From Our Archives: Arise, and Get Thee Into the Mountain

Last Friday morning I woke up and realized I had the whole morning free and was lying there wondering what I should do with it. Should I go surfing, or go to yoga? Such a luxurious dilemma is not one I face often. Being a single mom with two businesses and several books in progress doesn’t leave me many full mornings. As I snuggled in bed thinking about all the possibilities, these words came into my mind: “Arise, and get thee into the mountain.”

This is how God tells me to go to the temple. It’s our little code language–has been since I read it in the Old Testament. That’s what God said to Moses when he needed to talk to him privately and there was no temple. I realized I could make the 9:30 session if I got up soonish. So I luxuriated for 10 more minutes and then got ready. I have to admit that whenever God tells me to do anything, I always start to think about what the reasons might be. Maybe I’ll meet my true love there today. Or, maybe if I go to the temple, he’ll bless me with X. Or maybe I’ll get the answer to that burning question. Of course, it is never what I think. But I can not help the thinking.

As I walked into the session, I studied the backs of all the male heads and realized there was no soul mate there. Then the thought came to me that I should have called the woman I visit teach and invited her to go. It would be nice to go with her–but she works full time, so she wouldn’t have been able to come anyway. When I took my seat I looked over and there she was. Hmm. I waved. “I thought I’d see you here.” I whispered. Did I?

When we finally got to talk at the end of the session, in the celestial room, she hugged me about 3 times longer than she normally would. It was then that I realized that something was up. This wasn’t a coincidental meeting at the temple. It was for her that God sent me.

She told me she took the day off. She was weighing some big decisions, but she seemed happy and glowing. I chatted about the one or two things that struck me in the session and as I talked she just stared at me in kind of shock and awe. I wasn’t sure why, but I kept talking–because she wasn’t jumping in. Still that stare. Then I hugged her again–again, I got the not letting go for longer than socially normal, and I left her alone to meditate.

I have no idea what I said except a bunch of gibberish, but I realized once more that it was for her that God sent me and not me. On the way out I thought about a conversation I had just had with a friend about “being used.” All friendships are mutual using, I once heard someone say. This is a cynical way of putting it, but is accurate if you just look at friendship from outside, without seeing the love. I considered this as I stared at a giant painting of Christ preaching near the sea. I don’t mind being used by God, I thought. Although I know I’m being blessed in some unseen way, or already have been. And thank goodness others have listened and let him use them to be there at an exact right moment for me. This still happens almost daily, although I’m sure most of the people who are being used don’t realize it, or would call it a blessing–like the several brave women who have contacted me about my most recent call for stories. I am so grateful. They are an answer to a prayer and I think they will help many women, but each has said it is in a way a blessing for them.

I’m not sure if I have mentioned this before, but every time I covenant to use all that God has blessed me with for the good of the church–I am reminded that that means my experiences, too–good and awful. I think it’s funny that Satan, who thinks he’s messing up the plan, actually gets used too, when God finds a way to consecrate even the worst trials for our growth.