I wrote this January 2010 and it has been defining:
I’ve been studying The Love of God by Pres. Uchtdorf, specifically this line:
“Think of the purest, most all-consuming love you can imagine. Now multiply that by an infinite amount—that is the measure of God’s love for you.”
I’ve been pondering this and asking myself: What is the purest love I can imagine?
The memory that comes to mind is being curled up under my mom’s arm, snuggled into her warm body, feeling safe, secure, at peace and without any fear.
In addition, I have really been pondering the words of my mentor:
“I want you to know that I totally and genuinely accept you. This includes your talents, gifts, strengths, beauty, courage, personality and all goodness you possess. It also includes your weaknesses, failures, fears, ugliness, sadness, burdens and all your shadows. There is nothing about you and no part of you that I reject.”
Specifically the word, “ugliness.” Do I love myself in my ugliness? Do I love others in their ugliness? It sat in my mind for awhile, and I’ll write more on that.
On December 15th, I got in bed at the end of the day; and like many days was just sick with anxiety, dread, exhaustion, and pain. The difference on this night was that I started to cry. I was really feeling. I expressed some of my feelings to my husband and he tried to quickly solve my problems, which made me angry. I did really want his help, even though I was pushing him away in my communication.
I said, “I feel like I’m being tormented by Satan every day.”
He sat quietly for a minute and then said, “You are holding on to something that has stopped your progression.”
I guessed, “Selfishness.” He responded, “It feels more like anger.”
I continued to feel and cry for a while as I thought about that.
I received some clarity about my anger, selfishness, and pride. I have a tendency to be a “controller” of myself and those around me. I feel like I’ve been asked by God to give up control and I’m angry about it. I’m proud. I’m not acting as someone who truly believes that God always knows best and always leads us to life and good and happiness. These thoughts humbled me, and surrendered me.
The next evening, I found myself all teary again. This time I was just crying. I was grateful for some understanding. I was grateful to be feeling. My husband and I watched a movie together, and I was feeling happy in his company. I remembered how when we were dating, I used to just relax with him. He was my safe place, of security, peace, and calm; another memory of “pure love.” I didn’t question his love for me—the pretty and the ugly, the strengths and weaknesses. I haven’t been letting him love me like that. I have been trying not to need him like that. In my marriage, I can have the purest love possible in this life, if I will.
If I’m not letting him by my refuge, I’m certainly not open to letting Christ be my refuge.
Ironically, the theme song of the movie we were watching was, “Let my love open the door to your heart.”
I shared this with my husband, and then I just felt like having a really good cry. I hate crying in front of people, and this was going to by ugly. I felt like going into the bathroom to have it all out, but felt prompted to let him hold me as I cried. I swallowed my pride and told him how I felt; he put his arm around me. I let it all out. I cried, sniffed, gasped, and just sobbed. My crying gave way to a peace that I haven’t felt for a long time. I relaxed. I was in that place again of security, safety, and peace.
This was a breakthrough. My heart is letting in love, and it is pouring in. I’m enjoying my family again. We’re having those perfect moments again. I’m filled with hope for today and the future.
My behavior hasn’t changed drastically, but my heart has opened. It’s a start; a good start.
I’ve loved thinking about God’s love for me, His open invitation to come unto Him, to let Him heal me. Hoping, desiring, and being blessed with faith in His ability to change me.
I was watching “To this end was I born” the other day and noticed that in the movies the people petitioning Christ for healing are usually in a sorry state, as I’m sure is accurate. They were “ugly”; they were not presentable, they were desperate. I don’t have to make myself presentable before God will heal me, he loves me in my ugliness, especially in my ugliness.
I discovered this painting that touched my heart. I found out afterwards that the name of the painting is Security by David Bowman—it is a representation of letting Christ be my safe place, my security, peace, and comfort. Today—I don’t have to present myself to him. His arms are open. He wants to love me in my desperation.
