When I read in the scriptures of “His everlasting kindness”, (Isaiah 54:8; 3 Nephi 22:10) I am intentional about soaking up that truth and making it a part of me. I don’t rush on to the next verses to see what action I need to take. Instead, I take the time to relish these truths. I say “yes” with my heart and I ask God to help me believe in these words, to make them true for me in my life.
I believe we are here on earth to learn, and the most important things for us to learn are those of a spiritual nature — the kind that can’t be proved in a laboratory and don’t lend themselves very well to rational explanation. One of the best ways to attain this type of learning is to create an environment conducive to the Holy Spirit — a place where earth and heaven meet.
I have found such a place in the holy temples of my faith. I go to the temple to take part in sacred practices which connect me and my loved ones to God. To participate, I typically wear special clothing and utilize only specific areas of the building. But I once had the special opportunity to go inside a temple after-hours to assist in housekeeping responsibilities. Even in such a practical setting, being open to the whisperings of the Spirit allowed me to receive divine direction for my life.
My assignment was dusting. I was given a delicate, microfiber duster, fastened onto the end of a long handle, then led to a stairway lined with exquisite woodworking on its railing and walls. Anxious to do the job well, I pressed my duster firmly against the wood and pulled it along the surface. I made sure to apply a firm pressure the whole length of the area. I wanted to be thorough and effective. And I definitely wanted to see results. It didn’t take long for my arms to grow sore from the effort. Most of the places needing to be dusted were nearly out of reach. Stretching up to meet them, combined with the effort of applying adequate pressure soon tired me out. And I wasn’t even halfway finished!
In the stillness, I had the impression that I was making this work unnecessarily difficult. If I eased up the pressure, not only would I save myself the strain on my arms, but it might actually collect the dust more effectively. Gingerly, I followed the impression, easing my grip and intensity. I felt the Lord’s Spirit pleading with me, “Let me help you. Let me love you.”
I was a bit bewildered. The analogy of dusting “too hard” helped a bit, but I was still unsure how I might be resisting the Lord’s love in my life. I mean, why would I do such a thing? Was I really resisting His help? And if so, how was I to ease up and “let” Him love me? Even the idea of easing up seemed unnerving to me. What was I supposed to do instead? Go limp? Give up?
When I left the temple that night, I felt grateful for the inspiration I’d received, even though I was still unsure how to apply it.
This skill of hearing and feeling direction from the Holy Spirit is critical to our happiness and spiritual survival (see these wise words from Russell M.Nelson.) While we may benefit from having a quiet, calm environment to hone this ability, it’s also important to recognize that this voice of wisdom can and most assuredly does speak to us in the midst of our chaotic, everyday, hectic living. It is therefore not enough to spend regular time in consecrated buildings, or even to carve out quiet, meditative time during our day. We must carve out a quiet and holy space within ourselves to receive and respond to those spiritual promptings that come at more inconvenient times and in frenzied circumstances.
Some time after I’d been dusting in the temple, I had just this kind of revelatory experience in the midst of a seemingly ordinary evening. I was tidying the kitchen, shuffling back and forth from helping children prepare for bed and cleaning up. But I felt a little spiritual nagging, if you will. I felt as though the Spirit were trying to tell me something, but I couldn’t quite make it out. As I changed diapers and wiped down countertops, I tried to still myself inside. Gradually, I could feel that peace which I was beginning to recognize as a trademark of the Holy Ghost. Yet, I couldn’t help feeling skeptical. Why? Why should the Spirit speak peace to me? What had I done to merit this blessing? It felt like divine approval, but what for? I hadn’t done anything special. In fact, I could think of a lot things I’d done wrong that day — surely nothing worthy of such favor.
“I’m not sure I understand,” I heard myself think.
This reminded me of a children’s story I’d read many times before. In Max Lucado’s book “You Are Special”, the little wooden Wemmick known as Punchinello meets the man who created him — a carpenter who made all the wooden people in the village. The maker tries to explain something very important him, but Punchinello just can’t seem to grasp it. And those were the same words he said to the carpenter: “I’m not sure I understand.”
To this, his creator smiles and says, “You will, but it will take time. . . For now, just come to see me every day and let me remind you how much I care.”
When I recalled this exchange, and indeed felt as though it was the voice of my Heavenly Father speaking to me, I thought, “Oh, is it grace again? Is that what this is all about? Accepting grace?” I felt a confirmation that I’d hit the nail on the head. Yes! Grace! I want to give you grace! And, unbelievable as it may seem, I was disappointed. My shoulders slumped and I heard myself internally acknowledge, “I wish I didn’t need that.”
And therein, I believe, lay the root of a very serious, though common misconception. I saw grace as a sign of failure — a backup plan to be used by those who couldn’t cut it on their own merit. For me, grace was a black mark on my heavenly resume, and acknowledging my need for it was nothing short of accepting defeat. It seemed to me that God was giving me this second-rate gift of grace because I didn’t qualify for anything better. Now, the Spirit was whispering to me that this kind of thinking was false. I knew the Lord wanted me to acknowledge my resistance to His grace so He could help me unlearn the lie that had kept me from accepting this gift.
My thoughts returned to that gentle prompting I’d received while dusting in the temple and my concerns over the seeming passivity required in letting God love me. I didn’t need to go limp, but in a sense, I did have to give up. I ran up the white flag to declare an end to my fighting against this friend I had mistaken for a foe. I let my guard down and allowed that divine love to wash over me and to fill me up.
Yes, I am still weak. Yes, I still sometimes make choices I end up regretting. But I decided to let Him love me anyway — not later, not once I finally get the hang of things, not after I’ve earned it, but here and now — amidst the mess and tedious pace of trial and error.
When I read in the scriptures of “His everlasting kindness”, (Isaiah 54:8; 3 Nephi 22:10) I am intentional about soaking up that truth and making it a part of me. I don’t rush on to the next verses to see what action I need to take. Instead, I take the time to relish these truths. I say “yes” with my heart and I ask God to help me believe in these words, to make them true for me in my life.
I’m starting to see the wisdom in the line from that children’s book, and I make sure that I “come and see” my Creator every day. Sometimes I come with the hope of receiving specific guidance or inspiration in a certain area, but always with the knowledge that He will remind me of how much He cares. And I’m learning to love Him back — not for the blessings He gives, and not just for the opportunity He offers of making me into something greater. I am learning to calm my spirit and quiet my concerns of not measuring up so that I can receive His grace.
Invitation: Are you so distracted by your own imperfections that you fail to notice — or even reject — God’s grace when it is offered to you? Allow yourself to feel and accept this gift by practicing stillness before the Lord in your prayers, while you study scripture, or as you meditate. Thank Him for His grace and embrace it!
Editing by Dani Davis
Photo by Kari Shea on Unsplash
No Comments