Are you in the Trenches, too?

I'm not sure what you know about trench warfare (I didn't know much), but it was pretty horrific.  Basically, at the time of World War One we were way better at blowing people up than we were at moving safely amidst explosions, so the opposing sides would dig trenches to sit and defend.  In fact, defending was easier than attacking.  Between the people with guns pointed at you and the barbed wire, any attack resulted in almost certain death.

In the famous Battle of Verdun in 1916, almost 700,000 people died.  Fighting in trenches has become almost synonymous with the concept of the futility of war.  It was dirty, it was protracted, and the conditions were apalling.

I have no experience with trench warfare.  I am a stay at home housewife, after all.  A few days ago I hurt my back picking up the dog toys, for heaven's sake.  What I am familiar with are my own difficulties, which do not compare to trench warfare at all.  For instance, my husband was scheduled to work this entire weekend, so I would be taking care of our four children, aged 7, 5, 3, and 1, alone.  My husband works in the ER, so this is a regular occurrence for me.  My four children are my joys, my little loves, my inspiration.

They also cry a lot.

Today was stake conference, which for non-mormon readers, means the entire region of church members gets together and goes to a 2 hour meeting with wonderful speakers, beautiful music and uplifting themes.  Today's theme was … hmm, I'm not sure.  I actually went to Stake Conference today.  I fed and dressed my kids.  I did their hair.  I packed a 30 pound (I am not exaggerating) bag with snacks, drinks, books, toys, coloring books, pens and paper, diapers, wipes, and on and on.  I dressed and got myself ready.  I loaded everything into the car and I went.

I honestly don't remember much of anything at all that was said.  In fact, there was a five minute period where I wanted to sit down and bawl on the floor.  Literally.  I almost did.

It's kind of my own fault, really.  I arrived too late to find a padded bench. Most weeks, it would be a minor issue.  Most weeks, I would be fine on the metal folding chairs.  But I hurt my back a few days ago, and sitting on those chairs was (pardon the pun) very hard.  Add to that frustration, a one year old who insists she sit on my lap and a bag I need to manage.  Plus my kids all kept dropping toys, so leaning over to pick them up (while holding a whiny one year old) hurt my back even more.

I also have a kid who's potty training.  We had to run to the bathroom to poop on the potty.  There was a LOT of crying.  Stake conference time fell during the exact time of my one year old's nap.  I could go on, and on.

If you have young children, you are nodding your head because you may not have experienced every element I just listed, but you have corresponding issues that are at least this hard and you know exactly what I mean when I say that several times the same thought popped into my head:

What in the world am I doing here?  I'm a moron for putting myself through this.  I should have stayed home and put the baby down for a nap, taken some ibuprofen for my back, and let the other kids play.

I mean, you've all thought it.  Maybe you've even done it.  After all, if I'd stayed home, I wouldn't have needed to do my makeup and hair, get dressed, get the little nuts dressed, pack this bag and struggle through this.  I could have read a book, made dinner, taken a nap.  Anything but THIS!!

I had a very, very difficult 45 minutes there, from about 10:15 until about 11:00, and then I had a horrible 15 minutes after that.  In despair, I noticed that my kids, not a single one of them, were even paying attention.  None of the five of us had heard a word that had been said.  No one had derived a single thing from this entire debacle.  Around 11:30, I returned from the toilet trip and my one year old was so tired she sort of passed out on my chest, awake but blessedly not crying.  My three year old was sitting on the floor jabbering and playing with toys (very messily) and I never ever let them do that, but they kept falling off the chair and I was too tired to fight about it anymore.

Something strange happened:  I heard part of one of the talks.

I couldn't tell you much about that very fine talk.  I know he discussed a lot.  I know it was funny, and moving, and obviously very well prepared.  I am new in this Stake and I have no idea who the speaker was.  His son wanted him to be a professional wrestler, but for me, I was just delighted he had been asked to speak because something happened to me.  The Spirit lifted my flagging soul and filled me with light.  That might sound melodramatic, but I swear it's God's honest truth.   I realized something then.  When we are wrangling our kids, when we are slogging through the day to day, hour to hour, and minute to minute of our time with young children, when we feel like we are banging our head against the wall and we think the crying will never stop, we are fighting a war.  We are in the trenches.

It might seem futile.  There will be a lot of casualties.  So far I've lost lots and lots of time.  I've lost my own selfish wants.  I've lost my figure, and my hobbies and so many many other things.  As this war goes on and I will lose more and more.  Sometimes I feel like I've lost myself, everything that made me who I was before I had kids.

In the New Testament Jesus said, "For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: and whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it."

That verse in Matthew 16:25 explains what is at stake in this war, in this trench warfare.  It feels futile.  It feels like we are stuck, making no progress and losing and losing.  But we can't forget who we are fighting--Satan--or what's at stake.  Satan will do most anything he can to win this fight because the prize is monumental, and Jesus Christ has already made the ultimate sacrifice for the prize: our immortal souls.  Our children's live's, and our lives, too.  I forget that sometimes, that I am doing this for my babies and for myself.  I am losing my life in this war, and it is because of that loss that I will become what He wants me to become.

I testify to you that the trenches seem pointless.  They seem futile.  In World War One, they really might have been.  Maybe it was the worst kind of battle at that time, but today, in our ages, if you are in the trenches with me, please hold on.  You don't need young children to be in the trenches.  You could be suffering the loss of a loved one, you could be fighting addiction, you could be battling a disability or struggling to make ends meet.  Whatever the fight, if you are struggling to survive, you are down here with me.

My message today is a simple one.  It's the same message that Christ has given over and over and over again.  You are not alone, and just when you realize you've lost your life, you will find it again.  This is a battle worth fighting.  So tonight, after I dose a baby who now has a fever, and I go to my bedroom to lay down, I will be praying for all of you.  Every mother and father in the trenches.  Every son or daughter, every friend.  If you are struggling in the trenches, I will pray for you and I hope you will pray for me.  It is my sincere prayer that each trench fighter will experience that flash of brilliance tonight, or tomorrow, or every day, that shows you that one day this battle will end and all the misery will truly be worth it.

I was raised a Mormon, but I don't know that the church is true. I don't know that God exists.

I don't know that the church is true.  I don't know that God exists.

Let me tell you a few things that I do know.  The sky is blue.  I have milk in my fridge.  I know because I have seen them.

I do not, however, know that God lives. I do not know that I have a Heavenly Father or that he had a son who lived on this earth. In fact, I don't really know anything the mormon church (or other Christian faiths) teach to be true.  I can't, by definition, see the Holy Ghost.  I don't know if Joseph Smith came and restored the gospel because I never met him myself--I wasn't even alive.  If he did do what he claims, he still could have been a bigot, a real jerk.  He could have been a lecher.  I just don't know, because none of these things are facts.  No matter how long I live, I'll probably never see God face to face.

What probably seems the strangest to most people is that I'm okay with not knowing.

In the Book of Mormon, there is a verse I love.  I first heard it when I was very young.  Alma 32:21:

21 And now as I said concerning faith—faith is not to have a perfect knowledge of things; therefore if ye have faith ye hope for things which are not seen, which are true.

Having faith in God means I don't know.  I hope for the truth of the things about the gospel, about my Savior, about my Heavenly Father.  I believe they are true, but I don't know.

In the Book of Mormon, there's this character, Nephi, and he has a great dad, Lehi.  He also has two pretty crummy brothers.  I mean, these guys are always whining.  They are always complaining.  Nothing ever makes them happy and they never believe what their dad says, and constantly criticize whatever he does.  I never kept track of how often they are called to repentance in the Book of Mormon account, but I think it's probably safe to assume it happened even more times than the scriptures record.  They never seem to believe in their dad (a prophet of God), or by extension, God, no matter what happens.  God's power shocks them at one point.  Their brother keeps accomplishing things they are sure he can't accomplish--building a boat, finding the promised land, and on and on.  

No matter what happens to them, what miracles they witness, it's never enough.

At one point they even see an angel.  As in, a real angel of God comes down to stop them from attacking their righteous brother Nephi.  If seeing an angel is not enough, let me promise you, no knowledge will ever be enough to convince you.  It is counter-intuitive to me that to believe something is stronger than to know it.

It may be counter-intuitive, but it's still true, because believing in something is an action.  Actions are stronger than facts.  Actions make us stronger, too.  I am who I am because I BELIEVE in God.  I believe in his Son.  I believe in something more than what I am, and I believe that, yes, with God and Jesus on my side, and with the guidance of the Holy Ghost, I can become something I could never be without them.

In Mormon churches, the first Sunday of every month, we are asked to fast, and instead of prepared talks, the members of the congregation are invited to stand at the pulpit and bear their own testimony, without script or preparation.  On these Sundays, called "fast and testimony" Sundays, people always say they "Know" things and it has made me uncomfortable for years, because I couldn't say that.  I just don't know.  In the past, it always felt like I was somehow missing something, like my testimonty was somehow inferior to everyone else's.

I finally realized this week what it means to believe, and that believing makes me stronger, not weaker.

So I will close with my brief testimony.  I believe in God, and in his Son Jesus Christ.  I believe in the Spirit, and in the eternal nature of families.  I delight in the fact that there is a world beyond this one.  That God has a plan for me and for my family and my friends, too.  I am happy that I can grow through trials, through difficulties.  I believe God sent a true and living prophet, Joseph Smith, to restore his gospel many years ago, and I believe He has chosen a prophet to lead his church today--President Thomas S. Monson.  I believe I have been richly blessed, both temporally and spiritually and I am so very very grateful for all that I have.

In the name of my Savior, Jesus Christ, Amen.