Sacrifice

Seven months later it's a snow-day, and I am finally attempting to put this experience into words. It exhausted more sighs, tears and prayers than any other physical experience I've lived through so far. I smiled through much of it, laughed at myself, learned many lessons, kept confidence in its healing (according to God's will), and just kept going... but it's been 7 months; I am still recovering, hoping for the best, still learning lessons, still praying for relief and remembering pain. 

I smile through everything. I am optimistic, think the best of people to a fault, laugh through my struggles, and generally heal quickly. I also have a very high tolerance for pain (maybe a redhead thing?). And when I do feel pain, I don't always know what to do with it. I'll unconsciously ignore it, or mask it, remind myself how many have it worse than I, wrestle through it, count my blessings, and then I move past it. I just wait it out and things work out. It in this case being an overuse injury, tendonitis, some ulna tunnel, definitely damaged muscles, inflamed tendons and irritated nerves.

 

The pain erupted to the point where I could no longer play a note on the piano. I flew home, and in one of my more desperate prayers, I received confirmation and comfort that God knew exactly what I was going through, that this ailment might not be text book, but that it was specifically given to me and that it would help me learn. That it would teach more patience, help relationships, and let me grow. I believed that, and still do, with all my hope and all my heart.

Three weeks into it, I was alone in the Chalet, sitting in a steaming bath full of epsom salts, essential oils, and my own tears, unable to lift my hands to wipe my face pr move a strand of hair ... or really do anything but sit in silence. There were so many books close by I wanted to study, phone calls I wished I could make, emotions to fill a whole journal I was dying to write, music I longed to prepare and practice, or at least a social media website I could browse! But physically, I couldn't. 

Muscles hold memories, and most every day for the last 20 years has been composed of practicing the piano, harp, violin, conducting, teaching from the piano, coaching, typing, writing, and working. Even though I'd never felt real pain while playing piano or conducting, it really shouldn't have been so surprising to receive an injury. Honestly, it was long overdue--I'd never broken a bone, and never had an injury worse than bad knees and mosquito bites. 

Each week that passed I would tell those who inquired after me how it was getting better, how I'd be playing again soon, how I could start my conducting doctorate program without delay. I felt directed from the Lord to continue with my plans to move and to continue with my schooling, so I also expected healing ... in whichever way the Lord had in mind. 

The weeks quickly turned to months, and the ailment moved and morphed through different phases. I always needed help, and tried to ask for it, although even asking requires movement from your arms. I didn't look like I needed help, there was no cast, and I could always force movement when I needed. I somehow completed the move across the country (with a lot of help from close family), and started seeing new doctors more regularly. The excruciating reminders came less frequently as healing continued to happen, and I tried to incorporate better habits into my new lifestyle. 

I'm still taking it easy-- lifting as little as possible, practicing only in short spurts, using heat and ice, sleeping with splints, and still praying. The pain no longer bothers me, and most of the therapy is over (although I have said that for months). There might be more help I can get, and it will take a long time to regain the strength I had, but I am doing well, and mostly I consider it a thing of the past. 

Whether it was the 'would-you-rather' question game or simply empathizing with my heroes, as a child I had forced myself to imagine how I might live were I to go blind, deaf, or even loose my legs. And I had come to terms with each situation. I could live a happy life in any of those situations. For some reason, I never even imagined a situation where I might loose my arms. I didn't think that could happen. My arms symbolized everything God had given me-- the ability to touch, nurture, write a note, compose a song, make music, act, bless, decorate, help and create beauty. 

To give up the thing with which God specifically blessed you is part of my story. Moriah, the sacred place upon which Abraham promised to give up his biggest blessing. And where he, in beginning to enact that promise, was finally able to fully receive that blessing. I promised God a long time ago that I would sacrifice and dedicate all I had to His kingdom. But promising that in my heart was different than actually enacting that promise. But part of that promise was put to the test, or enacted upon me, to a small degree these past 7 months. And as I continue to re-deserve, relearn and regain strength, I now have renewed desire to thank God for my gifts, to treasure all I am given, and to sacrifice to receive the blessings of Heaven.

Respite

Most days here have been pretty overcast, but one of my days here when I happened to spend the whole day out of doors the sun was beating down all afternoon.  I did indulge in a gelato at the Sony center, but that didn't seem to refresh my feet which were sore and swollen from being up on them all day long. But when you are in a place like Berlin, you can't afford to stop and get off your feet!  Every corner you turn, there is more history, modern and ancient architecture, the Reformation, the Wars, the aristocracy, picturesque parcs... :) 

While walking around one of my favorite dirt pathways alongside the Spree river, I spotted a children's play set behind the trees which blocked my pathway from the reality of the city.  I didn't even have to hop the fence as the gate was open to this deserted playground.  So I made myself at home and grabbed a swing.  

It was simply wonderful.  I thought back to all the hours that I spent on swings as a girl, and took a break.  As I swung higher and higher, I could see across the river to beautiful red roofs (above) and if I could look far enough down the river to the left, I could see Berlin's Dom peeking through the trees.  Wow. It is a sight to see.  So happily situated, guarded from the city noises, swinging through the air alone with my thoughts... it was quite magical actually. 

After seeing the outside of the Dom, I decided that I was definitely time to go visit.  From the outside, so many of the churches here look like big beautiful Catholic European churches.  But so many of them have white stark interior, helping you focus on the sermons instead of the sculptures and stained glass I suppose.  (If my churches were latin, I'd want some stained glass too!) But this church was just as grand inside as anything I have ever seen.  And yet it was also different from anything I'd seen.

Instead of the apostles and the Madonna towering over every corner, the reformers stand around the center dome: Friedric Weiss, Philip Grossmütig, Zwingly, Luther, Melanchthon, Calvin, Albert von Preuswen, and Joachim II.  My favorite of the characters were the relief sculptures between the reformers of great miracles-- Daniel, Paul, Stephen & Peter acting according to the word of the Lord.  I've seen so many churches of this size and grandure, but I am rarely touched in this way. The feeling in that church is very special.  As I was finally preparing myself to have to go (I usually have to drag myself out of churches), an organist started to play.  It was so glorious that I had to wait and worship in this place just a little longer. 

Filled

Filled with Carols, both felt and sung
Filled with twinkling of the candles & stars
Filled with smells of spices and Warmth
Filled with feasts of Words and of bread
Filled with favorite stories of renewal and good will
Filled with the Joy of human's love
Filled with the Spirit so palpable, I cry

Filled with a heart swelling as great as this world
Filled with Love from the dear ones nearby
Filled with Thanks for comforts and rest
Filled with admiration for Joseph, now 206!
Filled with inspiration to do better and be more--
Filled with Song.  Hope, and Joy.
Filled with family's laughter and Trust
Filled with surprises & anticipation for what's next
Filled with memories to make any lifetime content
Filled with traditions, both old and the new
Filled with newness, lists and goals
Filled with empathy for those feeling remorse
Filled with courage to start again, persevere
Filled with Giving, sharing, partaking
Filled with a mind, open for increase
Filled with thoughts I could ponder for years
Filled with Charity. Serenity, Peace.
Filled with fresh Vision from the True guide
Filled with recognition of what's given and required
Filled with humility for particular gifts of Light
Filled with Faith and engendered confidence
Filled with Desires so deeply rooted in my core
Filled with Emotion, Christ-like and human
Filled with Wonder, awe and cheers
Filled with Gloria's, praising God above
Filled with Rejoicing for goodness imparted to me
Filled with astonishment at how far these feelings reach...

Memories and traditions from the past, Love and serenity in the moment, and awaiting the brightest future... This is how I feel today.

Merry,  Merry,   Merry Christmas.

THOMAS & I

The Frederiksborg Castle was no boring art museum to a young Mormon girl. The paintings covering the chapel walls strangely resembled prints I recognized from our sacrament meeting picture binder. “Children, look! I’ve never seen this one—I wonder why the Church hasn’t used this work—look at the detail in that face. Can you see how beautifully the light touches the folds of His robe? Look at the colored feathers in the angels’ wings!”

My mother’s passionate teaching and excitement for art and life still echo in my mind fourteen years later. I am transported by Carl Bloch’s paintings. Both to Denmark and now straight to my Savior’s side.

It is my sixth time seeing the Museum of Art’s exhibit and I still can’t keep my eyes off of the very first work in the exhibit, The Doubting Thomas. The detail in the Savior’s face captures my attention. Ten minutes have passed and I am still standing here.

I cannot leave because I am in the presence of the resurrected Lord. He stands before me in the midst of His apostles. His confident and humble presence radiates throughout the room. I feel his love.

The cello soars with my thoughts. The orchestra inside the speakers echoes in the open space, and I recall that I am standing in the Museum of Art. But it feels like heaven: the Lord is there and there are rays of light streaming from above. My eyes find the corner of the gray wall and I follow it upwards just to check—the rays are coming through a slanted glass roof. The heavens must have opened above the glass.

My surroundings entrance me as much as they did as a little girl in Denmark. I am encompassed with beauty. Once again, I have the opportunity to be facing the Lord.

His gaze looks down towards me, his eyes full of compassion. He reprimands, loves and forgives me as I stand there. I look up towards him again and am surprised that his gaze is not directed to me, but to Thomas. Robed in the red of guilt, pain and passion, he stoops downstage with his face almost in his hands, disbelieving his disbelief.

Pity fills my heart at his crestfallen state. His humble, repentant heart now recognizes the wrong in his stubbornness. I want to weep with him. After all, I stood in his place a moment ago.

Puccini’s “Oh Mio Babbino Caro” now wafts in from the heavens. The soaring melody encompasses my thoughts—I hum along, stifling the urge to sing operatic Italian. I never remained silent as a girl. Denmark’s chapels were only invitations for songs and my mother would sing aloud with me. This weeping song seems a propos for Thomas.

I can’t help but think—would I believe? Had I really been Thomas and heard of my beloved Lord being resurrected, perfected and glorified, would I have believed? He would have been my companion, the very same Jesus Christ….

I look up to Him again and Christ’s wounds are suddenly glaring at me. The scar on his chest is blood red like Thomas’s robe. It sings of the atonement and crucifixion so recently accomplished.

We are all promised a perfected, resurrected body. But He chose to keep his scars.
They remind me—and Thomas too. How dare I not believe? I can undergo a change of heart. My stubbornness can also melt into humility. I can fall at his feet and adore. He is there.
As a girl, my mother would have stayed with me there for hours and ponder over the beauty in this art. But my stay must close; I leave for a while. I’ll come back to be transported again. And Thomas and I can have another long talk.

6th month back from the mission

I've been meaning to write this since October when I had my interview with President Bateman. but I guess the life-train has kept chugging along a little faster than I could handle, all right?

Within a few weeks of being back in the states, I stopped crying at every reminder of Europe. I then only cried at every spiritual reminder of the mission. A few months home, and I only cried when they prayed for missionaries in the temple. I wanted SO badly that the missionaries would know the sacredness of their call. I wanted so badly that they would feel success. I wanted dreadfully for them to grow in this experience. Because I wasn't anymore!

I've thought of working at Mormon temples since I first was able to do ordinances there at age 12. More seriously at age 20. and even more seriously at 22.

By 'working at the temple' I mean volunteering--serving. We're certainly not paid. It's better in French: 'servante au temple' which means a servant at the temple. I applied as soon as I met my new church leaders at school. and started working shortly thereafter.

You should have seen me after the first day of touring where I would work. Ecstatic. Ebullient :) I was completely giddy. As giddy as when I first received my mission call.

The funny thing is that nothing has changed. Every Wednesday, however long the day has been thus far, I become increasingly happy with my time working at the temple. I love it.

Alliances + St Ouen

Alliances is the french word for covenants. Elder Todd Christofferson said this conference that Covennats help us smile and struggle through hardships. This is because the source of our power comes from God and the conviction that I have made a covenant to serve him and keep his commandments. Elder Bednar in this conference talkd about the committments of the blessings of the teple and what an honor they are. Their protecting power will guard and fortify us. He told us to let the fire of the covennat you made burn within you for strength.

while on a mission where there is not a temple yet, the fire of the covenants I made burn within me daily for strength.

In Moroni 10, we learn that the shedding of the Blood of Christ was a covenant. The Great Covenant between God, the Father of all, and us--ALL of us here on earth. Each covenant that we make is in remembrance of this great covenant. God tells us in Judges 2 that "I will Never break my covenant with you."

This is why having faith, having religion, and the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints helps people's lives. This is why it brings us peace, joy, patience, long-suffering and love. it is because we Know that the Lord will keep his end of the deal. And we have made more and more promises with him that he will keep.

Of course it hurts a little more to fall from a higher mountain, but to feel the air up there and see the beauty up there, and to understand how the town works down below is so worth it.

I'm in my second area, St Ouen right by the great big arch of La Défence in Paris and loving it. It is busy and full of people. and it is a big area, it takes us at least an hour to get anywhere. but we keep at it. we're working with a lot of people, none of whom are really progressing yet, but all of whom I love.

thankyou for your support, love and prayers!

Love, Soeur Wilson

ps: thankyou hannah & emma wilson, Loli, and david zobell for your letters! and i got a hello from my district leader from Jared Kelson! hope your stay in France was great.

Faith to be Healed and a Senior Recital

I remember having this fantasy at age 9 or so about playing the piano in a huge concert hall when I was grown up, wearing a fancy green ball gown and wearing my long hair up in a crown of braids.  Some prince would see me playing from far away and we would get married....  I have given up on that fantasy since most of my high school career I planned on going into violin professionally and was never very self confident in my appearance in a ball gown.  and, who wants to marry a prince?!

Well, it's over.  It wasn't like my first fantasy in any way--the concert hall was considerably smaller, no elaborate European architecture, no green pouffy dress, no long hair, no braids... no proposals--but it happened.  It's strange not feeling relieved, sad or happy now that it's over.  The whole thing was just a big miracle.  

I have not been sick one day this whole semester or thanksgiving break.  Until this Monday, when my throat completely closed off.  The virus moved to my sinuses quickly and then to my head, giving me a low-grade fever Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday.  Apart from my dress rehearsal on Monday, I did not have any energy or strength to practice.  I forced myself to put in at least a half hour per day (remember this is compared to the usual 4 hours per day... 17% of my usual).

As soon as it came on, I began praying with all my might, doing good scripture study and trying to sleep.     but it didn't just float away.  I realized that the spiritual gift of having 'faith to be healed' was not a natural gift to me as it is perhaps to my little brother, Abraham.  After a particularly hard day at school, the fever had risen and taken me to the point of tears.  I realized that I would like a priesthood blessing but I felt I couldn't ask for one until my faith was strengthened.  

I read in Preach my Gospel that Faith was trust in the Lord (and the Atonement) as well as a confidence in his love for me.  If in nothing else, I could full heartedly testify to my Father in Heaven that I had this kind of faith.  I asked Him to increase it.  I had sisters and brothers praying for me, parents, aunts & uncles, and surely a few friends to add to my faith.  

The blessing did not pronounce immediate healing, but an assurance of a peace and comfort and the strength to perform.  That was all I needed.  I awoke yesterday feeling completely healed.  I jumped up and told Camille it was a miracle.  although I could feel my head still pounding, my throat and nose were clear.  I could smell.  and sing!  after a few hours at school (and turning in a final), my temperature was rising, and my strength was waning again.  I rested as well as I could until it was time to run up to perform.  

My performance was in no way my best, but the audience was packed.  I realized that they were not grading me, critiquing me, or judging me in any way.  All of them loved me and hoped for the best for me.  They each cared about me as a person--which meant it wouldn't matter whether or not I hit any notes at all.  This comfort, my increased faith, (ibuprofen fever reducer!), and adrenaline gave me strength enough to play through everything.  

As the applause died away after my closing piece, Liszt's Hungarian Rhapsody, I walked off stage and felt the weak state of my body want to collapse.  I then realized how blessed I was.  I keep thanking God.  I then took more medication before singing in the next concert.  I felt abundant power and spirit enter me as I testified and sang to the King of Kings, my Savior, Mary's babe, He in whose name all oppression shall cease.   Let all within us praise His Holy Name.  Oh fallen, Oh fearful, Oh friendless world, to you a Savior is born.  Christ is the Lord.  my healer.  His Pow'r and Glory evermore proclaim!  Hallelujah.  

too grateful

last night, I couldn't fall asleep for a few hours because I kept on thinking of more things that I had to thank my Heavenly Father for.  I think it was in 7th grade when I realized that I have been way too blessed.  I have just been given too much--too many good friends, family members, and too many opportunities.  I was reading in the Doctrine and Covenants and realized that I have been given so much, so much must be required of me.   It is stunning how significant that realization was.  It was suddenly easy to be different, to stand up for myself, and to love living the gospel conspicuously.  because I was much was required of me.  

Later on, I realized that what I have been given is simply different than others and not really any more.  But I certainly am grateful to be born in America, in Wisconsin, to a family who loves the Lord.  To have had the opportunity to visit 24 countries, lived in 4.  To have had teachers who have shaped my thinking, acceptance, writing and playing.  To have had the means musical instruments.  To have been in places all along the path of my life where Heavenly Father has set up stepping stones to prepare me for the life that I have been able to live.  

It is wonderful to be old enough to realize some of the repercussions of my choices as a youth.  and to see some of the benefits of things I have struggled with for seeming eternities.  I have been too blessed.  

I have been given everything I have ever wished for.  So many of my dreams have come true.  I have worked hard.  but i have been blessed beyond anything I can imagine.  I am excited to live life out--to struggle, to learn, to change.  To learn all the ridiculous things that I am doing now and to have overcome them.  or learnt from them.   

To be molded in God's hands.  or perhaps to have sung one of His melodies as His instrument.  

Patience

Sunday night, my roommate Caitlyn Savage and I stayed up into the wee hours of the morning talking about... stuff. not even 'boys' stuff but hopes, dreams, aspirations, strivings, laughter, dedication and love.  My favorite discussions are those that stay on my mind for days or weeks and this one fit into that category with pride.   I set a goal with Cait that I would not do anything to start the week before I had studied patience.  So I did.  Preach my Gospel says that patience is not angry, frustrated, or anxious but it is "to hold up under pressure and [be] able to face adversity calmly and hopefully."   After praying about it, the stress miraculously vanished from my life.  I have decided never to be anxious, worried, or stressed again!  

although  I realize that this goal is slightly impossible, it has worked miracles so far this week.  all the stress miraculously swoooshed away with the cold wind this week.  I have needed a little extra patience with piano practice, performances, myself, and an awaiting mission call.  Patience has somehow seeped into my life and the fears that I had about serving a mission  suddenly flew away.  

Monday morning, I got a message telling me that my call had been sent (I think it meant issued).  I bounded out of bed (Camille can testify), threw open the windows (actually this part is fictional but definitely possible), and shouted to the world that I was going on a mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.  It suddenly didn't matter where my primary assignment was, or how difficult the whole affair would be.  because I... I (mariah???) had been called.  Called to Serve.  and I have the patience to wait for a call an extra few days if it gets stuck in the mail.  and the patience that practice will slowly cumulate.  and that I will finish papers in time.  and that I can slowly refine my character even when I make mistakes.  and I have faith that all will work out.  and.  I'm going on a mission. 

Praise

This week, I played for a faculty luncheon where the Vice President of BYU spoke on Celebration.  He pointed out that while we mourn with those who mourn, we don't often rejoice with those who rejoice.  CS Lewis explains that praise is merely an outward expression of the Joy one feels in his heart.  

Compliments, kind gestures, hymns, supporting words are all forms of praise whether they are to our God or to each other. 

"Let all my works be Praise" is my favorite line from My Shepherd Will Supply My Need (we have been rehearsing this for devotional on Tuesday).  I have always hoped to solely praise the Lord with the musical talents He has blessed me with; I need to extend that praise to all my thoughts, words and actions.  

The roses creeping up the side of my house that fill the air with perfume and beauty are a reminder to me of the Creator.  They even praise his name.  why can't we all?