Stained Glass
On the last day of "my" fun-filled weekend, I went to church. It was an old church. One that had a stained glass window of Christ behind the pulpit. I like old buildings. It's like you can sense the decades and sometimes even centuries of people who have passed through those halls living, laughing, singing, crying, praying. Old buildings are awesome.
We just popped in for sacrament meeting, my friends and I. I was feeling off-center. Frustrated that the weekend hadn't fueled me like I wanted it to, disappointed at my own lack of companionship, and feeling lonely. Again. Some more.
I prayed through the sacrament portion of the meeting. I closed my eyes and asked God to help me make Him my favorite fella. I'm always needing help with that. I prayed to appreciate the life I have right now and feel happiness and peace inside of it.
He answered my prayers.
Both of the speakers spoke about Christ. Neither was particularly poignant or powerful. Their talks were sweet and simple and perfectly what I needed. I sat and listened and looked at the stained-glass depiction of the Savior in the Garden of Gethsemane. I remembered how he was truly alone. His friends abandoned him and even his God abandoned him, just for a few moments. He was forced to feel what we feel by choice. We make the decisions to turn our back on God, to forget Him or deny Him, and so His spirit leaves us. But the Savior did not turn his back, yet still had to feel the hopelessness and utter loneliness that we feel when we choose it. He was truly alone.
Because he was truly alone, I never have to be.
He hugged me there, in that old, beautiful chapel. He hugged me as the tears coursed down my face and I remembered I am never alone. He hugged me and reminded me that I am so precious to him and that he will always treat me the way I deserve to be treated. He will see my worth and love me unconditionally for eternity. He reminded me that to feel alone is an honor, because it is to be like him. Though my experiences are a tiny fraction of pain compared to what he felt, he still understands that I am trying, he still takes time to remind me I'm not alone, and he still lets me know that I am loved.
Who could ask for a better fella?
We just popped in for sacrament meeting, my friends and I. I was feeling off-center. Frustrated that the weekend hadn't fueled me like I wanted it to, disappointed at my own lack of companionship, and feeling lonely. Again. Some more.
I prayed through the sacrament portion of the meeting. I closed my eyes and asked God to help me make Him my favorite fella. I'm always needing help with that. I prayed to appreciate the life I have right now and feel happiness and peace inside of it.
He answered my prayers.
Both of the speakers spoke about Christ. Neither was particularly poignant or powerful. Their talks were sweet and simple and perfectly what I needed. I sat and listened and looked at the stained-glass depiction of the Savior in the Garden of Gethsemane. I remembered how he was truly alone. His friends abandoned him and even his God abandoned him, just for a few moments. He was forced to feel what we feel by choice. We make the decisions to turn our back on God, to forget Him or deny Him, and so His spirit leaves us. But the Savior did not turn his back, yet still had to feel the hopelessness and utter loneliness that we feel when we choose it. He was truly alone.
Because he was truly alone, I never have to be.
He hugged me there, in that old, beautiful chapel. He hugged me as the tears coursed down my face and I remembered I am never alone. He hugged me and reminded me that I am so precious to him and that he will always treat me the way I deserve to be treated. He will see my worth and love me unconditionally for eternity. He reminded me that to feel alone is an honor, because it is to be like him. Though my experiences are a tiny fraction of pain compared to what he felt, he still understands that I am trying, he still takes time to remind me I'm not alone, and he still lets me know that I am loved.
Who could ask for a better fella?
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