Bearing One Another's Burdens

Have you ever had the feeling that there is this small, flickering ember within your mind?  Just this small spark of an idea that has the potential to burst into flames of knowledge and understanding at any given moment, if only you could feed it the fuel it needs?  It happened to me.  Just last night.  And now my mind is on fire.

This ember didn't combust all at once.  In fact, it has taken over a year to fuel it with the kindling and fuel necessary for it to take flame.  And I'm convinced it couldn't have happened without each of the small and seemingly meaningless experiences that led me to it.  

So what has set my mind in flames?  Simply put - what it means to bear one another's burdens.

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If you've been following this blog for the past year, you're probably no stranger to the fact that I have depression (but I no longer suffer from it).  At this point in my life, I can honestly say that depression has been one of the greatest blessings I've encountered.  Because of my depression I have gained a new perspective into the silent and unseen trials of others.  What I used to see as an excuse for a bad attitude, I now understand as being an extremely difficult illness to pass through.  

Depression has replaced my callous cynicism with compassion.  And without compassion, I wouldn't have come to understand what it means to bear one another's burdens.

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Last summer I came across the strangely fascinating tale of a homosexual Mormon man who had chosen to marry a heterosexual woman and raise a family.  Josh Weed's story intrigued me and lead me to read more of what he had to say about being a now openly gay man in a church that teaches the importance of marriages between a man and woman.

On a certain weekend last November I happened to read his post titled "Lessons in Unconditional Love," and was quite moved by what he said in regards to simply loving the people we come across - regardless of their sexual orientation, their religion, their opinions, and so on.

As fate would have it, the same day I read that article I was scheduled to work in the evening, lifeguarding a rental called "Trans Swim."  The pool had been booked specifically for people who identified as transgender, transvestite, transsexual, and so on.  Having been raised in an incredibly conservative, small Mormon town, I was a little unsure, to say the least.  So I decided to go to work with the attitude of simply loving these people I was so unfamiliar with.

Guarding this small group of people ended up being a really great experience.  They were so grateful to be given the opportunity to go swimming in a place free from the scoffs, scorns, and stares they were so accustomed to.  Many told my co-worker and I that this was the first time they had been swimming in years and years and they were so excited.  And all I needed to do was love them - well, and guard them as they swam.

Reading that article and guarding that swim has opened my eyes to something I like to call the Pomegranate analogy.  I don't have to eat or even love the layers and layers of skin and peel that hide the delicious red fruit of the pomegranate, just like I don't have to agree with or like the way that a person chooses to live their life.  But when you peel all of that away, there is a person, a human being just like yourself, that you can love regardless.

And without learning what it means to love someone unconditionally, I wouldn't have come to understand what it means to bear one another's burdens.

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In January I had a pregnancy end unexpectedly.  Since I had been blogging about my struggle with depression, I figured this was another experience I could share and potentially help others with.  Unfortunately, an innocent mistake on my part turned my blog into something similar to a YouTube comments section.  Anonymous commenters left stinging words that made me cry and broke my heart.  I had acted in the only way I thought possible in my situation and used the words which I thought were correct, only to be sharply rebuked and harshly scolded.

Being bullied for innocently sharing my story has allowed me to feel the hurt that comes from the ignorant comments of people who intend to emotionally maim and spread contention.  And without learning what it feels like to be cast out for my words and actions, I wouldn't have come to understand what it means to bear one another's burdens.

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Last night I read what Ordain Women founder Kate Kelly had to say after being turned away from entering the General Conference Priesthood Session on Saturday.  Although I do not support this movement, in fact, it terrifies me, I couldn't help but feel a powerful sympathy for her and all the supporters of the Ordain Women movement.  In her article, Kelly says:

"Some who walked with us doubted the church's potential to respond to us in a positive way and include us in the meeting.

"But in that moment at the door, facing that man, I realized I did not.  I had no doubt in my mind that we would be let it.  I walked to the Tabernacle filled with hope, faith and (perhaps delusional) optimism.  I truly thought if they could see our sincerity and our tears and our pain, in person, they would respond to our faithful pleas with equal measures of love.

"In a conversation after being turned away, church spokeswoman Ruth Todd said to me, somewhat incredulously, "You didn't really think you would get in, did you?"  I said to her, "In all sincerity, I did."

I've been there.  I've felt the delusional optimism she spoke of that tears at your heart when it fails to come true.  I was thirteen and it was Christmas.  I had asked for a dirt bike and when I saw that teeny wrapped box under the tree with my name on it, I was convinced to the point of delusional optimism that it was holding the keys to my new dirt bike.  I can still remember how my heart fell when I opened it up and beheld nothing more than a set of earrings.  And I was only thirteen.  I can't imagine how much it must hurt to be let down from such delusional optimism as an adult.

What makes this let down so much the worse are the people who have taken it upon themselves to poke fun and shout "I told you so!" to heart broken strangers from their imaginary pedestal of a social media account.  Although my prayers were answered and my testimony was strengthened yesterday, it doesn't mean that I have the right or responsibility to push away or bully the people who didn't get the answer they were looking for.  It's times like these where the baptismal covenant of "bearing one another's burdens" should be adhered to in double time.

Without feeling this strong sense of empathy, I wouldn't have come to understand what it means to bear one another's burdens.

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Bearing one another's burdens is so much more than just making a lasagna for the young couple that just had a baby.  It's more than helping an old woman carry her groceries to her car.  It's more than helping out someone who is struggling financially.  It's more than giving hours of service to helping clean up a natural disaster like a flood.

Bearing one another's burdens requires us to realize that burdens can be unseen and hard to understand.

Bearing one another's burdens requires us to love unconditionally, peeling back all of the layers of a person that we may not agree with until we get to the core, beloved son or daughter of our Heavenly Father.

Bearing one another's burdens requires us to understand what it would feel like to be rejected or cast out, so that we can refrain from making someone feel this way.

Bearing one another's burdens requires us to feel empathy and compassion for those who are in pain, even in pain over something we do not understand.

I realize that this is a skill that will take me a lifetime to perfect, but it's also a goal that I covenant to each and every week that I partake of the sacrament on Sunday.  

May each of us realize how important this simple phrase is and set out to more fully bear one another's burdens.