Fossil Peak

There is a poster at my doctor's office that says THE MAN AT THE TOP OF THE MOUNTAIN DIDN'T GET THERE BY ACCIDENT.

I would also submit that mountains don't become mountains by accident.

"The highest peak in northeast Asia is called Jade Mountain and it is in Taiwan. The mountains of Taiwan were created by the collision of two plates in the earth’s crust. The intense heat and pressure created by that powerful force turned layers of sediment first to limestone, then to the marble for which the east coast is famous. That same unseen power shakes and grinds and buckles the earth, eventually sending mountain ranges soaring into the heavens."

Chén Yù Chuàn, a tour guide that works in the Yushan National Park in Taiwan, likes to point out that Taiwan was formed from the bottom up.

“There are ripple marks on the highest rock, and there are sea fossils and other evidence of what’s on top having once been at the bottom,” he says. “If you want to understand the summit, you must understand the depths, because that’s where the summit began.”

I love nature analogies. They make sense to me. There have been times I have felt like a wimpy jellyfish staring up at a majestic mountain range. Everyone around me has accomplished so much, has everything figured out, is standing tall and casting shadows. Why am I the only jellyfish around? Why is everyone else a mountain? I isolate myself.

A rumor makes its way down to my sea bed whispering there are jellyfish fossils at the tops of all the mountains I am worshipping. How did a spineless water creature like me transport itself above the tree line? Did these mountains I envy enjoy sea level complacency before suffering collision, heat, shaking, grinding, and buckling? What did these mountains live through to move a jellyfish heavenward? I realize I have not endured as much as I think and the fossils reveal that I have something in common with every mountain I see; we all know what it's like to be a jellyfish. Boy oh boy, did I misjudge those mountains.

Now I talk to the mountains from my wet home in the river gorge. The mountains have so much good advice for me; they still remember what it was like to be soft sediment full of swimmers. I never knew a jellyfish and a mountain could be such good pals.

The moral of the story is to open up and talk to people about what you are struggling with. You will be surprised how many people know exactly what you are struggling with. Blue-haired grannies, empty nesters, soccer moms, newlyweds, singles, teens, and tikes have been through than you can reckon.

We are all so similar.

*indented text taken directly from "Making Mountains: The Parable of the Mountain Guide and the Mountain" by Adam C. Olson. Photo text by Adam C. Olson.  

Dead End

 

Over the course of the years I literally tried everything but acupuncture to get pregnant. Often times I felt prompted to take specific measures. After praying about such measures I felt good and proceeded to action. This is why I tried spinal decompression, numerous specialty doctors, an upper GI scope to test for celiac disease, weekly massages (that one was my favorite), a trainer, etc. There came a point when I wondered, "Why did the Lord tell me to try all of these methods when none of them were the fix?"  

Then I read a true story entitled "Wrong Roads and Revelation" about Jeffrey Holland and his son, Matt, as they vacationed in southern Utah:

Returning from an exploring trip on backcountry roads, he and his father came to an unexpected fork and could not remember which road to take. It was late in the day, and darkness would soon be enveloping them. Seizing a teaching moment, Jeffrey Holland asked his son to pray for direction. Afterward, he asked his son what he felt, and Matt replied that he felt strongly that they should go left. Replying that he had felt the same way, his father turned the truck to the left. Ten minutes later, they came to a dead end and returned to take the other route.

Matt thought for a time and then asked his father why they would get that kind of answer to a prayer. His father replied that with the sun going down that was undoubtedly the quickest way for the Lord to give them information--in this case, which one was the wrong road. Now, though the other road might not be familiar and could be difficult in places, they could proceed confidently knowing it was the right one.

This story answered my query. I realized had I NOT tried all of my options I would have always wondered, "Did I not get pregnant because I have celiac? Did I not get pregnant because I'm not strong enough? Did I not get pregnant because I have lupus or RA or a compressed spine?" Ruling out all of these possibilities eliminated the prospect of me being nagged to death in the future by feelings of "If I had only ______ I would have gotten pregnant." Ruling things out with certainty truly eased my conscience.

Wrong roads and dead ends are an easy way to highlight the right road. I have learned that I quite prefer the "wrong roads" method of discovering what path to take in my own life. Yes, taking every path possible logs extra miles and costs but simultaneously makes solving the maze that much easier.

Wild Beast Slaughterhouse

After I got pregnant I was balanced and elated for several months. Then the anxiety kicked in.

I had many wild beasts chasing me inside my mind. I remembered about the sleepless nights and hassle of traveling with a plastic entourage of necessary items from Babies R Us. I felt reeeaallllly old. I wasn't sure if I could mother a boy since seven thousand people have told me how boys light things on fire, break stuff, make messes, live at the ER, play with themselves, eat you out of house and home, whack stationary objects with swords or sticks, and pee all over creation. I was super concerned that I might never do a creative thing again seeing as my art arsenal is packed up in the hall closet and I'm going to nurse for the rest of my life. Like I said, wild beasts running amuck everywhere.

Then I read in the Book of Mormon about Nephi and how he slayed wild beasts after he went up into the mountain. Mountains were temples and places to be closer to God in ancient times. Lucky me: I live three miles from a temple. I decided to go as often as possible to see if it would help kill the beasts in my head. It did.

I have had to go weekly to stay ahead of the stampede and cause the numbers to dwindle. But they are dying and that is all that matters.

Rock Pit

A young boy was trying to smooth out the dirt area behind his house so he could play there with his cars. There was a large rock obstructing his work. The boy pushed and pulled with all his might, but no matter how hard he tried, the rock wouldn’t budge.

His father watched for a while, then came to his son and said, “You need to use all your strength to move a rock this large.”

The boy responded, “I have used all my strength!”

His father corrected him: “No you haven’t. You haven’t had my help yet!”

They then bent down together and moved the rock easily.*

I am ashamed to admit how long I pushed on my rock until it occurred to me to just ask the Lord to move it for me. I will never forget sitting in Sunday School (during a period of intense life frustration) when the teacher pointed out what the Bible Dictionary said about prayer:

The object of prayer is not to change the will of God, but to secure for ourselves and for others blessings that God is already willing to grant, but that are made conditional on our asking for them.

Hold the phone. There were blessings He wanted to give me but was WAITING for me to ask for them? You mean to say there was nothing noble or valiant about silently rotting from the inside out from pain and anguish and jealousy and confusion? You mean there was a chance I could just ask for all the rot to be removed?

Yes.

With total sincerity and absolute faith I pleaded my case to my Heavenly Father. I begged him to remove the poison from my heart and the negativity from my brain. I told him of my wish to fulfill his purpose for me, that I didn't want to waste my happy years being sad with a glass half empty, that I didn't want to hate people with babies or kittens or puppies or lambs or chicks or anything else in baby form, that I needed to celebrate my life "as is" in case it never changed, and that I needed to have the oppressive weight of being stuck in my situation lifted because it was literally crushing the zest from my life. I explained I was tired of watching all my friends move on to new chapters while I had not even turned a page. I needed to be okay with my page if that was where my book ended. I asked for it all. And do you know what happened?

He granted it quickly, completely, lovingly, freely.

Don't push big rocks with tiny muscles when you have a loving bulldozer permanently parked next to you. 

*Elder Terrence Vinson, "Drawing Closer to God", Ensign, Nov 2013

Bulldozer courtesy of my neighbor and friend Bryton. Because I don't have boy toys yet.

Alma 43:49-50:

49 And it came to pass that they turned upon the Lamanites, and they cried with one voice unto the Lord their God, for their liberty and their freedom from bondage.

50 And they began to stand against the Lamanites with power; and in that selfsame hour that they cried unto the Lord for their freedom, the Lamanites began to flee before them; and they fled even to the waters of Sidon.

My summary: they cried to God for freedom and in that selfsame hour began to be free...

Mouse Station (The Parable of the Grateful Cat)

"Parable of the Grateful Cat" ©Cristall Harper  Painted for my 34th birthday, posted online four years later with her permission. I bet you wish she were your sister right about now.

You can print the full parable here. The last three paragraphs are my favorite. Keep in mind it was written nearly 100 years ago when language was flowery.

The condensed version: an esteemed naturalist was on a walk when he heard a cat meowing like crazy. He found her pacing frantically at the side of a pond watching little boys drown two of her five kittens. The naturalist rescued the three remaining kittens and gave them life and shelter in a warm basket at his place. The mother cat stuck to the naturalist like glue and was much more cheery. The day after the incident the cat interrupted a distinguished banquet honoring the naturalist by entering the hall and dropping a fat, live mouse at the foot of the man who saved her babies.

I have thought about this parable at length, me obviously being the cat of the story and Jesus Christ being the naturalist. Two things have impressed me over the years:

1) the cat only met and discovered the generous naturalist because two of her kittens were drowned, and

2) despite suffering the worst kind of tragedy possible the cat was at her most grateful state one short day later.

This painting somehow tied up all of my emotional loose ends that had frayed over the years and reminded me who I should be COME WHAT MAY. I knew that my "drowned kittens" -my miscarriage and failed IVF, my decade of back pain, my mental struggle to overcome physical pain, my icky feelings and dark moments- had in fact acquainted me with the Savior in a way I could not have otherwise achieved. Those pains were erased once I realized I still had many "living kittens" safe and warm in a basket thanks to the Savior's involvement in my dilemmas.

I owe the Savior many mice of gratitude for all He has done for me. And, like the parable states, I don't owe Him mice because He needs them. I owe him mice because mice are the paramount way for me to show I love Him.

As I started looking for mice to drop at His feet I found that I, too, was changing.

Twelve years ago all I cared about was getting from Point A to Point B. I wanted what I wanted and that was that. The reason I call the final stop of my personal map Mouse Station instead of Point B is because Point B ceased to be the finish line sometime during the mouse hunt. The test of this life isn't to achieve personal satisfaction but rather to align our will with God's. At Mouse Station I learned to override my personal agenda of frantically pacing pondside for the joy of hunting and gift wrapping mice. I traded meowing in distress for purring in lockstep along the stride of someone to whom I am infinitely indebted.