I always thought that you do not dare to bargain with the Lord. Even though no specific examples come to mind at the moment, I would have sworn that the scriptures are full of people who tried to dictate the hand of the Lord and got burned. Right? Am I making things up? It’s quite possible.
But lately I’ve been hearing more and more stories from people who reached a critical point in their life and made a promise to God out of desperation and were rewarded.
My mother-in-law Sally had a cancer scare about 12 years ago and in fearing for her life she promised God that if she lived she would dedicate her life to teaching the gospel. She ended up not having cancer and she spent the next 12 years of near perfect health as a Seminary teacher, getting up to teach teenagers about the gospel at 6am every morning. For 12 years.
One of Bear’s cousins is one of the straightest most exactly living Mormons I know. The only pictures she puts up in her home are pictures related to her family and their beliefs, she dedicates every waking hour to her children and their education, particularly of the gospel, she does not deviate in the slightest degree. And yet when we were in Vegas she told me that she used to be really casual about the gospel. I couldn’t believe it until she told me a story about her own bargain. She has a daughter who was born with a heart condition and it was really touch and go there for a while. One night as her daughter was in critical condition, she knelt in prayer and promised God that if He would allow her daughter to live, my cousin would dedicate her life to teaching this child His word. The daughter lived despite all the experts predictions, and the cousin is now so firmly planted on the straight and narrow that she’s worn a groove in the iron rod.
I found it interesting that after a whole life thinking that bargaining was just. not. done. I hear these stories and a few others within a weekend.
I have my own desperate battle I’m waging, although nowhere near as dramatic as the literal life and death struggle of my family members. My whole life long I have felt compelled to write. Haunted. At times terrorized with guilt and fear. But I have no. idea. where to start. It keeps me up nights knowing that I am not fulfilling this obligation I have. I have had more experiences than I can relate that tell me that writing is my mission in life, probably not for anything I might bring to other people, but more for what it will bring out in me.
Every day I mean to wake up at a reasonable hour, and every day I get up at about 11 or noon, eat some breakfast/lunch, read my blogs for an hour, putter around the house maybe making something maybe cleaning something, and then it’s time for Bear to get home and I’ve forgotten to make dinner. Then it’s time to go to bed, but I can’t sleep because I’ve only been up for ten hours, so I spend a few more hours on-line trying to get to sleep. I went from the most productive sick person ever to the least productive healthy person ever.
So last night I finally reached my desperate wall. All I did all day was put together a 1000 piece puzzle and heat up leftovers. Granted, I am not 100% healthy and I am fighting the good fight with the hormones that are trying to keep my sanity at bay, but still. I should at least be capapble of vacuuming the living room on top of that. When Bear came home from a hard day of work to find me in my pj’s goofing off with a puzzle I was so ashamed I would have cried if I wasn’t so depressed.
I also just finished re-reading The Alchemist by Paulo Cohelo for my book club selection and the whole thing was an indictment of all the dreams I have not fulfilled and goals I have not met. The first time I read it was just after I got married and I highlighted all the passages that inspired young me with her future in bloom before her. This time I read those same passages and choked on my guilt.
So last night in my prayers I reached the desperate point where I was ready to bargain with God whether it was sinful or not. I promised that if He helped me to overcome the side effects of my disease and the drugs that are trying to cure me, and helped me to overcome my lifelong battle with insomnia, then I would write every day. Something. Every day. I promised.
This morning I woke up at 8am.