Knocking the House About

I have been sick this week.

Some who know me might ask, “But, Marnie, aren't you always sick?”

Well, yes, technically. But this week I have added, to my usual serving plate of sickness, a very icky cold.

“A cold! A cold! What are you whining about? Everybody gets colds sometimes!”

It's true. I know that. But this little illness took me by surprise, and happened to come at an especially inconvenient time, as this week we are doing some remodeling of our house.

Our house was built in 1987, so it's not really an old house. But it certainly is not a new house. It's not cute, like new houses and young children usually are, and it's not sweet and charming and full of memories, like senior citizens often are. It's middle-aged, and in need if some improvements and repairs.

It's a lot like me that way.

And home improvements, like sudden illness, always seem to take more time and be more trouble than you expected them to be.

(Disclaimer: These are not actual pictures of our actual home messes. These are other people's messes. I don't want ours to go on record).

  This combination of events has me thinking about something C.S. Lewis wrote in his book Mere Christianity:

"Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense. What on earth is He up to?”

(I have wondered that myself). Lewis continues:

“The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of – throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself."

I am not yet as Job (see D&C 121:10). He went through some terrible afflictions, so difficult that he cried “Why died I not from the womb? why did I not give up the ghost when I came out of the belly?

(Job 3:11)

He was in serious misery. But still, he knows his physical oppression will not last forever. He declares his testimony of this truth:

For I know that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth: And though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God: Whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall behold, and not another; though my reins be consumed within me. 

(Job 19:25 – 27)

I won't live in this imperfect, aging house forever. And I won't live in this imperfect, aging body forever. Like Job, I know that I will be resurrected and have a perfected body, freed from flaws and aging. 

I know this because I know that Jesus Christ was resurrected so that all people can live again. He conquered death for all:

As one of His latter-day witnesses, I testify that He lives today. He is a resurrected Being. He is our Savior, our Lord, the very Son of God. I testify that He will come again as our glorified, resurrected Lord. That day is not far distant. To all who accept Him as Savior and Lord, His literal resurrection means that life does not end at death, for He promised: “Because I live, ye shall live also.” (John 14:19.) Ezra Taft Benson, April 1992

He Lives.

And now, after the many testimonies which have been given of him,

          this is the testimony, last of all, which we give of him: 

 That he lives!

            For we saw him,

    Even on the right hand of God;

             and we heard the voice bearing record that he is the Only Begotten of the Father—

That by him, and through him, and of him, the worlds are and were created, and the inhabitants thereof are begotten sons and daughters unto God.

           (D&C 76:22 – 24)

He lives, and grants me daily breath –

He lives, and I shall conquer death!

He lives, and while He lives I'll sing –

He lives, my prophet, priest, and King.

                        Happy Easter. 

The Power of Little Things

The Lesson Opener

I had been called to be a Relief Society teacher, and was assigned to teach on the second week of every month. I enjoyed the calling and put a good amount of time and effort into preparing my lessons.

While reading and considering one particular lesson, I had an idea about something I could use as an “opener”. It was a little thing I had seen only once, years ago, stuck on a wall just behind the counter of the small-town Hyrum library. When it came to my mind, I knew it would the perfect way to start my lesson.

As the weeks went on, and I prepared my lesson further, I began to feel uneasy about the opener I was planning to use. I couldn't imagine a reason for this uneasiness – the thought was not-overused, it was sure to get a little laugh, and it was relevant to the lesson topic. But every time I reviewed the lesson, I felt uncomfortable about that part. I had just enough faith to believe that this was a prompting, and with some regret, I found a different quip for the beginning of the lesson.

My lesson went well, and the opener was well-received. But I couldn't help thinking that the other one might have been a little better.

The next Sunday, my friend and neighbor Sister Matthews taught the lesson. Because her husband was the bishop of a Young Single Adult ward, Sister Matthews usually attended the Sunday meetings with him, but on the third week of the month, she came to our ward to teach Relief Society.

She began by unrolling a poster she had made with her daughters. When she hung it on the chalkboard, I was stunned to read these words:

This was the quote I had originally planned to use for my lesson the week before. Sister Matthews hadn't been there, and wouldn't have known if I had used it.

The Lawn Chair

Our kids had gone a few minutes earlier, so Wes and I left together to walk to a neighbor's house for a ward activity. Halfway down the driveway, I remembered that there would be a musical group performing in the yard after the dinner, and that I would probably need a lawn chair to sit on. Wes ran back to the garage and came back with a chair under his arm.

I wondered briefly why he has chosen that chair, as it was certainly not our best one. I had bought it years earlier at the old Deseret Industries salvage yard for 75 cents. Since then, we had won a new set of lawn chairs, and hadn't used the old green one since. But it didn't matter, really, and we continued our walk to the party.

We enjoyed the dinner and talking to our neighbors, and when the entertainment began, Wes opened the lawn chair and I sat down happily.

I hadn't been sitting there long when I heard a voice behind me. “Hey, Marnie, is that your chair?” This seemed an unusual question, so I turned around, wondering. My bishop was looking eagerly at me – well, really, at my chair. Before I could say anything, he said, “Do you like it?” Another unexpected question. “I'll give you fifty dollars for it.”

Now I really was speechless. The bishop turned around and called to his teen-aged daughter, who came over, looked in my direction, and exclaimed, “Dad! It's the chair!”

Eventually, I heard the story. Our bishop had owned a chair almost exactly like the one I was sitting in. He had been very fond of it, and had repaired it several times when it had broken. But the night before this activity, he had taken it to watch his children play at a tennis match, and it had finally broken beyond repair. With sorrow he had thrown it in the trash dumpster.

Obviously, I was not going to take fifty dollars from my bishop for a chair that had almost no value to me. I stood up, and he sat down. The joy on his face was far more payment than I deserved.

♥     ♥      ♥     ♥     ♥     ♥     ♥     ♥     ♥

Both these stories involve small things – very small, really, in the scope of, say, a year? – let alone eternity. And if these things hadn't evolved as they did – if I had used the quote in my Relief Society lesson, or if Wes had brought a different lawn chair – nothing earth-shattering would have happened. There might have been a moment of awkwardness in Relief Society, or a slight tinge of grief in the bishop's heart. But everyone could move on, I think.

But still, in both these events, I cannot find a way to deny the hand of divinity.

And this leaves me asking why. Why would an all-powerful God intervene in such insignificant matters? I can't say for sure, but I tend to lean on the simple explanation that God loves us. All of us. And He is willing and ready to stretch out His hand and perform merry little miracles to make us happy.

Now ye may suppose that this is foolishness in me; but behold I say unto you, that by small and simple things are great things brought to pass; and small means in many instances doth confound the wise. And the Lord God doth work by means to bring about his great and eternal purposes; and by very small means the Lord doth confound the wise and bringeth about the salvation of many souls. (Book of Mormon; Alma 37:6–7)

Wherefore, be not weary in well–doing, for ye are laying the foundation of a great work. And out of small things proceedeth that which is great. (Doctrine and Covenants; 64:33)

*    *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

I gave that Relief Society lesson thirteen years ago. Last year, when Sister Matthews visited me while I was in bed with a broken hip, I told her the story. Her face lit up with wonder when she heard the end of the story, and she said, “He gave it to me!”

At the time, I thought her reaction summed it up perfectly. God gave Sister Matthews the good opener, and He gave Bishop Johnson the old lawn chair. But as I write this, I realize it's not quite true. In fact, it's far from true. She got a good opening for her Relief Society lesson. I got a powerful witness of the Lord's voice, and a lasting message about my ability to hear and obey it. The bishop got an old lawn chair. I'm got to realize the power of the Lord's unexpected tender mercies. I'm the one who got to feel the happiness I felt when I saw the bishop's face light up. (Also, I got a great story to tell when I spoke in Stake Conference several months later.)

In both cases, my sacrifice was small, but my blessing was much bigger. I'm wondering how often this kind of thing happens, and how many times we don't realize that is has.

"And I will take you to me for a people, and I will be to you a God: and ye shall know that I am the LORD your God, which bringeth you out from under the burdens of the Egyptians." (Old Testament | Exodus 6:7)

"That they may see, and know, and consider, and understand together, that the hand of the LORD hath done this, and the Holy One of Israel hath created it." (Old Testament | Isaiah 41:20)

"Having therefore obtained help of God, I continue unto this day, witnessing both to small and great, saying none other things than those which the prophets and Moses did say should come:" (Acts 26:22) 

"As we are spiritually awake and alert, we see His hand across the world and we see His hand in our own personal lives.” (Neil L. Anderson, Thy Kingdom Come)

I want that privilege; to see His hand in my life. This blessing is promised to us not on the condition that we are perfect, or that we hold a high calling in the church. We only need to be "spiritually awake and alert." To me, that means an open heart, a listening ear, an eye that looks for God's hand and gives thanks when it is shown. It means being teachable, worthy, and loving. Maybe it means limiting our distractions, and increasing our time in study and prayer.

That is a small thing to ask of us, and such a great thing to receive in return.

And that is a happy message indeed.

1 Nephi 16:29