Lacking-ish

There is a marvelous thing that happens twice every year called General Conference. The leaders of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints all meet together and give discourses about what the members of the Church should do to improve themselves, their lives, and the lives of those around them.

On October third, one of the apostles challenged us to include in our prayers that night this question, posed by the rich young ruler  to the Savior in the New Testament: "What lack I yet?" The Lord, he testified, would tell us what we need to do to better ourselves. Maybe even more powerful, though, was what he added: We might need to first ask, he said, what we are doing right.

What a curious thought. But how important it can be! If we don't know what we're doing right, how will we gain the motivation to keep working on ourselves? It may be equally as challenging to try to accept our strengths and avoid pride as it is to accept our weaknesses and work on them; both challenges, however, create an opportunity for self-measurement against the Savior and thus self-growth.

What's cool about asking the Lord is that He always tells the truth. It might take more concentration, more listening, more looking and more being honest with ourselves than usual--but He will tell us what He loves about us, and what we can become. We just have to ask.

Missionary-ish

It was my last full day in France and I still had my French Book of Mormon, but I had a plan! I'd made a list. I'd prayed. I'd fasted. I'd done it all. I knew the name. I knew my friend. And now I had to act.

When the time came, though, things weren't as cool as you would think. Nothing that came out of my mouth was profound; in fact, I hardly said anything at all. I just handed it to her and...that was about it. Nevertheless, the feeling that came afterward as I was contemplating the event that, That wasn't even me. None of it was me. I had nothing to do with it! It was the Lord. He's the one who worked in me to 1) give me a desire to follow a challenge to give a Book of Mormon to someone, 2) go to France for this internship in the first place, 3) ask my internship partner for advice about giving it out, 4) make the list, pray, and fast, AND 5) do it. It was all Him. He just gave me the chance to be a part of His work. What a loving Man.

So the cool part wasn't me. But part of the cool part was definitely her--my friend. Arguably the only real French friend we'd made outside of the Church during our time in France. And when I told her I had a book to give her, she didn't hesitate. She took it. She said immediately that she'd read it. She acted excited, even. She let the pages fall through her fingers and noted that I'd written "quelques petits mots" at the front. She thanked me, hugged us, and wished us well. Then she left. Then we left.

But none of us, I'd wager, will ever be the same. I'm no fancy shmancy gospel preacher, but giving a Book of Mormon to someone could be one of the best decisions you (I, we, everyone) ever make.

Because it's the truth. And I know it.

Work-ish

Marie is an old French woman who we joined for lunch on Friday. She's eighty-something, I think, but as spunky and independent as ever. She worried me with the way she waved the knives around for cutting her rotisserie chicken and watermelon. But though she's more active than most if not all the other old people we visit, she still does what the rest of them do--that is, she tells us all of her pains and suffering.

For Marie, the big stuff is behind her, but boy is it some big stuff: her husband abused her, she lost a daughter, she lost a grandson, and now she lives with some bitterness toward God for those difficulties. She asked us exasperatedly, If He's there, why doesn't He show Himself?

My friend answered with exactly what was in my head: He doesn't show Himself because He wants us to have faith. Marie responded that she knew, but that it was tough. My friend testified again: But He's still there.

I'm glad we could be there as witnesses to the Lord's love and power. Marie needs what we all need--hope--and if we can help give some to her, we'll not only be doing what our internship requires. We'll be doing the work of the Lord. And that is most important.

Hot-ish

Today was my first time attending church (in its fullness) in France.

The hot topic nowadays is the temperature outside (Haha. Get it? Hot?) because hoo wee, it gets a little steamy in our non-AC-equipped apartments. So naturally, several of the members posed a question like, "Il fait pas trop chaud?" ("It's not too hot for you, is it?") to which we would respond, "Si!" ("Yes it is!"). Then, after meetings were over, we watched as they set to work asking around for a fan that someone could spare for us to borrow. One man insisted that his family could give us one of theirs, and set up the whole thing: his daughter would pick it up from their house and drive it and us back to our apartments.

The small ward that encompasses the entire city of Toulon seem to be a tight-knit bunch. A member of the bishopric introduced us and welcomed us to the ward family in sacrament meeting, and we're not even missionaries or permanent members or anything. So I guess it was just natural for them to take care of us. Needless to say, we uttered several "Merci"'s and "C'est gentil"'s throughout the day. And my apartment? It's full of cool air and warm feelings.

Faith-ish

I have a daily quote book that I flip through, and it was one day this week that this one came up: "You need never be discouraged or afraid. The way through difficulties has always been prepared for you, and you will find it if you exercise faith." (Henry B. Eyring) The next day when I went to flip to the next quote, I didn't. I needed this one. So I kept it up for several days.

The best part was when it came true on Thursday. I had volunteered to speak French for this foreign language-judge training conference at BYU, and I was so excited. To get it over with. These things are definitely classified for me as "difficulties" in terms of President Eyring's quote.

I waited in the hallway until the French door opened, and who would it be but my old French professor herself! Things seemed a little worse (because she's intimidating) but they were so much better (because she likes me and she's nice). Then the man practicing to be a oral proficiency-judge-guy sat across from me and began to ask me questions.

I felt calm. I felt a smile on my face. I felt embarrassed a few times when I forgot how to say certain things...but I felt okay. My heart wasn't even pumping fast. It was amazing. It sounds silly, but I cannot explain to you how much of a miracle it was. There were at least seven other people sitting around us--to watch him, granted, not me--but I could speak. The way had been prepared, and I could SPEAK!

Afterward Madame took me outside to tell me what I could've done better and to declare me undoubtedly an Advanced-Mid language speaker (that's like, high!). She told me I was ready to go to France.

Maybe I am.

Songs-ish

Today I decided to go singing at a rehabilitation center with a church group.

Well, actually, I decided on Tuesday night to go singing at a rehabilitation center with a church group.

I was on my knees in prayer thinking about the notes I had taken about the devotional that day. Elder Don R. Clarke spoke to the students about doing what the Savior asked us to do--one of the things being to care for the widows.

Care for the widows? I asked myself. How?

It quickly came to me--the church group that goes singing at the rehabilitation center on Sundays. Surely there are widows there at that rehabilitation center. There are plenty of elderlies there.

So I was on my knees in prayer and there was that feeling--that little niggling feeling that suspends somewhere between my heart and my stomach. It's a feeling that says, "You've already chosen."

So I did.

And it was a blessing. We sang hymns to a few of the seniors (one of them, I believe, was a widow), and the music lifted us up and away in the testimony of Jesus Christ. It was a special experience to be with these fragile people and to play tunes of praise on my vocal cords. A wonderful combination for a wonderful Sabbath.

Change-ish

Yesterday, I had the chance to hang out with three of my freshman year roommates (one of which lives in my same complex now), just the four of us. At one point during the evening, we drove past the dorms where we had lived together.

I was a little surprised but pleased to find no feelings of regret, no desire to return, inside myself as I took in the red-brick, castle-looking buildings. Freshman year was a good time. My roommates were good roommates. It was good to be together again.

But I don't want to go back.

I don't need to. I am older, different, and better now (I hope at least a little better).

It is fascinating to me the way that time flows and shifts; how it turns and pulls and pushes. It carries us from one point to the next, but doesn't exist by itself. It is connected to words, feelings, even smells and sounds. "Freshman year." That was a time. It is gone now. But it was, once.

So driving along and talking, it wasn't like I had time machined back to freshman year. I presented myself to my old roommates as the "now" me, not the "freshman" me (thank goodness).

It was pleasing, then, simply to taste the past again, and know that I can change.