Rain and Rainbows
by Chieko N. Okazaki, Aloha!, 153-168.
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There's something wonderful about talking about the goodness and mercy of the Lord toward us. I believe that we can find joy and happiness in spite of our trials. Think of the story of Noah and his family. I find it interesting how the Bible describes conditions on the earth at that time:
And God looked upon the earth, and, behold, it was corrupt; for all flesh had corrupted his way upon the earth.
And God said unto Noah, The end of all flesh is come before me; for the earth is filled with violence through them. (Genesis 6:12-13)
So the Lord commanded Noah to make an ark, giving him the exact specifications, materials, and how many of each kind of animal, bird, and "creeping thing" to take with him on the ark. Then the Lord repeated both the curse and the promise:
And, behold, I, even I, do bring a flood of waters upon the earth, to destroy all flesh, wherein is the breath of life, from under heaven; and every thing that is in the earth shall die.
But with thee will I establish my covenant; and thou shalt come into the ark, thou, and thy sons, and thy wife, and thy sons' wives with thee. (Genesis 6:17- 18)
I want to stress three aspects of the story of Noah. First, adversity. Rain will fall upon all of us, but we can be preserved by listening to the voice of the Lord and following his counsel. At the same time, that will require endurance and patience. You can't tell me there weren't some difficult moments dealing with a seasick hippopotamus! Second, I want to talk about finding rainbows in our lives by concentrating on the moment, rather than dwelling on the past or worrying about the future. And third, I want to share some thoughts on covenants--not only the covenant of continuity of which the rainbow is a sign but the covenants that are rainbows in our own lives.
Adversity
First, let's consider the rain in our lives. Think about the adversity that Noah and his family faced. The mockery of neighbors. The labor of building the ark. The incredibly complex task of gathering the animals and enough food for them. And then the long seasons of patience that were required of them after the rains began.
Adversity is frequently a call to do something great with our lives. Will Smith, the star of a television show, said that when he was fifteen and his brother twelve, their father assigned them to fix a crumbling fifteen-by- fourteen-foot wall near his business. They had to tear it down, dig a six-foot trench, and rebuild the wall. He thought, "This is impossible. This is totally impossible." He was sure he'd be building that wall for the rest of his life, not just the summer. In fact, it took more than six months to finish it. Years later, his father "explained that when a kid's growing up, he needs to see something that's impossible to do, and then go and do it. . . . There are always going to be walls in life. He helped us get over one, so we'd never be scared to take the first step and try to do the impossible. . . . And, of course, he also got a really nice wall." (In Gail Buchalter, "Then I Heard My Father's Voice," Parade Magazine, 2 Feb. 1992, p. 14.)
It's nice to know that we can do something impossible if that's what the situation calls for. And when we stand back and look at the challenge to do the impossible, then it says something to us within when we realize that we also got "a really nice wall" out of the situation.
I remember reading a paragraph once from someone named Ralph Sockman. I don't know who he was or where he said this, but it rings true to me: "There are parts of a ship which, taken by themselves, would sink. The engine would sink. The propeller would sink. [The steel plates that make up the sides would sink.] But when these parts are built together, they float. So with the events of my life. Some have been tragic. Some have been happy. But when they are built together, they form a craft that floats and is going someplace. And I am comforted." Now that's a statement that's relevant to our lives, whether our craft is an ark or a battleship.
I've mentioned the patience that was required of Noah and his family. We talk about "forty days and forty nights" as though they had to live in the ark with all those animals for a month and a half. Well, forty days and forty nights was only a fraction of their endurance. For instance, do you remember that after they went into the ark and closed the door, they were inside the ark for seven days before the Flood began? (Genesis 7:10.) Now, would that be a test of faith or what? Would you decide, about the fifth day, that it would be awfully nice to spend the weekend picking buttercups in the meadow rather than cleaning the elephants' stalls and that maybe Noah had made a big mistake?
Then the rains began. The scripture tells us that on the same day "all the fountains of the great deep [were] broken up, and the windows of heaven were opened." (Genesis 7:11-12.) It was not until the fortieth day of this torrential downpour and flooding that the water was deep enough to "lift [the ark] up above the earth." (Genesis 7:17.) And then "the waters prevailed upon the earth an hundred and fifty days." (Genesis 7:24.) We're up to 197 days so far.
The scripture doesn't tell us how many days it took for the waters to recede, but it says that the ark came to rest on the mountains of Ararat on the seventeenth day of the seventh month (Genesis 8:4), and it took until the first day of the tenth month for the tops of the mountains to become visible. If we hypothesize a month of thirty days--and I realize that there are Bible scholars who make careers out of figuring out the calendar--then we need to add another seventy-three days. Then they waited forty days to send out the raven and the dove, seven more days for the second flight of the dove, who returned with the olive branch, and a final seven days for the third flight. It sounds as if it then took another month plus twenty-seven days before they received the command of the Lord to go forth from the ark. (Genesis 8:3-6, 10, 12-14.) According to my addition, this comes to a total of 401 days. That's a long time to be cooped up in a floating zoo--a year, a month, and six days!
So the story of Noah teaches us that there will be adversity, that it will last a long time, and that it will require reserves of patience that seem superhuman. I'm not telling you that you won't have adversity, any more than I'm telling you that it will be easy to handle. I am telling you that you can handle it. But how? That brings me to my next point: living in the present moment.
The Present Moment
We don't hear very much about Noah's wife, but it seems to me that there might have been times when she lay awake at night worrying and wondering--worrying if Noah had understood the revelation correctly, wondering if their sons would be resolute and steadfast, worrying about the families of her daughters-in-law who rejected the message of the ark and therefore condemned themselves to death by the great flood. She probably wondered about her grandchildren and whether there would be enough food to see them through. I think you could say that there was a great deal of stress on the ark and that Noah's wife experienced her share and a little more.
Aren't there times when we're all in similar circumstances? Aren't there times for all of us when we're cooperating with decisions that others have made, trying to make homes under temporary and very trying circumstances, and trying to foresee the future on the basis of very inadequate information? That's a real recipe for stress. How can we handle that kind of adversity? That brings us to the next point I want to make.
Rainbows are magically beautiful in their perfect shape and the soft brilliance of their color, but they are also very temporary. They're a happy accident of light in the right quarter, shining through water droplets that happen to be suspended in the air in just the right place. Obviously they can't last long. So if you ever want to enjoy a rainbow permanently, you'd better buy one of those plastic magnets that you can stick on your refrigerator. The real rainbow is a message to you to stop what you're doing and just look for the few minutes that it will be before you.
That's the suggestion I have for dealing with adversity. Don't deny the rain through a false Pollyanna attitude, or you won't have a rainbow. And don't turn your back on the light, or you won't see the rainbow either. It takes both light and rain to make a rainbow, and it will be there for only a moment. Even in moments of deep adversity and pain, look for your rainbow. It's there somewhere.
Here's a little quiz. (You know I used to be a teacher.) Take the word stressed, as in "stressed out." Spell it backwards. What does it spell? That's right. It spells desserts. Now isn't there a message for us somewhere in that little fact?
Of course you're going to have dark moments. When they come, I hope you remember to lighten up. If there's a lot of rain in your life, look for the light, too--it's there somewhere--and see a rainbow. There have been many dark moments of grief and loneliness for me since Ed's death, and I know there will be more. But there have been rainbow moments, too--of love and support from colleagues and friends, of a renewed sense of preciousness of family between our sons and me. Rainbow moments of remembering good times with Ed.
Find the rainbow moments in your own life. Did you hear about the workaholic who was thrown into jail? She was charged with resisting a rest. Take care of yourselves. That's your job, but that's also your joy in this present moment that is given to you.
What can you do with the present moment? I suggest that you use it to do whatever good you can right where you are. When I was in Japan on a Relief Society assignment, some of the leaders told me a story about President Spencer W. Kimball that I just loved. When he was on one of his last visits there and was quite elderly, he had an exhausting sequence of meetings, yet he had time and patience for everyone. Between meetings, he finally had a chance to slip into the rest room. As the leaders waited for him to come out, they began to worry. It seemed that he had been in there for a long time. They wondered if they should check on him. After all, he was not as strong as he used to be. What if he had slipped and fallen? What if he was having trouble of some kind? What if he had been taken ill suddenly? And when the priesthood brethren went in to see what the difficulty was, do you know what they found? President Kimball, the president of the Church and the Lord's prophet on earth, was painstakingly picking up the used paper towels that had spilled over from a receptacle that was too full. What a great lesson that was for those leaders to seize every opportunity that presented itself to do good.
I read about another couple who looked at their limited circumstances and looked at the great needs in the world around them and chose to make a difference right where they were. Mavis Faucher has lived in the same neighborhood since she and and her husband, Lester, were married fifty-two years ago. Mavis, aged seventy-nine, declared war on the trash on Tulip Street where they live because she just couldn't stand the way the street looked. By the time Lester had been enlisted and they'd cleaned up a block,
the feeling of seeing a clean street was exhilarating and they knew they could make a difference. Thirty trash bags later, Mavis and Lester had covered six blocks. . . . Just think what the streets could look like if there were more people like the Fauchers who took it upon themselves to roll up their sleeves and make a difference. (Christeen Denning, "People Who Made a Difference: Turning Back Trash and Disorder," Church News, 30 Nov. 1991, p. 2)
Sometimes we don't enjoy our church meetings and our associations because we're living in the past--trying to figure out why something worked out differently from what we had thought--or living in the future--worrying about something yet to come. At homemaking meeting, what do you do if you have only eight sisters attend? I think you should concentrate on making those eight so happy that they came and so immersed in sisterhood that they'll want to come back the next month. The time to deal with the problem of the twenty who aren't there is later, not at the expense of the eight who are there.
Sometimes things that seem too overwhelming when you think of undertaking them forever become manageable if you focus on the present: "Just for today, go for a brisk walk. Just for today, make time to be alone. Just for today, wear your seat belt. Just for today, exercise your sense of humor." Maybe you can't promise about tomorrow. Maybe you can't change what happened yesterday. But you do have some control over today. (Hope Healthletter 12 [January 1992]: 1.)
Another important principle to help us live in the moment is to concentrate on being, rather than doing. A psychologist told of meeting a woman as she sunbathed on a beautiful beach in Hawaii. The woman knew that he was studying people who seemed to have a hard time experiencing joy and said:
"My husband is a perfect case study for you."
"Where is he?" the psychiatrist asked.
"Oh, up there somewhere," she answered, pointing to the bright blue sky. . . .
"Oh, I'm sorry," the psychiatrist said, preparing himself for yet another story about health problems, stress, or the failures of modern medicine.
"You're sorry?" she answered. "You ought to be married to him. Then you would have something to be sorry about."
"I don't understand," answered the psychiatrist, feeling quite confused and wondering if this woman had been in the sun too long.
"Oh, I see." She explained, "No, he's not dead. He's still busy killing himself. I mean he's up there somewhere hang gliding. Yesterday he went parasailing and jet skiing. The day before he golfed until he had blisters and then he snorkeled for so long that he got a sunburn on the part of his back that was out of the water. He looked just like a red humpbacked whale." . . .
"Well, it sounds like he really enjoys these vacations," the psychiatrist said weakly.
"No way," she replied angrily. . . ."He never enjoys anything, he just keeps doing things. . . ."
Our discussion was suddenly interrupted by a shower of sand. The husband had joined us, sweating and panting. . . .
"Hey, that was great," he said. "I haven't wasted one minute of this trip. I've done every single thing this resort offers. . . . Pam, you miss out on everything. You don't know how to have fun. All you do is sit, rest, walk, and read. Get with it, kid, or you'll never enjoy anything."
The husband noticed a volleyball game in progress . . . and as he ran away yelled back, "See you later. Join me when you're ready to have fun." The psychiatrist could see the sunburn on his back. He was too rushed to feel it then, but he would be in for some real pain later.
Then the psychiatrist explained:
When I work with terminally ill patients I notice that, contrary to popular myth, many of these people choose to sit, to think, to fish, and to stroll during the last months of their lives. They do not typically choose to crowd as much into their remaining days as possible by engaging in constant hectic activity. They create more time by taking time, embracing moments, experiencing being alive rather than urgently trying to live.
To illustrate my point, I ask my patients to try the SDASU technique. This stands for "Sit Down and Shut Up." Just sit quietly for a few minutes without talking, waiting for someone or something, or meditating. Just sit down and be quiet. You will notice immediately that you control time when you stop, sit, and get settled. (Paul Pearsall, Super Joy: In Love with Living [New York: Doubleday, 1988], pp. 41-42, 54-55)
I think you know what works for you. You already know what will keep you centered in the present moment so that you can endure the elephants with patience, so that you can catch sight of the rainbow even while the rain is still falling. Listen to that voice and follow it.
Covenants
It's significant that the story of the Flood could end at any of several points. One might be Noah's successful completion of the ark. After years of labor to construct it, after the mockery of the neighbors and the scorn of former friends, after the tension and ingenuity and even danger of collecting and housing the animals and collecting the food they would need, then comes the climactic moment when the rain begins to fall and the water begins to rise and the ark, shut off from the drowning world outside it, lifts gently from the earth, rocks a little in the water, and begins to float. But that's not where the story ends.
Another point where it might end comes when the forty days and nights of the drumming, dripping rain finally stops and the long days of waiting for the water to recede begins, when the dove and the raven are sent out on their mission of searching for dry land anywhere on that vast liquid horizon where the only solid speck is the ark. Then at last the flood waters recede, and the ark gently comes to rest. Think of the impatience and the frustration as they wait for the water to trickle away into ponds and lakes that dry up into meadows and valleys. And then at last the door is open. That's another place where the story could end. But it doesn't.
The animal passengers of the ark rush away with their own cries of thanksgiving while Noah's family gathers around the altar for their ceremony of thanksgiving and the beginning of a new life upon this freshly baptized earth. But even here the story doesn't end. It doesn't end until the Lord gives the promise of which the rainbow is a token--that he will never again curse the earth with a flood. "I do set my bow in the cloud," the Lord said, "and it shall be for a token of a covenant between me and the earth." That covenant was one of continuity, of binding, of continued relationship. The Lord said: "While the earth remaineth, seedtime and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter, and day and night shall not cease." (Genesis 9:13; 8:22.)
What covenants have we made? What tokens do we have of the covenants between us and the Lord? One of the lessons my own adversity has taught me is a deeper understanding of my covenants. I had always understood that baptism was the entrance into the Church. I wanted to enter into the Church, and I wanted the gift of the Holy Ghost. But no miraculous occurrences attended my baptism and my confirmation. It was not until I began relying on the Holy Ghost and seeking inspiration day by day and sometimes hour by hour that I became aware in quiet, subtle, wonderful ways of the presence of that comforter. And although I always took great comfort from the promise that the Holy Ghost could be my constant companion, it was not until I was suddenly bereft of Ed, my companion for more than forty years, that I turned with terrible need to that promise of companionship that we are given in the sacrament prayer. I found that companionship there, where I needed it.
Covenants are deceptively simple, clear symbols that we can all grasp intellectually with ease. But only as we live with them and return to them often for meaning in the joyous and sorrowful passages of our lives do we begin to understand how deep their roots go. It's the same way with the temple ordinances. Ed used to speak frequently about the joy of sacrifice, the privilege of consecration. I believe he understood dimensions to those covenants that I have yet to explore. But I think that meaning is there for all of us.
The many levels on which we can understand our covenants suggests two things to me. First, we cannot judge other people. We do not know where they are in their spiritual journey. There may be parts of the gospel that are a great joy and strength to us but that seem mysterious and uncertain to someone else who is involved in learning about other aspects of the gospel. And second, all experience is for our good because we learn in no other way. I always thought that the Lord was trying to comfort Joseph Smith in his afflictions in Liberty Jail when he gave the Prophet a long catalogue of truly terrible things that could yet happen to him, winding up with this list:
And if thou shouldst be cast into the pit, or into the hands of murderers, and the sentence of death passed upon thee; if thou be cast into the deep; if the billowing surge conspire against thee; if fierce winds become thine enemy; if the heavens gather blackness, and all the elements combine to hedge up the way; and above all, if the very jaws of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good. (D&C 122:7)
Perhaps you, like me, have read that verse and thought, Is this supposed to be consoling? Are we supposed to feel better after all this? I now believe that the Savior was not trying to comfort Joseph Smith--at least, not as we would comfort a child by saying, "There, there. Everything will be all right." We are beings who have an eternal and everlasting hunger for truth, and what the Savior was giving Joseph Smith was not a pretty pacifier but the nourishing though hard-to-chew bread of truth.
Experience is for our good. Good experience, bad experience, happy experience, painful experience--it's all for our good, and we can accept it, deal with it, come to terms with it, and learn from it because it is part of why we came here. No experience is so painful that the Savior has not been there before us. We cannot have an experience that will destroy us unless we choose to let it. The Savior told Joseph Smith: "Hold on thy way. . . . Thy days are known, and thy years shall not be numbered less; therefore, fear not what man can do, for God shall be with you forever and ever." (D&C 122:9.) That's the Lord's promise to us as well as to Joseph Smith. That is the covenant we make and remake at the sacrament table each Sunday--that we will always remember him and that he will always grant us his Spirit to be with us.
Did you thrill, as I did, to President Howard W. Hunter's message at October 1992 conference? He acknowledged that there are many attitudes and experiences in the world today that will try us and frighten us. In the midst of adversity, of tribulation, and of terror, we have a sure beacon in Christ's love and in the sureness of his triumph over despair and danger. President Hunter told the story of the apostles, setting out at night across the Sea of Galilee while Jesus remained in a secluded spot on the shore for prayer and communion with his Father:
The night was dark and the elements were strong and contrary. The waves were boisterous and the wind was bold, and these mortal, frail men were frightened. . . .
[But] as always [Jesus], was watching over them. He loved them and cared for them. In their moment of greatest extremity they looked and saw in the darkness an image in a fluttering robe, walking toward them on the ridges of the sea. They cried out in terror at the sight, thinking that it was a phantom that walked upon the waves. And through the storm and darkness to them--as so often to us, when, amid the darknesses of life, the ocean seems so great and our little boats so small--there came the ultimate and reassuring voice of peace with this simple declaration, "It is I; be not afraid." Peter exclaimed, "Lord, if it be thou, bid me come unto thee on the water." And Christ's answer to him was the same as to all of us: "Come."
Peter sprang over the vessel's side and into the troubled waves, and while his eyes were fixed upon the Lord, the wind might toss his hair and the spray might drench his robes, but all was well. Only when with wavering faith he removed his glance from the Master to look at the furious waves and the black gulf beneath him, only then did he begin to sink. Again, like most of us, he cried, "Lord, save me." Nor did Jesus fail him. He stretched out his hand and grasped the drowning disciple with the gentle rebuke, "O thou of little faith, why didst thou doubt?"
Then safely aboard their little craft, they saw the wind fall and the crash of the waves become a ripple. Soon they were at their haven, their safe port, where all would one day hope to be. The crew as well as his disciples were filled with deep amazement. . . . [They exclaimed in reverent awe:] "Truly thou art the Son of God." (Adapted from [Frederic W.] Farrar, The Life of Christ [Portland, Oreg.: Fountain Publications, 1964], pp. 310-13; see Matt. 14:22-33.)
President Hunter continued:
It is my firm belief that if as individual people, as families, communities, and nations, we could, like Peter, fix our eyes on Jesus, we too might walk triumphantly over "the swelling waves of disbelief" and remain "unterrified amid the rising winds of doubt." But if we turn away our eyes from him in whom we must believe, as it is so easy to do and . . . , if we look to the power and fury of those terrible and destructive elements around us rather than to him who can help and save us, then we shall inevitably sink in a sea of conflict and sorrow and despair. ("The Beacon in the Harbor of Peace," Ensign, Nov. 1992, pp. 18-19)
As we pass through the seasons of adversity in our lives, when the rains have lasted so long that the fountains of the deep seem to be broken up and the entire world as we know it is drowning in its despairing depths, may we remember that our task is to do our duty every day with humility and love and courage. May we remain focused on the present moment, acknowledging the sorrow that it may bring but also finding the joy. Let's seize every opportunity we have to lighten up and to see our situation truly, in the light of Christ who is the light of the world. And as we cling to the covenants we have made, may they truly be rainbows of beauty and brilliance to us.
© 2005 Deseret Book Co.
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There's something wonderful about talking about the goodness and mercy of the Lord toward us. I believe that we can find joy and happiness in spite of our trials. Think of the story of Noah and his family. I find it interesting how the Bible describes conditions on the earth at that time:
And God looked upon the earth, and, behold, it was corrupt; for all flesh had corrupted his way upon the earth.
And God said unto Noah, The end of all flesh is come before me; for the earth is filled with violence through them. (Genesis 6:12-13)
So the Lord commanded Noah to make an ark, giving him the exact specifications, materials, and how many of each kind of animal, bird, and "creeping thing" to take with him on the ark. Then the Lord repeated both the curse and the promise:
And, behold, I, even I, do bring a flood of waters upon the earth, to destroy all flesh, wherein is the breath of life, from under heaven; and every thing that is in the earth shall die.
But with thee will I establish my covenant; and thou shalt come into the ark, thou, and thy sons, and thy wife, and thy sons' wives with thee. (Genesis 6:17- 18)
I want to stress three aspects of the story of Noah. First, adversity. Rain will fall upon all of us, but we can be preserved by listening to the voice of the Lord and following his counsel. At the same time, that will require endurance and patience. You can't tell me there weren't some difficult moments dealing with a seasick hippopotamus! Second, I want to talk about finding rainbows in our lives by concentrating on the moment, rather than dwelling on the past or worrying about the future. And third, I want to share some thoughts on covenants--not only the covenant of continuity of which the rainbow is a sign but the covenants that are rainbows in our own lives.
Adversity
First, let's consider the rain in our lives. Think about the adversity that Noah and his family faced. The mockery of neighbors. The labor of building the ark. The incredibly complex task of gathering the animals and enough food for them. And then the long seasons of patience that were required of them after the rains began.
Adversity is frequently a call to do something great with our lives. Will Smith, the star of a television show, said that when he was fifteen and his brother twelve, their father assigned them to fix a crumbling fifteen-by- fourteen-foot wall near his business. They had to tear it down, dig a six-foot trench, and rebuild the wall. He thought, "This is impossible. This is totally impossible." He was sure he'd be building that wall for the rest of his life, not just the summer. In fact, it took more than six months to finish it. Years later, his father "explained that when a kid's growing up, he needs to see something that's impossible to do, and then go and do it. . . . There are always going to be walls in life. He helped us get over one, so we'd never be scared to take the first step and try to do the impossible. . . . And, of course, he also got a really nice wall." (In Gail Buchalter, "Then I Heard My Father's Voice," Parade Magazine, 2 Feb. 1992, p. 14.)
It's nice to know that we can do something impossible if that's what the situation calls for. And when we stand back and look at the challenge to do the impossible, then it says something to us within when we realize that we also got "a really nice wall" out of the situation.
I remember reading a paragraph once from someone named Ralph Sockman. I don't know who he was or where he said this, but it rings true to me: "There are parts of a ship which, taken by themselves, would sink. The engine would sink. The propeller would sink. [The steel plates that make up the sides would sink.] But when these parts are built together, they float. So with the events of my life. Some have been tragic. Some have been happy. But when they are built together, they form a craft that floats and is going someplace. And I am comforted." Now that's a statement that's relevant to our lives, whether our craft is an ark or a battleship.
I've mentioned the patience that was required of Noah and his family. We talk about "forty days and forty nights" as though they had to live in the ark with all those animals for a month and a half. Well, forty days and forty nights was only a fraction of their endurance. For instance, do you remember that after they went into the ark and closed the door, they were inside the ark for seven days before the Flood began? (Genesis 7:10.) Now, would that be a test of faith or what? Would you decide, about the fifth day, that it would be awfully nice to spend the weekend picking buttercups in the meadow rather than cleaning the elephants' stalls and that maybe Noah had made a big mistake?
Then the rains began. The scripture tells us that on the same day "all the fountains of the great deep [were] broken up, and the windows of heaven were opened." (Genesis 7:11-12.) It was not until the fortieth day of this torrential downpour and flooding that the water was deep enough to "lift [the ark] up above the earth." (Genesis 7:17.) And then "the waters prevailed upon the earth an hundred and fifty days." (Genesis 7:24.) We're up to 197 days so far.
The scripture doesn't tell us how many days it took for the waters to recede, but it says that the ark came to rest on the mountains of Ararat on the seventeenth day of the seventh month (Genesis 8:4), and it took until the first day of the tenth month for the tops of the mountains to become visible. If we hypothesize a month of thirty days--and I realize that there are Bible scholars who make careers out of figuring out the calendar--then we need to add another seventy-three days. Then they waited forty days to send out the raven and the dove, seven more days for the second flight of the dove, who returned with the olive branch, and a final seven days for the third flight. It sounds as if it then took another month plus twenty-seven days before they received the command of the Lord to go forth from the ark. (Genesis 8:3-6, 10, 12-14.) According to my addition, this comes to a total of 401 days. That's a long time to be cooped up in a floating zoo--a year, a month, and six days!
So the story of Noah teaches us that there will be adversity, that it will last a long time, and that it will require reserves of patience that seem superhuman. I'm not telling you that you won't have adversity, any more than I'm telling you that it will be easy to handle. I am telling you that you can handle it. But how? That brings me to my next point: living in the present moment.
The Present Moment
We don't hear very much about Noah's wife, but it seems to me that there might have been times when she lay awake at night worrying and wondering--worrying if Noah had understood the revelation correctly, wondering if their sons would be resolute and steadfast, worrying about the families of her daughters-in-law who rejected the message of the ark and therefore condemned themselves to death by the great flood. She probably wondered about her grandchildren and whether there would be enough food to see them through. I think you could say that there was a great deal of stress on the ark and that Noah's wife experienced her share and a little more.
Aren't there times when we're all in similar circumstances? Aren't there times for all of us when we're cooperating with decisions that others have made, trying to make homes under temporary and very trying circumstances, and trying to foresee the future on the basis of very inadequate information? That's a real recipe for stress. How can we handle that kind of adversity? That brings us to the next point I want to make.
Rainbows are magically beautiful in their perfect shape and the soft brilliance of their color, but they are also very temporary. They're a happy accident of light in the right quarter, shining through water droplets that happen to be suspended in the air in just the right place. Obviously they can't last long. So if you ever want to enjoy a rainbow permanently, you'd better buy one of those plastic magnets that you can stick on your refrigerator. The real rainbow is a message to you to stop what you're doing and just look for the few minutes that it will be before you.
That's the suggestion I have for dealing with adversity. Don't deny the rain through a false Pollyanna attitude, or you won't have a rainbow. And don't turn your back on the light, or you won't see the rainbow either. It takes both light and rain to make a rainbow, and it will be there for only a moment. Even in moments of deep adversity and pain, look for your rainbow. It's there somewhere.
Here's a little quiz. (You know I used to be a teacher.) Take the word stressed, as in "stressed out." Spell it backwards. What does it spell? That's right. It spells desserts. Now isn't there a message for us somewhere in that little fact?
Of course you're going to have dark moments. When they come, I hope you remember to lighten up. If there's a lot of rain in your life, look for the light, too--it's there somewhere--and see a rainbow. There have been many dark moments of grief and loneliness for me since Ed's death, and I know there will be more. But there have been rainbow moments, too--of love and support from colleagues and friends, of a renewed sense of preciousness of family between our sons and me. Rainbow moments of remembering good times with Ed.
Find the rainbow moments in your own life. Did you hear about the workaholic who was thrown into jail? She was charged with resisting a rest. Take care of yourselves. That's your job, but that's also your joy in this present moment that is given to you.
What can you do with the present moment? I suggest that you use it to do whatever good you can right where you are. When I was in Japan on a Relief Society assignment, some of the leaders told me a story about President Spencer W. Kimball that I just loved. When he was on one of his last visits there and was quite elderly, he had an exhausting sequence of meetings, yet he had time and patience for everyone. Between meetings, he finally had a chance to slip into the rest room. As the leaders waited for him to come out, they began to worry. It seemed that he had been in there for a long time. They wondered if they should check on him. After all, he was not as strong as he used to be. What if he had slipped and fallen? What if he was having trouble of some kind? What if he had been taken ill suddenly? And when the priesthood brethren went in to see what the difficulty was, do you know what they found? President Kimball, the president of the Church and the Lord's prophet on earth, was painstakingly picking up the used paper towels that had spilled over from a receptacle that was too full. What a great lesson that was for those leaders to seize every opportunity that presented itself to do good.
I read about another couple who looked at their limited circumstances and looked at the great needs in the world around them and chose to make a difference right where they were. Mavis Faucher has lived in the same neighborhood since she and and her husband, Lester, were married fifty-two years ago. Mavis, aged seventy-nine, declared war on the trash on Tulip Street where they live because she just couldn't stand the way the street looked. By the time Lester had been enlisted and they'd cleaned up a block,
the feeling of seeing a clean street was exhilarating and they knew they could make a difference. Thirty trash bags later, Mavis and Lester had covered six blocks. . . . Just think what the streets could look like if there were more people like the Fauchers who took it upon themselves to roll up their sleeves and make a difference. (Christeen Denning, "People Who Made a Difference: Turning Back Trash and Disorder," Church News, 30 Nov. 1991, p. 2)
Sometimes we don't enjoy our church meetings and our associations because we're living in the past--trying to figure out why something worked out differently from what we had thought--or living in the future--worrying about something yet to come. At homemaking meeting, what do you do if you have only eight sisters attend? I think you should concentrate on making those eight so happy that they came and so immersed in sisterhood that they'll want to come back the next month. The time to deal with the problem of the twenty who aren't there is later, not at the expense of the eight who are there.
Sometimes things that seem too overwhelming when you think of undertaking them forever become manageable if you focus on the present: "Just for today, go for a brisk walk. Just for today, make time to be alone. Just for today, wear your seat belt. Just for today, exercise your sense of humor." Maybe you can't promise about tomorrow. Maybe you can't change what happened yesterday. But you do have some control over today. (Hope Healthletter 12 [January 1992]: 1.)
Another important principle to help us live in the moment is to concentrate on being, rather than doing. A psychologist told of meeting a woman as she sunbathed on a beautiful beach in Hawaii. The woman knew that he was studying people who seemed to have a hard time experiencing joy and said:
"My husband is a perfect case study for you."
"Where is he?" the psychiatrist asked.
"Oh, up there somewhere," she answered, pointing to the bright blue sky. . . .
"Oh, I'm sorry," the psychiatrist said, preparing himself for yet another story about health problems, stress, or the failures of modern medicine.
"You're sorry?" she answered. "You ought to be married to him. Then you would have something to be sorry about."
"I don't understand," answered the psychiatrist, feeling quite confused and wondering if this woman had been in the sun too long.
"Oh, I see." She explained, "No, he's not dead. He's still busy killing himself. I mean he's up there somewhere hang gliding. Yesterday he went parasailing and jet skiing. The day before he golfed until he had blisters and then he snorkeled for so long that he got a sunburn on the part of his back that was out of the water. He looked just like a red humpbacked whale." . . .
"Well, it sounds like he really enjoys these vacations," the psychiatrist said weakly.
"No way," she replied angrily. . . ."He never enjoys anything, he just keeps doing things. . . ."
Our discussion was suddenly interrupted by a shower of sand. The husband had joined us, sweating and panting. . . .
"Hey, that was great," he said. "I haven't wasted one minute of this trip. I've done every single thing this resort offers. . . . Pam, you miss out on everything. You don't know how to have fun. All you do is sit, rest, walk, and read. Get with it, kid, or you'll never enjoy anything."
The husband noticed a volleyball game in progress . . . and as he ran away yelled back, "See you later. Join me when you're ready to have fun." The psychiatrist could see the sunburn on his back. He was too rushed to feel it then, but he would be in for some real pain later.
Then the psychiatrist explained:
When I work with terminally ill patients I notice that, contrary to popular myth, many of these people choose to sit, to think, to fish, and to stroll during the last months of their lives. They do not typically choose to crowd as much into their remaining days as possible by engaging in constant hectic activity. They create more time by taking time, embracing moments, experiencing being alive rather than urgently trying to live.
To illustrate my point, I ask my patients to try the SDASU technique. This stands for "Sit Down and Shut Up." Just sit quietly for a few minutes without talking, waiting for someone or something, or meditating. Just sit down and be quiet. You will notice immediately that you control time when you stop, sit, and get settled. (Paul Pearsall, Super Joy: In Love with Living [New York: Doubleday, 1988], pp. 41-42, 54-55)
I think you know what works for you. You already know what will keep you centered in the present moment so that you can endure the elephants with patience, so that you can catch sight of the rainbow even while the rain is still falling. Listen to that voice and follow it.
Covenants
It's significant that the story of the Flood could end at any of several points. One might be Noah's successful completion of the ark. After years of labor to construct it, after the mockery of the neighbors and the scorn of former friends, after the tension and ingenuity and even danger of collecting and housing the animals and collecting the food they would need, then comes the climactic moment when the rain begins to fall and the water begins to rise and the ark, shut off from the drowning world outside it, lifts gently from the earth, rocks a little in the water, and begins to float. But that's not where the story ends.
Another point where it might end comes when the forty days and nights of the drumming, dripping rain finally stops and the long days of waiting for the water to recede begins, when the dove and the raven are sent out on their mission of searching for dry land anywhere on that vast liquid horizon where the only solid speck is the ark. Then at last the flood waters recede, and the ark gently comes to rest. Think of the impatience and the frustration as they wait for the water to trickle away into ponds and lakes that dry up into meadows and valleys. And then at last the door is open. That's another place where the story could end. But it doesn't.
The animal passengers of the ark rush away with their own cries of thanksgiving while Noah's family gathers around the altar for their ceremony of thanksgiving and the beginning of a new life upon this freshly baptized earth. But even here the story doesn't end. It doesn't end until the Lord gives the promise of which the rainbow is a token--that he will never again curse the earth with a flood. "I do set my bow in the cloud," the Lord said, "and it shall be for a token of a covenant between me and the earth." That covenant was one of continuity, of binding, of continued relationship. The Lord said: "While the earth remaineth, seedtime and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter, and day and night shall not cease." (Genesis 9:13; 8:22.)
What covenants have we made? What tokens do we have of the covenants between us and the Lord? One of the lessons my own adversity has taught me is a deeper understanding of my covenants. I had always understood that baptism was the entrance into the Church. I wanted to enter into the Church, and I wanted the gift of the Holy Ghost. But no miraculous occurrences attended my baptism and my confirmation. It was not until I began relying on the Holy Ghost and seeking inspiration day by day and sometimes hour by hour that I became aware in quiet, subtle, wonderful ways of the presence of that comforter. And although I always took great comfort from the promise that the Holy Ghost could be my constant companion, it was not until I was suddenly bereft of Ed, my companion for more than forty years, that I turned with terrible need to that promise of companionship that we are given in the sacrament prayer. I found that companionship there, where I needed it.
Covenants are deceptively simple, clear symbols that we can all grasp intellectually with ease. But only as we live with them and return to them often for meaning in the joyous and sorrowful passages of our lives do we begin to understand how deep their roots go. It's the same way with the temple ordinances. Ed used to speak frequently about the joy of sacrifice, the privilege of consecration. I believe he understood dimensions to those covenants that I have yet to explore. But I think that meaning is there for all of us.
The many levels on which we can understand our covenants suggests two things to me. First, we cannot judge other people. We do not know where they are in their spiritual journey. There may be parts of the gospel that are a great joy and strength to us but that seem mysterious and uncertain to someone else who is involved in learning about other aspects of the gospel. And second, all experience is for our good because we learn in no other way. I always thought that the Lord was trying to comfort Joseph Smith in his afflictions in Liberty Jail when he gave the Prophet a long catalogue of truly terrible things that could yet happen to him, winding up with this list:
And if thou shouldst be cast into the pit, or into the hands of murderers, and the sentence of death passed upon thee; if thou be cast into the deep; if the billowing surge conspire against thee; if fierce winds become thine enemy; if the heavens gather blackness, and all the elements combine to hedge up the way; and above all, if the very jaws of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good. (D&C 122:7)
Perhaps you, like me, have read that verse and thought, Is this supposed to be consoling? Are we supposed to feel better after all this? I now believe that the Savior was not trying to comfort Joseph Smith--at least, not as we would comfort a child by saying, "There, there. Everything will be all right." We are beings who have an eternal and everlasting hunger for truth, and what the Savior was giving Joseph Smith was not a pretty pacifier but the nourishing though hard-to-chew bread of truth.
Experience is for our good. Good experience, bad experience, happy experience, painful experience--it's all for our good, and we can accept it, deal with it, come to terms with it, and learn from it because it is part of why we came here. No experience is so painful that the Savior has not been there before us. We cannot have an experience that will destroy us unless we choose to let it. The Savior told Joseph Smith: "Hold on thy way. . . . Thy days are known, and thy years shall not be numbered less; therefore, fear not what man can do, for God shall be with you forever and ever." (D&C 122:9.) That's the Lord's promise to us as well as to Joseph Smith. That is the covenant we make and remake at the sacrament table each Sunday--that we will always remember him and that he will always grant us his Spirit to be with us.
Did you thrill, as I did, to President Howard W. Hunter's message at October 1992 conference? He acknowledged that there are many attitudes and experiences in the world today that will try us and frighten us. In the midst of adversity, of tribulation, and of terror, we have a sure beacon in Christ's love and in the sureness of his triumph over despair and danger. President Hunter told the story of the apostles, setting out at night across the Sea of Galilee while Jesus remained in a secluded spot on the shore for prayer and communion with his Father:
The night was dark and the elements were strong and contrary. The waves were boisterous and the wind was bold, and these mortal, frail men were frightened. . . .
[But] as always [Jesus], was watching over them. He loved them and cared for them. In their moment of greatest extremity they looked and saw in the darkness an image in a fluttering robe, walking toward them on the ridges of the sea. They cried out in terror at the sight, thinking that it was a phantom that walked upon the waves. And through the storm and darkness to them--as so often to us, when, amid the darknesses of life, the ocean seems so great and our little boats so small--there came the ultimate and reassuring voice of peace with this simple declaration, "It is I; be not afraid." Peter exclaimed, "Lord, if it be thou, bid me come unto thee on the water." And Christ's answer to him was the same as to all of us: "Come."
Peter sprang over the vessel's side and into the troubled waves, and while his eyes were fixed upon the Lord, the wind might toss his hair and the spray might drench his robes, but all was well. Only when with wavering faith he removed his glance from the Master to look at the furious waves and the black gulf beneath him, only then did he begin to sink. Again, like most of us, he cried, "Lord, save me." Nor did Jesus fail him. He stretched out his hand and grasped the drowning disciple with the gentle rebuke, "O thou of little faith, why didst thou doubt?"
Then safely aboard their little craft, they saw the wind fall and the crash of the waves become a ripple. Soon they were at their haven, their safe port, where all would one day hope to be. The crew as well as his disciples were filled with deep amazement. . . . [They exclaimed in reverent awe:] "Truly thou art the Son of God." (Adapted from [Frederic W.] Farrar, The Life of Christ [Portland, Oreg.: Fountain Publications, 1964], pp. 310-13; see Matt. 14:22-33.)
President Hunter continued:
It is my firm belief that if as individual people, as families, communities, and nations, we could, like Peter, fix our eyes on Jesus, we too might walk triumphantly over "the swelling waves of disbelief" and remain "unterrified amid the rising winds of doubt." But if we turn away our eyes from him in whom we must believe, as it is so easy to do and . . . , if we look to the power and fury of those terrible and destructive elements around us rather than to him who can help and save us, then we shall inevitably sink in a sea of conflict and sorrow and despair. ("The Beacon in the Harbor of Peace," Ensign, Nov. 1992, pp. 18-19)
As we pass through the seasons of adversity in our lives, when the rains have lasted so long that the fountains of the deep seem to be broken up and the entire world as we know it is drowning in its despairing depths, may we remember that our task is to do our duty every day with humility and love and courage. May we remain focused on the present moment, acknowledging the sorrow that it may bring but also finding the joy. Let's seize every opportunity we have to lighten up and to see our situation truly, in the light of Christ who is the light of the world. And as we cling to the covenants we have made, may they truly be rainbows of beauty and brilliance to us.
© 2005 Deseret Book Co.