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Confessions of a Recovering Perfectionist – Part 139

General Conference Teachings

As usual, when I listen to General Conference, I try to identify teachings that help me deal with perfectionistic thinking. Here are three conference messages that stood out to me from earlier this month.

1. Elder Edward Dube — Come unto Christ

Elder Dube’s message is probably the most directly relevant talk in the entire conference for someone dealing with perfectionism. He addresses the mistaken idea that we must first make ourselves good enough before approaching the Savior.

“We do not need to perfect ourselves to come to Christ. We come to Christ to be perfected.”

Elder Dube explains that coming to Christ involves action, surrender, and a willing heart. We don’t have to fix everything ourselves before asking for His help.

Perfectionism often reverses the gospel’s order of operations. We tell ourselves:

– First, I must overcome this weakness; then I can feel close to God.

– First, I must become more disciplined; then I can feel good about myself.

– First, I must stop making mistakes; then I can trust that I am making spiritual progress.

Elder Dube points us in the opposite direction. We come to Christ with our weaknesses, not after we have eliminated them. His grace is part of the process of change, not a reward for completing it. This doesn’t mean that our choices don’t matter or that repentance isn’t necessary. It means that we don’t have to earn the right to seek the help that makes repentance and change possible. A question I might ask myself: Am I trying to overcome my weaknesses through my own willpower before I allow the Savior to help me?

2. Elder Hutch U. Fale — I Am a Child of God

Elder Fale teaches that understanding our Heavenly Father’s love and our identity as His children is essential for our happiness.

“I am a child of God and He loves me.”

He teaches that our Heavenly Father loved us before we were born, loves us today, and will love us tomorrow. That love can give us courage to do our best and humility to turn to Him when we need help.

Perfectionism often attaches our worth to our performance. We may feel valuable when we succeed, when we are obedient, and when we meet expectations. But when we fail, we begin questioning our identity.

Elder Fale invites us to ground our identity in our relationship with our Heavenly Father. We can take our shortcomings seriously without defining ourselves by them. And we can repent without concluding that we are bad people. I might ask myself: If I truly believed that Heavenly Father loved me on my worst day as well as my best day, how would I treat myself differently when I fall short?

3. Elder Michael A. Dunn — The Ninety and Ten

Elder Dunn uses an ultramarathon experience to illustrate how the Savior helps us endure burdens and keep moving forward, even when we’re tired and discouraged.

“The Redeemer rescues not by shortening our course but by helping us lengthen our stride.”

Sometimes perfectionists aren’t asking too much of themselves because they are lazy or unwilling to work. They’re already working really hard. Their difficulty is that they believe they must keep pushing hard regardless of exhaustion or personal limitations.

Elder Dunn’s message offers a different understanding of divine help. The Savior doesn’t always remove the challenge or make the journey shorter. He helps us carry it.

This can mean learning to accept our present limitations, asking for help, adjusting our expectations, and taking the next step without needing to feel strong first. For someone who is getting older, experiencing chronic illness, struggling with an addiction, or facing a hard season of life, this message is very meaningful. Faithfulness doesn’t mean we have to pretend that we have unlimited capacity. A question I might ask myself: Where am I trying to carry something alone that the Savior is inviting me to let Him help me carry?

These talks offer answers to some common perfectionistic thoughts.

Perfectionistic thought: “I have to get my life together before I can come to Christ.”

Healthier response: “I come to Christ so He can help change me.” — Elder Dube

Perfectionistic thought: “My mistakes mean I’m not good enough.”

Healthier response: “I am a beloved child of God, even while I am growing.” — Elder Fale

Perfectionistic thought: “I should be able to handle everything myself.”

Healthier response: “The Savior helps me carry burdens I cannot carry alone.” — Elder Dunn

For a person struggling with perfectionism, maybe the most important question is not, “How can I finally become good enough?” It is, “What would change if I trusted Jesus Christ enough to let Him help me right where I am?”

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Confessions of a Recovering Perfectionist – Part 132

Not Every Fall Is a Failure

Last Saturday, I was with a group of friends on a bike trip in Southern Utah. The canyons there are gorgeous. Near the end of the trail, I lost control of my bike and wrecked. I injured my leg. My doctor calls it a hamstring strain. After x-rays and ultrasound images, it was determined that the injury wasn’t a tear or a break, just a pulled muscle and strain on the associated tendons and ligaments.

This was my first time having a pulled hamstring. I was unaware of how painful it could be. My friends offered me Advil and suggested that, in my situation, I could take more than the recommended daily dose. It was difficult to just walk, let alone sit, stand, drive, or even lie down. I gained a new appreciation for others who go through this type of challenge.

When the time came for me to return to Idaho, driving seemed daunting, since pushing on the pedals increased the pain in my right leg. Again, friends came to my aid and drove me most of the way home. Another friend encouraged me to try using my left foot on the pedals. Although awkward, this worked well, and I navigated the last leg of the trip without incident.

Since returning, I’ve experienced care and help from my doctor, physical therapist, massage therapist, family members, and a priesthood blessing.

This whole ordeal has caused a lot of pain, inconvenience, worry, and stress. And while I know that others have it a lot worse, my point isn’t to compare my struggles with others.

Previous versions of myself would have reacted to this challenge with negative thoughts:

What did I do to deserve this?
Is this a punishment for not keeping the commandments with enough exactness?
How am I supposed to function optimally with this adversity?

Fortunately, I’m receiving greater understanding of the purpose of suffering/affliction.

Last Saturday’s bike wreck has stayed with me, not just because of the physical pain, but because of what it revealed about an old pattern in me. As I’ve reflected on the experience, I’ve noticed how quickly my mind wants to move toward perfectionistic interpretations. Even something as simple and human as losing control of a bike can start to feel like a personal failure, or worse, a spiritual one.

There’s a version of me that tries to make sense of pain by assigning blame.

What did I do wrong?
Why wasn’t I more careful?
Shouldn’t I be better than this by now?

That line of thinking can subtly shift into something even heavier:

Is this somehow a reflection of my standing with God?
Am I falling short in ways that are now catching up to me?

Perfectionism has a way of turning everyday adversity into a verdict on our worth or righteousness.

But this experience has given me a chance to see things differently. The reality is, I was on a beautiful trail, doing something good with good people, and an accident happened. Not everything painful is a consequence. Not every setback is a sign that something is wrong with me spiritually. Sometimes, it’s just part of living in a mortal body in a fallen world.

What has stood out to me even more than the injury itself is the outpouring of support that followed. Friends stepping in without hesitation. Creative solutions, like learning to drive with my left foot. Skilled professionals helping me heal. Family offering care. A priesthood blessing bringing peace. When I step back, I see that this experience wasn’t evidence of God’s disapproval; it was actually filled with evidence of His awareness of me. His help didn’t come by preventing the fall, but by surrounding me with grace afterward.

I’m learning that a more gospel-centered way to approach challenges isn’t to ask, “What did I do to deserve this?” but rather, “What is God showing me through this?” or “How is He supporting me in this?” The scriptures don’t teach that we earn a pain-free life through exactness. They teach that the Savior will be with us in our afflictions. That’s a very different lens.

Perfectionism says I should always be functioning at 100%, always in control, always improving without interruption. The gospel teaches something more merciful and truer: that growth often comes through limitation, that weakness is part of the plan, and that Christ meets us in those very places, not once we’ve overcome them.

This experience has reminded me that I don’t need to turn every hardship into a self-evaluation. I can let it be what it is: a hard thing, and then look for God’s hand within it. Instead of measuring myself against an unrealistic standard of constant optimal performance, I can receive help, adapt, and trust that the Lord is more interested in my reliance on Him than in my ability to avoid every misstep.

I’m still healing, physically and otherwise. But I’m grateful for what this has softened in me. Maybe the real “progress” isn’t in avoiding falls altogether, but in learning how to receive grace more readily when they happen.

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Confessions of a Recovering Perfectionist – Part 130

Turning 70 Without Turning on Myself

I turned 70 this month. I won’t pretend that number didn’t give me pause. Birthdays like this tend to invite thoughts of years lived, mistakes made, blessings received, and questions still unanswered.

One thing has become clearer to me. If I want these later years to be peaceful and meaningful, I have to be careful not to turn my old perfectionism inward and let it rob me of joy. I don’t want to spend my time sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch, watching cars drive up and down the road, and yelling at the neighbor kids to stay off the lawn.  

For many of us in the Church, perfectionism doesn’t always look harsh or self-centered. Sometimes it comes out more subtly. It sounds like: I should be stronger than this by now. I should have more faith. I shouldn’t still be struggling with my body, my energy, or my emotions.

We know the scripture about becoming “perfect in Christ,” but somewhere along the way, some of us learned to interpret that as being hard on ourselves until we finally get it right.

Aging has a way of revealing how unkind that approach really is. Our bodies slow down. Energy comes and goes. Old regrets sometimes resurface. And if we’re not careful, we start treating these natural parts of aging as personal failures rather than normal parts of mortality.

One of the most freeing realizations I’ve had is this: aging is not a performance review. It’s not a test to see whether we exercised enough, served enough, or overcame everything we thought we should have overcome by now. Mortality doesn’t work that way. The gospel teaches us that growth is lifelong. And also, that weakness is not evidence that I’m a disappointment to God. “I give unto men weakness,” the Lord says, not as punishment, but as an invitation to humility and grace.

When we’re younger, much of life is about building careers, families, testimonies, and callings. Later life invites a different kind of discipleship. Less proving. More receiving. Receiving help. Receiving rest. Receiving the fact that slowing down doesn’t mean we’re sliding backward spiritually. I’ve noticed that people who seem to age with the most peace are not those who cling tightly to who they used to be, but those who allow themselves to become who they are now, without shame.

One of the quiet tasks of aging is learning to put down the internal checklist. The one that keeps track of 1) what I should still be able to do, 2) what others my age seem to be doing better, and 3) what I wish I had done differently.

For my birthday, my wife gave me a mug. On the outside, it says “Man of wisdom.” I hope that’s who I’m becoming. 

As I step into this new decade, my goal is not to age flawlessly or even impressively. My goal is to age faithfully. To trust that the Lord is far more interested in my heart than in my productivity.

If perfectionism once pushed me forward, I no longer want it driving the rest of the journey. There is a quieter strength available now, one rooted in humility, compassion, and trust in Christ.

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Confessions of a Recovering Perfectionist – Part 129

The Enabling Power of Repentance 

Last month, Elder Karl D. Hirst, General Authority Seventy, spoke at a BYU-Idaho Devotional. His talk was about repentance, which, for me, is linked to perfectionism. I’ve written about that connection in previous blog posts. 

For most of my life, I’ve had a pretty specific relationship with repentance. In my mind, it was mostly about clearing guilt, coming clean, and trying to avoid sinning in the future. But listening to this talk, I had a surprising realization. Repentance isn’t just about cleansing. It’s about changing into a better version of myself, even when I haven’t “messed up.” 

One of the most powerful ideas I heard is that imperfection and weakness are not proof of failure; they’re proof that we’re capable of growth. They’re part of the plan, not a distraction from it. Perfectionism often convinces me that flaws disqualify me. The gospel teaches that flaws prepare me. They make space for Christ’s grace.

Repentance literally means a change of heart and mind, a shift toward God, toward goodness, and toward better thinking and living. Nothing about that definition says repentance is only about sin. It’s about change. That means I can repent when I’m emotionally dysregulated, when I want more patience or optimism, and when I want deeper faith. I don’t need to wait for a big mistake to invite Christ into my life. His enabling power is accessed the same way as His cleansing power, through turning to Him. 

One of the most reassuring truths I heard was this: “Being weak does not mean we are Satan’s, it means we are capable of growth. Our weakness is God’s opportunity. Perfection will take care of itself if we will seek the Lord’s power in our progress and our participation.”

Perfectionism says, “You should have already arrived.” God says, “You are on your way.” Those are very different views.

The most hopeful insight I took away is this: Repenting and rejoicing are much closer than I realized. When I repent and turn toward Christ, I am also turning toward joy. In other words, repentance isn’t a depressing reminder of how far I fall short. It’s a pathway to the happiness and wholeness He wants to give me.

That’s a beautiful way to think about progress. Baby steps still count. Small improvements matter. Even patience in the process is part of the journey. Growth happens gradually, but consistently. He wants me to turn to Him, to use repentance as a tool for transformation, not just correction.

This is possible not because I’m capable enough or disciplined enough, but because the Savior’s grace is enough. That’s the kind of hope I want to carry forward. Not just the hope of being forgiven, but the hope of becoming something new.

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Confessions of a Recovering Perfectionist – Part 127

New Beginnings

For October, I usually promote a General Conference talk that speaks to the perfectionist part of me. This time, I’ve chosen Elder Kearon’s Jesus Christ and Your New Beginning. Here are some of my favorite parts:

Jesus “went about doing good.” He conversed with the social outcasts, He touched the diseased and unclean, He brought comfort to the weary, He taught liberating truth, and He called sinners to repentance. To each leper, blind man, and adulterous woman; to the lame, the deaf, and the dumb; to every grieving mother, desperate father, and mourning widow; to the condemned, the shamed, and the suffering; to the dead in body and the dead in spirit, what He did was offer a new beginning.

Everything He said and did provided a new beginning for each of those He healed, blessed, taught, and relieved of sin. He didn’t withdraw from them, and He certainly won’t withdraw from you.

The Saviour’s words to these individuals were brief, but with them He painted vast new horizons of forgiveness, healing, restoration, peace, and eternal life. And the glorious news is He offers the same new beginning to you and to me. All of us can have a new beginning through, and because of, Jesus Christ. Even you. New beginnings are at the heart of the Father’s plan for His children. This is the church of new beginnings! This is the church of fresh starts!

With commitment and rejoicing in a new life in Christ, we can become “a new creature,” where old things pass away and all things become new. What reprieve does that kind of new dawn bring to a soul who keeps trying, through continuing to choose faith in our Redeemer’s power to heal and restore, despite the crushing setbacks of living in a fallen world?

With every covenant we make and every effort we give to keep it, we can receive “a new heart” and a fuller measure of “a new spirit.” Little by little, the more we invite His goodness into our hearts and cast out the self-defeating voices in our heads, we become His people because we truly make Him our God. Jesus so keenly wants to be our King and our Shepherd and our Prince of Peace, and we can choose to make Him so in our own hearts and minds.

Do you need a new beginning? Can you make a fresh start, even you? Think about the people the Saviour ministered to—the people He taught, healed, raised, forgave, and restored. Was He selecting them from a particular economic class or background? Was He distinguishing between the righteous and the sinful? Was He singling people out because they were more deserving or more loved? No.

What does this mean for you and for me? His goodness and mercy and loving-kindness know no bounds. New beginnings are at the heart of the Father’s plan! Fresh starts are the mission of the Son! New dawns, new chapters, and new chances are the simple core of the gospel’s good news!

And new beginnings are for more than just our sins and mistakes. Through the goodness and grace of the Saviour, we can have fresh starts that propel change in old mindsets, bad habits, grumpy dispositions, negative attitudes, feelings of powerlessness, and tendencies to blame others and avoid personal responsibility. You can actually change things about yourself that have been wearing you down for years. You can start again through the might of the Master of new beginnings. He never tires of giving new beginnings to us.

He hasn’t put a roadblock in front of you. He hasn’t set a limit on your second chances. You press on. You keep striving. You seek help from those around you. And you trust in the new beginning that is there for you every time you turn back to your Father in sincerity of heart. Leave deliberate sinning, casual repeats, and prideful rebellion behind you, where they belong. You don’t have to be who you’ve been before. Embrace your fresh start, your second or third or fourth—or hundredth—chance, offered to you through the atoning blood of Jesus Christ.

I love the thought of new beginnings, unfettered by past mistakes and failures. I love the message of Lamentations 3:22-23 – “It is of the Lord’s mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not. They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness.”

Take three minutes and listen to this song by Micah Tyler. 

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Confessions of a Recovering Perfectionist – Part 123

Religious Addiction

When I read this post by Bethany Faden on Facebook, I could tell immediately that she was onto something. Rather than link to the post, I’m copying it here in its entirety and giving her full credit for it. 

Addiction, at its core, isn’t about pleasure-seeking. It’s about attachment substitution.

Most people associate addiction with substance abuse. But addiction can form around anything that provides relief from chronic dysregulation.

Religious addiction is not a rejection of God. It’s the misuse of religious structure in place of divine relationship.

It forms when spirituality becomes fused with emotional survival—when rituals aren’t a path to communion, but a way to numb shame, anxiety, or internal chaos.

This usually starts early, in homes or communities where emotional needs were suppressed or called selfish.

Where religious language moralized behavior but failed to validate pain. So kids adapt: they become spiritually high-performing—but relationally fragmented.

Their nervous systems learn: approval = safety, compliance = worthiness, silence = peace.

So they cling to the architecture of religion—not because they lack belief, but because belief alone never earned them the love they needed.

We must distinguish religious addiction from real discipleship.

Addiction is rigid, anxious, and externalized.

Discipleship is grounded, transformative, integrated.

One demands perfection to feel secure.

The other invites wholeness through grace.

This isn’t a call to leave religion—it’s a call to disentangle it from the wounds that distort its purpose.

Healing doesn’t mean abandoning spiritual practice. It means stopping the escape from the vulnerability that allows real transformation.

True faith doesn’t punish your humanity—it redeems it.

True religion doesn’t require your disappearance—it requires your presence.

If you’re compulsively striving, emotionally numb, or afraid you’re never “enough,” even in your devotion—it’s not a weak testimony.

It’s a nervous system that never felt safe in love.

And that, too, can be healed.

You don’t need to abandon the sacred to become whole.

Just let God meet the parts your performance was protecting.

That’s not apostasy.

That’s restoration.

And it’s holy.

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Confessions of a Recovering Perfectionist – Part 121

To Him, we are delightful! 

After General Conference, for my monthly blog post, I usually choose a talk that deals with some of my perfectionistic tendencies. This time, the obvious choice is Sister Tamara W. Runia, First Counselor in the Young Women General Presidency. Here are some of my favorite quotes from her talk: 

It saddens me to admit this, but I used to measure my relationship with the Savior by how perfectly I was living. I thought an obedient life meant I would never need to repent. And when I made mistakes, which was every single day, I distanced myself from God, thinking, “He must be so disappointed in me.”

That’s just not true.

I’ve learned that if you wait until you’re clean enough or perfect enough to go to the Savior, you’ve missed the whole point!

Our prophet said, “The Savior loves us always, but especially when we repent.”

So when the Lord says, “Repent ye, repent ye,” what if you imagined Him saying, “I love you. I love you.” 

Picture Him pleading with you to leave behind the behavior causing you pain, inviting you to step out of darkness and turn to His light.

Picture your favorite image of Christ. Now imagine Him smiling brightly with joy each time you use His gift, because He is the “perfect brightness of hope.”

Yes, your repentance doesn’t burden Jesus Christ; it brightens His joy!

Let’s teach that!

Because repentance is our best news!

We don’t stay on the covenant path by never making a mistake. We stay on the path by repenting every day.

And when we’re repenting, God forgives without shaming us, comparing us to anyone else, or scolding us because this is the same thing we were repenting of last week.

He’s excited every time He sees us on our knees. He delights to forgive us because to Him we are delightful!

Your worth isn’t tied to obedience. Your worth is constant; it never changes. It was given to you by God, and there’s nothing you or anyone else can do to change it. Obedience brings blessings; that is true. But worth isn’t one of them. Your worth is always “great in the sight of God,” no matter where your decisions have taken you.

This is one of the concepts that has helped me to become more shame resilient. I distinguish between my infinite worth and my behavior. Although my behavior may be maladaptive at times, my worth in the sight of God never fluctuates. 

You can read the full talk here. 

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Confessions of a Recovering Perfectionist – Part 119

C.S. Lewis on Perfection

I stumbled across a quote by C.S. Lewis that addresses perfection and how the Lord intends to perfect us. This is great!

I find a good many people have been bothered by what I said in the previous chapter about Our Lord’s words, “Be ye perfect.” Some people seem to think this means “Unless you are perfect, I will not help you”; and as we cannot be perfect, then, if He meant that, our position is hopeless. But I do not think He did mean that. I think He meant “The only help I will give is help to become perfect. You may want something less: but I will give you nothing less.”

Let me explain. When I was a child I often had toothache, and I knew that if I went to my mother she would give me something which would deaden the pain for that night and let me get to sleep. But I did not go to my mother—at least, not till the pain became very bad. And the reason I did not go was this. I did not doubt she would give me the aspirin; but I knew she would also do something else. I knew she would take me to the dentist next morning. I could not get what I wanted out of her without getting something more, which I did not want. I wanted immediate relief from pain: but I could not get it without having my teeth set permanently right. And I knew those dentists; I knew they started fiddling about with all sorts of other teeth which had not yet begun to ache. They would not let sleeping dogs lie; if you gave them an inch they took a mile.

Now, if I may put it that way, Our Lord is like the dentists. Dozens of people go to Him to be cured of some one particular sin which they are ashamed of, or which is obviously spoiling daily life (like bad temper or drunkenness). Well, He will cure it all right: but He will not stop there. That may be all you asked; but if once you call Him in, He will give you the full treatment.

That is why He warned people to “count the cost” before becoming Christians. “Make no mistake,” He says, “If you let me, I will make you perfect. The moment you put yourself in My hands, that is what you are in for. Nothing less, or other, than that. You have free will, and if you choose, you can push Me away. But if you do not push Me away, understand that I am going to see this job through. Whatever suffering it may cost you in your earthly life, whatever inconceivable purification it may cost you after death, whatever it costs Me, I will never rest, nor let you rest, until you are literally perfect—until my Father can say without reservation that He is well pleased with you, as He said He was well pleased with me. This I can do and will do. But I will not do anything less.”

And yet—this is the other and equally important side of it—this Helper who will, in the long run, be satisfied with nothing less than absolute perfection, will also be delighted with the first feeble, stumbling effort you make tomorrow to do the simplest duty. As a great Christian writer (George MacDonald) pointed out, every father is pleased at the baby’s first attempt to walk: no father would be satisfied with anything less than a firm, free manly walk in a grown-up son…. He said, “God is easy to please, but hard to satisfy.”

The practical upshot is this. On the one hand, God’s demand for perfection need not discourage you in the least in your present attempts to be good, or even in your present failures. Each time you fall He will pick you up again. And He knows perfectly well that your own efforts are never going to bring you anywhere near perfection. On the other hand, you must realise from the outset that the goal towards which He is beginning to guide you is absolute perfection; and no power in the whole universe, except you yourself, can prevent Him from taking you to that goal. That is what you are in for. And it is very important to realise that.

Here is another way of putting the two sides of the truth. On the one hand we must never imagine that our own unaided efforts can be relied on to carry us even through the next twenty-four hours as “decent” people. If He does not support us, not one of us is safe from some gross sin. On the other hand, no possible degree of holiness or heroism which has ever been recorded of the greatest saints is beyond what He is determined to produce in every one of us in the end. The job will not be completed in this life; but He means to get us as far as possible before death. That is why we must not be surprised if we are in for a rough time.

The command Be ye perfect is not idealistic gas. Nor is it a command to do the impossible. He is going to make us into creatures that can obey that command. He said (in the Bible) that we were “gods,” and He is going to make good His words. If we let Him—for we can prevent Him, if we choose—He will make the feeblest and filthiest of us into a god or goddess, a dazzling, radiant, immortal creature, pulsating all through with such energy and joy and wisdom and love as we cannot now imagine, a bright stainless mirror which reflects back to God perfectly (though, of course, on a smaller scale) His own boundless power and delight and goodness. The process will be long and, in parts, very painful; but that is what we are in for. Nothing less. He meant what He said.

C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity (1952; Harper Collins: 2001)

The Lord’s work and glory is to exalt me. And He knows how to do his work.

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Confessions of a Recovering Perfectionist – Part 117

A New Year’s Theme

As I look at setting New Year’s resolutions, which is my MO at this time of year, I typically like to choose a word or phrase as a theme for the coming year. I haven’t settled on this one for sure, but I’m leaning toward “be still.” 

One of my favorite talks from this past October General Conference is the one by Elder L Todd Budge. 

It is interesting to note that the Japanese word for “busy,” isogashii, is made up of a character with two symbols (忙). The one on the left means “heart” or “spirit,” and the one on the right means “death”—suggesting perhaps, that being too busy to nourish our spirits can lead us to die spiritually.

The Lord knew—in this fast-paced world full of distractions and in commotion—that making quality time for Him would be one of the major challenges of our day.

President David O. McKay said: “I think we pay too little attention to the value of meditation, a principle of devotion. Meditation is one of the most sacred doors through which we pass into the presence of the Lord.”

There is a word in Japanese, mui, that, for me, captures this more faith-filled, contemplative sense of what it means to be still. It is comprised of two characters (無為). The one on the left means “nothing” or “nothingness,” and the one on the right means “to do.” Together they mean “non-doing.” Taken literally, the word could be misinterpreted to mean “to do nothing” in the same way “to be still” can be misinterpreted as “not talking or moving.” However, like the phrase “to be still,” it has a higher meaning; for me it is a reminder to slow down and to live with greater spiritual awareness.

God desires that we approach our time with Him with the same kind of heartfelt devotion. When we do so, our worship becomes an expression of our love for Him.

When our focus is less on doing and more on strengthening our covenant connection with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, these sacred moments will be enriched, and we will receive the guidance needed in our personal lives. We, like Martha in the account in Luke, are often “careful and troubled about many things.” However, as we commune with the Lord each day, He will help us to know that which is most needful.

Even the Savior took time from His ministry to be still. The scriptures are replete with examples of the Lord retreating to a solitary place—a mountain, the wilderness, a desert place, or going “a little way off”—to pray to the Father. If Jesus Christ sought quiet time to commune with God and to be strengthened by Him, it would be wise for us to do the same.

As we concentrate our hearts and minds on Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and listen to the still, small voice of the Holy Ghost, we will have greater clarity about what is most needful, develop deeper compassion, and find rest and strength in Him.

I’m grateful that I’m retired and have a little more time to pull back from the daily grind and find peace and calm. It’s nice to not feel the expectation of constantly needing to “get it right” but rather, breathe in the stillness. 

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Confessions of a Recovering Perfectionist – Part 115

Feeling God’s Love

When I watch General Conference, I listen for specific guidance for those of us who struggle to feel God’s love. Elder Hirst’s talk stood out to me. Let me share some of my favorite parts. 

Perhaps you feel a long way from the love of God. Maybe there is a chorus of voices of discouragement and darkness that weighs into your thoughts, messages telling you that you are too wounded and confused, too weak and overlooked, too different or disoriented to warrant heavenly love in any real way. If you hear those ideas, then please hear this: those voices are just wrong. We can confidently disregard brokenness in any way disqualifying us from heavenly love—every time we sing the hymn that reminds us that our beloved and flawless Saviour chose to be “bruised, broken, [and] torn for us,” every time we take broken bread. Surely Jesus removes all shame from the broken. Through His brokenness, He became perfect, and He can make us perfect in spite of our brokenness. Broken, lonely, torn, and bruised He was—and we may feel we are—but separated from the love of God we are not. 

You might know something secret about yourself that makes you feel unlovable. However right you might be about what you know about yourself, you are wrong to think that you have put yourself beyond the reach of God’s love. We are sometimes cruel and impatient toward ourselves in ways that we could never imagine being toward anyone else. There is much for us to do in this life, but self-loathing and shameful self-condemnation are not on that list. However misshapen we might feel we are, His arms are not shortened. No. They are always long enough to “[reach our] reaching” and embrace each one of us.

When we don’t feel the warmth of divine love, it hasn’t gone away. God’s own words are that “the mountains shall depart, and the hills be removed; but [His] kindness shall not depart from [us].” So, just to be clear, the idea that God has stopped loving should be so far down the list of possible explanations in life that we don’t get to it until after the mountains have left and the hills are gone!

So if God’s love does not leave us, why don’t we always feel it? Just to manage your expectations: I don’t know. But being loved is definitely not the same as feeling loved, and I have a few thoughts that might help you as you pursue your answers to that question.

Perhaps you are wrestling with grief, depression, betrayal, loneliness, disappointment, or other powerful intrusion into your ability to feel God’s love for you. If so, these things can dull or suspend our ability to feel as we might otherwise feel. For a season at least, perhaps you will not be able to feel His love, and knowledge will have to suffice. But I wonder if you could experiment—patiently—with different ways of expressing and receiving divine love. Can you take a step back from whatever is in front of you and maybe another step and another, until you see a wider landscape, wider and wider still if necessary, until you are literally “thinking celestial” because you are looking at the stars and remembering worlds without number and through them their Creator?

I wonder, if Jesus were to choose a place where you and He could meet, a private place where you would be able to have a singular focus on Him, might He choose your unique place of personal suffering, the place of your deepest need, where no one else can go? Somewhere you feel so lonely that you must truly be all alone but you aren’t quite, a place to which perhaps only He has travelled but actually has already prepared to meet you there when you arrive? If you are waiting for Him to come, might He already be there and within reach?

Being filled with God’s love shields us in life’s storms but also makes the happy moments happier—our joyful days, when there is sunshine in the sky, are made even brighter by the sunshine in our souls.

Let’s become “rooted and grounded” in our Jesus and in His love. Let’s look for and treasure experiences of feeling His love and power in our lives. The joy of the gospel is available to all: not just the happy, not just the downcast. Joy is our purpose, not the gift of our circumstances. We have every good reason to “rejoice and be filled with love towards God and all men.”