Sometimes life just throws in those ironic little twists that I can't help but laugh. Tonight brought one of those twists.
I'm not too sure how common this knowledge is, so I'll just throw it out there: Over the past few years, I've struggled, and struggled deeply, with my testimony. The hows and the whys are too complex to bother typing out here, but up until my last few months in Oregon, I hadn't been to church regularly in over two years. And to apply the term "regularly" to my current level attendance would be a VERY liberal interpretation of the term. For the past year or so, however, I've definitely been doing a lot more thinking, pondering, and attending. The one glaring omission from that list above, obviously, is prayer. For many, many reasons, this is the most difficult thing for me to do.
Tonight I was in my kitchen making orzo and watching MTV's "16 and Pregnant" (yeah, I love trashy reality TV shows. That's a moral failing for another post) when there was a knock on the door and who should appear: the missionaries and a brother from the ward.
Fast forward two and a half hours, and they're leaving me after one gut-wrenching conversation having extracted a major, major promise from me: to vocally pray this evening. Once I give my word to someone I cannot go back on it. Trust and promises are a big thing for me. Even before they left though I was feeling stressed about the prospect of praying. I can't explain it, but I was filled with so many conflicting emotions I felt like I was being torn apart, literally. The only place I could think of to go was the temple. So I did.
By the time I got to the temple it was dark out and the gates around the ground were locked. I started wandering around the back of the temple, looking for a place to pray. But it was dark. And the grass was wet. And I was hungry because I never got around to eating the orzo. And I still hadn't showered after returning from a camping trip earlier in the evening so I was beyond gross. And... I was on my umpteenth mental excuse when I found myself face first on the ground, with that wet grass sticking to my greasy hair and my growling stomach left somewhere in the air above my head after my sudden bodily descent.
Yes, brothers and sisters, it is true: pride goeth before the fall. And in my case, my pride has reached such heights of grandeur that the Lord has seen fit to lower me. Literally. By placing holes (deep holes! More like trenches! or ditches!) in my path. Not paying attention in the dark, I stepped straight into some mid-calf hole. I was half way between laughing and crying when I noticed I had landed directly on my knees, in front of the portion of the temple engraved "Holiness to the Lord, the House of the Lord."
Now did God really plant that hole in my path? Maybe not, but I decided to take advantage of my position and go ahead and pray. The heavens did not part, my doubts were not confounded in one fell swoop, but it definitely stirred a few thoughts and emotions that have been missing. I will not wait so long to do this again. My ankle hurts too much for that.
