I feel like Alma when he said, “O that I were an angel, and could have the wish of mine heart, that I might go forth and speak with the trump of God, with a voice to shake the earth, and cry repentance unto every people! Yea,” he said, “I would declare unto every soul, as with the voice of thunder, repentance and the plan of redemption, that they should repent and come unto our God, that there might not be more sorrow upon all the face of the earth” (Alma 29:1–2).
I, too, have wished that I could tell those around me in a way that they could hear, that life for them could be more wonderful if they knew what I knew and had what I had. But Alma’s insightful message continues: “But behold, I am a man, and do sin in my wish; for I ought to be content with the things which the Lord hath allotted unto me” (Alma 29:3).
And so we ask, “What has the Lord allotted me and what am I to do with it? I feel so much and yet there seems to be so little I can effectively do.”
“Why should I desire more than to perform the work to which I have been called?
“I do not glory of myself, but I glory in that which the Lord hath commanded me: yea, and this is my glory, that perhaps I may be an instrument in the hands of God to bring some soul to repentance; and this is my joy” (Alma 29:6, 9).
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On one occasion, while standing on the street in Salt Lake City, a
woman
approached me, asked
a couple of questions, and then launched a verbal attack. She
began
by categorizing Mormon
women as brainwashed and subservient. She accused us of coercing
our children
and striping
them of their abilities to make independent decisions. (She obviously
didn’t
know some of our
children.) She claimed we forced others to our way of thinking.
She implied
that Mormon women
were illiterate and mindless. Her anger and misguided information
could
not be argued.
She
had clearly formed a judgment against us that was so comprehensive I
knew
I could not turn it around.
Frankly, I didn’t dare try because she was much bigger than I am, and I
was certain that one
blow from her hefty arm would find me a blob on the sidewalk.
I could do nothing but listen and let her unload. After what seemed
endless
minutes of painful
verbal abuse, she appeared satisfied that she had sufficiently impacted
me with her message.
When we speak of fear, I can tell you that I knew fear at that moment.
I felt physically threatened
as well as painfully wounded by her words. When she had exhausted her
attack
she fell silent.
And then in that moment, I began
to respond, saying the only thing I could
think of to say. "Someday,”
I said, “you may open your door to some young Latter-day Saint
missionaries. Before
you slam it, please remember that somewhere they have a mother just
like
you and just like me,
who is praying for them and for those they meet. Then you might
want to
say, ‘I met a Mormon
woman once, and she told me that she was the happiest person
alive. She
said her happiness
did not come from riches or fame. Her happiness was rooted deeply
in her
heart and came
from a rich understanding of life and her connection to her
Savior. She
said she lived with a kind
of joy and peace that comes from God. She said she wished that I,
too,
could know that kind of
joy.’ And then at that point, if you want to, you can tell those young
missionaries, ‘Thank you, but
I am not interested in your message!’ “The woman hung her head for a
moment,
quietly muttered,
“thanks” then turned and walked away.
Sisters, I learned that when all
else fails, just speak from your heart.
We need not be timid nor do
we need to defend ourselves. A simple expression of feelings can often
diffuse an attack.