The first time I went to the temple to do baptisms for the dead, I remember sitting on one of the pews in the baptistry waiting area, dressed in my white jumper, and surrounded by the young men and women from my ward. I was feeling alone- surrounded by people, yet disconnected.
I picked up the hymn book that was resting in the pocket of the pew in front of me, and flipped automatically to my favorite hymn: “I Know that my Redeemer Lives”. Like usual, I skipped past the first verse, and began soaking in the words of the second verse.
He lives to grant me rich supply.
He lives to guide me with his eye.
He lives to comfort me when faint.
He lives to hear my soul’s complaint.
He lives to silence all my fears.
He lives to wipe away my tears.
He lives to calm my troubled heart.
He lives all blessings to impart.
Those words always meant the most to me. They resinated in the deepest reaches of my soul, because they were my testimony. That was the Savior I knew, and the Friend I loved.
Gaining that testimony had came at a price.
As I sat, lost in those words, trying not to let anyone see me cry, one of my young women’s leaders noticed me. She was, and is, one of the most amazing women I know. Full of compassion and understanding, faith and love, strength and laughter. She was one of the few people I truly trusted with my secrets. She knew the truth. She knew I was depressed, even suicidal. She took me under her wing and made me feel loved. That day, she gave me a gift that I’m sure she has no idea made such an impact on my life. She leaned over to me, and whispered three simple words.
“You’re safe here.”
To anyone else, that would not have made any sense, but to me, it was as if the world had been lifted from off my chest, and for the first time in years, I could take a breath. I had always known that temples were sacred, holy ground, but never once had I realized that they were a physical place of safety from the monsters that haunted my every waking moment. The tears that fell then, were of an overwhelming sense of relief, and gratitude as I realized the truth of her words.
Countless nights I had spent curled on my floor, crying out for my Father as a small child does for a parent when woken from a nightmare... only I couldn’t wake from mine. The monsters never went away. I desperately wanted to run to my Daddy and stay in His arms where I would be safe. Truly safe. Since I couldn’t do that, I would pray for Him to hold me.
Yet there I sat, in a place I could see and touch, and be completely safe.
It wasn’t Home, but it was close.
I remember being scared to leave because I knew what waited for me just outside those doors.
It has been many years since I have really thought about that night.
For a long time I have struggled with one of basic building blocks of a strong faith--scripture study.
Several years after my car accident, I felt that my relationship with my Savior had drifted somewhat, and I was missing the close friendship I had developed over the years previous. I decided to really dedicate myself to building that relationship again.
Since it was summer (and I lived in Utah... so about a block away from the church), I would walk over to the church parking lot in the evenings. (after that experience in the temple, I started hanging out a lot on church properties simply because they felt safer to me...) I would settle in a comfortable spot, and start studying the scriptures. Cross referencing, taking notes, looking up definitions... for at least half an hour. Then I would write in my journal for at least half an hour. Then, because it helped me focus to be moving, I would go on a walk and pray--- really talking to my Father... that usually ended up being quite a long conversation. When I decide to really talk about all the stuff going on in my head--- well, it’s more like “where’s the ‘OFF’ button?”.
For the first several days, things were good. But by the second week, things were getting bad- fast. My journal entries were becoming very dark and filled with self loathing. When I read the scriptures, terrible thoughts and images would fill my mind. My monsters were back in full force. I tried to keep going, telling myself I wouldn’t let Satan win. I prayed for strength...
I prayed hard, but I finally came to the conclusion that it was better I read one verse of scripture a day and stay alive, than end up dead with a set of detailed cross-referenced scriptures in my hand.
Yesterday, I sat down with my Bishop and as we were talking about some of the things I am going through in my life right now, he asked if it helps to read my scriptures... which I promptly replied “NO! It makes it worse!”
(Don’t get me wrong. I know the scriptures are true, and I take great comfort in them when I can get through them without being attacked.)
After our conversation, he asked me if I wanted a blessing. Knowing the immense power that comes from a priesthood blessing, and needing it desperately in my life, I said yes. I won’t go into the details- the words and impressions are for me to treasure in my heart, but one thing that I will say because it pertains to this whole post is that he blessed me that I would be able to read the scriptures without being tormented by the demons that have been plaguing me. Those words hit me powerfully.
If someone was watching me during the blessing, they would probably have laughed... I tend to have interesting facial expressions when I am deep in thought or really concentrating (or so I am told...) And I know I was concentrating very hard on the words that were being said, trying hard to commit them to memory so I could ponder them later... However when those words were spoken, my face broke into a smile. The only think I could think was “the scriptures are safe!!!”
Later that night, when I was at home, I pulled out my journal and my scriptures, and I read for 45 minutes. My heart felt joy and peace in the words I was reading. My mind felt blessedly empty! (ok..let me explain that one. It didn’t feel empty in a stupid way, but like walking into a room that is usually crowded with people all fighting and shouting over one another, but instead, was so calm, and still, and empty that you could stand in the center and hear yourself breathe.) In my mind, instead of the awful images I used to see, I saw that room and it was amazingly beautiful.
And I remembered that night in the temple... those three sweet words-
YOU’RE SAFE HERE.
~Kassi
click here>*I Know That My Redeemer Lives*
