First, let me say that the conference was excellent. I don’t think I’m alone in the members of the choir who felt the Spirit as we sang “Balm of Gilead,” and once in that place, it was much easier to hear and to listen to what was truly being said.
Most of my life I have struggled with feeling friendless and alone. In fact, right now we are in a ward and a community in which we have lived over six years. While I have many Facebook friends who are my fellow ward members, and while there are plenty of friendly faces when I go to church on a Sunday, the fact is that I remain feeling isolated. That’s mostly my fault. Between the exhausting work I do , along with the travel required, plus the financial ebb and flow that comes with being self-employed, and then, of course, a family with varied personalities, many of which seem to rub others the wrong way, well, I guess that makes me feel like I should just keep myself safe in my little family and in my little house.
See, there’s the So and So Family that one of my loved ones sent an angry email one day. They’ve never turned me away, but I still feel embarrassed every single time I see them. Then there are the awesome young people whom I’ve had the opportunity for five years to teach about the Scriptures with which we have been blessed. Oh, but many of the older ones have heard the outrageous lies of another of my family members and likely believed them. So it’s embarrassing to talk to them anymore. And then there are the younger ones, still much loved by me, but I’m embarrassed because a younger family member is a bit of a free spirit who doesn’t often apply that vocal filter the rest of us find so handy, so I figure those young people probably don’t like us for that reason.
Then there are the different ecclesiastical leaders, men and women, who are actually allowed to judge us, so I’m sure they do. I mean, it’s their job, right? I’m sure they know when we have struggles with some of the commandments, so it’s embarrassing to be around them or to talk with them. (Disclaimer: Our ward and stake leaders are awesome, and no such feelings I have are because of anything they have said or done.) Because I feel so untalented and so awkward, I never volunteer to serve (other than providing a meal when one is needed, I can DO that), I feel like, “Heck, what would these people ever think to say at MY funeral?” I mean, the most sorrowful part of losing members of one’s church family is that these people are often the unsung heroes who have always been ready, willing, and able to volunteer service and rise above their own weaknesses and make someone else’s life so much better. I know because it has sometimes been my luck to be the recipient of their blessed help.
Okay, this is really not just a whiney blog post (“Woe is me!”) No, this was inspired by the thought that crept into my mind yesterday morning and became so loud that I was surprised that no one else could hear it ringing in my head. I looked out over a filled-to-capacity chapel+cultural hall to see faces that I recognize. Some of the faces belong to people I actually know, ward members or former ward members (our ward split a while back). As I saw a face I recognized but hadn’t seen for a while, my mind filled with things I knew about that face. I saw the children of people I’ve known these past six years and let my mind dwell on memories there. I remember when I lived in a place for nine years and had much the same kind of relationship with my ward members there. Unfortunately, in that place my abusive marriage (which no one really acknowledged was abusive because my then-husband provided a service many of the “leading” families there found useful) finally fell apart. I was there when I met my current husband of almost 16 years, but he was an outsider. Imagine the horror I felt (still feel, in fact) when I realized that almost as a single unit that "family" turned its back on me because of the failure of my marriage. The rumor eventually circulated that Darryl had been the reason, not only for the breakup of my first marriage but the subsequent suicide of that first, violent husband. (FTR, Darryl and I met, coincidentally, on line the day my divorce was final. We lived two hours away from my ex when he took his own life, and I don’t believe he and Darryl had exchanged a single word in a long time, though the last time I had been so blessed, it had been a screaming phone call because my ex was facing consequences not to his liking for his own abuse of his very own children). As usual, I digress.
A few weeks ago an on-line friend formed a group on FB that includes the on-line mutual friends we have had for about 13 years when we “met” on a message board on AOL. We really have missed that camaraderie and love we shared back in those days, and the flood of joy and excitement at the resurrection of a unique place we all could “gather” was a little surprising. And then came the confidences. With all the exposure many of us get through FB, there really isn’t any of the real sharing we long for (what if our kids or husbands or ward members see?!) and no place where we could share the struggles we have. In fact, back in the day of the AOL group, we were much more careful about what we would say because the board was public, and we couldn’t be sure who was seeing our confidences. With this closed group with just our recognized old friends, a real Pandora’s Box of secrets was shared. I’ll bet I wasn’t the only one, as I read these stories, to think, “Oh, I had NO idea!” In my case, and I suspect many of theirs, as well, it wasn’t judgmental so much as it was, “I’m not the only one struggling with this stuff!” And that really opened my eyes to the people whose faces I get to see on a regular basis. We’re all dealing with stuff. Every one of us feels isolated and alone sometimes. Even the really awesome, successful people we all admire. Remember “Richard Cory”?
Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
'Good-morning,' and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich - yes, richer than a king -
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.
(Edwin Arlington Robinson)
Where I was headed is that I realized how much I love the people around me and their stories. I’m happy for my friends whose kids are graduating high school, heading for (or returning from) missions, heading off to school, getting married. I’m happy for my friends who are transitioning from being parents to the joy of being grandparents. This is like a really good TV series whose writing I don’t always expect, but I keep watching it because I’m invested. The “characters” and their stories matter to me.
And that’s when the thought shouted in my mind: Heavenly Father isn’t concerned (nor should I be) with how much people like me or love me. He wants me to be consumed with loving them. All of them. Regardless of all the stuff I nattered on about a little while ago. I’ve had kids in my various Sunday School classes who have had different issues (Asperger’s, personality stuff), and without fail, as I have figured out what made them tick, I was able to work around those things and truly love them as much as I do my own children. And the reward for me? I love every Sunday School class more than the one before, and I love what I am teaching more every week.
That’s it. We are here not to be loved but to LOVE.
I’m going to try this and see whether I can change the way I feel when I enter the church and see the faces of people I have heretofore imagined held some grievance against me or my family. Seriously, most of them are just awesome, and the only reason I feel any kind of negativity is because I imagine it’s there, and so it’s just bouncing off the short leash right back at me. I do love my ward family. For many reasons, they are practically the only family I have. I will try very hard to love them in spite of my scared-to-death self and appreciate that we are all in this together.
Despite my crippling self-consciousness (for Heaven’s sake, I’ll be 51 in a week!), I seem to escape it when I go to work and deal with strangers and love, really just love the interaction. I need to bring that Tracy with me wherever I go, I think….
