My neighbor passed away recently. I did not know him as well as I wish I did, but I knew him as well as I had the opportunity to. He was always extremely kind to me. I will always treasure the memory of the many times he selflessly gave his time and resources to help us when he saw we needed it--and the fact that he was always looking to see if we needed it. He was an excellent story teller, and my kids and I were working on convincing him to let us record him telling his life stories, knowing the day would come when we would not be able to hear them again. After he died, I went to visit his wife and offer whatever insignificant comfort I could in the moment. I also needed to pay my respects and try to explain how I wouldn't be attending his funeral. My wife represented us there, and from her descriptions, I might have had a fine time of it. But I'd rather be safe than sorry, unless I have some reason to diverge from my custom.
One of the many things I don't like about funerals is that so many people in attendance did so little to honor those people while living, and under the guise of honoring them after they are gone, are merely selfishly striving to sooth their seething guilt at knowing they wasted their opportunity. I could tell stories. I won't. I do everything the Lord tells me to do, and I can't feel good about answering an invitation to attend an event knowing full well they would not invite me if they knew what I was going to do. A man directed by God's spirit is full of extremes unpredictable to those without it. Take Jesus as our example in all things. If you invite Jesus to your gathering, you might get unlimited free high-quality alcohol, but you also might get a lashing--either with words weighted by unassailable reasoning or with a literal whip of his own improvisation. With my path and the path of the world going in diametrically opposite directions, the events I attend are few indeed, and it is better that way for all of us. While the spring bubbling up to eternal life provides an inexhaustible source of spiritual wine far superior than any earthly wine (though it has plenty of cascading temporal benefits), the fire of the spirit burns those who are unaccustomed to it. When one who is united with the spirit of God enters situations where people are doing things that diverge from their understanding, the spirit calls on them to say and do things that cause those present to take offense, and they will say and do anything in an attempt to cool the flames of their conscience, just as a wild animal will flail with unexpected surges of strength to save its life. I've been trampled and kicked by enough swine to fill several pig farmers' lives.
How important it is to love those you love while they are still here, and not leave off doing so until after they have departed, when it is too late.
As I write in the books this morning, I pause to come here and write this because my heart is drawn out to my mother. She is still alive and still healthy enough to appreciate being appreciated. While there is nothing I will ever be able to say to thank her for bearing me and bearing with me, here are some lessons she taught me whose value I might more adequately describe:
No matter where you are, God can see you. I didn't learn the full weight of this lesson until I began explicitly believing in God at 18. Much earlier, I realized that my choices and even my thoughts and feelings would impact those I loved, especially my mom. I didn't do many bad things, because I knew it would hurt her, and I didn't want to do anything to make her life harder. Once, when I was maybe 13, I deviated from my tendency in a significant way. I got caught shoplifting from a store, and I will never forget how much it pained her. I would have done anything--anything--to take back the pain I saw in her crying eyes. She was so upset that she couldn't even speak. Later, when I learned that God was real, my process of coming to repent fully included seeing something of the pain I caused him when I acted, or even felt differently to what he had shown me about himself. The greatest motivation one can have to cut away from their heart all that offends God is to know something of how much he loves us. There is no greater reason for anything than that provided by the love of God. For me, the love of my mother was a precursor along the path to knowing the love of God. My mother's love turned me away from sins, calling me to a higher standard than I would have otherwise had. It was the vocabulary that described the path to something greater, the scaffold that supported the building as it rose. God's love is turns us away from our sins, if we will perceive him and turn to him. As he shows us more of who and how he is, he calls us to a higher standard than we would otherwise have. He raises us up from the filth we find acceptable by showing us the value of what is far better.
No matter how good you are, there is someone better than you. I have always had more strength and courage than others my age, and I figured this out very early on. My mom did, too, and she had quite a struggle trying to corral that into beneficial paths. My mom always told me that no matter how big I was, someone was bigger than me. It was the same thing God taught Abraham:
And the Lord said unto me: These two facts do exist, that there are two spirits, one being more intelligent than the other; there shall be another more intelligent than they; I am the Lord thy God, I am more intelligent than they all. (Abraham 3:19)
It stuck with me. From a young age, I learned to use my strengths to assuage the needs I saw in others. The other day, a man I've known since the fourth grade, who I love very much, recounted a story I had forgotten about how a much older, much bigger bully started a fight with him on a playground once when we were very young. He says I shouted "if you want him, you'll have to go through me!" and unleashed such fury on this poor kid that he ran away, not knowing what hit him. The quote was cheesy, but fitting the 80s movies we grew up with, but the motive was good. I had forgotten that story, but that is exactly how it went. It was a good reminder that we can forget who we are and what we've done, but for good or evil, it will eventually come back to manifest itself. A thing must be what it is. If we aren't how we want to be, the time is now to make the change.
Knowing that there was always something better, I gravitated toward and then intentionally sought out the best I could find in all things and people, and I found that the gateway to greater things is to repeatedly draw near the best you see from where you stand. Or, again, as Abraham put it:
And, finding there was greater happiness and peace and rest for me, I sought for the blessings of the fathers, and the right whereunto I should be ordained to administer the same; having been myself a follower of righteousness, desiring also to be one who possessed great knowledge, and to be a greater follower of righteousness, and to possess a greater knowledge, and to be a father of many nations, a prince of peace, and desiring to receive instructions, and to keep the commandments of God, I became a rightful heir, a High Priest, holding the right belonging to the fathers. (Abraham 1:2)
Live so you can be proud of who you are. Differences are not necessarily good or bad, but they can be presumed to be one or the other. I presumed my differences to be bad, trusting in the responses they elicited from my peers. It seems to me that I took a very long time to realize the strength of trusting in your deep convictions and being who you really are. My mom saw how I carried the weight of the world on my shoulders, and she tried hard to get me to stand up straight. I could have listened to her more quickly and thoroughly than I did. But eventually I did listen, following my appointed path, detaching from the cluster of familiar people and places and ideas and situations, over and over again. As you probably have figured out by now, we cannot draw nearer to the Lord without distancing ourselves further from everything and everyone else that does not do the same. To lighten the mood, here's a funny but true related story. Last summer ago, I happened to be out in town with my family when a man approached me and cheerily greeted me. In a strange twist of circumstances, he happened to be on the LDS high council that excommunicated me, as well as in the university administration that canceled me. In spite of that, I quite like the guy. He's always a sincerely pleasant person, and I admire his ability to communicate carefully and intentionally even under intense circumstances. He asked how the summer had gone, and I said, "well, I have had a little more time than I expected, so I have been able to advance a few projects, but I'm going to have to find something new, because I'm running out of things to get kicked out of!" Without missing a beat, he fluidly continued the conversation. It gave me quite a chuckle.
My mother came to visit us recently. It was nice to have her here. I enjoy opportunities I have to show my appreciation for those who have done much for me by showing them the cascading effects of their sacrifices. It's like the parable of the talents when the servant shows how they have multiplied the money the master gave them before his journey. I have done all I know how to honor God in the way I live my life, and while I recognize that that is not as easy for others to see, I derive great joy in what my mom can see of that, because I see that it helps her know that her sacrifice was appreciated and used well. I am very proud of my children for the parts of them that remind me of God, and I know my mom sees that in them, too, and that brings me great joy.