Sabbath Devotional :: And Above All Things, Charity

True confession: I don’t love reading the scriptures.

Well, I don’t love reading them all the time. I don’t read them all the time. I know I should, but I don’t. I have struggled my entire life being a daily scripture reader. I have always had dreams of being a great scriptorian (and an Olympic gymnast), but I am not.

I struggle to establish any good, daily habit (unless you count snacking on chocolate chips, because I do that every day). When it comes to the scriptures, I struggle to understand what I am reading, especially when it’s written in King James-era English. I struggle when I see what I think are inconsistencies. My logical, science-minded brain questions everything, and in the scriptures I find much to question. I struggle to keep track of details — any book with many characters is too much for me. After all these years, I still cannot keep track of basic Book of Mormon characters. I prefer narratives to occur sequentially. I struggle to find time — there is always another chore to be done when you have a house full of kids — and when I leave my reading until nighttime, that reading puts me to sleep (if my husband will even let me turn on the reading lamp without complaining). Family scripture study has not fared any better — cue memories of sleeping teenagers, angry threats of Book of Mormon throwing, and mom and dad “debates” in front of the kids over how we think scriptures should be studied.

But there are times when, in my readings and studies, I am hit with truth. How do I know it is truth? I usually feel a quick, immediate moment of enlightenment. An “oh my gosh, I never thought of it that way” moment. A “go and get my husband and run my mouth a mile a minute to explain what I just learned” moment. Peace fills my heart. Thoughts flood my mind. Joy permeates my soul. I rush to the topical guide to look up other scriptures. More insights come. I have feelings of wanting to do better, wanting to read more, wanting to shout truth to the world. Is that the spirit? I hope so, because I like that feeling. (In truth, it feels better than the chocolate chip rush, but I still find myself reaching for chocolate chips much more often than my scriptures).

I had one of those moments a couple of weeks ago while reading the Doctrine and Covenants in preparation for that day’s Sunday school lesson — yes, it was a rare moment. Before I share that truth-finding experience, I want to first share one of my most sacred truth-finding moments. It was during an agonizingly difficult period — one that makes me cry every time I recall it.

It was a time when every single one of my seven children was in a moment of crisis, and my life consisted of imperfectly juggling seven wounded kids alongside my husband. We didn’t do it well. Tensions were often high. We fought too much. I felt overwhelmed, like I was swimming in an ocean, wave after wave crashing into me and pulling me under. I could bring my head up for just enough time to catch one tiny breath before the next wave hit. I don’t have time to share the struggle of each child in this short devotional, but trust me when I say that each was struggling in their own unique and difficult way.

Child number four had been born about 10 years earlier. He screamed when he made his appearance into the world and didn’t stop for two years. He screamed when I rocked him and when I laid him down to sleep. He didn’t scream when I nursed, but he screamed as soon as I stopped.

When he hit age 2, his screams matured into daily, hours-long meltdowns that I now regret dealing with by letting him cry it out in his room. There were many triggers: sock seams, shirt tags, boogers on spoons (he was sure that every spoon had a booger on it), and not being able to pour milk all the way to the “tippy top” of his cereal bowl. Getting him into his car seat was an Olympic sport. Most playdates ended with me dragging him to the car and taking him home to, you guessed it, cry it out in his room.

His kindergarten teacher had received the first of many of his kicks before he even entered her classroom. Each day, he was removed from class, kicking and yelling, to calm down in another classroom.

As he grew older, his tantrums evolved into defiance: refusal to get dressed, refusal to stop watching TV, refusal to go to school, walking home from the bus stop as soon as he was dropped off in the morning. By the time he was 10, he was getting too big and strong for me to wrangle him into doing what he needed to do.

And with six other struggling kids, I increasingly failed, and wept, and wanted to give up. I was probably not a pleasant companion. Each day as my husband walked in the door after a long day at work, he was met with a frazzled wife who just wanted to unload on him that day’s battles. Advice was usually quickly given and even more quickly and angrily thrown back at him. Did he not know that I had already tried that? Did he not hear me say that I just wanted him to listen? Couldn’t he just try to understand without judging and blaming and giving useless advice, even one time?

And then one day, everything changed. It was a day just like the others. He walked in hopeful, only to be met by a messy house, no dinner, and me feeling utterly spent. I just needed to vent. Would he let me just vent without telling me what I had handled wrong?

The tales were told, and I looked up. Silence. He looked pensive. And apprehensive. “Rachel, I am going to tell you something. Please don’t get angry.” He knows me well. “Rachel, I’ve been praying about this. A lot. I want to tell you that you just need to love him.” With the word “love,” the warmth of the spirit seeped into my body and spirit, and I knew my husband was delivering to me a much-needed, healing message from my loving and mindful Heavenly Father.

Love him. Love him. Love him.

And so I set out that day determined to love him — love him in every way I possibly could. It wasn’t easy. Things didn’t change immediately. There were still tantrums and hold downs, but they were accompanied with loving words instead of through gritted teeth. He still got defiant and I still sent him to his room, but I would use that time out to think of how I could repair instead of mete justice. I still got angry, but I gave myself permission to do so less often. And as I did, I heard the whisperings of the spirit a little bit louder. I felt a calm reassurance a little more often. I even occasionally felt flashes of hope that he would grow into a wonderful, responsible, loving adult.

I have never forgotten the lesson I learned that day. “Love is the answer” no longer sounded trite to me because the spirit spoke truth and my experience showed me what love is capable of.

You know how when you learn a truth you start to see it everywhere? I think that is what happened a couple of weeks ago as I was reading the Doctrine and Covenants, feeling a little proud, yes, that I was preparing ahead of time for our Sunday school lesson. The assignment was section 88. It is a long section, a very long section, an “I’m going to test you to see if you really want to study today” kind of section. And it was confusing and heavy and, did I mention, long?

I started to get bogged down with descriptions of light, the doctrines of resurrection and redemption, the three kingdoms and signs of the second coming, and the fall of Babylon. None of these topics are my favorite. In fact, I start feeling panicky when I read and think about resurrection and eternity. I have a hard time wrapping my head around forever, and the thought of eternal increase scares me to death. I cannot even handle seven children! Am I supposed to feel excited about having to care for and worry about seven times infinity?

As I waded through, though, I was relieved when, in verse 117, I read “Therefore.” I like that word. It is a word used in mathematical proof and formal logic. “Therefore” signals the answer. The conclusion. The truth after all of the preliminary data and premises. It provided a welcome reprieve and encouraged a productive question. Therefore, what can I do to prepare?

And so as I read, “Therefore, verily I say unto you, my friends . . .”, I was introduced to the real meat, to the “what can I do?”, to a beautiful list. “Seek ye diligently,” “teach one another words of wisdom,” “seek learning, even by study and also by faith,” “organize yourselves,” “establish a house,” “cease from” light speeches and pride and wicked doings, “cease to be idle,” and “cease to find fault.” As the list is given, with definite allusions to the temple and the covenants we make there, the list culminates with this,

“And above all things, clothe yourselves with the bond of charity, as with a mantle, which is the bond of perfectness and peace.”

And as I read this, I recognized that feeling, that truth, that same warmth seeping into me. That feeling of peace, of goodness, of truth. Once again, I knew I was being delivered a much-needed, healing message from my loving and mindful Heavenly Father. Above all things, charity. Love him. Love him. Love him.

Isn’t that the message the Lord would have us learn, “above all things”? If we cannot learn this lesson, it seems no other lesson matters. To clothe ourselves with the bond of charity, with the bond of the pure love of Christ, with the bond that comes from loving and serving and easing the burdens of all of God’s children on earth. A bond, created through our good works, which is the bond of perfectness and peace. Love him. Love them. Love is the answer. Love seems to be to be the center of the gospel, the doctrine I can weigh all other doctrines against. It was a lesson I needed years ago. It was a lesson I needed two weeks ago. It is a lesson I especially need today.

PS. For those who got this far, I may have left you hanging on how child number four is doing. He’s an adult now. This is the text I sent to my group of best friends last night (the MWEG moderating team is seriously the best).

I’m lying in the bath watching [funny] videos and listening to my husband and 21-year-old [son] downstairs carry on an adult conversation about school and career choices. I’m in tears. This is the kid who spent 18 years fighting us every step of the way. He just got his first real job and first apartment four hours away but came home for the weekend as he broke his hand. I never imagined this kind of beautiful exchange happening between those two. Ever. Moral of the story. Don’t ever think teenage behavior is defining and final (for him it was baby, toddler, middle years, preteen, teenage behavior — and it still wasn’t defining). Some days I am reminded that life is good. God is mindful. I did OK.

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Rachel Fisher Scholes is the senior director of the encircle limb for Mormon Women for Ethical Government.

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