Paradox is feeling the heat

Yesterday was a long day. I mean, I'm no stranger to statements like that--but seriously. Yesterday was a mess that it'll take me some time to sort through in my head.

We showed up to my father's funeral just before it started. In all honesty, it was something I wanted to get through as quickly as possible because I was extremely uncomfortable. Celebrating my father is something I've never been good about, and the fact that I was expected to in that setting was simply more than I could handle. I sat there silently, rigidly, trying to find some good in what I was doing, or at least for the end of whatever it was that was in store for me.

Just as in life, and the management of his affairs in death, his funeral was a tribute to the one fact about my father that I cannot escape, not even in my own behavior--he could never do anything half way. Just when you think what you planned will go smoothly, completely uninterrupted by the more unpredictable and toxic aspects of the full reality in which you actually live, memories enter--bare backed and scantily clad in some kind of mocking black, a constant reminder of the ghosts that may not take you down, but will be lurking in doorways until the day you die. Anger rises instantly, your back seizes with stress, and while you may forget to breathe, the desire to pray and live is stronger than your demons anymore.

Heavenly Father, please help mine unbelief. Protect me from these memories, that anger that threatens to destroy me at every moment. Help me to find unshakable faith in thy Son's Atonement. Lord, PLEASE save me. Forsake not thy handmaid. Lord, please help mine unbelief.

Over and over again, no matter how many times it takes. Do not open your eyes until you feel human again, or you will be taken under again.

The pastor, a confused, quivering man that--if he isn't in his eighties, looks as if he could be--bears a message to your deaf ears; he seems to know things that you ought to. But revelation never promised wisdom, and it's time you took some from the people who offer it--the fact that your father was not a monster, and he "wanted to do good." Let those words sink in deeply, as hard as it will be for you to trust them.

Lord, please help mine unbelief...


A memorial service, a circus, a refiner's fire... for me, it was all of these things--maybe more. One thing is certain: I'm no longer the believer I thought I was. I will either remain the grandest hypocrite of a fraud of them all, or I will become that sincere believer I always hoped, imagined, and promised--nay, even covenanted--I would be. I will either be the impurity that rises to the surface, or the purified silver right next to the heat.

I just began reading the Book of Mormon again, and I'm rapidly returning to the chapters about the liahona--that "ball of curious workmanship."

Curious? Curious, indeed...

Paradox begins again

Honour thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.

You'll notice the above statement is one of the Ten Commandments. As I prepare to make the decision about whether to go to my father's funeral tomorrow or not, it has been on my mind a lot the past week or so.

My father died in a high speed chase that was covered on the news in at least two states, and made the front page of the local paper. As the next-of-kin, it became my responsibility to decide what to do with his body--something I never imagined would happen, nor would I have chosen. Upon trying to respect his final wishes to have his body used for scientific research, the mangled state of his body made it impossible to preserve, and different arrangements had to be made. We decided that donating him to the Anatomy Gift Registry would be the most respectful way to accomodate the circumstances--until it was discovered from the toxocology report that he likely died with a highly contagious infectious disease and his wishes could no longer be met at all. Not only that, but for the safety of my family and myself, as well as those who came into contact with him, testing must now be completed to ensure that we were not infected with the disease. These past two weeks have been days of grief and fear that are only comparable to the hell in which I spent my earlier years with this man when he was alive. One thing has become painfully obvious: he could never do anything halfway, and the price that my family has continually paid for his behavior has certainly been high because of that.

Yesterday was probably the hardest day for me as far as emotional repercussions are concerned because of the exhaustion I had brought upon myself with long days and even longer nights. I could have given Jonah a run for his money for how much I just wanted Ninevah to burn. I had not only lost the Spirit, I had practically chased it away from me at the slightest suggestion that honoring such a dishonorable man would be the right thing to do. In my mind, even this was his fault as I nursed my hurt wounds by refusing to allow them to heal, I suppose in some kind of warped hope that they would stand as a testimony against him somehow. But my place in his life was never a judge--a witness at best, but never a judge--and the fact that he has died does not change that at all.

After almost twelve hours of sleep, I feel much better. Our trials are far from over, and the love I'm supposed to feel for everyone involved is coming along slowly, but I'm really trying to keep myself together. It doesn't help that every time I thought the storm was over, something even worse would come along and completely submerge me again, but I honestly don't see how it could get any worse from here. They have to get better from here--and even if they couldn't, I'm going to believe they can, that things will get better from here, and I'll even be happy.

Whether it's once this is all over, or right away, or some time down the road--it doesn't matter. I don't have to be scared anymore. I don't have to be angry, or guarded against a million other things that I could feel, or things that could happen. For the first time in my life, I'm not afraid that some crazy person is going to come crashing through my sliding glass door and knife everyone in my house.

If that's where I have to start on my road to full happiness, then that's where I start.

To Terah

And so we wander, in grief, towards the sun... is she rising, or setting?... How fragmented is our life, if not our reason for living?... How could I have known that such tears


would fall...


For days I prayed
For the right way
To pull covers and eternity

Over my head and dreams
would instead

Descend, in loving haze
A constellation daze

That would spell his name
Somewhere between Abraham

and home...

I never knew
how to bury you
Into a blinking sky

So now I will try

the ground.

Paradox is a talker--constructively, as it turns out

I gave a talk in the Singles Ward today. You can find it over at WatersofMormon.org where I also contribute. I won't be re-posting the content of my talk here, but I do have some goodies to share here.

Those who choose to go over to Waters and read the talk will see that it isn't your typical Mother's Day talk. I noticed that myself and wondered if it was appropriate. It then occurred to me that I would only be sent with such a message if it was necessary, so I pressed forward, and I see now that it's a good thing I did.

While I was giving my talk, I had the unique experience of receiving impressions about my audience as I was speaking--knowing, at times, when what I was saying applied to certain members in the room. One young woman stood out to me in particular. I've never met or seen her before, nor did I completely understand what her situation was, nor was I even certain that what I was feeling was an impression at the time.

It wasn't until Sunday school that things became clear to me. Our lesson was on the Kirtland Temple. I shared a comment about the timetable of the Lord and how God has a better idea of what is needful than we do because He understands how things not only affect us, but those around us. The woman I noticed earlier then raised her hand to speak.

She shared that she was a child of a closed adoption, and she has sought her birth mother throughout her life. She said she agreed with what I said because after years of searching, she just recently found her maternal grandparents in the phone book, and she trusts that it was all in the timing of the Lord.

Out of all the people that told me how much they enjoyed my talk, her compliments resonated with me the most because I can see the hand of the Lord in our meeting, and it makes my heart swell to know that I accomplished my purpose--and to see that in someone else's life. I can honestly say that I put everything I had into the message I brought, and I trust that she will know this some day.

I pray that she will be fortunate and protected on her journey and in her search for peace and truth.

Paradox's Joy

The past week has been nothing short of incredible. I've learned from experience, over and over again, that prayers are always answered in the infinite wisdom of that God who treasures the truest happiness of all of His children. I thought my experiences in Manti were beyond anything I could have ever hoped for? I see now in hindsight that Heavenly Father was only warming up as far as the extension of blessings is concerned.

The day I spent in Temple Square with my mother, grandmother, and a dear friend of mine was so marvelous as to be completely beyond anything I could have asked for except through the deepest desires of my heart. To have all of us surrounded by sister missionaries, by testimony, history, scripture, and the truth that has come to be so essential to everything that I am, to my joy, to life itself... to finally see blossoms in front of me from such a long sowing season--how do I BEGIN to express the joy that came to my heart to be a part of the harvest? God lives! He loves His children and hears their prayers! He may answer them in His own time based upon the fullest understanding and fulfillment of His law, but answer them He does! I watched this happen! After months of begging, pleading, praying for answers about what to say to my mother, I heard in the testimonies of those missionaries what she needed most to hear--about the workings of the Spirit. Witness and instruction came to me that day as we travelled about Temple Square. We watched the Joseph Smith movie together, and they could see in the sincerest tears of my heart's devotion how much I treasure Joseph Smith, what his life and death means to me even though I've never met him personally. Paintings and symbolic portrayals of that holiest love between Heavenly Father and His children--magnificent in every detail.

By the end of the day, my mom turned to me while we were in a church history art museum and said that she felt that she was finally beginning to understand what it means to enter the temple. "You have to live it, breathe it, love it, know it, teach it, preach it... otherwise, why would they let you in?"

I almost cried. "Exactly," I said simply. I never thought I'd hear from her such a beautiful expression of everything the temple is. That in itself is a most precious gift I will treasure forever.

My grandmother's experience in the temple was much quieter, with the few parts of it that were most remarkable. She was invited by one sister missionary to fill out an information card, and my grandmother explained to them--upon declining their offer of a visit from missionaries in her home--that she had my friend and I to be her example of what our church is about. That was quite a sobering moment for me, because I admit that I wasn't the best example in the time we were all together. While I was trying very hard to control myself, I can't say I was always successful with keeping my temper in check. I didn't give up though, and I prayed not only for patience, but that they could at least see how hard I was trying for them. That's one thing I wish I could show them--how much of what I do in the church is for all of us, for the preparation of our place together, in hopes that they will some day be willing to be a part of this great work with me.

That's something that, perhaps, I was hesitant to believe in enough to ask for it, to hope for it, to work towards as an end for fear of the disappointment. But after such a beautiful experience in Utah, I know I cannot be afraid to hope as far as the reaches of my imagination will stretch. There is no happiness, no horizon too far away if I will be believing and willing to travel the distance. How glorious and full is this joy I've found in His plan for my life!

And yet, this is only the beginning. I see now that I cannot even begin to fathom His power to bless me. What great joys are ahead if I will only be obedient and believing?

That question alone fills the darkest reaches of my mind with the brightest light.