I Don’t Believe in Miracles

I don’t believe in miracles; I rely on them. 

Our brains have two hemispheres, the right and the left. And the two “brains” have different functions. The left governs the ability to be intellectual, analytical, verbal, logical, and organized. The right is more inclined toward values, emotions, intuition, the aesthetic, and the creative. 

I can tell that I’ve tended to favor my left brain throughout my life. And it has fit well with my perfectionistic perspective. But now that I’m seeking for a more balanced approach, I try to deliberately spend more time in my right brain, to give it practice. 

The left brain needs to see to believe. The right brain believes more readily. And since “all things are possible to him that believeth” (Mark 9:23), I choose to believe; to shift toward my right brain. 

Moroni asks, “has the day of miracles ceased?” And then he answers his own question, “if these things have ceased . . . it is because of unbelief.” (See Moroni 7: 27, 29, 35-37.) So yes, I choose to believe. 

I believe that God has me on a path toward light and truth. Line upon line, He is putting resources in my path that are leading me ever closer to Him. Some of these miraculous resources are: people, angels, scriptures, podcasts, audiobooks, classes, meetings, challenges, opportunities, memes, conference talks, processes, pain, blogs, insights, videos, prayers, afflictions, understanding, healing, and nature. 

One of the gifts of the spirit is the gift to “work mighty miracles” (Moroni 10:12). The gifts of the spirit are usually given for the benefit of others. I’ve been the beneficiary of those miracles. 

Last week, we were able to attend a session in the temple, as a family friend received her endowments. It was such a blessing. President Russell M. Nelson has taught: “I promise you that the Lord will bring the miracles He knows you need as you make sacrifices to serve and worship in His temples.” I felt the truth of that. I believe it. And I trust that He is bringing them in the order and at the frequency they are needed for my good. 

To be continued . . . with Part 75

The Advocate

In Section 45 of the Doctrine and Covenants, Jesus says:

3 Listen to him who is the advocate with the Father, who is pleading your cause before him—
4 Saying: Father, behold the sufferings and death of him who did no sin, in whom thou wast well pleased; behold the blood of thy Son which was shed, the blood of him whom thou gavest that thyself might be glorified;
5 Wherefore, Father, spare these my brethren that believe on my name, that they may come unto me and have everlasting life.

At first read, my shame causes me to wonder: Why does Jesus have to plead for God to spare me? It almost makes it seem that God is this stern judge who is ready to throw the book at me at the least indication of my guilt. Unfortunately, I’ve pictured God that way for much of my life—angry and harsh. 

But Jesus didn’t need to plead my cause in order to pacify God, to calm Him down. The truth is, justice cannot be robbed and God must uphold the law of justice. But because Jesus paid the price, the law of justice is satisfied, and the law of mercy is able to take effect for me. 

Elder Holland taught: Remember that God is on your side. He is not an angry, vicious God trying to trip you. He is for you—not against you. He is your Father. He is anxious to do everything possible to bless you. He hears your prayers and desires to make your life all that it can be.

In the “court of law” metaphor, God is the Judge and Jesus is the defense attorney. Because I have sinned, I don’t deserve Heaven; I haven’t earned it. But Jesus has earned it, and He does deserve it. And because He is my Advocate, my Mediator, my Intercessor, He is also able to be my Deliverer, my Redeemer, and my Savior. His blood has atoned for me. 

To continue the metaphor, Satan would be the prosecuting attorney. Scripture calls him “the accuser” (Rev. 12:10). He’s the one pointing the finger. 

My perfectionistic propensity tempts me to also point my finger at others, and to be judgmental of them. Part of my healing is to recognize that I need to be less concerned about how others are “the problem.” I need to be concerned about my relationship with Him. He can help me solve the problems and challenges I experience. 

How great, how glorious, how complete,
Redemption’s grand design,
Where justice, love, and mercy meet
In harmony divine!
(Hymns, #195)

To be continued . . . with Part 74

Silly Old Bear

I recently finished The Tao of Pooh by Benjamin Hoff. It’s humorous and charming as it teaches the basic principles of Taoism through the interactions of A. A. Milne’s beloved characters. I enjoyed the book, although the concepts are nearly a foreign language to a perfectionist. 

Three basic principles of Taoism are inaction, simplicity, and living in harmony with nature. They sound noble and idealistic. But imagine how a perfectionist might approach trying to implement them. 

Inaction. Since my self-worth is tied to my accomplishments, then inaction is just going to prevent me from achieving. If I don’t step up and work toward something commendable, then how can I get the applause my ego needs? If I sit idly by and wait for good things to happen to me, the loss of control will drive me bonkers. 

Simplicity. I need to have all my ducks in a row, my schedule organized, and my to do list ready for checking off. I can’t afford to be simple in the face of the intricacies of life. My existence is too complex to let things simply play out. I’ve gotta have things well-planned. 

Living in harmony with nature. It’s a jungle out there. I can’t just go out and smell the roses. Who knows what might happen while I’m away from my desk? I’ve gotta be where I can watch the clock and stay on-task. 

Although an oversimplification, my responses to the three principles illustrate the exact reason a perfectionist could benefit from taking things slowly and relinquishing control. 

While Eeyore frets, and Piglet hesitates, and Rabbit calculates, and Owl pontificates, Pooh just is. 

Silly old bear. We could learn a thing or two from him. 

To be continued . . . with Part 73

BYUI Devotional – Julie Shiffler

For this month’s blog post, I’m going to just point you to the devotional message shared this past week by Julie Shiffler, who works as a counselor in the BYU-Idaho Counseling Center. In her devotional talk “Progressing toward Perfection” she refers to herself as a recovering perfectionist and shares experiences and resources to help the viewer become less perfectionistic. Near the beginning, she states, “My message today is addressed to those of you who are demanding more of yourselves than you can realistically do.” For me, this message was 25 minutes well-spent. 

https://www.byui.edu/devotionals/julie-shiffler
If the above link doesn’t work, try this one: https://www.byui.edu/devotionals/
Then scroll down to the Livestream Video which should be current until the next devotional speaker’s video runs. 

To be continued . . . with Part 72

Let Your Light Shine

One propensity of perfectionists is that we care a lot about what other people think of us. In her book, The Gifts of Imperfection, Brené Brown talks about the 4P’s: pretending, performing, pleasing, and perfecting. These have definitely been part of my inclination, whether consciously or subconsciously. 

In this month’s Come, Follow Me, we read about how Martin Harris asked Joseph Smith to let him take the 116 pages of manuscript translated from the first part of the Book of Mormon. Martin lost them and Joseph was chastised for giving in to peer pressure, or “the persuasions of men.” “You should not have feared man more than God.” (D&C 3:6-7) So if I care more about what men want than what God wants, then I’m in good company, with Joseph. 

My patriarchal blessing talks about me being a messenger of the gospel, that I should be a good example, and that those in my community would see my example and glorify God. This aligns with Jesus’ admonition to “Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.” (Matt 5:16)

So, it is good to do good, and to let others see our good examples. But we are also told to “Take heed that ye do not your alms before men, to be seen of them.” (Matt. 6:1) This seems contradictory. Should I let others see me doing good, or not? 

I’ve come to the conclusion that what makes the difference is: the condition of my heart. If I perform, or do alms, or good works—with the intent to be praised of men, then my heart isn’t in the right place. If I do good deeds out of the goodness of my heart, then I’m not desiring praise and recognition. 

I recently finished a book by Virginia Hinckley Pearce, A Heart Like His: Making Space for God’s Love in Your Life. I really like this quote from Chapter 4. 

Learning to live with an open heart is not about learning to say the right words and refraining from saying the wrong words. In fact, just the opposite. I would venture to say that when my heart is open and filled with God’s love, I cannot say it wrong, and when it is hardened and closed to Him, I simply cannot say it right, no matter how carefully I may choose the words or phrases or inflections of voice. Remember that this is all about becoming, not doing or saying.

So, that’s what makes the difference. If I perform or serve with an open heart, then others will see that I am doing it in an authentic, genuine way. 

For me, this is really difficult to do consistently. In fact, I’m just coming to understand some of this. A good friend told me that I tend to act and make decisions too often above the neck—meaning that I need to be less analytical and more heart-directed. He’s right. My mind cares more about how I appear to others. Man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart. (1 Samuel 16:7)

To be continued . . . with Part 71

The Tow Rope

Years ago, when I was a single student attending BYU, I had an experience with a tow rope. It taught me to trust that all things will work together for my good. 

At the time, I was in a singing group and we had scheduled a Sunday fireside performance in Las Vegas (actually, Henderson) Nevada. I was driving an old 1971 Ford Maverick. It was summer and the Nevada desert was hot. We drove down and the fireside went well. The next morning I was ready to drive back to Provo, but had car problems. I needed to get the Maverick to a garage to have it repaired before I could start the trip back. They would tow the car, but would charge me (what I thought was) an exorbitant amount. Rather than pay the tow charge, I had a friend drive me to a hardware store where I bought a nylon tow strap with hooks. Then he towed me to the garage and the repair was made. 

As I drove back through Southern Utah, I was a bit angry at God. I was a poor starving student with a minimum-wage part-time job and going to school full-time. My reason for going to Vegas was to share inspiration with others. I wasn’t making any money on it. I not only paid for the repair, but I paid for a tow rope that I would probably only use that one time. Couldn’t God have helped me out, so I wouldn’t need to spend my hard-earned money? He could have arranged for the car to run fine. What had I done to deserve this adversity? 

Later that summer, I was camping in the mountains north and east of Provo. It had rained in the afternoon and the dirt roads were slick. A couple of young ladies were driving and got their vehicle stuck in a rut. They were eager to get back to town and were almost frantic. I told them I had a tow rope and would see if I could pull them out. I was able to and they drove off, appreciative of the help. 

If I hadn’t had the tow rope in my trunk, I wouldn’t have been able to help them. No other vehicles came by the rest of the time I was there. They would have been in a pickle. 

I was grateful I had bought the tow rope in Vegas earlier that year. I also used it other times when it came in very handy. And technically, it wasn’t that expensive, it’s just that I was pinching pennies in those days.

The moral of the story is that I can trust God. He knows what is in my future. He sometimes provides opportunities to prepare me so I’ll be ready for future events. What I saw as adversity was actually a blessing. I learned that God “doeth not anything save it be for the benefit of the world” (2 Nephi 26:24). 

Elder Holland taught: “Remember that God is on your side. He is not an angry, vicious God trying to trip you. He is for you—not against you. He is your Father. He is anxious to do everything possible to bless you.”

To be continued . . . with Part 70

There Is a Space

One tendency I have that gives me grief is when I act before I think—or (more accurately) feel. If I’m really angry, nine times out of ten I will say or do something I will later regret. If I make a mistake, I’ll likely go right into shame, which is an unproductive place to stay. 

Psychologist and Holocaust survivor, Dr. Viktor E. Frankl, who wrote, Man’s Search for Meaning, says:

“Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.” 

This space may be just a fraction of a second, or longer. It may be the time it takes me to count to ten, take a couple of clearing breaths, or ask myself what would be the better way to behave. If I can push the pause button and widen the gap, I have more options. I have more freedom to choose. (See 2 Nephi 2:27.)

In his book, Permission to Feel, Marc Brackett, Ph.D. calls this the “Meta-Moment.” 

In simplest terms, it’s a pause. The meta-moment is you hitting the brakes and stepping out of time. We call it meta because it’s a moment about a moment.

It’s where we stop the action and say, “I need to take a pause and a deep breath right now so I don’t blow my top or break down sobbing or otherwise react in a way I will probably regret.”

Instinctively, we sense that this will help, and biology proves us right. Pausing and taking a deep breath activates the parasympathetic nervous system, which reduces the release of cortisol, the stress hormone, and automatically lowers our emotional temperature.

It also gives us the chance to quickly ask a few questions that might be useful, such as: “What would my best self do right now?” That ideal, hypothetical person is comprised of attributes we would use to describe our best selves from our own perspective and from the perspective others—how we’d like to be experienced, seen, or talked about. For some people it’s a set of adjectives like compassionate, empathic, or conscientious; for others it can be an image or an object. A good friend who is a manager at Facebook has a photo on her desk that reminds her to be her best self.

Visualizing our best-self redirects our attention away from the “trigger.” This helps us to choose a helpful emotion regulation strategy, like positive self-talk or reappraisal, and then respond accordingly.

I believe that the space between stimulus and response is where the Atonement of Christ can operate. When I’m in that space, if I will take a second and ask for His help, the enabling power of His grace can influence me to be better than what I could be in-and-of my own strength. It’s the difference between reacting and responding.

To be continued . . . with Part 69

Confessions of a Recovering Perfectionist – Part 67

Is Mortality a Hill or a Path?

As I usually do during General Conference, I listen for counsel that might help me deal with life in a less perfectionistic way. One illustration particularly stood out to me this time. In her talk, “Keep the Change,” Sister Becky Craven shared:

When I was younger, I visualized myself walking along an upward, vertical path toward my goal of eternal life. Each time I did or said something wrong, I felt myself sliding down the path, only to start my journey all over again. It was like landing on that one square in the children’s game Chutes and Ladders that slides you down from the top of the board back to the beginning of the game! It was discouraging!

This resonated with me so much, because I’ve felt the same way. It’s like life is a hill that I’m constantly climbing, try to get higher. When I make a mistake, I feel like I slide back down to the bottom of the hill and have to start all over. 

But as I’m getting healthier, I recognize that this is all-or-nothing thinking. I’m either climbing near the top or floundering at the bottom. This kind of  thinking is shame-based and perpetuates the idea that I’ll never make it. And it leaves no gray area for balance and acceptance of my mortality.

I once shared with a friend my feeling that I’m forever climbing a hill. He helped me to see a different metaphor that works much better. Instead of seeing life’s quest as climbing a hill, look at it as a path I’m on. If I stray from the path, I can just move back on. I don’t have to go all the way back to the beginning of the path and start over. When I think of my mistakes this way, I realize that I don’t need to beat myself up; I just need to move back over and onto the path. 

This is similar to an example told by Stephen R. Covey in his book “The 7 Habits of Highly Effective Families”: 

It’s like the flight of an airplane. Before the plane takes off, the pilots have a flight plan. They know exactly where they’re going and start off in accordance with their plan. But during the course of the flight, wind, rain, turbulences, air traffic, human error, and other factors act upon that plane. They move it slightly in different directions so that most of the time that plane is not even on the prescribed flight path! Throughout the entire trip there are slight deviations from the flight plan. Weather systems or unusually heavy air traffic may even cause major deviations. But barring anything too major, the plane will arrive at its destination.

Now how does that happen? During the flight, the pilots receive constant feedback. They receive information from instruments which read the environment, from control towers, from other airplanes – even sometimes from the stars. And based on that feedback, they make adjustments so that time and time again they keep returning to the flight plan.

This way of seeing my personal growth gives me more hope. Being mortal, I will deviate from the path, but I can quickly repent and get back on track. 

To be continued . . . with Part 68

Be a Satisficer

You’re at a restaurant for dinner. You order a salad, and you’re asked what dressing you want. You ask what the options are.  Ranch, Thousand Island, Italian, French, Bleu Cheese, Raspberry Vinaigrette, Caesar, Cilantro Lime, Sesame Ginger, Honey Mustard, Mango, Catalina, Balsamic Vinaigrette, Vidalia Onion, Avocado Lime, Pomegranate Vinaigrette . . .  Are you happy that you have so many choices? What if they only had three choices? Ranch, Blue Cheese, and French. Do you feel less happy? How do you choose?  

In his book, The Paradox of Choice, Barry Schwartz claims that having more choices actually causes more stress, making it more difficult to choose. The more options we have, the more likely we are to make a mistake. And after we finally do choose, the possibility of other choices results in less happiness. An interesting paradox. 

Also, in this book, Schwartz puts people into two categories—Maximizers and Satisficers. Maximizers want to make the optimal decision. So if they see a pair of gloves or a used car that would seem to meet their requirements, they can’t make a decision until they have explored all of the options. Satisficers make a decision once their criteria are met. As soon as they find the flight, or the toothbrush, or the salad dressing that meets their needs, they’re satisfied.

Suppose that you’re shopping for a shirt. If you’re a Maximizer you’ll want to make the absolute best purchase possible. So you’ll go to several stores, examine the fit, style, color, and fabric of several options, always aware of the prices of these options.  

If you’re a Satisficer, you’ll go to one or two stores, look at the options, and pick one. And as long as it fits, looks relatively nice, and the price is reasonable, you’ll buy it.  

Who do you think is happier, the Maximizer, or the Satisficer? You might think the Maximizer is because he has put more effort into his choice. But research conducted by Schwartz and his colleagues show that Satisficers, as a group, are happier.  

As a perfectionist, I’m more inclined toward being a Maximizer. Because there are infinite possibilities out there, and only the best will do, I’m required to spend a lot of time on product comparison, both before and after I make a purchasing decision. In a world of endless choices, it’s arduous and emotionally exhausting to be a Maximizer, never settling for less. 

Knowing this about myself, I can make conscious efforts to allow myself to be satisfied when things are good enough. I can practice this when choosing what to eat for breakfast, what movie to watch, or any number of other decisions I face. Being satisfied with my choice gives me more time and energy to devote to enjoying life.

To be continued . . . with Part 67

The Light Grows Brighter

D&C 50:24 tells us: “That which is of God is light; and he that receiveth light, and continueth in God, receiveth more light; and that light groweth brighter and brighter until the perfect day.”

I recently found a compelling parable.  I don’t know who the author is, but it illustrates how the light grows brighter and brighter as we progress.  

Imagine yourself in a room, a very dark room with only a small amount of light visible—just enough to make out the outlines of some furniture and the walls around you. You can tell the room is in disarray. There is a couch haphazardly shoved into a corner with the cushions spread everywhere on the floor. Two chairs are overturned and a table with some legs missing is lying upside down in the middle of the room. A floor lamp with its shade missing is propped diagonally against the wall. 

As you survey this scene, you hear a voice. And the voice says, “Clean the room.” So you get to work. You slide the couch against the wall and gather and replace all of its cushions. You set the chairs on their legs and move them to the other corners. You find the lampshade and place it on the floor lamp and set it upright. You determine that the table is unrepairable and throw it out of the room. Now, as you look around the room, you determine that it’s clean. So you call out to the voice saying, “The room is clean!” The voice responds, saying, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant. Your reward is more light. Clean the room again.” And with that, the room becomes a bit brighter. 

Now, with the added light, you can see things that you couldn’t see before. You notice that there is a lot of trash and paper on the floor. There is a picture upside down in the corner that you missed before, and the end of a rolled-up rug is poking out from under the couch. So you clean up the trash, hang the picture on the wall, and roll the rug out in the middle of the room and you say to yourself, “Well there, the room is clean.” Then you hear the voice which says, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant. Your reward is more light. Clean the room again.” And with that, more light brightens up the room. 

With the added light, you notice that the floor is covered in dirt, the chairs and couch are dusty, and the picture is hanging a little slanted on the wall. So you straighten the picture, sweep the floor, and dust all the furniture. Now you look around and say to yourself, “Surely, now the room is clean.” The voice responds, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant. Your reward is more light. Clean the room again.”  The lights come on even brighter than before. 

Now, you start to think about what more you could do. You think to yourself, “Well I could mop the floor and really make it shine. Those walls have a lot of smudges and dark spots on them; I’ll repaint them. I could vacuum the rug and perhaps I could reupholster the couch and repaint the chairs to match.” So you do all those things, and you call out to the voice, “The room is clean!” To which you hear the voice say “Well done, thou good and faithful servant. Your reward is more light. Go and clean again.” 

Now, you wonder what more you can do, but then a thought strikes you. I could get a new table, those other walls could use some beautiful pictures, perhaps I could add a vase with flowers and perhaps some new chairs. And on and on this could go. Every time you report, you are given more light and told to clean again. Pretty soon you’re knocking out walls, and adding wood floors, and upgrading the rug and furniture. You are filled with a vision of what the room could someday be and you find fulfillment and purpose in adding to and improving it.  

When I initially read this parable, it triggered in me some perfectionism.  If I am never finished cleaning the room, then I can’t check it off on my list.  But actually, it illustrates very well the concept of eternal progression.  We grow gradually into Godhood, here a little and there a little.  My true goal is not really to clean a room, but to clean the inner vessel, as I become a new creature in Christ.  

To be continued . . . with Part 66