Let God In

Posted by Michelle L. | January 28, 2010 | 24 Comments

I’d cried through all my Kleenex.

My brother strode up to the podium in the temple chapel and pulled out half the contents of the tissue box. Settling next to me he divided the stack and whispered, “Put as many in your pocket as you can. I’ll keep the rest for you.”

Mopping my face, I grimaced, “I won’t need them all!”

“Oh you will,” he replied, “I’ve seen enough in the last few days to know you will.”

Three days before I’d held my mother’s hand as she writhed in agony and then finally grew still. As her features stiffened and her body grew cold I lay on her chest and sobbed; sobbed for regret and unfilled promises and the wish for just a little more time.

My sobs continued as I moved through the endowment. I could see my mother in my peripheral vision—young and smiling and hovering near. Light poured through the upper windows of the jewel like rooms and I could see peace, sense peace around me. But I could only think, “Why didn’t I appreciate her more?” “Why didn’t I recognize her illness?” “Why did I find money to visit when she was sick but not when she was well?”

As I stood to pray, my tears choked me and I stumbled onto my father’s arm. There– on the altar of the temple, was the temple prayer roll. A list of names of the sick and afflicted, the worn and the weary. I knew my mother’s name was among them. I’d written it myself a few days before, before when I was sure she’d be healed.

We gathered in the celestial room and my siblings all spoke of feeling my mother, of seeing her as a young woman in their minds. They smiled and hugged.

I just sobbed.

Hollow and weary I walked to the car. Someone took a photo. Settling into the backseat I asked my sister, “Why is everyone feeling so peaceful except me? I’m in agony.”

My sister unfolded a blanket and draped it over my knees. “Couldn’t you feel Mom in the temple?” she asked.

“Oh yes. She was there.” I reached for another Kleenex. “But I kept thinking of the ways I’d let her down. I wasn’t a good daughter.”

“Michelle,” my sister sighed, “you’re doing what you’ve always done. You’re building a wall of regret. Mom just wants to love you. Let her in. Let her love you.”

I leaned back against the dark leather seats and opened my heart.

I understand… I’ve made mistakes… Life was hard for me too…I’m here to love you, not to judge you. Like fresh water in a desert I soaked up my mother’s love and went straight to the funeral home to dress her body for burial.

******************

And today, I’m struggling again. My best intentions have turned to disasters. I feel misunderstood and fallen and hated. What’s that quote? “Man will suffer no greater disappointment than that he is to himself.”

Yes. Oh yes.

When I kneel to pray my thoughts are crowded with, “I’m such a fool!” “When will I ever learn?” “I make a mess of everything.” God is there, but I’m covering my ears and shouting my failings.

But now, I’m going to lean back, like a child against a cool pillow, and feel God’s love. And I can already hear the murmuring words of comfort—I understand… I know life is hard…I know you’ve made mistakes… but I’ve paid the price for you. Let me in.

Comments

24 Responses to “Let God In”

Pam
January 28th, 2010 @ 5:05 am

Thank you for sharing this. It is exactly the kind of thing I needed to hear right now.
jeans
January 28th, 2010 @ 6:09 am

Me too, thanks Michelle.
Mrs. H-B
January 28th, 2010 @ 7:37 am

Thank you. I needed this today after spending yesterday beating myself up for my perceived failures.
jenny
January 28th, 2010 @ 7:42 am

Beautiful, Michelle, as always.
We all need these reminders, over and over again in our lives. Repetition is a powerful thing, and obviously something we all need. It’s especially moving when presented by someone whose heart is raw, but willing and softened.
Thank you for the tender reminder — I will keep this in my heart today.

xo
jendoop
January 28th, 2010 @ 9:42 am

Michelle, Thank you for showing us your heart. Thank you for being open with the whole experience of losing your mother. Today’s post is such a peaceful, life-encouraging post.

It’s interesting that when I teach the Young Women the point I most want to get across is that they are loved, especially by their Heavenly Father. I’m glad I get the opportunity to try and teach that over and over again because I need to learn it, really internalize it.

In anything I am trying to accomplish I make better progress if I feel empowered and supported. Verses when I choose to berate myself for what I haven’t done, or ways that I’ve failed, letting guilt rule. I believe that guilt is only appropriate when it motivates you to repent. Once you have recognized your fault, the guilt serves no positive purpose. (Yes we need to remember our sins so we don’t repeat them, but I think that is different from guilt). There is also a big difference between a sin and a mistake.

Michelle, I think the things you are berating yourself over are mistakes, not sins. When we make a mistake we learn and that is wisdom. Learn from your mistakes and look forward to each new day that is another chance to do better. Even though your mom is gone and you can’t make up that time with her (there is eternity) I’m sure she’d be thrilled if you gained wisdom that made you a better mother to her grandchildren. (Not that you’re a shabby one now!)

Great article by Elder Oaks about sins and mistakes:
http://www.lds.org/ldsorg/v/index.jsp?hideNav=1&locale=0&sourceId=5a9bdbdcc370c010VgnVCM1000004d82620a____&vgnextoid=2354fccf2b7db010VgnVCM1000004d82620aRCRD
Linda
January 28th, 2010 @ 10:18 am

That must have taken a lot from you to share your story. I know I was deeply touched. I hope you can try to focus on the blessings of that mother of yours and not on your faults. I am sure you will feel the Spirit touch and comfort you as you look forward and not behind.
Kathryn Soper
January 28th, 2010 @ 10:29 am

Beautifully shared, Michelle. And wonderful response, jendoop.

It’s breathtakingly difficult to see the realness and vastness of our own human weakness. It’s heartbreaking, really. I feel for you, Michelle. Again and again life brings me views of myself that shock me and make me bitterly weep.

Thank you for reminding me that this is the whole point, though–to have our protective illusions shattered so that we can be open to God and others. I need that assurance today.
Rose
January 28th, 2010 @ 10:38 am

And surly you know where the negative thoughts are coming from….
Merry Michelle
January 28th, 2010 @ 10:51 am

Raw, real, and beautiful.
Melissa M.
January 28th, 2010 @ 11:12 am

“It’s breathtakingly difficult to see the realness and vastness of our own human weakness. It’s heartbreaking, really….Again and again life brings me views of myself that shock me and make me bitterly weep.” Yes, Kathy! I have felt this so keenly, especially over the past six months as I’ve re-examined myself as a mother, as a wife and wept over my mistakes. I’m still struggling to be more gentle and forgiving with myself, but I do know that, as you said, having our “protective illusions shattered” does make us more pliant, more humble, more compassionate.

Thank you, Michelle, for this post today. It touched me deeply, and I only hope that you feel our collective love and empathy, and that you continue to feel God’s love—and your mother’s—through these difficult months.
Linn
January 28th, 2010 @ 12:02 pm

This post took my breath away Michelle.

Thank you sweet friend.
Michelle L.
January 28th, 2010 @ 12:23 pm

I so appreciate your comments. Writing something like these makes me fragile and vulnerable.

jendoop– you are exactly right. The balance is in recognizing Godly sorrow and just plain discouragement. Godly sorrow inspires me to do better; discouragement paralyzes me. Thanks for your thoughts and the link to Elder Oaks. I’ll go read that now.
wendy
January 28th, 2010 @ 1:09 pm

Lovely, Michelle.
Jill Shelley
January 28th, 2010 @ 1:49 pm

I am so sorry about your Mom. I know how badly it can hurt. My mom has been gone 2 years now but I still go through “I should have done this… or that…” She died in our home where she spent the last 3 weeks of her life. My mother was an angel. I was very blessed. But I did not give back enough. So I understand the regret. Maybe we are suppose to feel this way so we will be prompted to live as we know we should?
Selwyn
January 28th, 2010 @ 2:59 pm

It always astonishes me just how many tissues I can use – it always seems like an awful lot. The same as tears – surely I can’t cry that many?

Sometimes the sadness is what helps me the most, to know that Christ was a man of sorrows, well acquainted with grief, and actually does know the extent of our pain.

Thank you for sharing some of your pain, in such a tender and beautiful way, to better help us let the love (and thus God) in. I’ll be thinking of you today =)
Kerri
January 28th, 2010 @ 3:06 pm

Michelle, yet another of your posts hit me right where I needed it. Is it January that brings our weaknesses so strongly to our hearts and minds? I’ve been drowning in them. And yet, I’m reminded again and again and again that I just need to let God love me. Your words were a healing balm for my struggling and oh so weak soul.
Marintha
January 28th, 2010 @ 4:43 pm

Beautiful post Michelle.
m&m
January 28th, 2010 @ 5:09 pm

Beautiful.

I find that it’s rather easy to talk about the Atonement. I know the doctrine. But it’s so, so hard to really let that change my heart — particularly the way I view myself.

It’s also hard to come to the realization of how much I really need the Atonement, how weak I really am.

But I’m starting to feel that that IS the plan — to let myself need Him and let Him carry me in spite of — and perhaps because of — my weakness.
bth
January 28th, 2010 @ 5:11 pm

That was beautiful. Thank you. Just what I needed right now.
Melissa Y.
January 28th, 2010 @ 10:40 pm

This was lovely Michelle. In an aching sort of way. Thank you for being willing to share your journey.
Chelle
January 28th, 2010 @ 11:19 pm

Wow. This was beautiful. I’m going to go and read it again. Love you, Michelle.
Melissa
January 29th, 2010 @ 2:23 am

One of the hardest things in life is to love and accept ourselves. If you’re a perfectionist, the task is even harder. There is no trick to do it. It is a spiritual journey unique to each individual. I wish it were easier. I’m so sorry for your loss. It sounds like you are on the right track. Hang in there.
Sue
January 29th, 2010 @ 3:49 am

I think the Lord wants us to be as gentle with ourselves as we are with our own children. And I know your mom would want that, too.

A great and exquisitely honest post, Michelle. Thanks.

=)
mormonhermitmom
February 1st, 2010 @ 1:21 pm

Dang it! I just ran out of tissue!

Thank you.