Wednesday, February 11, 2015


I've just arrived at the Pie Tin's distance ed building. Mr. PNU walked up here with the keys to our car, and left me in the Philosophy department workroom trying to copy down the four-line Greek sentences chosen from the textbook exercises for a parsing and rendering midterm. I've got great Greek handwriting, but I thought I'd try typing them. It was proving futile. So I closed up shop and started the mile-long trek across campus to get the keys from my husband, who is now lecturing in the next room where we first met. My problem, or perhaps the answer to my problem, was that I got sidetracked on my way here by the LDS Institute building. 

I can't lie; I'm better than yesterday, but still a bit caustic today. My husband is pressing through. He doesn't engage in the passionate banter I share with likeminded friends, but we're both trying to make sense of where we belong in relation to what we believe, what we don't believe, and the canal that flows between. We prayed together last night before he fell asleep. We pray together every night. Mr. PNU is rank and file except that he struggles to hold fast to faith in the shadow of reason. He's been studying Church history devotedly since before I met him. He finished volume two a couple of months ago and is half way through volume three. We need correlation, he assures me. The united front the quorum of the twelve personify keeps the Church welded together in ways the early saints were not. He wants to follow the Brethren, and I'm with him, most of the time. So we prayed long and hard for peace and rest and direction, and my husband fell asleep. I continued to skim the web for another two hours, and before I fell asleep I found an article that made a sincere impact on me.

Just Keep Pedaling. Okay, I can do this.

So I'm not giving in, because I'm a rebel. But fighting what I do have faith in doesn't help my cause. During the initial seven week separation period from Ex. No. Nightmare, I received a blessing from my home teacher, then a member of the bishopric, and now the MTC couples leader. I received a lot of blessings during that time, some of them filled with light and inspiration, and others words of control and shortsighted misguidance. This particular blessing was simple—see to my children and continuing my education. There was no guidance toward returning to my husband, in fact, it was pretty clear that I was embarking on an uncertain solo period in my life. But most notably, my home teacher told me to enroll in Institute and to enrich my knowledge of my Savior.

I sadly confess, today was the first day I've set foot in the Institute building on campus. But, I did. I walked in defiantly, if not a little angrily, and found my way to registration because the signs outside said, "It's never too late to register!" I was assertive, possibly a little confrontational when the secretary told me the classes were meant for the youth of the Church, so I'd have to be matriculated by paper and only because I was a Pie Tin student. I asked her why. She didn't like that, but she left me to fill out paperwork and chose a class from a registration list. So I'm staring at the list, thinking, What on earth is going to help my doubting soul? And the class Parables of Jesus leapt at me from off the page. It was a fleeting moment, but in that instance I knew, although I didn't know why.

On finishing the walk to the distance education building I pondered the move. I'm crazy busy, but my Tuesdays and Thursdays are open. This class is at 11 a.m., not too early; just right, in fact. And it gives me a chance to really dig into Jesus Christ as poetic storyteller. It's all metaphor and light. That's kind of what I need. It's how I learn best.

I'm not going to say it was personal revelation. I could be crazy. But I registered, and tomorrow I'm going to walk into that class, likely in sticky defiance, and I'm going to see what Christ can do to help me with my unbelief.

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