Sabbath Devotional :: The Divine Complexity of Our Current Circumstances
The temperature here in Omaha has been hovering around 0 degrees for over a week now, often dipping into negative territory, with more frigid weather to come. And we keep getting new layers of snow laid on top of what came the day before, with barely enough time to chip away at them. It kind of feels like we will never be able to go outside again. Even when I am inside, I can feel the never-ending chill of the ice that seems like it is trying to break its way into my home. I have cold toes, cold fingers, and, if I am being honest, a cold heart at times as the bleak landscape seeps into my mood.
This morning I awoke early to drive my son to a swim meet and promptly rammed my toes smack into the chest at the foot of my bed. I hobbled around the whole day with what is possibly a broken toe. Like so many of you, my Saturdays are packed full of household, family, and work responsibilities. I spent the first eight hours of my day feeling like it was all I could do to hang on with the edge of my fingers. Add in that I was trying to listen to the impeachment trial while doing everything else, and I kept getting crankier and crankier.
By the time I sat down to teach my first piano student of the afternoon, I was feeling pretty dark about the state of the world. I had too much to do, the people around me were being very demanding, and I was genuinely concerned about the future of our country.
This particular student is at an “acceleration point” in her musical training. We have spent years working together on her technique, her note reading, and her musicality. She has always had very weak fingers and hands, and it has been such a struggle to get her past the basic mechanics of playing the notes and into the realm of making music. But it recently began to come together for her, as evidenced by the fact that she brought me a piece of music she wanted to learn — a sign that she is feeling increased satisfaction and comfort in her playing.
We dove right in to the music. I helped her fix mistakes, identify chords, and count the rhythm correctly. She picked it up fast enough that I decided it was worth trying to play it as a duet with her. So, at our separate pianos, we began to mingle our music together. And something glorious happened: The music drew me out of myself, and I started to feel joy rush in. The music itself was not particularly complex or unique, but there was something really special about the way we were working together to make it.
This is not an uncommon occurrence for me. My entire life has been filled with music, and the piano regularly beckons with its joyful and familiar sounds. Other times, the piano is exactly the place I go to wallow in my grief.
And so, thanks to a day that was truly bleak but also amazingly joyful and fulfilling, I found my mind re-opened to a few truths that have consistently guided me through this broken world:
1. Feelings and expressions of both joy and grief are needed to make me feel complete.
Like Alma, my pains are often exquisite and bitter, but, “on the other hand, there can be nothing so exquisite and sweet as . . . my joy.” Thanks to the gift of my Savior, I can embrace both the joy and the grief — they make me a complete person. Most often, it is the sorrow, either at my own actions or at those of others, that expands my heart to be able to love and feel more joy, more deeply, on the other side. If I suppress or pretend the sadness is not there, I lose out on the advantages of its sweet resolution.
2. The snow always melts eventually, and spring comes.
And I don’t have to wait to feel joy until that day. I can pray for and access “holy moments” to get me through the bleakness of my winters so that I may be sustained until the sun shines again.
3. Great growth happens in the context of our relationships.
When I am struggling to pull myself out of an emotional hole, I often retreat from others and try to figure it all out myself. But, as illustrated by my experience with my duet partner, I am usually missing a little something that only another person can provide.
4. Oftentimes, change comes about slowly, like the gradual strengthening of a piano student’s hands.
What appears to burst forth in a rush of progress is usually the result of a long, deep learning process, line upon line, precept upon precept. A loving God lays markers for us along the way to keep us moving forward, but sometimes those markers don’t show up until right when we need them. But when they do, I want to revel in them, suspending a moment in time to soak in the feeling of being imperfect and alive.
We are each full of beautiful, holy contradictions. As we recognize this about ourselves, we can love each other more because we see ourselves reflected in our brothers and sisters. May you embrace the divine complexity of your current circumstances as you look forward with hope to a better tomorrow.
Emma Petty Addams is the executive director for Mormon Women for Ethical Government.
Notes:
1. My student was learning the 2021 Youth Theme, “A Great Work.” Being the classical music snob I am, I must admit I was skeptical when she brought it to me. But, lesson learned, it is lovely. You can listen to it here.
