Hops of Faith

This afternoon, I came home from going to an appointment with the sister missionaries. My grandma left the house. It was just me and the dogs.

I remedied the silence by surfing the Internet for some new music. I’ve found that the music loaded into my iTunes is familiar, but outdated. It felt different. I used to ravage my eardrums with teenage angst bands and collections of happiness-proof guitar shreds. I still enjoy those now and again, but it feels like I’m listening to someone I used to know tell me stories I wanted to forget.

Bored, I decided to peruse through my computer documents. I’d written a lot before I’d left for Mississippi, but I couldn’t remember what. I scrolled over a familiar folder titled Poetry. I clicked and a lengthy display of nondescript titles spanned out before me. Curious, I opened every document.

What I found was remnants of an old, bitter self that wasn’t sure who she was or what she wanted. She was hungry for the dreams poets planted in her brain, and she was trying to make sense of the mess in her heart. She was pressed down by the cavern around her, and she wasn’t sure how to find the light—or if it existed at all.

I didn’t like this person.

I found praiseworthy prose here and there, but as I read, the weight of an anchor settled in my chest. Is this how my poetry made people feel? I wondered.

The light in the cavern is obvious to me now as I sit and type this entry. I’m basking in it, enjoying the freedom of breathing fresh air and skimming my palms along overgrowth. I can hear the birds sing, the wind whip, the clouds float. I’ve wondered why my past-self didn’t realize that any of this was possible.

In my scripture study, I came across this wonderful verse in 2 Nephi 32. It reads:

For my soul delighteth in plainness; for after this manner doth the Lord God work among the children of men. For the Lord God giveth light unto the understanding; for he speaketh unto men according to their language, unto their understanding (3).

Before my mission, things were not so plain to me. I thought I understood myself and the Lord, but I knew in my heart that I couldn’t pick myself out of a lineup. I felt like I was tumbling through a storm, trying to grasp the thickening clouds for support, only to find that they were just as empty and light as the air around me. So, I fell. I kept falling, and I prepared myself for impact as the ground quickly approached.

Things became plain to me once I left the storm clouds. I made the choice to curl out of my fearful cocoon as I tumbled, and I chose to serve a mission as the Lord had asked me to. I remember setting foot on the campus at the Missionary Training Center, and all of a sudden the sky was bright and wide, the wind whisked the storm away, and I could see the outlines of the treetops dripping with sun-kissed gold.

But, I was still falling.

I call this my Leap of Faith. I think I’ve taken little hops of faith throughout my life, but my first Leap happened when I chose to attend Brigham Young University-Idaho instead of the Utah schools I’d previously selected. This was a decision driven by the Lord, not myself. I believe it was this decision that skyrocketed me into my storm. But I needed that.

I made more hops of faith, and my next Leap of Faith was my mission. I took many hops, bounds, and strides of faith throughout those eighteen months. As each month flew by, I watched the ground grow closer—and for a while, I feared being crushed when I hit the ground instead of landing on it. However, the Lord made things clearer and plainer the closer I came.

Eventually, I touched ground. On my feet. Albeit I was shaking all over, but I felt thrill and peace all at the same time. I looked up at the sky, and I could see the storm in the distance—but most of all, I could see the Lord had me land on a new path, into woods I did not know. But, it was straight, it was narrow, and it was plain—just as He’d promised.

Sometimes things aren’t so plain. Sometimes we’re caught in our storm, and we fear the Lord cannot hear our cries for help and that we will eventually get lost in the lightning and rain. Sometimes we are like my old self—unsure, grappling with confusion, trying to understand our purpose and sometimes hurting people in the process.

But it is plain to the Lord where we are going. It is plain to Him what we need to do and how we need to do it. We forget to ask Him; we forget to lean on Him. Please don’t forget that. He asks you to come to Him. Let the Savior heal you. Let Him steer you. He will direct your landing.

You will land on your feet. You might shatter a bone or two, but what’s a good war story without some scars? What will you show to Heavenly Father in the end when He asks what you’ve done? What will you have to show Him?

The person I am now is not the girl who tore herself to shreds on paper. I am more about piecing those pages back together. I think we are all trying to find the right syllables, the perfect prose, the melodious rhythms. I hope that, instead of sinking to the bottom of the ocean, I will choose to raise mine to the top, to breathe again.

What Leaps of Faith are you going to take?

Have a happy Easter, y’all.

picture credit to unsplash