Creating

Does the God of all the universe and all within the expanse of eternity care about my measly writing goals? Does it matter one bit if I craft a perfect paragraph, finally locate the key to my research, design a stunning book cover, type The End on a manuscript?

In the same way I cheer on my young grandchildren when they learn a new skill or stretch in anyway, I think He does. I think the act of writing, of linking words together  like beads on a string is a significant part of eternity. There’s a lot of dark influences in the world; anything we can do to push back the darkness even a little bit is worth doing.

Dieter F Uchdorf said in October 2008:

“The desire to create is one of the deepest yearnings of the human soul. No matter our talents, education, backgrounds, or abilities, we each have an inherent wish to create something that did not exist before.

Everyone can create. You don’t need money, position, or influence in order to create something of substance or beauty.

Creation brings deep satisfaction and fulfillment. We develop ourselves and others when we take unorganized matter into our hands and mold it into something of beauty—and I am not talking about the process of cleaning the rooms of your teenage children.

You might say, “I’m not the creative type. When I sing, I’m always half a tone above or below the note. I cannot draw a line without a ruler. And the only practical use for my homemade bread is as a paperweight or as a doorstop.”

If that is how you feel, think again, and remember that you are spirit daughters of the most creative Being in the universe. Isn’t it remarkable to think that your very spirits are fashioned by an endlessly creative and eternally compassionate God? Think about it—your spirit body is a masterpiece, created with a beauty, function, and capacity beyond imagination.

But to what end were we created? We were created with the express purpose and potential of experiencing a fulness of joy. Our birthright—and the purpose of our great voyage on this earth—is to seek and experience eternal happiness. One of the ways we find this is by creating things.”

How does this apply to writing? Have you ever found yourself caught up in a plot line, enthused about  how well that part turned out, felt a swelling sense of accomplishment reading over words you personally strung together? In a very small (but valuable!) way, that’s a shadow of God’s creations. After the earth was created, Genesis records the Creator stepping back and saying, “It is good.” Not spectacularly overwhelmingly awesomely wonderful, but good. Our writing is like that. Perfection is a process. Anything we learn in this world becomes part of us, our very being. Learning to expand our skills in communication and expression is not sneeze-worthy.

In Alma 34 we read:

 Cry unto him when ye are in your fields, yea, over all your flocks.

Cry unto him in your houses, yea, over all your household, both morning, mid-day, and evening.

Yea, cry unto him against the power of your enemies.

 Yea, cry unto him against the devil, who is an enemy to all righteousness.

 Cry unto him over the crops of your fields, that ye may prosper in them.

Cry over the flocks of your fields, that they may increase.

 But this is not all; ye must pour out your souls in your closets, and your secret places, and in your wilderness.

 Yea, and when you do not cry unto the Lord, let your hearts be full, drawn out in prayer unto him continually for your welfare, and also for the welfare of those who are around you.

I don’t have flocks or fields or crops. I’m not really an animal lover, and this is the first year in twenty-seven I didn’t plant a garden. What I do have is a desire to write. For a while, I felt funny praying for help in my writing, but old Alma had a point; if it matters to me, it’s worth praying over. 

Sometimes, usually in that place between awake and asleep, inspiration will strike me and I’ll pick up paper and pen. Ideas for a new book, a plot twist, a way to untangle written dialogue, a nudge to write that article I’ve been putting off; often, ideas flow faster than I can write them down, like a waterfall of inspiration. Irrelevant things, perhaps, in the scheme of things, but it’s a reminder that my attempts at creating are noticed outside of my own mind. Sometimes I can sense a heavenly cheering section, encouraging me on, imperfect though my attempts may be. 

Waffling about writing? Feeling like you’re not good enough? Get back to it anyway! And don’t forget to pray. Help stands waiting, I’m certain of it. 

So Much Pain Going Around

by Marsha Ward @MarshaWard

I woke up to the news that a writer acquaintance's missing hunter husband had taken a fall in desolate country and died.

We in the United States are going through the most bitterly contentious and divisive presidential election since 1860.

The daughter of "The Piano Guys'" Jon Schmidt is missing near the Columbia River Gorge in northern Oregon, and official search efforts have been called off, while family and friends soldier on.

So much sadness and despair. So many prayers being offered. What can we do?

I recently posted a meme with an image of Dr. Ben Carson, that tells us what we can do. In his words:

"When we have done our best, we also have to learn that we must rely on God. Our best - no matter how good - is incomplete if we leave God out of the picture."

Vice Presidential candidate Mike Pence has asked us to pray to God to heal America.

That's profound, and echoed by many other wise men and women of our day. Many people will be participating in a "fast" on November 6, with accompanying prayers and with repentant hearts to ask God to do just that.

I agree. It's time for the people of the United States to fall on their knees daily, not just on one special day, to give our hearts to God in supplication, not only for optimal results in a pivotal election, but to ask for comfort and healing for those who mourn.

I know God works in our lives. He has a plan for each of us.

We sing a little song in my church's children's program, in which I am privileged to play the piano. It's called, "I Will Follow God's Plan," written by Vanja Y. Watkins.

My life is a gift; my life has a plan.
My life has a purpose; in heaven it began.
My choice was to come to this lovely home on earth
And seek for God's light to direct me from birth.
I will follow God's plan for me,
Holding fast to his word and his love.
I will work, and I will pray;
I will always walk in his way.
Then I will be happy on earth
And in my home above.

Here's a version from the Mormon Tabernacle Choir:



What are your thoughts?

Circles

       I believe in circles. So much of what we do is affected by, and effects, things on down the road.  I also believe in The Great Video Replay In The Sky. In several hundred years, we will all gather with our boxes of celestial popcorn and watch the story about what really happened while we were on Earth. I firmly believe we will be jaw-dropped awestruck by how often God moves things and people and circumstances around to benefit His beloved children...and we miss most of it! 

         This is a story that I did not miss. It takes place in three places: Austria, a Chicago suburb, and my living room, here in Washington.

       Once upon a time (because that is how all good stories begin) we invited a couple to dinner to get better acquainted, soon after our daughter became engaged a few years ago. After-dinner talk turned to missions. They had both served LDS missions in Germany/Austria, and married soon after they came home. The Cold War was in the headlines, a risky time, late 1970s. That mission did not have any MTC training, and no translated materials; no scriptures, no lessons, nothing! They had to obey rules so very carefully, and after The Incident, the couple said missionaries were under communist government scrutiny constantly, because the people believed they were spies.

        The man, Carl, told a story that took place in their mission. Four young American elders on P- day crossed the communist border into Czechoslovakia, down that forbidden road, past the huge warning signs, past the armed guard towers, past the painted warning lines. They actually crawled through razor wire fences, just to take pictures to send home!

They were arrested, and it was all over the international news. The Church took a huge PR hit, once the media reported that all missionaries were actually American spies, worldwide. After a couple of days, two LDS apostles flew to Austria, along with several high-ranking American officials. They negotiated for their release for two full days and nights. Finally, they convinced the military holding the young men that that they were merely unwise, not devious. They flew the elders back to the states, without any of their belongings, straight from the firing squad to the airport, under military guard.

Carl said many areas were closed because of The Incident, and missionary work was much more controlled after that. As he related the story, waves of chills washed over me, and not just because I love a good story.

Carl concluded, "...and we never heard what happened to them after that.”

        Shaking, I burst out, “I know! That is my story!" 

           To condense my conversion story: I was a teenager in Illinois, meeting with the Assistants to the mission president at the mission home, and went to tell them I wouldn’t be meeting with them again. Good men, I'm sure, but seemingly carved of wood, as exciting as dust, and determined to recite the discussions, word for word, when all I wanted was to ask questions. As I went to the mission home that final day, a bouncy young elder with round John Denver glasses popped out, greeted me warmly, and said "Hi, I’m new here. I hear you have questions. Let's sit here and just talk."  Turns out he had just arrived, and expected to be sent to the far reaches of the mission the next day.

           I found out much later that he had been called to serve in Austria. He and some others had crossed a forbidden border. They were imprisoned as spies for five long days, then put in front of a firing squad, which was halted just moments before firing commenced. He was sure he was going to die.

Two apostles negotiated for their release, and dragged them to the airport under heavy police guard. He said that flight was very long, longer because the Church leaders never said a word to the terrified elders. They were dirty, had not slept or eaten in five days, and were not sure what would be done to them once they arrived in Salt Lake City.

Landing in America, the young missionaries were taken directly to Church headquarters. In a meeting with all of the twelve apostles and the First Presidency, the four young missionaries were verbally blasted. They were told they had set back missionary work by decades. Each was given the option to be assigned to the Illinois mission, or to go home. Three chose to go home. One said he had been called for two years, had only served one, and would be grateful to be allowed to serve anywhere. He arrived in Illinois the next day, I met him that evening, and I was baptized two weeks later.   I had to delay a week, due to all of America celebrating the Bicentennial.                                 

          I was stunned that night as Carl told the story – my story! I told you I believe in circles. The couple we invited to dinner was our daughter’s fiancé’s parents.  What are the chances of them having the other half of my story? Or their son marrying my daughter, thousands of miles from both Austria and Illinois?  There they sat in my living room, as shocked as I was to finally learn what had happened to those four renegade elders who stirred things so badly, then vanished.  The story parts came together in a tidy circle, thirty-five years after the events. 

        What if I had not stopped to hear that bouncy new elder, the one who was in such trouble the mission president promised to banish him to outer darkness, AKA southern Illinois, the very next morning? I prayed for the very first time that night, something like, “Look, God, I don’t even know if You are there, but if this is Your church, as they say, and You want me in it, put him nearby. I can listen to him.” At 7am the next morning, Calvert called to say he’d be living two blocks from my home. 

 The circle rolls on. If I had not been baptized, I would not have met my husband, had our daughter, she would not have met her husband and now they’re expecting their third child. Pretty amazing circle, don’t you think?

At the end of a long, distracting story, I hope you get the point that God is real, and concerned about even details.  He loves us! The Lord is in charge of small and large things.

        I believe firmly in circles. I also believe that we are blind to most of the Lord’s blessings. For all you know, that one person you meet, that one uplifting sentence you say, that one service you offer, may be the catalyst that sets off magnificent things. 

We won’t know until all the circles are revealed.