Should I stay or should I go?

For the purposes of this piece, I am setting aside questions of abuse and actively damaging relationships that simply must be exited for personal safety. For the sake of this discussion let's limit the topic to relationships that still may feel damaging, painful, draining, empty, or difficult, but are not abusive. 
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Should I stay in this broken marriage?

Should I keep ties with this manipulative parent?

Should I keep attending these tense, cold family gatherings?

Should I embrace this difficult wayward child?

Should I keep going to this church when I often leave more empty and hurting than when I went in?

When the hurting is louder than the call to duty, when obligation or even obedience isn't compelling me strongly enough to counter the compulsion to avoid pain.  What to do?

Dang it, we all just want love in this world—to feel valued, to belong and feel safe.  Why is such a universal aching need so very hard for us all?  Almost everything comes down to this.  We want love--we want to feel love for others, yes, but mainly we want to feel love from others.

Aye, there's the rub.  We'll give them ours when they give us theirs (and in the way we want it given).  We'll give them ours when they earn it. We'll give them ours when they behave as they should.

And they echo the same conditions.  Thus the standoff.

We deem relationships worthwhile because they bring something to us. If not love, security, friendship, joy and peace, sometimes we simply value the relationship more than the alternative: solitude, guilt, fear of sin or judgment.  Sometimes we are noble, and value the lessons we gain in a hard relationship and trust in the personal growth and hope in a positive turn in the relationship.

It still all comes down to: what's in it for us?

In a marriage, people end it because the pain or work outweighed the benefits.  Same with church going, jobs, friendships, and sometimes even children and parents.

In the case of marriage, it can be said "We just fell out of love," like our relationships are dictated by random weather.  Do our relationships just happen to us passively, like a spell has been cast?  But what they mean is, "We determined the relationship no longer held value, it didn't give me anything anymore."

Yet Christ tells us all relationships are inherently valuable.  Not just spouse and child and sibling and parent, but boss and employee and coworker and neighbor and fellow church member and friend—and enemy. Why?  Because He knows our need--that we just want love in this world.  And He knows that love can be found in any relationship.

Learning to feel and give love is the purpose of life.  Family, our first relationship lesson, creates a flawed environment where we practice that. We don't get a say in our parents or siblings (the LDS worldview sometimes implies maybe we did at some point, but I certainly hope a wiser soul did the pairing up), but now these relationships seem thrust upon us.  Family relationships naturally develop because of sheer time spent together and the weight of influence our parents have (for both good and bad).  We may choose in most cases how many children we have, but we don't get to choose who they are.

Marriage, on the other hand, is different from other family relationships in that it involves autonomy and choice, as opposed to biology.

It may be all our family relationships are purposefully designed by God and not an accident of biology, it adds a measure of meaning and purpose to the people we are placed with, parents and siblings. It may be that it could be just as well random because God knows we can learn about love in any environment.  While we can't see now whether our choice was involved as with a marriage, all relationships offer an education in love whether you believe that God is involved or not.

This is because God is love (1 John 4:8), and all love is merely an extension of the love of God.

All our love to each other, and even to Him, is simply moon to His sun, and we are all in various phases at various times.  Just like the moon, we shine brightest when we position ourselves directly to Him.

This is why love can be felt and given in any relationship, because God is always there. But, we can choose to receive or reject that opportunity for education, and of course some relationships make it easier than others.

Let me channel my Born-Again Mormon Buddhist for a moment and say that I believe that what we think is "good" or "bad" in our family relationships is generally not necessarily either, but always comes down to an experience and education in love, or compassion, as the Buddhists might be more apt to say.  Call me crazy (and I am), but my ability to love and empathize with others, for instance, was a direct lesson from an abusive parent who was himself severely abused.  What is good there?  As I've said before, God does not dispel darkness, just as darkness is not pushed out by light, God transfigures darkness into light.  We run around labeling circumstances and experiences and people "bad'" then later often can see, even with our human, fallen eyes, that God has transfigured it into what we would call "good."

God can, and will, and already has—whether we believe it or see it yet or not—transfigured our darkness into light.  

And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God 

—Romans 8:28

Whether marriage or sibling or parents, we can choose whether we really want to feel and reflect love in that situation or not.  Of course you can decide you are going to practice this only with selective people, to make it a little easier.  Whether to church, or any relationship we find ourselves in, we can choose to learn how to make it work or choose not to bother.

 That's where that first principle of faith is again involved, believing there would be any growth or value in making that effort.

And maybe that is why this life really is inherently an equal playing field for everyone, no matter the circumstances we are born into.  If the purpose is only to learn to feel and reflect love, we can learn that in both negative (or what we call negative) or positive (or what we called positive) experiences. We can learn it with any type of person in our family, our workplace, or our church. The Savior has gracefully provided for our inevitable failures to do so in the learning process.  This provides a level of safety (our only safety), even in this most treacherous world.

Christ said, "It is finished."  He has done His work already, and we are simply learning to cooperate with Him.  This is what my friend's Bishop means when he says, "Everything is already alright."

It is not saying that everything goes exactly as God would have it.  Of course, that would be a perfect world, and how could He wish upon us such pain and suffering when He couldn't even allow us to fall in the first place without our active consent?

It is saying He can work with anything, and he can save us in any circumstance, and no darkness is out of his reach.  He is that big.

Neither is it saying that nothing we do matters. We can choose to prolong our pain (and that of others) by resisting His love and staying on the dark side of our moon.

It is simply saying that we can choose to learn to love one another, or we can choose not to, in every moment and every situation.

It is saying that Christ has already paid the price for all of us us not loving one another.  He did this so that when we do choose not to love, later we are free to choose again—to try again.

Christ's immense patience and gentleness works with us in our messy free will.  He can even make our dark choices to not love now end up later increasing our capacity to love when we turn again and try. He is that big.

As we see the consequences of our choices in ourselves, our families, churches, our nations, not to love, it helps us understand the importance of that love all the more.

That's the need for the fall, the ugly beauty of this very painful fall: to see what lack of love does to us and to others, and to the world, and to experience the healing power of love. God is the realist, who, knowing how this would all go, provided a Savior to swallow up all of that loveless pain in His love, ever giving us another chance to learn to love again.  Always shining His Son to our moon.

If you boil it down, giving and receiving love is the only source of true joy and value and meaning in our lives We don't always call it love--we can call it feeling valued, belonging, having purpose or a connection.   But in the end it is a sense of being loved.  And there are many loving relationships that don't see God as the source of love, but thus it is regardless.  I know many happy, loving, generous souls that aren't necessarily spiritual or religious and say they have no interest in obeying God, yet here they are loving one another (exchanging God, as God=Love) just as their Savior asked.  Others may warm a pew every Sunday yet have cold hearts.

This parable in Matthew 21 on this point has come to mean a lot to me:

 28 ¶But what think ye? A certain man had two sons; and he came to the first, and said, Son, go ^awork to day in my vineyard. 29 He answered and said, ^aI will not: but afterward he repented, and went.
 30 And he came to the second, and said likewise. And he answered and said, I go, sir: and ^awent ^bnot.
 31 Whether of them twain did the will of his father? They say unto him, The first. Jesus saith unto them, Verily I say unto you, That the publicans and the harlots go into the kingdom of God before you.

This is why the hard phrase "Wickedness never was happiness," (Alma 41:10) really does apply. Selfishness or fleeting and immediate pleasure never brings lasting happiness.  The moon cannot brighten itself.  The Sun still shines—yet we sit alone in darkness at noonday.

Job 5:14

They meet with darkness in the daytime, and grope in the noonday as in the night. 

Deuteronomy 28:29

And thou shalt grope at noonday, as the blind gropeth in darkness, and thou shalt not prosper in thy ways: and thou shalt be only oppressed and spoiled evermore, and no man shall save thee. 

Yes, no man can save any of us.  Cursed is he that puts his trust in the arm of the flesh (his own, or others).

2 Nephi 4:34

O Lord, I have trusted in thee, and I will trust in thee forever. I will not put my trust in the arm of flesh; for I know that cursed is he that putteth his trust in the arm of flesh. Yea, cursed is he that putteth histrust in man or maketh flesh his arm. 

We look to each other--other fallen mortals--to fill our need for love, and we ultimately are left empty.  We cannot look to other flesh to fill our aching heart.  Even the nicest of them.

Yet, facing the Sun, feeling love (God) in us and through us, and then reflecting it back to one another, relationships brighten—it brings joy.  Thus the true definition of repentance: turning from self and sin to Savior.

Isaiah 58:10

And if thou draw out thy soul to the hungry, and satisfy the afflicted soul; then shall thy light rise in obscurity, and thy darkness be as the noonday: 

So we can say to ourselves, I'm not feeling any value/love/joy from this environment — this family, this neighborhood, this church, this job. And we can choose whether we want to be a part of it or not. God gracefully allows us to take the time we need to figure this out. He knows we'll need time, that's why he placed us here in time.

We can even isolate ourselves completely, disassociate from these neighbors, this church, this family, this marriage, because we cannot feel that love there.  It is true that some places are easier to feel loved and others, some lessons are harder than others.  It is true that when we are empty and feel no connection to the love of God, we are more inclined to turn away from harder relationships where the love is not free-flowing, because our own moon is new and we feel dark and cold.  We then increasingly see our relationships as empty, because we are empty.

But the Son still is ever radiant and always patient.  He knows that love can be felt anywhere and He is always ready to make us shine full again.

And even if only one member of a marriage or family or workplace or congregation turns to face the Sun, their light is reflected to the other members. When you face Him, those facing you, even those not currently facing the Son themselves, will feel His love, too.

This is why the love of God and man stands at the head of all the law and all the prophets.  When we feel the love of God, it flows into all of our relationships, actions, it sparks purity and goodness at every level.

But the measure of the first (love of God) dictates the measure of the second (love of man).  That is why we cannot look to man first to put love into our relationships.

So again the question: "Should I stay or should I go?"

The answer: "Whether here or somewhere else, the lesson will be the same."

Peace like a river

Unforgiveness and the related anger brings a sense of power, it masks the feeling of powerlessness when I've been hurt. When the anger breaks down (humility), the floodgates of sorrow open and flow out.  Only then can the forgiveness come in.  The pain comes before the peace, a price we are not always willing to pay.

As the pain floods behind a wall of anger, perhaps the pain is more intense because I let it build up back there.  I build that wall of anger, rather than turning to Lord and allowing myself to sorrow in Him.  Instead of peace like a river, I have the pain and loss of a broken dam.

Father, let me allow the pain of my heart run out, all of it.  Do not let me wall it back up in a false self-protection.  Let me trust that in time the waves will subside, and in Thee through Christ Jesus, I will again flow instead of fight.

Grace vs. Works: The Traffic Jam

Stalled vehicles line this desolate stretch of desert highway—mine among them.

The broken down.  The empty.

Some dutifully get out and push.  Some sit by the side of the road, wondering at the absurdities of such a futile effort with no station in sight.

And pushing is absurd. The road is too long, the hills too steep, the sun too scorching.

No. We need fuel if we ever hope to make this journey.

All these normally wise, prudent folks have truly put cart before horse and set out without fueling up.  Destination: a great service station at the end of the road where, they are told, they will find all the fuel they will ever need.

At the end of the road?

And there you have it: the great, false debate of works and grace.

On this road trip of life, grace is the forgotten fuel for the dutiful work of miles.

When we strive to work without being fueled by the grace of Christ, we stall on the side of the highway.

And thankfully, it's simply not true. Stations of grace line the highway.  Yet we pass them, even while we run on fumes—all the stations invisible to us as we myopically focus on working our way to that great gas station in the sky.

Yet you learned it in Sunday School, that in a just universe that only can reward the deserving, we undeserving creatures have been provided a merciful Savior to offer us the daily fuel we can't earn so we can make this journey.

Our fuel isn't earned by the miles we travel, just as our grace isn't earned by our works. Grace is the free gift of Christ—it's the divine love that fuels us simply as we open our eyes to it, believe he's really there, start to feel his arms around us, and learn to trust that embrace.  We allow ourselves to feel and see his care—in the tender mercies, in the expanse of cloud, light and sky, in the coincidences, in the wind, water and trees, in the timely counsel, in the humor, in the quiet moments, in His Word, and in the miracles.  All of these signs of life-giving love—shimmering in an expanse of darkness that seeks to fill and blind our eyes.

We look for, even hunt for, the gifts all around us that point to His grace—that's how we fuel up our tank of grace.

And when we are broken down, we can only begin again by asking.  Asking for the desire, the ability, the belief, the will, to look up, to believe and trust, that He—and his promised fuel—is right here and now, not just at the end of the line.

I know so, so many who have striven and worked themselves into empty exhaustion. The promise of the grace after all they can do simply wasn't and isn't enough to fuel their journey to the end.  We Mormons often live up to the evangelical accusations that we seek to earn our grace and work our way to heaven, and we blindly enter the grace/works debate, arguing against complacency with great fervor.  Fake it 'til you make it. That used to be my mantra. In our quest for the glorious end of the road, we don't lose a beat with an empty tank—we just dutifully get out of our car and start to push, handcart-style, with our last ounce of self-sufficient pioneer strength.

Here are the same practical folks who would find it foolish to set out on a journey before stopping to fill up, yet will here explain with great sincerity that the miles traveled—the works—will earn them fuel—the grace. The Lord corrects: "when thou art converted, strengthen thy brethren (Luke 22:32).

There is a reason Faith comes before repentance.  Repentance is our continual effort to align our mortal selves with Divine will. Faith in the Lord Jesus Christ—that first principle—is the belief that we can trust the safety of that path.  Faith in action begins with opening our eyes to the stations of grace all around us, allowing Christ to fuel us and fill us with both desire and strength to do all the Spirit directs.

Exponentially more effective, works fueled by grace of Christ over the arm of the flesh are the difference between cruising the interstate and pushing our stalled car down the shoulder.  Grace-fueled works have the power to do more, impact more deeply, and arrive more timely than all your mortal self-sufficiency.

His burden truly is easy and light--as engine to bicep, as petrol to sweat.

Broken down, I too have sat in despair at the side of the road. My works were dead. My tires were flat. My hopes of any great station now or later—dashed.  Pushing seemed (and I still think is) futile and ridiculous. Then a kind fellow traveler suggested I look for station closer by than the mansions above—she told me there were stations of grace.  These undeserved stations I could access even from here—where I sat, broken.

It took strength to lift my eyes, strength I didn't have, but I asked for it.  I simply asked and looked—the only work I could do.  It took just days, not months or years, of this looking before I began to see it, like a shimmering mirage through the heat across the road—there was the station of grace.  And more—dozens of them behind me—stations I had passed, even as I had ran, panicking, on empty. Now I saw them and shook my head at my needless emptiness.

With more looking, the stations of grace near me became crystal clear.  Without money and without price, I was brought in, fixed up, fueled up, and in time, again able to hit the road. The love of God, that grace, filled my heart and with it returned my desire to resume my work, my journey.

I set out again.  Slowly, but gratefully—mercifully.  No more running on guilt or guts or grind or grit.  With energy-efficient ease, even joy, I began to gladly cover the work of my life's miles—fueled by my Savior's grace.

That would have been a beautiful ending. But in time, I forget again, and the ever-present stations of grace fade to my eyes in this desert landscape.  Too often I again find myself stranded and forgetting, even as the Savior ever calls to remember.  I sit too long on the side of the road in exhaustion and self pity.  I stubbornly (and rightly, I think) refuse the ridiculous self-deception of righteously pushing my stalled vehicle.

But in time I remember again, ask again, and look again.  And every time I look, I again see the stations of grace that are and were always there.  Again without money, and without price—only asking and looking, but never deserving or earning—I am refilled for my journey.

Sleepy Reader

I do feel that reading the Book of Mormon each day is having a good effect on me, and there is something about reading it all at once fast that gives a perspective that can't be had going over it verse by verse.

I have really been struck by the idea that prophets are regular people, but they are people interested in knowing God. Nephi gains so much information simply because he has heard what his father says and he wants to know for himself and see it with his own eyes. There is so much to be gained from just asking in faith. I really want to invest more time in prayer and asking to understand. When I'm immersed in the scriptures and have a strong line to my Heavenly Father, my mind opens up and I see new things, I understand differently, and I start to feel changes in every part of my life as things start to line up more with the Lord's will. President Packer once said that the saints live well below their blessings. The fact that so much light, knowledge, love, understanding and personal transformation is right there to reach out and hold on to--He is so close--yet I simply don't "look and live" attests to that.

 There's something for me to work on.