the area. Here, they excitedly introduced us to their friends and more family members. We were given lots of free food just for being American—which makes no sense whatsoever because we are the spoiled, affluent, fat ones from the United States. They took us to an area where some youth were practicing bagpipes for a march, and we were given a private mini-concert. We were treated like royalty.

Lara's sweet family.

Lara, me, Morgan, and Vaughn. 

                As Vaughn led me around as my personal tour guide, it was very easy to see why Vaughn loves Jordan. It is an amazing underdog of a country who has a shortage of water, yet still sustains its own people, plus nearly a million Syrian refugees. It is a nation struggling to make itself better, with amazing leaders like Queen Rania. It is a country fighting ISIS with even more fervor than America because it is their family, their own people who are being the most negatively impacted by radical terrorism. This is a country of game changers, and Americans would benefit greatly to take a page out of their book.  Jordan holds a lot of Christ-like love, nestled in the Middle East, amidst the stigma of violence and terror. There, you find the kind of charity and resolve rare in our privileged part of the world, but almost necessary to survive the conflicts and challenges being faced.  Jordan, you have my admiration. What an honor it was to be your guest, even if just for a short while.

Finding Truth.

Today marks the fourth anniversary of my baptism. In honor of this important event in my life, I have decided to tell about why I decided to be baptized in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, in hopes that it will further understanding for my family and loved ones who may find it odd or difficult. Enjoy!

There comes a time in everyone’s lives when you have to make a choice so big it will influence the outcome of the rest of your life. In this world, you can only stay complacent so long before you have to pick a side based on what you know. For me, that choice came when I was 19 years old.

I was in my first year of college, and I was struggling with finding my place in the world and some family issues. I was attending a small Presbyterian university, thinking I wanted to switch my major for the sixth time, and looking for a church to belong to. But really, that’s not where the story begins.

It begins with a thousand tiny moments, dotting my childhood and my awkward years. It started with my mother telling me that when I’m scared of the dark at night, I can pray and Christ will take away the fear. It started with a sister who was fiery, passionate and intelligent, and she went on mission trips to spread the Gospel. It started with my brother praying with me in his room. It started with a choir director who taught me why the Gospel is worth singing about. It started with my piano teacher teaching me purpose behind my music. It started with a good friend asking me if I’ve been reading my Bible. It started with tears, hope, tragedy, books, broken families, and struggle. Most importantly, it started with a foundation in Christ, and a faith that all my mess-ups would be washed clean. I feel that my life story was written for that one decision I made on March 19, 2010, the day I was baptized a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. That was when I knew everything would change.  

I was raised more or less Baptist, with a family always striving to grow closer to Christ and to be more devout Christians. I love my family and look up to them very much. They are amazing individuals who each fought through a lot of hardship that make them incredible, strong people today. I was usually going to church on Sundays. It wasn’t always very consistent, but I knew Sunday was for church. However, as I entered my teens, I started feeling hollow and even agitated by things in the churches I would attend. I realize a lot of it was just teen-angst rebellion, but I know it was also just trying to piece together all the complicated pieces of life. I had a lot of questions, and many people around me gave me answers to those questions, whether verbally or not. In short, I was searching, always searching for answers. But even though I was confused, one thing I did know and believe to be true is that Christ is my Savior and Redeemer. I had a firm belief that as long as I held on to that truth, everything else would be okay.

As I entered college, I was so excited to find a church to attend. It was sort of “the big thing” about the first weekend of college when the majority of attendees are Christian. It was a big deal to find that church you felt you fit in the best. It was sort of like being in a sandwich line. There are a lot of different flavors and you get to choose your favorite. You may like this kind of doctrinal bread but dislike that social meat. I was excited to find a church family that I could feel close to, because I had never really experienced that before. I went to several churches my first semester. Some I went to several times, some just once, but every time the same feeling came: this isn’t quite right. So I kept looking.

By the time finals week came around, a very difficult trial that had been ebbing and flowing for months reached tipping point. Going home for Christmas was very challenging, and for two weeks I struggled rather gracelessly. I found myself reading not my Bible, but a little blue book taken from a Marriott Hotel in Maryland months before. Mormons will know this to be the Book of Mormon. I had been reading a very small bit of it for months due to one of my best friends in high school being LDS. My friend and I had many conversations about faith and about the church, but I was never open to it. In fact, looking back on it, I’m surprised we even remained friends I was so stubborn about it. But here I was, sitting in the privacy of my room, soaking up the words of the Book of Mormon like a sponge. It  brought me peace that I needed. It was a peace not unlike when I read Psalms and John, but it was striking to me because these were not words I took to be sacred. These were Joseph Smith’s words. At least, I believed so at the time. So I did what I thought would give me the answer: studied the New Testament to find the flaw. If I could find one thing that disproved anything that I knew about the Mormon church in the New Testament, where the Christian church is blueprinted, I could discredit Joseph Smith’s Book of Mormon and move on with my life. I took an intensive course on the New Testament from a Presbyterian professor and spent the month of January reading the entirety of the New Testament and other theological texts. I was studying hard for the class, but I was mostly looking for something to deter me from looking further in the LDS church. I couldn’t find anything convincing enough. Not that I didn’t have questions, but the questions were no different than the kind of questions I’d ask any Christian church. After a lot of prayer and a lot of study, I was surprised that I had nothing on those Mormons. And I completely lacked any prompting or logical reason to stay away.

I decided to go to the core of the matter. I attended a church and found the missionaries. I welcomed the opportunity to meet with them because I wanted to hear what they had to say. I still wanted to find something to prove that they were not Christians and then I could leave. During the church services, I wore the critical attitude I wore when I attended any new church to see if I could fit there. The hymns were too slow.  The sermons were boring. Way too many pink hearts and engagements announced in that last meeting with all the women (did I mention this was Valentine’s Day?). And the day was too long. Three hours of church? I would never get used to that. I had no intention of going back. My plan was to meet with the missionaries, have my questions answered, find the reason why Mormons weren’t Christians, which would define why I could not be Mormon, and be finished with it. That didn’t work though. I didn’t find that nasty little piece of doctrine I was hoping for in the first lesson. So we had another. Didn’t find it there either. We continued having lessons several times a week, half of which I entered with the intention of it being my last. But there was a powerful feeling at the end of each lesson that I needed to come back. I asked questions. I studied. I prayed. I continued to go to church, and the criticism ebbed away as I felt what I now know to be the Holy Spirit. It’s something that you don’t feel if you’re looking for the negative, but when you recognize it, you never want to be away from it again. That’s why I kept coming back. It felt very different from any of the others churches I had attended.

There are three distinct epiphanies that I want to share that led me to the waters of baptism. The first was early in the discussions with the missionaries. I had told them about reading the Book of Mormon over Christmas break when I felt lonely and frustrated. We talked a lot of about its origin and message. They bore their testimonies on its truth. Nothing sank in really until one of them asked “How has the Book of Mormon affected your relationship with Christ?” I mumbled out an inadequate answer, but the question stuck with me. Christ? The Book of Mormon is supposed to draw me closer to Christ? The question was about Christ, not Joseph Smith, or any of the other modern prophets of the Mormon church. That changed how I read the Book of Mormon.

The second experience was we were speaking about Latter-Day Saint temples. The elders were explaining how in the temple, members of the church perform ordinances in proxy for those who have passed away. I didn’t get it. After probably a half hour of question and answer that didn’t connect with me, there was a quiet. Then one said “When Christ died on the cross, he bore our sins by proxy. When we do ordinances for the dead in the temple, we are striving to be like Christ by acting as their proxy---“ I don’t expect this to be as ground breaking for anyone else. And it was honestly less about their words and more about what the Spirit was speaking to my soul. But it clicked. It made perfect sense, and I remember the speaking elder stopped in the middle of his sentence because he saw the understanding suddenly on my face. After a beat, his companion said, “I think she’s got it.” And I did. It was like a light had turned on. It was undeniable to me that these people, these Mormons, these alleged terrors, and blind followers of a man named Joseph Smith, they were just trying to be like Christ. And that felt more right than anything I had experienced before. They didn’t tell me what was right and that I would go to hell if I didn’t join the church. They encouraged me to find out for myself.

The last realization (of many I could share) is when I felt the Book of Mormon was true. It was not very long before the baptism date I had set with the missionaries. I had been reading the Book of Mormon for about eight months and didn’t feel certain about it being scripture. But I was reading and praying and I was frustrated because I didn’t know what to do. I felt a lot of support from opposing sides. My family, my previous Baptist church leaders, and my new friends at my university had tried to convince me that I shouldn’t join the Mormon church. My good LDS friend and his family, my new friends at church, the missionaries, and the bishop, encouraged me to hold to what I knew to be true. Well, I didn’t feel I knew anything at all. So I prayed again and again to know what is right and what is wrong. Eventually, I said this prayer: “God, if you tell me that this book is true, I will do everything you ask me to. I will give up coffee and I will pay tithing and I will be faithful to that knowledge if you would just allow me to have it. I will get baptized.” Then the thought occurred to me that I had my answer, I had already made a decision. So I told God that “After all I’ve learned, I think the Book of Mormon is true. Is that right?” That’s when I felt such peace that I cannot really explain unless you have felt it yourself. It was the Spirit testifying that it was right.

This is the most important part of why I got baptized. Knowing the Book of Mormon is true allows all questions to fall into place. I readily admit that I have not been without questions and doubts about the church. I think that’s healthy. But I know that the Gospel can take my questions, and I know it because the Book of Mormon is true. I know that God wants to answer our questions, and he does that through the subtle promptings of the Holy Spirit. I know that God answer prayers, and I know that God loves us. I was still uncertain about a lot of things in the church when I got baptized. But what held me, and continues to hold me when I start to struggle, is the knowledge that the Book of Mormon is true. I get that we won’t always have all the answers, but I also understand that God wants to tell us everything. We just get in the way.

It has been four years to the day of my baptism, and since then I have had several tender experiences that have built my testimony in the Gospel, in the church, in modern prophets, in scripture, and most of all in Christ. I have gone from wearing white on my baptism day to wearing white on my wedding day, when I was sealed to my husband for all time and eternity in the Holy House of the Lord. I am very grateful for my family and their love despite a decision they didn’t agree with. I am especially grateful for the foundation on Christ they taught me from a young age. I am grateful for the Hoffman family and all their patience in teaching me, and for my devoted missionaries who didn’t give up on me. I’m grateful for church leaders who answered questions and blessed me with opportunities to grow in testimony. I’m grateful for the friends who’s testimonies have taught me so much.

Put simply, I’m just very grateful and very happy. I’m humbled by how much effort Heavenly Father puts into drawing His children closer to him. I know I made the right decision four years ago, and since then have grown closer to my Savior. I have had sacred experiences the further confirm my faith. I have felt the love of my Heavenly Father. I have felt the Holy Spirit testify truth to my soul. I don't understand everything. But I know what I know, and I will never turn my back on that.

 

The Elders who taught me, my best friend from high school and my sister from another mister at my baptism, March 19, 2010.

 

The elders who taught me and their wives drove up to Washington from Utah for our wedding, December 28, 2013

 

from wearing white to wearing white.

 

 Want to know more? Check out my profile at mormon.org

 

 

24 Reasons I got Married at 23

I tend to keep silent when it comes to online discussions, since they often become heated and accomplish little good. However, I keep coming across these blogged lists about things to do before getting engaged or married in your early 20s. I get where they’re coming from, and they make some really good points. I especially appreciate this one. As a woman in her early twenties who very recently got married, I thought it appropriate to post a response. The main two blogs I have seen have been the one I posted above, “24 Things to do Instead of Getting Married Before You’re 24,” and “23 Things to Do Instead of Getting Married at 23.” The latter is a good deal more bitter and elitist sounding than I am comfortable with, and I want to emphasize in no way am I telling anyone how to live their life. Lives are a mess of intricate details and experience, so complicated that no outsider can judge. In fact, the intricacies of life demand a little empathy for your fellow man. If you’re married, single, traveling the world, being a missionary, living out of your car or living in a townhouse in Manhattan, who can say that your life thus far and for years to come will be more or less fulfilled than mine? Just because I have been to France and you haven’t or that you have a sweet internship and I’m working graveyard shifts in no way says I’ve lived more or better or vice versa. That said, being married makes me no better and no worse a person but this is the path I have chosen for my life. And that’s the most important thing. That we chose our paths, and we have chosen what we think will make us happiest with the time and experiences we have been given. This is the path I chose, and this is why it has been the best decision I have ever made in my life.

That said,
24 Reasons Why I Got Married at 23   
1.    The most basic of reasons: I found “the one.” I don’t believe in fairy tales or soul mates, but…he’s it. I see no reason to prolong the inevitable when you know who you want to spend the rest of your life with.
2.    We are young enough that we can mold to one another. Neither one of us are completely set in our ways and it’s easier to meld a life together when neither one is hard as iron. We’re both still a bit soft and getting used to the meaning of “adulthood,” and together we can form healthy habits that complement one another.
3.    I believe marriage is the number one way we can be improved, because it’s all about selflessly letting go of your vices and petty desires and getting something much greater.
4.    Because I found a man with a heart for service that inspires me to love people better. Loving him teaches me to love others deeper and more unconditionally.
5.    Undeniably, life is hard. And I don’t think we’re supposed to go our entire lives facing it alone. In the two weeks we’ve been married, our car has broken down, we've been stranded for two days over 300 miles from home, and our apartment has flooded. As a woman who has been independent her whole life, it was ten times easier facing it all with your best friend.
6.    Because he makes me a better human being
7.    Because he makes me happy.
8.    Because it’s nice to always have someone to laugh with when life throws a curveball.
9.    Because we are stronger together than we are apart.
10.    We’re young enough to have adventures together still. Because how better to start off the journey of the rest of your life than to be with your best friend?
11.    I’ve noticed that many of my unmarried friends get really cynical about the idea of marriage as they get older and see so much tragedy, divorces and the like. We’re still bright eyed and bushy tailed with that optimism and determination that we are married for all time and eternity, no matter how the cookie crumbles.
12.    As a woman who lives her life based on Christian values, it’s nice to sleep in the same bed as the man I love.
13.    To start a family. America and the world needs more strong ones.
14.    I have dated enough guys that I know what I want. I’ve had my heart broken and I’ve broken a couple hearts in return. Vaughn is undoubtedly the one that I want.
15.    By marrying, you marry into another family, gaining another set of individuals who love and support you. And you will have them forever, no matter where or what happens because they’re your family.
16.    Because I know my husband will never hold me back from pursuing my dreams and I will always help him pursue his. That whole thing that you stop living life when you get married is a myth. When you have children, everything changes. You have to grow up a lot more. Marriage is just fun time and growing time with your best friend.
17.    Because I know that my husband loves me even when my true colors show. He loves me without makeup on, when I’m a set on finishing a project, when I throw a tantrum, when I am grumpy, when I make a huge mistake, when I get on his nerves, etc. That’s the kind of love money can’t buy.
18.    Because I firmly believe this is exactly where I am supposed to be for me personally in my life and in the life of my husband.
19.    My family adores him. Like, seriously. My grandma has already dubbed him her favorite, displacing all of her blood-related grandchildren. And I have been at his house almost weekly for the past three years, including Christmas, even when he was away for two of those years, so I think his family is alright with me.
20.    I strongly believe in the institution of marriage.
21.    Because I believe it is ordained of God to be married in His holy temple. I think marriage is where ultimate happiness lies.
22.    Because I believe our marriage in God’s holy temple will last not only in this life, but through all eternity.
23.    Because inevitably I am not a perfect person. Neither is he. I have many weaknesses that are his strengths. We complement each other well, and it makes challenges less scary when you have someone like that on your team.
24.    Because I have lived enough life doing what I wanted and growing and learning and traveling. I’ve done a lot of selfish things you can only do when you’re unmarried, including having one of the best jobs ever, last minute road trips, irresponsible late nights and all that happy goodness of young adulthood. It’s been fantastic and fun, no doubt. But honestly, having Vaughn is better. We will spend the rest of our young adulthood laughing and growing together. Vaughn is the puzzle piece that I felt more than ready to have click into place in my life and in my eternity.

The Shadow Proves the Sunshine

                I have been told that there is a syndrome frequently experienced by brides. I don’t know what it is called, but in its most basic explanation: “you just cry all the time.” I found that to be interesting, because a girl is supposed to be super duper happy when you’re about to marry the man of your dreams. Right? But when it comes down to it, you’re still a girl. And most girls just bubble and ooze with a minimum of 16 emotions in a moment, and taking that brimful teacup and adding a steady stream of life change and excitement and goodbyes, you’re bound to slosh over onto the saucer every once in a while. Or twice a week. Or hourly. I shouldn’t over generalize, so I won’t say this is the same experience for every woman, and I quickly recognize I am probably more emotional than most. But this is definitely a good summation of the past few weeks.

                My sister once told me that she never used to cry in sad movies, even when the most devastating, unthinkable thing happened. Until she met Dusty and fell in love with the man she was to marry. Now, she cries. I think a lot of it has to do with vulnerability. It takes shedding a layer or two (or several for many) of our hard skin to be in a relationship with someone, especially commit your eternity to one person. Allowing yourself to be completely open and bare to another, imperfect human being leaves you a lot softer than before. I think part of it is also just the encounter with something so good and wonderful, someone you didn’t think could exist, and realizing it could be yours. There have been so many times when I am sent reeling at the blessings I’ve been given, including my fiancé and my job and my family. So many moments where I look at Vaughn and think “I don’t deserve that.” The grace of God that allows you to have that happiness anyway, never questioning what you’ve done to get it, sends you to your knees in thanksgiving and humility. And makes you cry all the time, because what else do you do with all that emotion? It just bubbles up and leaks out your eye balls.

                As I prepare to make this tremendous life change, I realize marriage is the complete melding of two lives. That includes every single part of my life, and his life, including the hard stuff. And somehow, a lot of memories and pain and joy resurface out of nowhere. In preparing to knit the strands of my life with another, I am unraveling the whole roll to see what’s there that I’m actually giving. I’ve analyzed how I grew up and how I turned out how I did, why I do certain things. It’s not something anyone could have warned me about, and it leaves me welling up at the slightest provocation. A child running to his mother, Christmas music, getting a card from your former piano teacher. Through these tears, some happy, some sad, I’ve learned that some of my most valuable lessons were learned from some pretty terrible circumstances. Your heart has to break before God can put it together again. Silver isn’t worth anything until it has been refined in a crazy hot furnace. It was knowing heartbreak and experiencing life without Vaughn that made our life together so certain when he came back. It was life without the Gospel that makes it so important now. It’s the storms that brought me to where I am today—that is, being unbelievably, ridiculously happy. No one could have told me that I could be this happy. An explanation never would have been sufficient. I’ve realized I’m happy because of the trials, otherwise I would not have recognized the blessings. God knows us well, and he knows what lessons we need to learn most. And those are the curveballs he throws. The ones we need. He’s not being cruel, he’s making us strong. And he's making us happy.

                This Thanksgiving, I’m making my usual list of things I’m grateful for, but I’m starting with my trials. They say gratitude is the root of all other virtues, and I think it’s because it transforms all the negative into wonderful things. Being grateful is very much a tapping into the Atonement. It builds bridges to others and mends broken hearts. It helps us see God’s artful hand at work in the details of our lives. It’s basically a kidney punch to the Adversary and messes up his plan, and replaces it with the light and joy of a Heavenly Father. 

For the sake of brevity, I won’t elaborate on these, but here’s the Annual Thanksgiving List. This year, I am thankful for:

• My current 12-hour-graveyard-shift-blue-collar job. 
• Whitworth and picking a major I was not good at. 
• Whitworth’s price (and consequential debt)
• Circumstances of my childhood
• Never being rich.
• Having a six month engagement. 
• Knowing loneliness and heartbreak
• Not having the talents I wish I did
• Not getting everything I want
• Having to work for things
• Not being good at the things I enjoy
• Not growing up Mormon
• Being Mormon now
• Those who helped me become Mormon
• Those who helped me stay Mormon
• My mom, the epitome of sacrifice and charity
• Vaughn, my puzzle piece, the other half to my whole of eternity
• Elyssa, the no-nonsense, hilarious best friend
• My dad, the hardworking, practical business man
• My sister, a slightly different version of myself with a lot more strength and talent
• My brother, the hilarious, hardworking, persistent now-husband
• My grandma, the one who always pushed me and provided me the opportunity to do so
• My friends I still talk to from childhood
• My closest friends that aren’t really geographically close 
• The Durfee family that has adopted me in from the start
• Having a prophet on the earth to guide us
• Having a temple to connect to heaven with
• Living so close to so many temples
• Having a temple in Spokane
• My endowment
• Random acts of kindness
• My new normal-scheduled-schnazzy-lab job
• Selling my housing contract
• Vaughn selling his
• Finding an apartment in the right time
• Working for some of the best people in the world
• That little old woman in the temple who, upon realizing I was engaged, leaned over, squeezed my hand, and whispered to me “I’m a widow, and was married sixty years. Marriage is wonderful.” 
• Inspired local church leaders who took me under their wing
• The various role models for the kind of wife, mother, and woman I’m striving to become
• Being raised with music
• Having people that love me
• Sunshine
• Rainy days
• Sn—actually that’s false. I don’t think I can quite say I’m thankful for snow. I don’t get snow days anymore, so there’s not much use anymore
• Books, movies, articles, people, and experiences that force me to rethink my opinions and perspective
• Slam poetry (specifically the rarities without cussing)
• Post it notes to remind
• Working as an RA
• Vaughn’s safe return home from his mission
• Knowing that people love me
• Being well taken care of
• Not having all the answers, but knowing God can handle them
• Heating and cooling systems
• Sleep to renew us
• Chocolate for those hard days
• Those who saw potential in me
• Those who see in me what I cannot see myself
• Optimistic, happy people
• Genuinely good people who do genuinely good things
• People who use their talents to bless others
• Naps to cope
• Technology progressing to allow me to have access to people, places, and scriptures from my pocket.
• Water to cleanse us inside and out
• Second chances
• Grace
• Moments of inadequacy and resignations to do better
• Bridges being built
• Strong women who embody what it means to be a woman of God, both LDS and of other faiths
• Having a degree
• Unanswered questions
• The invention of treadmills
• The restored Gospel
• The amazing access to information we have
• My savior
• The adventure of living life eternal with your best friend beginning in 34 days

I am thankful that the shadow proves the sunshine. And this Thanksgiving I am thankful for hard things too.

“And if thou shouldst be cast into the pit, or into the hands of murderers, and the sentence of death passed upon thee; if thou be cast into the deep; if the billowing surge conspire against thee; if fierce winds become thine enemy; if the heavens gather blackness, and all the elements combine to hedge up the way; and above all, if the very jaws of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good.”
                                                               Doctrine & Covenants 122:7