Could I Forgive My Past Self?

When I was growing up, my family didn’t have a lot. We struggled financially. I didn’t have money to buy what I wanted. And there were many little things that I really wanted. One day, I found some money in my mom’s dresser drawer that I knew belonged to my little sister, Emelia. She had received it for her birthday. I guess my mom was keeping it because Emelia was only eight years old. It was sixty dollars, three twenties. I didn’t think anyone was using it or that they needed it as much as I did. So, I took it.

I stored it on the top shelf of my closet and would take a little down at a time. I used it over the course of several months to buy the things a fourteen-year-old girl wanted. When my mom asked me if I took the money, I told her I hadn’t. I think she ended up blaming my brother.

Do you feel guilty?

One day I was taking some of the money down, when a question came into my mind:

“Do you feel guilty?”

“No.”

“But do you remember learning in primary that stealing is wrong?”

“Yeah, but they said I would feel guilty, and I don’t. I feel perfectly fine.”

I distinctly remember analyzing the lack of guilt that I felt. At the time, I saw the conversation as my own thoughts. But now that I know how the Lord talks to me, I can look back at these memories and identify his presence more accurately. This was definitely one of those moments when he was working with me.

The more I changed, the more it bothered me

This situation was not resolved when I was 14. I did not do the right thing right away. I was focused on my own needs and had little empathy for my sister’s. But over the next few years when I went back to church, I grew up and grew closer to the Lord. The incident was always in the back of my mind. I never forgot it. The more I changed, the more it bothered me that I had done it. 

In a young women’s class, in a Sunday school class, or in a sacrament talk, I heard about making restitution for the things that we did wrong in order to truly repent. Some things were outside of our control, and we couldn’t physically do anything to make amends. But other things we could. I heard this lesson a number of times between the ages of 14 and 19. And when I did, I reflected on the stolen money. The guilt increased over these years. I never felt toxically ashamed; the feeling was more like motivation to make it right. I was one way at 14. I was another at 15 and another at 16 and 17 and 18 and 19.

The motivation converted into action

By age 19, the motivation converted into action. When I came home for the summer from my first year of college, I got my first full-time job. One day after work, I stopped by the teller and withdrew sixty dollars. That evening, I asked my mom and sister to come into my room. Emelia was now around the same age I had been when I took her money.

“I need to tell you guys something. Remember when someone took the sixty dollars that Emelia got for her birthday?”

They nodded.

“It was me. I’m sorry.” I didn’t cry. I felt solemn and excited at the same time. I handed Emelia the three twenty dollar bills (I didn’t know about interest rates at this age).

My mom hooted and said, “I wondered what had happened to that money.” She was happy and maybe even a little surprised that I was making restitution of my own free will.

Emelia had a big smile on her face. At eight years old, she may not have completely understood what she had lost. Now, it was clear that she understood the value of it. Sixty bucks was a lot of money for a 13 year old girl.

Could I forgive my past self? 

In telling this story, my hope is not to highlight my goodness. It’s actually pretty difficult for me to tell it because my values are so different than they were at fourteen. I am not that girl anymore. Her ways are no longer my ways. Her thoughts are no longer my thoughts. I see her as I would another person. And the Savior has taught me to have compassion on her.

That said, my main purpose is to illuminate the atonement of Jesus Christ in action. He wanted to know how much I understood about what I was doing. Maybe he questioned me to make sure. And maybe the questions were more for an older women when she looked back on the younger. Could I forgive my past self if I remembered that she didn’t completely understand the “why” behind the laws?

They that are without the law

A number of years ago, I learned more about Him and the way his Mercy works:

“For behold that all little children are alive in Christ, and also all they that are without the law. For the power of redemption cometh on all them that have no law; wherefore, he that is not condemned, or he that is under no condemnation, cannot repent.” ~Moroni 8:22

Under the Savior’s laws of Mercy, He gave me time to grow up, learn more, and to repent. He held back the full consequences of Justice for me. At no time did he smother me with guilt. But this wasn’t a free pass to just keep on stealing what I wanted. Over the next several years, he worked on me, trained me step by step, and I listened. 

I don’t think that it was ever about the money for him. I think it has always been about me learning the best and most sustainable way to obtain my desires and resolve my conflicts.

The laws of Justice & Mercy

At fourteen, I obviously knew that I shouldn’t take the money. I knew the law. According to Justice, I was guilty. But because of Mercy, I was given time for the law to become written in my heart. I was given time to decide who I wanted to be and to whom I would swear allegiance. At fourteen I had very little sense of belonging. I was operating in survival mode - just looking out for myself. I had not yet consciously devoted myself and my life to Christ. But over the course of the next five years, I gradually became aware of my identity. As my mind sharpened and my awareness of my choices increased, I chose who I would be allegiant to. I became a strong advocate for Christ. And that became a powerful reason for my obeying the law.

My story reminds me of Eustace Scrubb’s in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader by C.S. Lewis. This character is a pain in the butt during the first half of the book. He is always looking out for number one, which ends up causing other people trouble. But in the story he is cursed for stealing and changed into a dragon. He is not happy about this consequence and views it as a prison. Aslan is the lion character that symbolizes Jesus Christ. He works with Eustace to tear off the dragon’s skin layer by layer. Eustace changes through this experience. He becomes compassionate, empathetic, and courageous. He is forever after allegiant to Aslan.

Layer by layer. That is a good description of how I changed over the course of time, from fourteen to nineteen years old. And it’s a good description of how I have continued to change through the Savior’s training throughout my entire life. If I were to dwell in Toxic Shame on any of my past layers, it would really deter me from my future growth. 

The only way I have been able to let go of the past and become more than I once was has been to learn to have as much Mercy on my past self as Christ has had on her. As I have increased in this ability, my patience and empathy with my own kids and other people has increased. Because I was given Mercy, I am bound by the laws of Mercy. I am obligated to forgive myself and others who don’t yet know the law and who do not yet have it written in their hearts. I am harshly censured when I don’t.

The Glass Shattered in My Hands

In 1991, I bought a vintage gumball machine from a garage sale. A few weeks later, I was sitting on the edge of my bed trying to remove the glass globe from the base so I could fill it with gumballs. It wouldn’t come off, so I gripped it tighter and tried again. The glass shattered in my hands and cut me deeply in my palm. I was bleeding heavily. After rinsing and inspecting it, I knew it would need stitches. I covered it with a towel and drove myself to the hospital.

At Utah Valley Hospital in a small room partitioned with white curtains, the doctor removed a few tiny shards of glass and began sewing the cut back together. It hurt badly. I complained and pulled my hand away. He injected more local anesthetic around it but the pain was still intense. The doctor’s response was essentially, “Suck it up.” He could not understand my response and thought I was just being a wimp. So, I closed my eyes and just endured.

After the wound had healed and the stitches were removed, my palm still hurt when I put pressure on it. I thought it just would take some time to completely heal inside. But after many months, I was still feeling the pain. 

I wondered if this was just something that would always bother me. Some people get injured and live with pain and weakness for the rest of their lives. Was this one of those situations?

One day it occurred to me that there may still be some glass in there. 

A Second Opinion

I went to the doctor (a different one) and told him about the problem. He listened to my story and tested the area. He agreed that my hypothesis was most likely true. He then took some x-rays and verified that there was something in there. My skin had healed up completely, encasing it in there.

A few days later, I had out-patient surgery. The doctor opened my palm up with a laser, removed a half-inch sliver of glass, and then restitched it. This time the healing was complete. What a relief!

The emergency-room doctor had very little empathy for me because he did not know the extent of the injury. With the surface-level shards of glass removed and the local anesthetic, he believed the stitching shouldn’t have caused that much pain. He concluded that I was a wimp. Because that was his judgment, I too wondered why I wasn’t tough enough to endure the pain.

Spiritual Injuries

I have learned through years of experience that spiritual or emotional injuries are very similar to physical injuries. A spiritual injury is like the shard of glass in my palm because it is hidden and takes careful evaluation to see and understand the extent of the injury.

If we don’t work with someone who has the patience to listen to our story and the skill to heal us completely, the wounds may heal on the surface, but still cause us pain when pressure, stress, or adversity is applied.

We all have red buttons, pain points, sensitivities, vulnerabilities, weaknesses. If you have a fixed mindset like I used to have, you may think that you just have to live with them. You may think this is your life. But I’ve learned to have a growth mindset: Always take the time to look more deeply for the shards of glass first before thinking I have to live the rest of my life with a pain that may very well be easily removed now.

Physical Challenges

In many cases we do have to live with physical injuries, weaknesses, or disabilities for the rest of our lives. I have read many stories of people who have done this, but have found greater purpose, meaning, and joy in life than they ever would have without the challenge. Here are links to three videos of people who have done this:

Helen Keller

Art Berg

Nick Vujicic 

Before 2006, I had a number of weaknesses and pain points that I wasn’t completely aware of. They were hidden beneath a superficially healed surface. When the going got tough, I felt sharp spiritual pain. I reacted seemingly disproportionately to life’s challenges. Some people thought I just needed to “suck it up.” They couldn’t understand my response and thought I was just being a wimp. I believed them. So I tried to endure it. But I also went to other sources, read lots of books, and tried many things.

Jesus Christ, My Second Opinion

During His lifetime, Jesus Christ was a Spiritual and a Physical Physician. The two abilities went hand in hand.

“They that be whole need not a physician, but they that are sick. I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.” - Matthew 9:12

In the following story, we see Jesus as a Physical Physician. The woman, like me, had tried everything she could to solve the problem with the resources that were available to her before learning about Jesus.

“And a certain woman, which had an issue of blood twelve years, And had suffered many things of many physicians, and had spent all that she had, and was nothing bettered, but rather grew worse, When she had learned of Jesus, came in the press behind, and touched his garment. For she said, If I may touch but his clothes, I shall be whole. And straightway the fountain of her blood was dried up; and she felt in her body that she was healed of that plague.” - Mark 5:25-29

In my story Jesus has been both a Physical and Spiritual Physician. In 2006, I began developing my communication relationship with Him to a level I had never known was possible. When I developed the faith to communicate with him, He was the doctor I went to for a second opinion. He listened to my story. He had the technology to x-ray my soul. In every single case, we identified the problem and worked through it together. We removed one shard at a time. And this time the healing was complete.

It Was the People That Blew Me Away

When I went to Egypt, Jordan, and Israel in May 2014 we saw some of the wonders of the world. In Egypt we explored the Great Pyramids and the Great Sphinx of Giza, Mount Sinai, the Nile, and the Tutankhamun tombs. In Jordan we saw the ancient city of Petra (seen in Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade movie), the Red Sea, and Mount Nebo. In Israel we swam in the Dead Sea, road a lift to the top of Masada, sailed on the Sea of Galilee, and some of our group were even baptized in the Jordan River.

I had wanted to see this part of the world for so many years. I had imagined it would blow me away. And the sites were interesting, but as it turned out they paled in comparison with meeting the people. Most of those we met were in the tourist business - guides, vendors, and servers at restaurants and hotels.

The Great Sphinx of Giza

In Egypt when everyone was taking pictures of the Sphinx, I was talking to the young Egyptian girls who were harassing us to buy postcards, bookmarks, jewelry, and other stuff. They were very pushy and most people tried to ignore them, hoping they would leave them alone. I didn’t like their pushiness either, but I really wanted to know their story. So, I sidestepped their pushiness, and asked them questions about themselves. 

“How old are you?”

“How long have you been working here?”

“Do you go to school?”

A little surprised, they stopped harassing, and answered my questions. The group of them were between 12 and 14 years old. They had been working for a couple of years there. They sometimes went to school but there wasn’t a lot of time for that. Most had beautiful brown eyes with those thick dark eyelashes. One had green eyes. Some wore head wraps. Some wore full cover. One of the girls said she didn’t like to wear the full cover because of the tan line. She showed me how the top of her face was darker than the bottom. They all giggled at that. More joined us. I glanced at the Sphinx a few times wondering if I would regret not paying more attention to it, but facts are facts: The life in these young girls and apparent need for personal attention was more about why I was there than any other reason.

When I was leaving, one of the girls gave me a bookmark with a sketch of the Sphinx on it. She said it was a gift for me and that I didn’t need to pay for it. I thanked her. A few minutes later just before I got on the bus, I gave her a dollar and told her it was a gift. She smiled like she had just opened a Christmas present. I could tell that it wasn’t so much the money as it was the gift giving - her act of love and mine.

Al Siq to the City of Petra

We traveled to southwestern Jordan to visit the well-known archaeological site of Petra with the famous city carved out of the red rocks. We had to walk a long way through a narrow canyon called Al Siq to get there. The geology reminded me of Southern Utah - Lake Powell, Zion National Park, Bryce Canyon. 

As we walked, there were more child vendors. These were among the pushiest we came across. There was a girl who must have been around 13 years old who tried to stuff the postcards she was selling into the shirt of an older lady in our group. She was taking advantage of this woman’s age. I walked over to her and firmly, but not angrily, told her to stop. She stopped bugging her but looked at me with contempt and said, “Don’t worry about it.” I knew I was in her country and in her territory, so I didn’t respond. My hope was to maintain respect while drawing the line at insolence where I could.

The next vendor I interacted with was a younger boy. He stuffed a packet of postcards on my bag and wouldn’t take it back. I didn’t want to be manipulated into buying his postcards so I took off my sun glasses and looked him in the eye and said, “Take it.” Again, I was showing him that I was serious without being disrespectful or angry. 

He said, “No.”

I found this funny, but I also sensed the challenge. As I continued walking through the narrow passageway, over 250 feet of towering red cliffs on either side, he followed me. 

“What’s your name,” I asked.

“Solomon.”

I nodded. “I like that name. How old are you?”

“Nine.”

“Do you go to school?”

“I work here and I go to school later.”

I played around with him a little and tried to stuff the packet of postcards into his sweatshirt hoodie. But it dropped on the ground.  

“Pick it up!” he demanded.

I sensed this was a contest of pride. I knew my goal was to love and not respond with anger like I saw others doing, so I chose humility and picked it up. I’m not saying that was easy. I don’t like it when people treat me like that, but I felt that it was important for me to serve first - “as you wish” kind of thing. So, I picked it up.

“If any man desire to be first, the same shall be last of all, and servant of all.” -Mark 9:35

I handed him the postcards.

“They’re a gift for you,” he said

“No, you can have them back.” I had heard they had a quota to meet and I still didn’t want to buy the cards under force.

He kept insisting I keep them. So I put them in my purse. I could tell he was warming up to me. I asked if I could take his picture. He nodded. (see the above picture) I showed him the picture on my phone and let him play with the phone for a couple of minutes. He was fascinated. 

“Do you have gum?” he asked.

“Yeah, I think I do.” I dug in my bag, found a few pieces, and gave them to him.

Finally he said, “Can I have the postcards?”

I smiled and gave them back.

Before I left him, I asked him, “How much are the postcards?”

“Dollar.”

I gave him a dollar and he gave me the postcards. “Thanks,” I responded and patted him on the shoulder. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

He smiled and we parted as friends.

The Treasury

The next event occurred when I came out of the narrow shaded passageway into the full view of the Treasury at Petra (see picture below). It stood monumentally before me. But that’s not what demanded my attention. A group of older boys selling silver bracelets gathered around me. I braced myself for the harassment. Other people were passing quickly, ignoring the boys the best they could. Again, I didn’t want to be forced into buying, but I also wanted to treat them like human beings. I was in their country. I represented mine. I wanted to meet them. I sensed their value and wondered if I could get past their manipulation game to their hearts.

I took off my sun glasses so I could see them eye to eye. They liked my blue eyes and began to make comments about them. Instead of making this about me, I noticed their eyes - golden brown with dark eyelashes, like natural eyeliner. They were surprised that I was turning the focus on them. They seemed to really like it. There was a little boy among them that was totally adorable. 

I wanted to take a picture of him but some of the older boys said, “No, no. You can’t take his picture.” 

I accepted that without an argument and put away my phone.  

There must have been at least a dozen boys gathered around me. I talked with them a bit, asking them questions about themselves, side-stepping their flirty comments. No, I didn’t want to buy what they were selling. I just wanted to meet them. I treated them as human beings and recognized their value. They were full of intensity. They had stopped trying to sell me something and were enjoying the conversation. At one point I looked around and noticed my entire tour group was gathered a little ways off and the tour guide was giving them instructions that I was missing. Here I was surrounded by all of these young men. What the heck was I doing? But I couldn’t pull myself away.

I asked again if I could take a picture of the boy. They said I could and asked me why I wanted it. I pointed at the Treasury, one of the 7 Wonders of the World, and said, “This is beautiful.” Then I pointed at the boy and said, “But this is more beautiful.”

Shake It Off!

After getting married in December 1990, I experienced one of my first long-term episodes of depression. I had thought that once my dream of marriage came true, happily ever after would then occur. But that didn’t happen. I could not figure out what was wrong with me. I chastised myself in my journal. I wrote that I should feel happy and felt ashamed for not being able to be more grateful and positive. But I couldn’t Shake It Off. 

Toxic Shame

In essence, I was blaming myself. Blaming myself is an evaluation process. Blaming myself too much is taking too much responsibility for a failure* and not recognizing that there are also other causes involved. Blaming myself too much results in Toxic Shame. 

*Failure - I use this term to represent when anything is going wrong or is not where I want it to be regardless of who or what is to blame. I’m not saying I am a failure because I experienced depression. I use the term objectively.

My motivation behind attributing the cause of failure to myself is that I like to be in control of things, especially over how I feel. If I can find the cause of failure in my choices, that’s easy for me to change. I just have to figure out what it is and then work to change it. Success, then, replaces the failure. And I have to admit that I am a success junky. Toxic Shame isn’t about taking upon myself the responsibility to change. That’s actually a good thing. Toxic Shame is when:

• I take on more of the burden than I can handle 
• I try to change things about myself that shouldn’t be changed
• I try to change things about myself that I don’t yet (and in some cases will never) have the ability to change.

Toxic Blame

Blaming others or attributing the cause of the failure to sources outside of my control is also an evaluation process. And objectively it is true that most failures have multiple causes. Blaming other sources too much as the cause of failure and not recognizing that there are things that I have control over is Toxic Blame. I am motivated to engage in Toxic Blame evaluation about specific failed events or relationships that:

• Are in the past and I can do nothing about now
• I don’t know how to resolve the conflict
• I have worked hard and long to resolve a conflict and it’s still not resolving. 

Attributing too much of the cause to sources outside of my control leads to missed opportunities for growth, change, and personal development.

I now believe that when I blamed myself for my state of depression as a newlywed, I was diverging into Toxic Shame. Because I didn’t know then what I do now, this is understandable. But how I was evaluating the cause of my depression reminds me of an incident in high school.  

My coach told me to Shake It Off!

It was my sophomore year and I was on the softball team. At one of my home games at Santa Teresa High School, I was a runner on third base. My coach gave me the sign to steal home base if the pitcher tried to catch the runner at first from stealing second. She did and I took off for home. The other team recovered the ball and threw it home. From the sidelines, my coach shouted, “Down!” This meant to slide. We had practiced sliding for several weeks so I knew what to do, and I loved doing it. I slid into home base just as the catcher caught the ball. “Safe!” the umpire called. I got up and walked off the field, my coach patting me on the back. 

Standing on the sidelines at the end of the batting order, I felt a pain in my right knee. I walked around, stretching and flexing. My coach noticed and asked if I was okay. I said, “yeah.” He told me to Shake It Off. So, I tried. After the inning, I grabbed my glove and went back out to my position in left field. The pain was increasing, rather than decreasing. “What was wrong?” I wondered. “Why couldn’t I just Shake It Off?” There was no apparent injury – no cut, no blood, no bones sticking out. And I could walk. Usually, when I had collisions in softball, soccer, or hide-and-go-seek, my body hurt at first but then the pain would go away after a few minutes. But this wasn’t going away. Finally, my coach saw I was struggling and took me out of the game. 

A little while later, my mom picked me up from the school parking lot and brought me to the emergency room. The x-rays showed that I had not broken anything but had strained the ligaments in my right knee pretty badly. I had to wear a brace and use crutches for the next six weeks.

Trying to Shake Off spiritual strains

So back to the newlywed story I started with: After I was married in 1990 and was in my senior year at BYU, I felt like something had been spiritually strained, but I didn’t know what. Nothing bad had apparently happened. Only good. I just got married, for heaven’s sake! It’s only in retrospect as I have analyzed my past experiences with wiser eyes that I have been able to more accurately evaluate what was going on. 

And as I said, in my journal I tried to write happy thoughts, express my gratitude for my husband and my life, and think of some things about me that I could change to make things better. This was my attempt to Shake It Off. In the past, I might have felt sad about something specific that happened. Usually, I would understand why I was sad because the reasons were apparent. And the subsequent sad feelings were normally fleeting. I would rebalance after a short period of time. This time, however, there didn’t seem to be any cause for the sad feelings. I didn’t know what to change and I couldn’t Shake It Off.

All I could do was pray for help. And help did come in time. It wasn’t much longer before we moved from our first apartment to a little blue house next door to a family in our ward – Dennis and Susie Shaver and their four children. They were the ones who told us about the house and encouraged us to move in. We developed a close friendship with them. I interacted with Susie a lot and loved babysitting or just hanging out with her kids who were always coming over to our house.

Our relationship with this family made a big difference for me. The depression significantly decreased. I never imagined additional good relationships were what I needed. Note: I didn’t need toxic relationships with people who treated me like crap. I needed relationships with people who were examples and who were compassionate, patient, and kind. Susie and Dennis were.

The influence of attainable goals on depression

After I had Aaron, my first baby in October 1992, I started walking with Susie early mornings. This got me up, out of the house, and back to exercising. When the weather turned cold that Fall, we walked along the indoor track in the Smith Field House at BYU. That’s when I first saw and heard the intramural aerobics classes. The music was loud and dance-inducing. I wanted to join in, but I felt intimidated. I didn’t think I could do it because of memories of awkward, uncoordinated, failed dance lessons when I was a teen. But after listening to the music for a few weeks, I decided that it had to be done. And I thought that if I started at the beginning of the semester, it might be easier to learn.

After the new year - January 1993, I started on the back row with 2-month-old Aaron in his mint-green car seat right behind me. I was nervous about being able to keep up with what I thought would be a complicated routine. But I soon found out that while it was hard, it was doable. I realized that I actually craved the challenge to get the steps down flawlessly while keeping up with the instructor and the beat. She taught us in a way that enabled our success. The music was so fun and motivating. I absolutely loved it! I went 3-4 nights a week. Over time I was able to leave Aaron home with my husband and go on my own. Over a six-month period, I graduated from the back row to the front. I told some of my friends at church about it and soon I had a car full of women coming with me. With this activity and a healthier diet, I lost all of my pregnancy weight.

Healed from my first episode of depression 

I didn’t realize at the time but looking back I can see that the depression decreased and then entirely went away because of the Shavers, the aerobics instructor, my fellow aerobic-eers, and the successful achievement of my goals. Reflecting upon these people enables me to see the atonement of Jesus Christ in action for me. They were answers to my prayers. They brought light, excitement, motivation, and joy back into my life.

Faith is not to have a perfect knowledge

Knowing this about myself, I am able to troubleshoot other persistent incidents of depression that come up in my present life. I believe applying things that are known, seen, and apparent to other situations where things are presently unknown, unseen, and not apparent is what the following scripture on faith means:

“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.” ~Book of Mormon, Alma 32:21

I have learned that these things are true:

• I need loving and compatible relationships that give me enough of an opportunity to serve and be served. If I am too much alone or that opportunity is not great enough, I experience depression.
• I need to have goals that challenge me enough to develop the skills and talents I value. Even if I’m very busy, if I’m not working on developing a talent I value or one that I sense the Lord wants me to work on, I get bored and depressed.

My specific life circumstances have changed since then. My relationships have changed. But the principles I learned about myself are still applicable. If I’m experiencing depression and can’t Shake It Off, I know what I need to do and what I need to ask for.

Reality Hit: Smoking Is not a Good Idea

My early life was like finding my way through a dark maze. I had to learn a lot of things by taking a pathway and finding out it was a dead end. This story is about one of those experiences. 

Somewhere around the end of 7th grade, beginning of 8th, I met some new friends. They smoked. One of them gave me a pack of cigarettes. I tried them. I smoked off and on throughout my 8th grade year. This was the year I stopped going to church. I’m not sure which came first – the smoking or the decision to quit going to church. I sometimes smoked with other friends who didn’t smoke. It always made me feel guilty. Even though I generally didn’t feel very bad about doing it, I sometimes was aware that I should be the one setting the example here and I wasn’t.

Nicotine is Extremely Toxic

One side effect from smoking was that it hurt my stomach and gave me diarrhea. About 30 years later in my BYU-I Anatomy and Physiology class, I would learn that nicotine stimulates both the sympathetic (fight of flight) nervous system and the parasympathetic (rest and digest) nervous system. The body doesn’t know what to do because it is receiving conflicting signals. Heart rate becomes irregular because there are simultaneous stimuli to increase and decrease it. My textbook ends this description with, “Nicotine is extremely toxic, and even small amounts can be lethal” (BIO 264-265, McGraw Hill, 2014, p. 561). At 13 years old, I don’t remember being too worried about the long-term effects of smoking. After all, my grandpa smoked, and he didn’t seem any worse for it. And I totally looked up to him. But at the same time, I didn’t like the stomach aches and the diarrhea.

Motion and Smoke Sickness Mixed Together

Towards the end of 8th grade I was invited to a slumber party. We all went to Marriott’s Great American on a Friday night. A group of us went on the birdcage ride. A few of us pulled out cigarettes and started smoking. A number of things happened. Most of the girls did not smoke with us. I sensed they felt uncomfortable. I became conscious of my responsibility to set a good example again. The guilt was intense. At the same time, I was feeling motion sick from the ride. That combined with the dizziness or “buzz” from the nicotine left me feeling super sick. 

The reality seemed to hit me all at once: Smoking is not a good idea.

The next day, I made a decision: I would never smoke again. I never did. 

Guilt is Helpful Sometimes

In hindsight, I recognize the guilty feeling as the Lord’s censure. Because I had been baptized and had made a commitment to stand as a witness of his name, I was accountable. I have been censured or chastised similarly over the years for other things, so I am now more familiar with his voice. And so, looking back at these events, I see that it was him trying to steer me in the right direction. But I also notice that he valued my agency. He didn’t want the reason I decided to quit to be about force or ascetic manipulation. He wanted it to be my choice. Was I interested in taking care of my body and being a good example or not? What was most important to me? I made the choice and we moved on.

The repentance decision triggered a domino-effect of subsequent events. These were good and spiritually progressive events. 

I've written about them here: Change Like A Sunrise.

If you didn't read the last post, you should. It's a good one. It's not only about where Jesus grew up, but also about a quiet, tender mercy that happened while I was touring Israel a few years ago. Read it here: Where Had Jesus Grown Up?

Where Had Jesus Grown Up?

In May of 2014, I went to Egypt, Jordan, and Israel with a Christian tour group. 

While touring through Israel, our guide Ruthie had us on the lookout for small fuzzy creatures that were native to Africa and the Middle East. She had a name for them, but I can’t remember it. She told us that it was rare to catch a glimpse of them, but we all hoped we would.

We visited a vast grove of date trees south of Jerusalem. The bus driver made a couple of loops around the area in hopes of seeing some of the animals, but we didn’t even see one.

A few days later we were in the more northern parts of Israel around Nazareth and Mount Hermon. Traffic was heavy in the city of Nazareth. It was crowded and full of modern-day buildings, cars, and ornate churches. A couple thousand years of history was built on top of what once was a remote village nestled into the hills above the large fertile Jezreel Valley. I wanted to visualize what life would have been like in this place where Christ grew up. Some archaeologists believe Nazareth was very small back in the first century with something like 400 people.

I really wanted to get a feel for the home where Jesus had grown up, but it wasn’t happening. Yet I kept praying for it and holding out hope. 

We continued moving north in the following days and visited Caesarea Philippi, the place in the New Testament where Jesus asked his disciples, “Whom do men say that I the Son of man am?” (Matthew 16:13-20)

After we visited the grotto area and talked about this event in Jesus’ life, the tour guide allowed us to explore the area on our own. Normally when we explored, we stayed together, but this was a place with short hikes and trails. So, this time I felt safe enough to go on my own.

I turned my mind to the Lord’s like usual and he immediately pointed me to a pathway that led up into a little forested area. I just followed him. After crossing over the creek on a wooden bridge (see the image at the top of the blog), I hiked up the side of the bluff. I was the only one who had gone this way. The pathway didn’t seem to be “well-travelled”. 

When I got to the top, I saw them – more than a half dozen of the elusive fuzzy creatures we had been searching for! They were nested in the trees and the crevices of a rocky outcropping. There were a couple of mamas with babies. It was delightful! 

I later found them online. They are called Hyraxes. They live in parts of Africa and the Middle East in forested areas, vegetation zones, and areas with large rock outcrops. They eat mostly leaves, twigs, fruit, bark, and grass. Their feet are equipped with rubbery pads, which allow them to climb trees very quickly and jump great distances (Treehouses).

I walked quietly and cautiously through the trees so I wouldn’t scare them. A couple of mamas hissed at me. I took some pictures so I could show the rest of the group when I got back, but I was thankful that I could experience this peaceful sacred place alone with Him. I wondered if this less trodden place, away from the ornate churches, was more like the place where he grew up. I wondered if these animals were around when he lived in the area. Whatever the case, I knew he was answering my prayer. He had brought me to a quiet place in nature to catch a glimpse of him.

It Was a Year of Shadow

In 1983 when I was 13 years old and in 8th grade, I stopped going to church. My mom said I could make my own decision about going, and so I chose not to go. It was a year of shadow. At least that’s what the memories look like now. At the time, I didn’t notice the shifting shades of gray as I walked along this pathway. And I wasn’t yet able to associate many of the consequences that occurred that year as a result of my choice. It’s only in hindsight that I see the link. 

It wasn’t so much that I should have been at church and wasn’t. It was that in not going I stepped away from the steady source of light and truth that is especially valuable to children who are just developing their sense of who they are. I became unconscious of my value, my worth, my accountability to God.

During this year of overcast skies, I had some friends that smoked. I was curious when they handed me a cigarette. I wondered how it would make me feel. So, I tried it. I didn’t feel bad about it. One night, they got a hold of some marijuana and invited me to try it. Again, I was curious about how it would make me feel. I tried it. The effect was that it took away some of my ability to choose. I remember I didn’t have a lot of control over what I said. It was like my boundaries were down. Thankfully, I didn’t do anything more than hang out with my friends that night. When I got home, I lay down on my bed and saw myself almost from a third-person perspective. A voice in my head spoke:

“Do you like how you feel?”

“No,” I responded.

“Then we don’t have to do this again.”

“Okay.”

I never did.