Crossing the Wilderness...on a Motorcycle... in the Rain??

I've been considering my role in the community and it's impact on my health and the wellness of my family.  These are big questions that I am almost constantly weighing: is the possible good I am doing in the community worth any negative impact it could be having on my family?  This last week I went to one of my favorite "ship building" chapters in the  Book of Mormon, 1 Nephi 17, and got stuck in the first three verses, when they went "into the wilderness"--this crazy desolate place--ate raw meat and their families not only survived but thrived, prospered and were content and "bore without murmurings" in the face of the logical result that they would just suffer and be miserable. "Your family is also protected, my daughter" I have felt.

We face so much of sin and hardship and unmet expectationsi in this life as a result of our own choices and that of others.  But as mentioned in the talk from last General Conference, "Mortality works!"  God's work and glory includes a great deal of pain and suffering for those very reasons. I was re-listening to that talk by Brad Wilcox about "His Grace is Sufficient"* on youtube the other day and he brought up that he doesn't think it will be the unrepentant sinner begging to be in heaven.  No, it will be Christ begging them to stay.  We obey the commandments not to earn heaven but to learn heaven, so that we will be comfortable there.  And that means turning the other cheek, loving as Christ did, forgiving as He did, trying again and again to live like He lives.  And His life was HARD. I can see many of us going up to heaven, realizing how much pain is involved in God's plan of mortality and how that is really a part of it and refusing to accept that.  But Eve--and Adam--did.  There is truly no other way. All these thoughts have culminated this week, leaving me a little breathless.

Regardless of whether I'm building the boat or crossing the wilderness, God is truly with me every step of the way. I realized this on Saturday in a very profound way:

My husband loves to ride his motorcycle. He loves to take people on rides on it, too. For the first maybe year or two of him having it, though, I was not going to go near it. However, over time I saw it as a potential "thing to do together" and braved my first ride. It was short. It was slow. It was terrifying. It was terrible. I kept trying to peer around him to see the road ahead to anticipate the bumps. I knew we were going to crash as we turned corners and tried to compensate by leaning the other way on the motorcycle...it just wasn't pretty.

But, I got up on it again and we went farther. And farther. I remember the first time we went on the actual freeway, Quinn must have felt that we were going at a snail's pace, but I was sure that I was facing death at every corner, especially at every corner. I remember distinctly employing my "birthing breathing techniques" as we went around a round-about and leaned into it. What???? And I was supposed to just lean into the quickly flying by asphalt?? Into my death?? I did so much "mental distancing" and "visualization" that trip!

Yet over time, I have gone again and again and gradually, I have been able to look up at the beauty around me and soak some in.

Last Saturday, Quinn and I opted to take the motorcycle to play football, meeting up with family and friends at the park. And en route, it started to rain. Red flags went up as I pulled myself from the happy realization that I had been calm for the whole ride to that point to the sudden awareness that my children would never see me alive again. Holding my arms around Quinn's waist, I looked at my options. I could panic--possibly increasing our chance of crash--or I could calmly choose to embrace death, knowing that either way, my fate was in Quinn's hands.

I chose calm.

After the cloudburst passed (Quinn muttering something about the inaccuracy of weather predictions), and we resumed our normal speed, I felt impressed that that experience was like me trusting God. It hasn't been my first preference, honestly, most of the time....to do what He actually wants of me, not "to do what He wants" theoretically. You see, where the rubber meets the road is a perfect analogy for my experience in the challenge of doing what God wants of me. Often it is terrifying. Often it is a blind experience, like sitting behind Quinn and not trying to look ahead. However, it is in those moments where I am invited to a different way, a higher way (although I'm not advocating motorcycling as a higher way, lol!). I am invited to "go on a ride" with God and so many aspects of this analogy really, really fit.

Cloudbursts and all.

*Brad Wilcox's talk:

My take on his talk: