To Cast Out All Fear

It is a natural fact of basic physics that light and dark cannot occupy the same space at the same time.  Light, in itself, is both particle and wave.  However, the space that is occupied by a spectrum of light is not dually occupied by something which is categorically called the absence of light—darkness.

The same is true with faith and fear.  The two cannot exist in the same heart at the same time.  They may take turns from moment to moment, but one always wins out over the other at any given instant. 

So where does fear come from?

“For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind,” (2 Tim. 1:7).

Fear comes not from God, but from the imagination and cunning of the Adversary.  Solomon called fear a snare (Prov. 29:25), one used by Satan to stunt our spiritual progression, and ‘interrupt [our] rejoicings’ (Alma 30:22).  The only type of fear the Lord usually employs is fear of the consequences of sin which leads us to repentance, which, ironically, if it were not for Satan’s deceptions in the first place, there would be no need for God to employ it.  This is why the prophets in every dispensation have been very honest and forthcoming about the consequences of sin.  They, “did threaten the people… that if they did not keep the commandments, they should be destroyed.  For they did prick their hearts with the word, continually stirring them up to repentance,” (Jarom 1:10, 12).

The times the Lord uses fear are usually sparse and he has given us the promise, “Whosoever belongeth to my church need not fear,” (D&C 10:55).  This is defining “belong to the church” as those who are faithful in keeping the commandments. 

But it is hard not to fear.  In a world of terror, where do we find the peace that we seek?  It is not that people of faith are somehow blind and unaware of what’s going on around them—oh no—in fact, I know of no other people that are acquainted with the ugly side of the world better than people who fight against it.

The peace we seek comes from a few words in the scriptures. 

Confidence:

In English, the word confidence carries a similar ring to that of the word confirm.  It also holds part of the root of fidelity.  So confidence is the confirmation that our fidelity to God is acceptable to him, and that we can honestly stand before him knowing we have done our best.  It also contains the firm resolve that one is capable, with God’s help, of doing hard things and overcoming large challenges.  It is evident in the scriptures that confidence is contingent upon righteousness.  “Let virtue garnish thy thoughts unceasingly, and then shall thy confidence wax strong in the presence of God,” (D&C 121:45).  When we place our confidence in God, we are promised success.  “For the LORD shall be thy confidence, and shall keep thy foot from being taken,” (Prov 3:26).

Courage:

Courage is the ability to conquer fear or unwaveringness in the face of fear.  It is demonstrated in the scriptures and in the lives of the saints.  One example is a group of young men faced with the task of saving their lands, countrymen, and religion. 

“ …that never had I seen so great courage...  For as I had ever called them my sons (for they were all of them very young) even so they said unto me: Father, behold our God is with us, and he will not suffer that we should fall; then let us go forth; we would not slay our brethren if they would let us alone; therefore let us go, lest they should overpower the army of Antipus.  Now they never had fought, yet they did not fear death; and they did think more upon the liberty of their fathers than they did upon their lives; yea, they had been taught by their mothers, that if they did not doubt, God would deliver them. And they rehearsed unto me the words of their mothers, saying: We do not doubt our mothers knew it,” (Alma 56:45-48).

The courage of these young men was above that of the grown men of society.  The source of their courage was faith.  Courage and confidence come from faith, are maintained by faith, and find their end together with the end of faith.  In fact, in many languages, faith and confidence are the same word.  These young men understood, because of their faith, a promise and protection that they may have read about for themselves: “Fear not, for they that be with us are more than they that be with them,” (2 Kings 6:16).  There is nothing written in the scriptural record, but I like to imagine them, like Elisha, surrounded by unseen heavenly helpers in that battle as well, giving real testimony to the Savior’s promise, “I will fight your battles,” (D&C 105:14).

So it is with us as we move forward.  We must look for the keys necessary for us to have the blessings of courage and confidence.  “There is a law, irrevocably decreed in heaven before the foundations of this world, upon which all blessings are predicated-- And when we obtain any blessing from God, it is by obedience to that law upon which it is predicated,” (D&C 130:20-21). Often times, we misunderstand this scripture.  We think it is all about obeying specific commandments and receiving specific blessings.  Certainly verse 21 points to that, but at the beginning, it talks about the key to all courage: A LAW—one law upon which all blessings we receive are predicated.  

That law is faith in Jesus Christ.  That is why it is the first principle of his gospel preparatory to the reception of every blessing.

Faith is an action.  It is putting into action the hope that God is there, that he loves us, and that he gives us directions for our own good.  Faith is manifest in obedience.  As we obey, we receive faith as a “reward for personal righteousness.”  As faith grows, so does our courage.  We will find ourselves new people, doing and saying things in the confidence of he who sent us and whose instructions we are obeying.  If you are afraid, obey the commandments, the counsel of the prophets, and the voice of the Holy Spirit who adapts them all to your personal circumstances; you will find courage you may never have thought you could have.  

There is one more way in which fear is dispelled and courage enforced.  It was spoken of by Christ when he outlined the 2 great commandments:  “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself,” (Matt. 22:37-40).

When we think of a hero, we sometimes envision the brightly-colored tights wearing, masked characters of the silver screen.  In these movies, the hero endures pain, suppresses fear and despair, and risks everything to save those they love, and sometimes those they don’t even know.  Perhaps they took a page from Mosiah when it says of his sons, “They could not bear that any human soul should perish; yeah, even the very thought… did cause them to quake and tremble,” (Mosiah 28:3).  These heroes endure much.  There is one who “descended below them all,” but who now stands above us all.  On a piece of paper with a leaky blue pen in Outer Mongolia, I wrote something that I think expresses how I feel.  I’d like to share it:

I’d like to tell you about my hero.

I’ve never met him; I’ve never even seen his face.

Like the masked figures in a movie, his face was hidden from me, and before I could truly say ‘thank you’ in words, he was gone from sight just as every moment slips silently into the next.

I felt his embrace briefly as he grabbed me from the fire—but it has never left me, and he left something burning in my heart.

He was a King, and yet saw me in danger and came to rescue me.

In a dark hour, he descended, walked into the fires of death and hell before me enduring every burn, every scald until the fire was quenched—and after, he plunged into the dark, thick abyss below, beneath the suffocating pressure of a placed called ‘Olive Press.’

As I lay beaten, scalded, crushed, and panting, he fought my captor face to face, his only weapon a heavy block of wood and a few nails. 

I watched him endure the wounds of that battle.  I sat helplessly as he gave everything—all alone because all had forsaken him.

As I watched, I could not help but weep because I knew I was unworthy of such devotion.  And when at last his enemy was slain, he looked up and declared, ‘It is finished.’

My bonds were loosed, but still I never saw his face for myself—only from a distance.  He endured this all, because, as he said, ‘I love you—perfectly.’  

As I ran from my chains, a note was left in the place he had fought saying, ‘As I have loved you… love one another.’

He loved me with a pure love called charity.  All he asked of me was to love others perfectly as he had done.

He knew that if I could do that, I would not fear—I could be as brave as he was—for ‘perfect love casteth out all fear.’

Grace Will Lead Me Home

I have thought lately about the term “Christian.”  It was originally used as an epithet against early believers in Jesus by the Romans who considered them contemptible.  Nowadays, the term has a completely different meaning.  It means a follower, a disciple, and a student of Christ.  Above all, a Christian is one who strives, as Jesus said, to be like him (3 Nephi 27:27).

In all my musings on the subject, I started asking myself not only WWJD (What Would Jesus Do?) but HDJD—How did Jesus do?

Often Jesus talked about the glory he had before he came to the earth.  However, Paul teaches that Christ, in essence, had to start over.  “Who, being in the form of God… made himself of no reputation and took upon him the form of a servant, and was made in the likeness of men… [and] humbled himself and became obedient unto death,” (Philippians 2:6-8).  The early Greek manuscripts use the word kenosis meaning “pour out.”  When Christ came to earth to be our Savior, he was emptied and having to begin anew as a mortal man.

Luke says that Christ, as a teenager, “increased in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and man,” (Luke 2:52).  He had to grow.  So how did he progress in such a perfect, sinless way?

John, his relative and friend, said about his development, “He received not of the fullness at the first, but received grace for grace; and he received not of the fullness at first, but continued from grace, until he received a fullness; and thus he was called the Son of God,” (D&C 93:12-14). There is a reason “grace for grace” is repeated so often.  Jesus relied on a gift of God called GRACE.

Grace can be called the enabling power of God.  It is this power that enabled Christ to learn and grow rapidly, completely unretarded by the effects of sin.  It is the grace of God that fortified him and made it possible to resist all sin.  It is the inherent grace of his Sonship that gave him power over death.  So too is grace a power given to us in measure that not only saves us at death, but that helps us to do good and do all the things God has asked of us.

So who receives this gift here and now?  The Apostle James teaches us, “But he giveth more grace.  Wherefore he saith, God resisteth the proud but giveth grace unto the humble,” (James 4:6).  God gives his grace to those who will humbly recognize where it came from.  How does real humility come?  It comes in the realization of Paul, “By the grace of God I am what I am… I labored more abundantly than they all; yet not I, but the grace of God which was in me,” (1 Cor. 15:10).  It is a realization that every good deed we do is not really us, but God’s grace, his wisdom and love that is passed through us to accomplish good.  After all, the way God usually answers the prayers of his children is through his other children.  Humility comes not only in that realization, but also in light of our weaknesses.

Christ tells us, “If men come unto me, I will show them their weakness.  I give unto men weakness that they may be humble,” (Ether 12:27).  Our weakness is a sign of the love of God, for it gives us the opportunity to be humble so that we may qualify for this help.  The Savior adds, “And my grace is sufficient for all men who humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.”

Paul, in a rare moment of public introspection, described his experience this way:

“And lest I should be exalted above measure through the abundance of the revelations, there was given to me a thorn in the flesh, the messenger of Satan to buffet me…  For this thing I besought the Lord thrice, that it might depart from me.  And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness,” (2 Cor. 12:7-9).   Three times Paul asked for help.  Notice how aid was not immediate.  His faith was tried.  But, he says, “When I am weak, then am I strong.”

Twice we see the phrase “my grace is sufficient.”  What does God mean when he says it?  He is giving us a promise that in whatever he asks of us, he will give us the grace, the power, and the ability to perform it and endure it happily.  This may extend to responsibilities in church, in our families, to our friends, to our spouse, or in the biding of the storm of a heart-wrenching trial.  He is promising that, though it may seem like more than we are able to bear, his power is enough for us because all things are in his hands; he will not leave us powerless.

The only condition for this promise is that we are humble enough to ask for it.  Then we will receive as he promised when he said, “Ask, and ye shall receive, knock, and it shall be opened unto you,” (D&C 4:7).

Examples of this are everywhere.  Missionaries learn seemingly impossible languages in months and endure weather and conditions into which no normal person would want to venture.  They talk to strangers daily and are asked to lead groups of people much more experienced than they are.  The pressure of persecution often lies squarely on their shoulders.  They are given an added measure of grace to accomplish their work—but not without a price. 

We often ask, “Why is this so hard?”  One answer rings loudly.  Jeffrey R. Holland said, “You will have occasion to ask those questions. I have thought about this a great deal. I offer this as my personal feeling. I am convinced that [life] is not easy because salvation is not a cheap experience.  Salvation never was easy.   We are the Church of Jesus Christ… How could we believe it would be easy for us when it was never, ever easy for Him?  It seems to me that [we all] have to spend at least a few moments in Gethsemane… to take at least a step or two toward the summit of Calvary.”

Every person has their own Gethsemane and takes a few steps toward Calvary.  It is because of these few steps that we learn to be humble enough to receive the grace of God and to become acquainted with God.  We understand a bit of what the Savior experienced.  It is in those moments of humble desperation that we begin to see our strengths.

In the early summer of 2009, I was living in a relatively comfortable apartment in Ulaanbaatar, capital city of Mongolia.  I began to notice a slight pain in my chest after fighting off strep throat the week before.  Monday morning, I was preparing to teach on the topic of grace.  I had felt like it was exactly what my small group of young missionaries needed because of the difficulties we had all faced the previous weeks.  As I boarded the bus, my chest started pounding in pain.

Later, I found out that I had developed a condition called pericarditis—an inflammation of the outer lining of the heart where nerves are densely packed and particularly sensitive.  Every time my heart beat, it felt as if a large man was shoving the full weight of his leg and body into my sternum.  Each breath added exponentially to the pain.  It was so bad that I couldn’t stand or sit up correctly.

As we began discussing grace, I apologized to my friends that were waiting to hear something to lift them up because I couldn’t speak very well and couldn’t stand to write on the board.  So two of my friends, Chimeddavaa and Urangoo, shared experiences from their work with the large hearing impaired group they had grown to love so much.  They talked to us about the power of those simple moments when, despite the exhaustion and emotional depletion of feeling that your best is not enough, God makes you strong—he makes you enough. 

As they finished talking, I found the strength to stand and tell my friends that I knew that God was there, that he is aware of us, that he loves us, and that we were engaged in letting our brothers and sisters know about that love.  The moment our lesson ended, I collapsed back into my chair, tears being forced from my eyes by the piercing pain in my heart which seemed to cut at every blood vessel in my body.  I was at my breaking point.  It was at this time that I received a simple message from my Heavenly Father—just wait.  Be patient.  This was not what I wanted to hear.

For three days, I sat at a 45 degree angle.  Lying down put pressure on my chest.  Sitting up forced my heart to work harder.  I could barely speak.  Peter, my good friend, took care of me.  He cooked for me, organized work, and waited on me every hour of those excruciating days.

After the most physically painful three days of my life were over, I felt my heart was much stronger than before, both in a literal and figurative sense.

The mother who has spent the third night in a row tending to a crying child in the middle of the night, rocking the ever distraught baby in an effort to somehow rock away her own sadness; the anxious father, emotionally broken and physically exhausted in working three jobs to support a young family with no guarantee of where their next meal will come from; the struggling student, alone in a new place having to make a life of their own, fighting off sleep to finish their paper and study for a final exam that taxes the uttermost part of their mental capacity and their sanity; the worried parents whose child feels lost; the childless couple yearning for someone they can love unconditionally; the one who has spent hours at their bedside pleading for help on behalf of their beloved friend; the lonely and depressed soul; all these can find that, wherever they are, God can make their best enough.  His grace is sufficient.  He promised, “I will not leave you comfortless,” (John 14:18).

Some of the prophet Moroni’s last words bring to mind our goal to become like Christ: “Come unto Christ and be perfected in him, and deny yourselves of all ungodliness; and if ye deny yourselves of all ungodliness and love God with all your might, mind, and strength, then is his grace sufficient for you, that by his grace ye may be perfect in Christ… and yet are sanctified in Christ by the grace of God,” (Moroni 10:32-33).

As we seek this enabling power daily and as we develop to become more like Christ, by the approving eye of Providence and by his will, Christ will give us what we need to make it.  Take hold upon that power. 

The song says it better than I:

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.

T'was Grace that taught my heart to fear.
And Grace, my fears relieved.
How precious did that Grace appear
The hour I first believed.

Through many dangers, toils and snares
I have already come;
'Tis Grace that brought me safe thus far
and Grace will lead me home.

The Lord has promised good to me.
His word my hope secures.
He will my shield and portion be,
As long as life endures.

Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
And mortal life shall cease,
I shall possess within the veil,
A life of joy and peace.

As the promise says, “Behold, ye are little children and ye cannot bear all things now; ye must grow in grace and in the knowledge of the truth.  Fear not, little children, for you are mine, and I have overcome the world, and you are of them that my Father hath given me.  And none of them that my Father hath given me shall be lost,” (D&C50:40-42).

Grace will lead us home.

Worry vs Concern: Do Your Best and Leave the Rest to God

I have been called in the past a chronic worrier.  I cared about what I cared about and no one would tell me differently.  I cared about those dear to me and I couldn’t rest until they were taken care of.  I was impulsive and unrestrained.

I realized some years ago that if I had continued that, I would be swallowed in a self-destructive web of anxiety for those for whom I felt responsible.  As I prepare to become a husband and, eventually, a father, I realize that there are weights that I cannot lift, no matter how noble my desires to save the world or at least one person in it.

While in Mongolia, I was once asked if I was worried about two of my friends.  To this day, I have no idea how Byambasuren knew.  She knew that I had been worried about my good friends because they were so concerned about three of their deaf students that they had lost sleep and weight.  She simply said, “You’ll know what to tell them.”  I just sat in silence.  I didn’t have an answer.

Later that night, I had one revolutionary question: What is the difference between worry and concern? And does it matter in our spiritual lives?

There are many people for whom we are responsible.  Sometimes it can be overwhelming.  But we are assured that everything will be all right, and those whom God has committed to our care, whether it be friends, students, or even our own children, will be watched over by the Lord in his wisdom.

I know of a mother of ten, most of which are grown now, who had great anxiety for her children.  Her husband had a myriad of jobs from bass guitar player in a rock and roll show band that played in casinos and clubs, social work, and finally earning a Ph D.  For many years, they struggled with money and feelings of anxiety as they were constantly on the road for all of 10+ years.  With such a large family, over the years the woman learned the power of prayer and diligently teaching her children the principles of happiness.  Though she always tried with all her might, at times feelings of inadequacy and frustration over her own limitations were sure to creep in.  At, times, after an argument with her teenage son who had said unkind things, she would go to her room, lock the door, and shed tears over her feelings of having not taught her son well, or that in some way, she was losing him.  When she came out of her room, she would wipe off the tears and come out with renewed determination to make her home a place where the Spirit of God could dwell and where her children could be brought up in light and truth.  The anxiety did not overwhelm her, and darkness never conquered her.  To this day, she remains with a bit of that anxiety, but conquers it through sincerity, prayer, and knowledge of the God’s promises.

I know this woman very well.  I’ve known her my entire life because she is my mother.  How I admire her courage.  The memories of what she taught will always remain with me.

Perhaps no one knows better than our Heavenly Father the anxiety of a parent.  In one of the most tender moments recorded in scripture, God weeps, and in answer to Enoch’s question of how a perfect being like God could weep, answers in essence My children won’t listen, they won’t choose me, and they hate their own family (Moses 7:33).

He knows what it is like to have a son rebel, and I’m sure he wept bitterly that day when he was forced to send Lucifer away with a third of his children (D&C 76:26).

But God, in his infinite wisdom, as he told Enoch, looked and saw his work and glory and all those who would come home through the Atonement of his son.  He did not allow others’ choices to affect, for too long at least, his perfect happiness.  He felt the pain deeply, but he knows that one day his children will come back.  To all you parents, follow the example of a Heavenly parent who sees his children fail 7 billion times a day—but who knows beauty of the end result.  Pray and don’t worry.

When I was younger, I had an especially hard time dealing with depression and anxiety; sleepless nights and restless hours were my companions often.  In a conversation I had with a counselor while in Mongolia, I learned an important lesson:

Concern is when we show care for others and do all we can for them within the bounds of things we can actually control.  We do everything in our power to help those around us, especially those we love, and for whom we are responsible.  Worry is dwelling on the dreaded what if’s of life when we have no control over what the outcome is. 

Concern is from God.  Worry is from Satan and is a condition of mortality. 

God doesn’t worry, but rather he shows concern.  This is why he gives us commandments—instructions, scriptures, living prophets, and especially the Holy Spirit.  He has also given us agency for us to choose the path upon which we will travel.  The consequences are ours to see.  It is because he cares for us that he allows us to choose ill, or allow the result of terrible choices to affect and sometimes hurt his other children.  In the end, all losses are made up and repaid ten-fold.

The prophet Jacob understood that worry for those for whom we are responsible is counter-productive in the work of the Lord and in life.  Because of his calling and because of his anxiety, he moved to action: “And ye yourselves know that I have hitherto been diligent in the office of my calling; but I this day am weighed down with much more desire and anxiety for the welfare of your souls than I have hitherto been,” (Jacob 2:3).

If you are worried, move to action.  Do all you can—all the Lord allows you to do in your sphere of influence, and leave the rest to the care of the Lord.  Realize, as Jacob did, that over-anxiety over things you cannot control disrupts the Spirit.  He said he would teach the people, “…if I do not, by any means, get shaken from my firmness in the Spirit, and stumble because of my over anxiety for you,” (Jacob 4:18).

As always, the Savior is our perfect example:

Before his final hours, the Savior met with and taught his disciples and best friends essential principles and ordinances that would be of effect for them later.  Though he must have been weighed down with grief for himself and for the pain he was about to endure as he performed the Atonement, he turned toward his disciples, teaching and serving them.

Probably lurking in the back of his mind were things that he knew would make him want to worry.  He knew and had prophesied that one of his closest associate would betray him, and for a measly 30 pieces of silver—knowing full well “it had been good for that man if he had not been born” (Matt 26:24), having an idea of the punishment that awaits him in eternity.

Christ knew that the disciples would leave him and all would be offended (Matt 26:31) and that even the impulsive and strong willed Peter would deny him three times (Matt 26:33-35).  He knew the scripture of Isaiah when he spoke of the Messiah, “I have trodden the wine press alone, and of the people, there was none with me… and I looked, and there was none to help; and I wondered that there was none to uphold [me],” (Isaiah 63:3, 5).  He knew he would do it all alone.  Yet he was not afraid, nor did he fall to the anxiety of the overwhelmingness of the task of saving us and drinking the bitter cup—alone.

Beyond that in time, he knew of the persecution that awaited his chosen few.  He had told them plainly, “Then shall they deliver you up to be afflicted and shall kill you; and ye shall be hated of all nations for my name’s sake.  And then shall many be offended, and shall betray one another, and shall hate one another.  And many false prophets shall rise and deceive many,” (Matt 24:9-11). 

Perhaps as he said so, he looked into the eyes of James, his close friend, knowing that, in time, he would be beheaded by Herod Agrippa, or knowing of Peter’s eventual fate of crucifixion, addressed it to him in a direct stare.  Furthermore, he knew that, at one point, his church would entirely fail because of the hatred of the people of the world, because of their agency.  They murdered his friends, yet he paid the price for that crime too.  His heart must have ached, knowing what they would have to endure.  He even told Peter, “But I have prayed for thee that thy faith fail not,” (Luke 22:32).

With this knowledge, though Christ had ample opportunity and probably a right to be anxious and worried on their behalf, and though he could have asked God for anything and it would have been given to him, though he could have asked that his friends be spared the pain, the suffering, and the loneliness, he simply said, in acceptance of the Father’s will, “I pray for them,” (John 17:9).

Christ had no fear, no anxiety, nor did he worry, but, in concern for them, doing what was within his power and the will of God to do, he prayed to the Father earnestly and sincerely for them and left the rest to the care and tenderness of the Father—our Father.

In this time of uncertainty and anxious hearts, when our tendency to worry of the position and situation of those we love is overpowering, when we know they will be in danger, when we know they are falling and wounded, I hope that we will keep in mind whose plan this is, and who turns the world in its course.

As long as we are doing all we can, we have a right to the peace that comes from knowing we have done our best for us and others to receive God’s help.  The Lord will never ask you to do something you cannot handle with his assistance.  This is true of your loved ones.

There is a balance we try to find in life: “It is not requisite that a man should run faster than he has strength.  And again it is expedient that he should be diligent, that thereby he might win the prize,” (Mosiah 4:27).  The balance is in not making excuses but not pushing ourselves past what we can do in our sphere of influence or what the Lord even wants us to do.

As we keep ourselves in tune with the Spirit, we will know what is expedient for us in finding that balance, so that we can be assured that we and those we love will be saved by the grace of God “after all we can do,” (2 Nephi 25:23).  Doing all we can ensures us peace in that grace.

When I was in high school, there was a family in our church congregation whose son was a young and talented horseman.  He fell ill and passed away quickly despite constant fasting and prayers.  Shortly after, I remember a poem the father wrote, the first line of which will always stay with me: “We always say, ‘Thy will be done,’ but it’s so hard when it’s your son.”

Though he and his family had done all they could for their son, the Lord still called him home.  Despite our best efforts, sometimes we must still accept the will of the Lord in his larger plans and the conditions of mortality that do not conform to our will.  This is when faith becomes our greatest asset and trust in Heavenly Father becomes our support.  How wonderful it was for that family to know that God had prepared a way for their family to be together again never to be separated.  I’m sure their son is waiting patiently for them.

As we strive to fulfill the large responsibilities God has given us, remember these principles.  You will receive inspiration for your children if you seek it.  You will receive direction for those you are asked to care for if you balance it.

No matter what the situation, do all you can, and leave the rest to God.  Be optimistic and assured of his love and that he knows best.  This leads to the optimism that allows us to say, “Things will work out.  Stay positive, keep trying; don’t get discouraged.  Things will work out.”  Who knows, we may end up being the ones who give this advice to another worried child of God.

As we trust in God to take care of the things that we cannot, we will have the peace of knowing he is there.  The answer may come with the simple and sweet assurance, “Pray.  He is there.  Speak.  He is listening.”

You Have to Believe There’s Reason for Hope

Within my short life, a lot has occurred.  September 11^th happened before my 13 year old eyes.  The two large scale wars that ensued still see conflict ten years after it was first thought we had reason to enter a war.  I returned home from Mongolia to find the economy in the worst condition it has seen since the Great Depression.  I worry about being able to get a job after graduation.  This afternoon, I saw videos of the devastation of a tsunami in Japan and debris floating across the Pacific.

Short of the outward unrest, I have always struggled to find a way to live well.  Inner storms rage all the time.  College is a time in which we are supposed to find ourselves, but it often feels like I am missing something that everyone else seems to get.  Many of the people dearest to me now find themselves carrying burdens so heavy they feel as if they are about to collapse.  All my life I have been the type to try to lift and share that yoke.  But I know that there are some lessons that are best learned through one’s own experience.  I struggle to accept the fact that there may be nothing I can do to make that experience any less wrenching.

But there is one concept that has always been my anchor.

The story is told of a family of young women being led by a mother whose husband is fighting in the Civil War.  The second daughter, the one cohesive and indefatigably positive influence in all their lives, contracts scarlet fever and dies shortly thereafter.  The mother, in an attempt to bring some comfort to herself and her heartbroken daughter, sings passionately, “You have to believe there’s reason for hope.”

When our hearts are bitter, wounded, and torn, we may simply ask, “What is that reason?”

When things are bleak and depressing, we often call it dark.  Hope, in contrast, could be compared to light.  Said the wise man, “Press forward … with a perfect brightness of hope,” (2 Nephi 31:20).  Hope is a desire to believe in something better despite present conditions.

I often find myself asking the question, “Why are people afraid of the dark?”  The eventual answer that I come to is very simple—we can’t see what is around us.  The most terrifying thing in life is the unknown.  When lives hang by a thread in a hospital, when spiritual self-destruction seems to be decided by a coin toss, and when the future is unclear, our minds have a tendency to assume the worst.  That kind of uncertainty can hurt—deeply.

Several years ago, my sister gave birth to triplets almost two months prematurely.  All three boys had terrible health problems in the first months of their lives that threatened to be fatal at the slightest turn.  I could hear her voice tremble as she called asking to talk to mom.  The thought that she might lose any one of her precious little boys was probably the worst thing her mind could conceive.  She was in the midst of the darkness of the unknown.  Hope helped her stay calm.  Her sons are now healthy and strong.

The thing about light that dispels fear is the fact that it allows us to see.  It reveals all things around us how they really are.  There is no more unknown.  It reveals to us truth.  In fact, scripture calls truth, “Knowledge of things as they are… and as they are to come,” (D&C 93:24).  Light and truth can be used interchangeably.  

Light is truth.  Light never lies.

If hope is light and light is truth, then why do we get discouraged and fall into despair? Our eyes are not conditioned to see the light of hope.  The closer we are to a light source, the more able we are to see.  Thus we really only need to know where that light source exists and how to see it.

“That which is of God is light, and he that receiveth light and continueth in God receiveth more light; and that light groweth brighter and brighter until the perfect day.  And again, verily I say unto you, and I say it that you may know the truth, that you may chase darkness from among you;” (D&C 50:24-25).  If light, truth, and hope are interchangeable, let’s rewrite what we just read.

“That which is of God is [hope], and he that receiveth [hope] and continueth in God receiveth more [hope]; and that [hope] groweth brighter and brighter until the perfect day.  And again, verily I say unto you, and I say it that you may know [hope], that you may chase darkness from among you.”

To get more of this hope, this light, we need to “continue in God”.  How?  We press forward in God, in Christ—we love as he did, we feast upon his words to gain more knowledge of things as they are, and we become more like Christ.  God’s instructions are not an arbitrary list, but a guideline by which we are guaranteed that we will never be left in darkness, that we will never be hopeless, and we can endure happily to the very end.

Hope is an essential requirement for eternal life.  We need this light to live without fear.  We can chase away darkness with this light.

If truth is knowledge of things as they will be, how are we to know of things to come?

A simple example demonstrates:
I recently watched a video of the 2007 Fiesta Bowl football game between Boise State and Oklahoma.  Oklahoma was a well-established program, and was expected to win.  After leading by 18 points, Boise State saw itself down 35-28 with 1:02 remaining.  Yet I was never worried that a team I liked would lose.  When Oklahoma scored a touchdown in overtime, I was not concerned.  I knew that Boise State would score a touchdown and, in a miraculous play, be successful on a game winning conversion.

I knew the final score.

Christ put it most eloquently when he said to his best friends, “These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye may have peace.  In the world ye shall have tribulation; but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world,” (John 16:33).

Life is not easy, but Christ has overcome it all.  Though Satan may identify our weaknesses and mount an attack that we may not feel we can conquer—though he may score countless points against us, we need only remember one truth: we cannot lose.  Every single point will be made up and overcome.  The darkness that the adversary tries to encompass us with only has power until we can turn on the light of hope and feel our Savior’s love.  Perhaps the darkness around us is only a reminder that we need to call on Father to turn on the light.

In the end, we know the final score.  Though it seems a close contest, we know that, in the end, good will forever reign over evil.  Hope, that light, illuminates this truth in our eyes.  The gospel teaches us how to ask our Father to turn on that light and point us to a Savior, our reason for hope, and once he does, we will see that there is nothing for us to fear.

It is then up to us to stay in that light.  Will we?