My Bicycle is a Gondola

Glancing down at the book wrapped in brown paper, I began to grumble to myself. Sure enough, when I checked my phone I saw two messages from my husband asking me to mail it. Harrumphing over to the window shades and giving the cord a strong yank, the gray, drizzling scene did not improve my mood.

I put off the task with a petulance born of long practice. I took my time in the shower. I took my time getting dressed. I took my time making my sandwich--but not eating it. I made one trip up the stairs to get my socks. I went downstairs and put on the shoes with extra long laces, then took my time to tie them just right. I drank the rest of the water in my water bottle, then filled it again. I made a second trip up the stairs to grab my white windbreaker off the hanger in the laundry room. I checked the elbows a second time and wished they had come cleaner.

After throwing my cell phone into my purse, I shuffled around in the closet for my gray wool hat. I stepped into the garage, grazing the wall with my fingers in search of the garage door button. I threw my purse, my water bottle, and the book into the bike basket. Rolling my bike out of the garage, I dismounted and gave the kickstand a reason for its namesake. I returned to the garage and had my finger just shy of the button again when I came to an abrupt halt.

Stop, the impression sounded quietly.

An image flashed through my mind of the couch. I laughed out loud and went inside, grabbed my keys, blew Heavenly Father a quick kiss in gratitude, and was finally on my way.

I rolled leisurely down the street the half mile to the post office. Skirting puddles carefully, it wasn't until I was stopped at the final intersection that I noticed my back was spattered with muddy water. I sighed, realizing I would have to wash my jacket again.

When the signal finally changed, I dismounted and walked across the street. I didn't bother to wait for the second signal to change before entering the parking lot of the post office.

I stepped inside, wiped my feet, and saw the bishop's wife before she saw me. In a pair of brown sweatpants and a blue sweat jacket, I assumed her day at home was also interrupted by a package to be mailed. She looked up and told me to go ahead of her, then smiled brightly once she recognized me. She asked me how I was. I weighed whether to lie politely or to be honest.

"Muddy," I said as I walked past her. In my self-pity, I couldn't think of anything else to say to her. I took off my jacket, my hat, and threw them down together with the book on the counter. I contemplated the price of a rear fender, and returned to my isolated, middle-class existence when I heard her voice again.

"Do you have a cell phone?" she asked timidly. I nodded, dug into my bag, took out my phone and slid it down to her. She paused, and brought it over to me again for the unlock code. By then I was smiling, and it was only then that the meaning behind this entire day became clear to me.

Had I done anything differently that day, even in my moodiness, I likely would have missed her. She would have gone home, grabbed her cell phone and the address she had forgotten, and had to make a second trip to the post office before they closed. She was marching through the trenches of Inconvenience in the same war as me, but not the same battle. But in the moment we shared at the counter in the post office, a place where messages are supposed to be sent and received, I finally caught the message intended for me.

I see you. I am here for you. You are not alone.

By the time she handed my phone back to me, my whole countenance had changed. I felt like a Christian again. I had been in the right place at the right time to serve someone with the same need as mine. I didn't need the Red Sea parted or the mountains to be removed--only to get my package in the mail and to get home again with my peace of mind.

As the Brazilians say, God writes straight with crooked lines. Somehow, despite all of my issues of mind and and body, I still ended up exactly where he intended me to be. Awestruck that between 1915 and 2015, his power to be present and in control has not changed.

As I glided home, not caring which puddles I met along the way, I was reminded of a favorite essay by G. K. Chesterton. After a flood in London had caused a great deal on inconvenience to everyone and everything, Mr. Chesterton took the opportunity to teach a lesson in imagination and perspective. He encourage everyone around him not to see a flood, but the sudden transformation of London into Venice. The butcher and the grocer surrounded in water were gondoliers in a rare, romantic turn of events--to be savored, not scorned. He points out that while adults detest waiting for a train at the station, nothing has ever given a child more pleasure and awe.

"An adventure is only an inconvenience rightly considered. An inconvenience is only an adventure wrongly considered."
--"On Running After One's Hat," All Things Considered, 1915

Today I was reminded that my bicycle is a gondola, and I don't live in Boise, Idaho. Just for today, I live in Venice.

Confession

When I got to church on Sunday, I was already feeling a little better. I had said my prayers, read my scriptures, taken advice from a friend, and played phone tag in order to make an appointment with my bishop. The storm had lifted, and the hardest, most disorienting part was over. But I had to choose a new heading, the direction in which I would go in the days and weeks ahead. I needed the guidance I knew only God could give me, so after attending two sacrament meetings (mine and the Young Single Adults), taking the sacrament twice (did you know the missionaries take it every time they're in a sacrament meeting?), and killing some time in the Gospel Doctrine class, I finally met with my bishop.

What I had to tell him wasn't as difficult to say as I thought it was going to be. And by the time I was sitting in front of him, I was sick of bearing the weight alone. I told him everything--about what Boyfriend had confided in me, how much I was struggling to cope and understand what I was supposed to do, and the mistakes I had made in the process. I told him a little more about myself and some of what I've been through so he could better understand where I am in my life. He was probably surprised to hear some of it--I know I don't look like the type be self-destructive in general. But I knew I was doing the right thing by telling the truth, and I would only be hurting myself by keeping these things to myself at this point.

He advised me that I should encourage Boyfriend to talk to his bishop, and he told me that it would be possible for Boyfriend to do so without his parents knowing about it. Then Bishop Mullins gave me a blessing, which I was more than eager to receive.

...that I will more fully rely on my Heavenly Father and pursue my
relationship with Him...

...that I will always remember to say my prayers and read my scriptures
to more fully understand my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus
Christ...

...that I will feel their love for me and know that they care...

...that I will be able to pursue that which is good and noble in the
times ahead...

...that I will be willing and inspired on how to speak to Boyfriend about
going to see his bishop...

When I opened my eyes, I wasn't crying anymore. I felt the peace with which I had been blessed. And while I still had the task in front of me to talk to Boyfriend, I knew that telling him the truth would be the easiest thing for me to do, that the words would come easily if I told him exactly what was in my heart and what I had been prompted to tell him.

So I did. I sat down and wrote him a long message about all I had learned in the past few days from my prayers, scriptures, the people in which I had confided, and the blessing I had received. I told him that I would stand by him through all of this because I care about him. I told him that I'm glad he shared his secret with me, even though my initial reaction to it probably made him wonder if that was the right thing to do. But with each day that comes and goes, I feel better about what I've learned from this, and all the things he and I will learn together in the days ahead.

And while I have no idea where we're headed, and that scares the hell out of me, I guess it doesn't matter. He knows what He has planned for us. He made us promises before we came here, and He intends to keep them.

In the meantime, I plan on keeping mine. I gave Boyfriend my word that I wouldn't give up on him, and that when I arrived in Utah for college I would be glad to see him again. Somehow, I think we have a lot of things to learn and work through until then. But we'll get through it the same way we got through three years of being together with a giant secret between us.

One day at a time.

Stubborn

Has God ever told you something over and over again, and you knew it was Him, and you knew what He was saying, yet you tried not to hear it because of what it might mean for you?

I have no relationship with my father because I've chosen to remove him from my life. Seeing as it's March, this makes 2 years since I decided that I didn't want anything more to do with him.

When someone destroys your family with addictions and abuse, you want nothing more than to escape. I finally found the courage to end things when my father went to jail, and I haven't spoken to him since. He has since been released, and has tried numerous times to contact me, but I don't allow for it. If he calls, I hang up on him. I tear up his letters, and throw away his cards. I refuse to call him, and avoid seeing him at all costs. I know I'm being bitter and holding a grudge, but I don't trust him. I don't trust him not to hurt me again.

I received my patriarchal blessing shortly after I was baptized last year, and it says that I need to forgive my father; that I must pray for him because it will bring about a miraculous change. I've also received promptings from the Holy Ghost to contact him and tell him about the gospel. But I haven't done it. I know what I'm doing is wrong, it's against God's will, and I will probably suffer the consequences for my insubordination, but I refuse to be hurt anymore for my father's sake.

He has taken advantage of that too many times as it stands, and I can't bring myself to be rational. Years of living with him has programmed me to perceive him as a threat. My body temperature shoots up, my heart races, my palms sweat, and the only thing I can think is "Get away." It's the fight-or-flight response, and there's nothing I can do to change it that doesn't involve exposing myself to him... it's a Catch 22. I would have to break the reaction before I could make myself sit there with him, but in order to expose myself to him, I have to break the reaction.

And for what? I've made it 2 years without him, and they've been the best I've ever had. As far as I'm concerned, he's not my problem anymore. And having me step out of his life hasn't been enough of a wake-up call to him. I know he still does all of the same crap he did before. What else am I supposed to do? He only cares about himself, and nothing I can do will ever change that.

I tell you all of that to tell you this: I just finished my first talk. I'm to give it this Sunday, and it's on Charity, "the pure love of Christ." Here's a section of it:

"So what did the Savior, our loving Brother, teach the disciples when he was on the earth? What would he have us learn from Him? In John 13:35, we read “By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.” We are all missionaries in this life. Part of that mission is following the example of Christ as we prepare for our responsibilities in the next life. We have a duty to love our fellow man, no matter what his faults; just as the Savior loves each of us. The difference, for me, between charity and service is motivation; charity is what I do out of love, and service is out of obligation. If you’ve ever done an early-morning service project, you know what I’m talking about. I’ve been striving to transition from service to charity, and I urge all my fellow Saints to do the same."

Do you see my dilemma? I'm a hypocrite! I fully intend to give this talk on Sunday, to stand up there and preach to our branch about charity, yet I do not follow my own advice. And what's worse, I realize that I'm being a hypocrite, and yet I refuse to change! Heavenly Father and I have been at odds about this for almost a year, if not longer, and here I sit, just as stubborn as ever.

I have faith in my Church, my God, and my Savior, so long as they don't require the biggest sacrifice they could possibly ask of me... I knew that before I converted. And I knew it would be asked of me. I'm not surprised that I'm in this situation; only frustrated that I had to be right.

I don't like what I'm seeing in myself right now, but I know I won't change. My mom says it's the stubbornness I inherited from my father that makes it so...

The issue isn't what to do. I know what I should do... and I take the responsibility for what I'm doing right now. To me, that's how it should be. God should not be blamed for my mistakes, when chances are, he's trying to lead me to something that I could not reach without my father.

Unfortunately for me, I'm just that stubborn.