Feelings

A jumbled mess.

Broken up and clumped into a heap.

Held together with ancient and crumbling rubber bands that are about to snap, rusty paper clips bent at awkward angles, ribbon that has been hopelessly frayed, and scotch tape that has lost the majority of its stickiness.

Falling apart.

The seams are wearing down; they can't hold everything together. Ripping, breaking, tearing.

Desperately trying to pick up the pieces as they tumble down, but bending over to pick them up only makes more spill out.

It's futile. Useless. Empty.

Empty. Empty except for a sullen sadness that has seemed to have filled everything up. Go through the motions, sleep, eat, talk, plug away...even though there is no desire to do any of these. Occasionally something or someone or some idea comes and makes things better for a while, nudging some brightness and warmth back inside. But once they step away the brightness fizzles out, the warmth slowly seeps away. It's gone. Leaving everything feeling even more empty and cold than before.

You try. You try hard, but to no avail.

It's a bit like taking twenty minutes to build an amazing deli sandwich with the works on it, then finally sitting at the table, raising it up to your lips and seeing a blotch of fuzz on the multi-grain fibers. On closer examination, mold is found all over. Reluctantly, you toss the whole thing in the garbage can. You didn't want it anyway...right?

Confusion swirls around, clouding every thought and every choice in every situation that springs up in countless numbers. Don't know what, don't know how, don't know why. Hating the fact that nothing can be done. Frustration boils deep, skewing thoughts and venting out as tears.

Please help. Patch me up, stitch me up tight, super glue me back together so I'll never break again.

Jesus, take the wheel.

J'adore le temple!

This morning I went to do baptisms in the Provo Temple. When I got there one of the workers asked me and the girl in front of me if we would do some family names. Of course, we readily agreed.

When I got to the font, I was a little confused at what I heard. The girls being baptized would say each name of the person they were proxying for, and the man baptizing them would repeat it after them. Par exemple:

Girl: "Marie,"
Man: "Marie,"
Girl: "Anne,"
Man: "Anne,"
Girl: "Delacruz."
Man: "Delacruz."

I couldn't see into the font from where I was sitting, so I thought the girls were just saying the names to help him pronounce them. But no, even easy names were said aloud by the girls. Then it dawned on me. He must be blind.

I started to get a little nervous. What if I didn't get easy names, and I had to spell them all out because I didn't know how to pronounce it? How embarrassing. Men have it harder than I thought...they're the ones that always have to figure out the names. What if the family names I was going to do were Russian or Czech or Estonian? Silly Jewel. This is the Lord's work. Everything will be fine. Everything will be okay.

We shifted down the seats, our turn approaching slowly but surely. At last, we got a view of the font. I would say the baptizer was in his 60s-70s. He was either almost completely or totally blind. Skinny, but strong for his age. Salt and pepper hair, but mostly salt. Radiant with the light of Christ. Some of the girls before us made some mistakes with the names, which eased our worries a little. Nobody is perfect. Still, I was a bit anxious. The girl in front of me was as well. Usually glasses are taken off to do the baptisms, but she wouldn't be able to see the screen if she took them off. One of the workers told her it was fine to wear them this time. It was minuscule, trifle things we were worried about, really.

Then, it was the girl-in-front-of-me's turn. As I was listening to the names she was saying, I heard a familiar ring to them. Yes, yes...they were French names! I took French for 5 1/4 years...if the names I would do were French as well, perhaps this wouldn't be too stressful after all!

Finally, my turn arrived. The baptizer welcomed me warmly, asked me a couple times to repeat my last name (what's new?) and we begun. I looked at the screen, and smiled. French! Tender mercy, right there. I was calm. The man started the prayer--he had it memorized. He paused for me to say each name and repeated them, finished the prayer, then under I went. When I came up, I blinked rapidly, chlorine burning my eyes as I peered at the next name, and the next. As they came, I could pronounce them, for the most part. I'm sure I made a couple mistakes, but the Lord knows who they are and will take care of them.

What a wonderful, beautiful gospel this is! Heavenly Father is truly always aware of us and our circumstances, and will provide the way for us to be successful in our efforts to serve, learn, and live. He WILL provide the way.

I need to do a lot less worrying in my life.

I love the temple. I love those dear French sisters I was baptized for. I love the old blind man for his example of never-ending service, no matter what ailments or inhibitions a person may have. I love my Father and my Brother, who are constantly watching over me and guiding me by Their hands every day.

So...

Come what may, and LOVE it!