My Sacrament Talk

I still haven't figured out how to get pictures from my phone onto my blog, but I haven't given up hope. Today I gave a sacrament talk that I'm posting here because I like the stories from it and it kind of situates us in this moment:

Joy through Repentance

Introduction:

I’m excited to speak with you today, to introduce my family to you since we’ve only lived here for a month and to review sacred truths about repentance. Usually, when I give a talk, my husband Doug Bowen is sitting on the stand close to me, and I know people will be able to see both of us and visually link us together. However, the bishopric kindly let us speak on different days this time around. It means we don’t need to dump our wild flock of 5 children on some saintly, unsuspecting soul, or risk one of us missing our talks because we’re changing diapers. Today I get an “easier” sacrament experience than Doug does as he tries to enforce reverence on our pew or in the foyer.

Thirteen and a half years ago, Doug and I both moved into a BYU ward where the bishop bragged about his high marriage rates. We had both come off our missions recently—Doug from Brazil and me from New York City, and Doug was my stalwart home teacher for one month before being reassigned. Our first date was a huge group date on Valentine’s Day and I knew he might be the guy for me after—all in one date-- he fed me, took me to a hockey game, went ice skating with me, and introduced me to Ben and Jerry’s ice cream afterward. Two cartons of delicious Ben and Jerry’s ice cream reside in our freezer even now. 

Doug is the kindest, funniest, cutest person I’ve ever met, he’s obsessed with BYU football and basketball, and he’s the kind of dad who inserts sippy cups in his toddlers’ mouths to keep them hydrated every ten minutes or so. I’m so glad Doug’s my best friend and eternal companion.

I’m a runner with a recent foot injury, so I’m swimming, riding my bike, and reading books on the elliptical machine at the gym a lot more than usual. I miss being physically whole, but I’m trying to make lemonade from lemons. I’m an English professor for BYU-Idaho online, a drill sergeant with my kids, and an adventurer.   

We have a 1-year-old named Corban who is naughty, loud, and charming. He has just discovered how much he loves having us read books to him. We have a 3-year-old named Cason who is slightly more obedient than his little brother. He loves all the Avengers and sprinting very fast. 6-year-old Brooklyn is a proud new swimmer and bike-rider who loves baking and play dates just like her 8-year-old sister Lucy. Lucy is a great big sister, she has boundless energy, and her most frequently used expression may be, “Isaac, please stop!” Isaac is her ten-year-old mischievous brother who is also a budding comic artist, paleontologist, and zoologist.  

Doug is the reason our family came to Washington. He was a lawyer for many years in Southeastern Idaho and we loved everything about our life together except three things: 1) the extremely long and cold winters, 2) living too far away from family, and 3) Doug’s job as a divorce attorney. He decided to switch over to health care administration when I was pregnant with our last baby, and we figured out a way to have Doug receive training and start his new career in Utah County where my family lives. We got one heavenly year of my kids going to school with their cousins, getting to spend quality time with tons of family on both sides, soaking up the splendor of our aquarium and Thanksgiving Point memberships. . .and then we knew we were supposed to be here. I’ve been warned that it’s going to get cold and dreary here, and we live significantly farther away from family than we did in Idaho. But Doug loves his job and we know we’re supposed to be here. I’m already thankful to live here, enchanted by the gorgeous trees and the South Sound, grateful for all the people who have made efforts to help our family feel welcome, and encouraged by people all around me who are trying to be like Jesus.

Repentance:

I believe Yoda in Star Wars had it wrong when he told Luke Skywalker, “Do. Or do not. There is no try.”   Trying is the whole point of our mortal experience! We’re here that we might have joy, and that joy comes as we have faith in Jesus Christ, repent of our sins, are baptized, receive the gift of the Ghost, and endure to the end, ever strengthening our faith in Christ, repenting of our sins, recommitting ourselves to our baptismal covenants, and living our lives so that the Holy Ghost can guide us. We’re in the middle of a fight against sin, fighting for our eternal lives, and none of us are doing this perfectly. The poem entitled “The Race” by Dr. D.H. Groberg beautifully captures the way we feel when we’re trying our best, and things aren’t going the way we hoped they would:

The Race

Attributed to Dr. D.H. "Dee" Groberg

Whenever I start to hang my head in front of failure’s face,
    my downward fall is broken by the memory of a race.
A children’s race, young boys, young men; how I remember well,
    excitement sure, but also fear, it wasn’t hard to tell.
They all lined up so full of hope, each thought to win that race
    or tie for first, or if not that, at least take second place.
Their parents watched from off the side, each cheering for their son,
    and each boy hoped to show his folks that he would be the one.

The whistle blew and off they flew, like chariots of fire,
    to win, to be the hero there, was each young boy’s desire.
One boy in particular, whose dad was in the crowd,
    was running in the lead and thought “My dad will be so proud.”
But as he speeded down the field and crossed a shallow dip,
    the little boy who thought he’d win, lost his step and slipped.
Trying hard to catch himself, his arms flew everyplace,
    and midst the laughter of the crowd he fell flat on his face.
As he fell, his hope fell too; he couldn’t win it now.
    Humiliated, he just wished to disappear somehow.

But as he fell his dad stood up and showed his anxious face,
    which to the boy so clearly said, “Get up and win that race!”
He quickly rose, no damage done, behind a bit that’s all,
    and ran with all his mind and might to make up for his fall.
So anxious to restore himself, to catch up and to win,
    his mind went faster than his legs. He slipped and fell again.
He wished that he had quit before with only one disgrace.
    “I’m hopeless as a runner now, I shouldn’t try to race.”

But through the laughing crowd he searched and found his father’s face
    with a steady look that said again, “Get up and win that race!”
So he jumped up to try again, ten yards behind the last.
    “If I’m to gain those yards,” he thought, “I’ve got to run real fast!”
Exceeding everything he had, he regained eight, then ten...
    but trying hard to catch the lead, he slipped and fell again.
Defeat! He lay there silently. A tear dropped from his eye.
    “There’s no sense running anymore! Three strikes I’m out! Why try?
I’ve lost, so what’s the use?” he thought. “I’ll live with my disgrace.”
    But then he thought about his dad, who soon he’d have to face.

“Get up,” an echo sounded low, “you haven’t lost at all,
    for all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall.
Get up!” the echo urged him on, “Get up and take your place!
    You were not meant for failure here! Get up and win that race!”
So, up he rose to run once more, refusing to forfeit,
    and he resolved that win or lose, at least he wouldn’t quit.
So far behind the others now, the most he’d ever been,
    still he gave it all he had and ran like he could win.
Three times he’d fallen stumbling, three times he rose again.
    Too far behind to hope to win, he still ran to the end.

They cheered another boy who crossed the line and won first place,
    head high and proud and happy -- no falling, no disgrace.
But, when the fallen youngster crossed the line, in last place,
    the crowd gave him a greater cheer for finishing the race.
And even though he came in last with head bowed low, unproud,
    you would have thought he’d won the race, to listen to the crowd.
And to his dad he sadly said, “I didn’t do so well.”
    “To me, you won,” his father said. “You rose each time you fell.”

And now when things seem dark and bleak and difficult to face,
    the memory of that little boy helps me in my own race.
For all of life is like that race, with ups and downs and all.
    And all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall.
And when depression and despair shout loudly in my face,
    another voice within me says, “Get up and win that race!”

We’re each going to metaphorically fall—to sin—and this doesn’t mean all is lost. We may not feel all that joyful about repenting. Admitting we have given offense to God, feeling godly sorrow, confessing our sins to those we have hurt, and to the bishop if we have committed sexual sin or broken the law, and never committing the sin again may sound daunting. Without factoring Jesus Christ into this repentance process, Elder Renland says repentance becomes “simply miserable behavior modification.” But as with everything else in the world, Christ brings light, hope, and joy to repentance.  

Elder Renland says, “Real repentance must involve 1) faith. . . that [Christ] can change us, 2) faith that he can forgive us, and 3) faith that he will help us avoid more mistakes” (numbers added).  

So how can faith that Christ can change us make us feel joyful? We know that we are stained when we sin, and we know that no unclean thing can dwell with God. We can remember the Savior’s promise in Isaiah 1:18 that, “though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.” Rather than approaching our Father in Heaven with stained, soiled souls, we can exercise faith in the truth Sister Linda K. Reeves shared that, because of Christ’s atoning sacrifice, “we can be washed clean weekly as we worthily partake of His sacrament. . . we can continually become purified and strengthened so that at the end of our lives, we will be counted worthy to receive exaltation and eternal life” (October 2013). Faith that Christ can change us now, and keep changing us for the better, inspires hope and joy.

President Nelson gave an amazing talk in October of 2016 called “Joy and Spiritual Survival” that focuses on how we can have joy through following Jesus Christ’s commandments. He states:

If we focus on the joy that will come to us, or to those we love, what can we endure that presently seems overwhelming, painful, scary, unfair, or simply impossible?

One father in a spiritually precarious situation focused on the joy of finally being clean and right with the Lord—the joy of being freed from guilt and shame—and the joy of having peace of mind. That focus gave him the courage to confess to his wife and bishop about his problem with pornography and his subsequent infidelity. He is now doing everything his bishop counsels him to do, striving with all his heart to regain the trust of his dear wife.

A young woman focused on the joy of staying sexually pure to help her endure the mocking of friends as she walked away from a popular and provocative, but spiritually dangerous, situation.

A man who frequently demeaned his wife and indulged in angry outbursts at his children focused on the joy of being worthy to have the Holy Ghost as his constant companion. That focus motivated him to put off the natural man,¹⁸ to which he had too often succumbed, and make needed changes.

Repentance is a joyful choice because it demonstrates our commitment to improve. It shows that we are lifelong learners. We are all “works in progress,” and there is hope in joy in knowing that we still have time “while in this tabernacle of clay” to repent, to cast off the natural man.

One of my favorite stories about Christ changing someone comes from Corrie ten Boom, a Christian woman who was imprisoned during the Holocaust because she hid Jews in her home.

Corrie ten Boom and her sister Betsie spent horrific months in the infamous Ravensbrück concentration camp. Betsie died there—Corrie survived.

In Ravensbrück, Corrie and Betsie learned that God helps us to forgive. Following the war, Corrie was determined to share this message. On one occasion, she had just spoken to a group of people in Germany suffering from the ravages of war. Her message was “God forgives.” It was then that Corrie ten Boom’s faithfulness brought forth its blessing.

A man approached her. She recognized him as one of the cruelest guards in the camp. “You mentioned Ravensbrück in your talk,” he said. “I was a guard there. … But since that time, … I have become a Christian.” He explained that he had sought God’s forgiveness for the cruel things he had done. He extended his hand and asked, “Will you forgive me?”

Corrie ten Boom then said:

“It could not have been many seconds that he stood there—hand held out—but to me it seemed hours as I wrestled with the most difficult thing I had ever had to do.

“… The message that God forgives has a … condition: that we forgive those who have injured us. …

“… ‘Help me!’ I prayed silently. ‘I can lift my hand. I can do that much. You supply the feeling.’

“… Woodenly, mechanically, I thrust my hand into the one stretched out to me. As I did, an incredible thing took place. The current started in my shoulder, raced down my arm, sprang into our joined hands. And then this healing warmth seemed to flood my whole being, bringing tears to my eyes.

“‘I forgive you, brother!’ I cried. ‘With all my heart.’

“For a long moment we grasped each other’s hands, the former guard and the former prisoner. I had never known God’s love so intensely, as I did then.” ⁶

I believe that, like Corrie ten Boom, we can plead to God for help and he will save us by changing us—as we do all we can do. That healing change comes through our Savior, Jesus Christ, and it’s worth the effort.

We can be joyful today as we repent, and try with all of our hearts to be like Jesus. My prayer is that we’ll have faith to rise each time we fall because Jesus Christ loves us and makes it possible and joyful.  

I’ll close with an experience I had a few weeks ago. I mentioned that I’ve spent time at a gym lately, and a perk of my membership was that I got one free personal training session. During my free session, Jimmy, my personal trainer, told me to sit on a bench and pull a really heavy bar all the way down to my ribs a number of times. I did pretty well at first, and then Jimmy added more and more weight. He told me, “I will not let you fail.” I was intrigued by his comment and wondered what he meant by it as I pulled with all my might. I could see that my form was getting worse and my pathetically wimpy arms weren’t strong enough to achieve the task Jimmy put in front of me. Knowing there was no way I could finish the set he’d assigned me, I kept pulling anyway, and watched as Jimmy gently lifted the weights a little bit on his end. He made it possible for me to finish the set; he didn’t let me fail as I did everything I could do. I know the Savior cares about us and won’t let us fail in the things that matter most as we do everything we can do with our feeble strength.