Imposter's Syndrome and Answers to Prayer

While I was on my study abroad I had the opportunity to attend Shakespeare’s play Measure for Measure. It was one I had never read nor watched before and I was struck by one quote in which Lucio comes to tell Isabella that her brother is imprisoned and sentenced to death and that perhaps she can persuade the Duke to pardon her brother’s sentence. When she doubts her ability to do so, Lucio persuades her, saying, “Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt.”

It made me think of this past spring when I applied to intern for the Ensign magazine and the first information meeting I went to where I looked around at a room full of well-qualified applicants and, thinking I didn’t have a chance against one of them, almost got up and left.

I stuck through the meeting, but when I left I tucked the application in the back pocket of my folder, and while I can’t say I forgot about it, I didn’t do much with it either. Finally, after about a week of indecision I decided to apply, only to find out in my editing class that morning that due to a confusion on my part, I had missed the deadline.

Sometimes you don’t realize how much you want something until it’s out of your grasp. And I was beginning to realize, as I struggled to hide tears, that this was something I really wanted. By the time my friend Sarah arrived I had lost the battle with my composure and we went to a small, unused classroom nearby where she in her wisdom suggested we pray.

I had been so afraid to email the Ensign and ask for an application extension because I didn’t want to start off the application process which such a low mark, but I got off my knees determined to do so.

It wasn’t the first time a prayer had put me on this path. Backing up a couple months, I was trying to decide what position to apply for in my capstone editing class. The class would be producing a travel magazine and we each had to apply for a staff position. I was trying to decide whether or not to apply for managing editor and once again, I thought, there’s no way, and even if I got the position, how would I fulfill it?

The evening before the application was due my ministering brother, Matt, came over. We talked for a bit and then when he was getting ready to leave he asked me if he could leave me with a prayer. He asked whether there was anything specific he should pray for and I told him about the decision I had to make. During his prayer the answer was clear: I needed to apply.

Applying for and receiving the position of managing editor may have been the best thing I did in terms of preparing me for an internship with the Ensign. If nothing else it gave me some of that confidence I lacked. It also proved a great addition to my resume and gave me something to talk about in my interview, along with my job in which I researched and wrote articles for a religion professor at BYU.

That job came about by way of a disappointment that proved a tremendous blessing. I had been applying to the religious studies center to be a staff editor for their publications. I made it through the editing tests and interview and a few days later received a phone call. I had been one of the final two candidates for the position. They had gone with the other candidate. But, I was told by the hiring manager on the other end of the phone, my application was strong enough that he had taken the liberty of sending it out to the religious education faculty to see if they needed an assistant.

Though flattered, I was still rather disappointed.

Within a matter of hours, however, I received an email from one of the religious education professors, Sister Woodger. She wanted to interview.

Five minutes into the interview, I had a job.

I started out transcribing, then substantive editing, then copy, and finally writing. I helped write a chapter for her book on the beatitudes, then sections on her book on significant Church artifacts, finishing with a lengthy research paper on a notable figure in Church history.

In the meantime, I had decided to take a class on Christ and the Everlasting Gospel. It wasn’t necessary—I’d fulfilled the required credits for religious studies already—but had decided it couldn’t be a bad thing. Between my work for Sister Woodger and the journals and write-ups we were required to do weekly for my religion class, I had all I needed to draw on to compile  my portfolio for the Ensign application—something I certainly wouldn’t have found time to do otherwise.

The Ensign replied to my request for a deadline extension and in one afternoon, after returning home late from my ski class, I took the required spelling and editing tests, wrote some short essays of intent, and sent it all in.

Then came the waiting. I waited. And waited. And waited. It felt like eternity.

At last the call came in. I’d gotten the position. I was ecstatic!

But the story doesn’t end there.

Maybe you are familiar with the imposter syndrome. In late July it began to hit hard. I wouldn’t start for another month and a half, but just thinking about it I began to worry that they had picked the wrong candidate and that I would never be able to deliver on their expectations.

At the time I was on a study abroad trip in the British Isles and Ireland. We were in a beautiful coastal town in Wales (Llandudno) when I decided to go for a long walk up to the tops of some of the nearby seaside cliffs. It was early evening, but it was one of those long summer evenings where the sun seems to be merely in the act of setting long into the night.

Except for the sheep and some occasional mountain goats (and the hundreds of large slugs) I was alone. I took the opportunity to tell God how nervous I was starting to feel about my upcoming internship. I also told him that I still had no idea what I wanted to do when I graduated and that that was starting to worry me at least a little.

The breeze off the ocean had been sweeping up over the cliffs and hills quite rapturously, but the moment I prayed, the wind stopped and it was silent. I got up, and walked back to our hostel.

The next day was Sunday. We attended church in a small building with an even smaller congregation and when one of the speaker’s called in sick, one of our professors was asked to fill in. He shared how inadequate he feels at the start of each school year and how inadequate he felt when he started his Phd program.

He had taken a long break between his masters and Phd and his Phd program was a different subject area from his masters. When he came back from one of his classes having understood very little, his office mate asked him what was wrong and then remarked, “The faculty in this program know you. They saw your application. They interviewed you. They brought you here. They trust you to succeed.”

When my professor shared that I knew it was the answer to my prayer. I just hadn’t expected it to come so quickly! It was just what I’d needed to hear.

Afterward, I thanked him for his talk and he talked to me more about the internship (he had worked for the Church before and had a number of students work there as well) and I felt much more at peace about it.

While I had been up on the cliffs in Llandudno praying I’d had a very clear thought: God did not get you this far to let you fail.

If there is anything more certain than my not failing, it’s that God got me here. Just a few days ago while I was packing things up to move apartments I came across a small stack of papers: applications for the Ensign internship from as far back as my Sophmore year—all of them untouched. I’m so grateful that God finally helped me find the courage to apply.

I’m still nervous. But I am so excited to start this next adventure. All I can think of now is a quote that has sat on my desk for the past four years: What if I fall? Oh, but my darling, what if you fly?

Thanks Be to God for His Unspeakable Gift

A couple weeks ago for my morning run I decided to run down to the cemetery. It was one of those days when the sky seems in mourning and the grass looks so green you wonder how it doesn't stain everything. As I ran I listened to an album I grew to love on my mission called the Lamb of God by Rob Gardner. My trainer played it for me on my first Sunday in the mission and from thence grew my obsession. But listening to it as I ran through the cemetery that morning, it took on a whole new meaning.

As I ran through the black iron gates the album was on The Lord's Supper. I found it ironic in a beautiful way that just as Christ had been preparing then to enter the garden, I was entering the cemetery. The song that soon followed was Gethsemane, in which the Savior is portrayed by a rich cello. You can hear the tears run down the strings, every note a swelling sob, every pause a sigh. One wonders why he had to suffer so much. But running past all the grave stones, row upon row, I saw why.


The song that follows is Peter's after he has denied thrice his Lord. It is one almost equal in anguish to the one before it. "Oh God!" he cries, "What have I done? As Thou has taken stripes for me, could I not take but one for Thee? I dare not look upon His face and see the very Son of God, His brow so bruised and stained with blood, His eyes that shed my sorrow's tears, and watch as all hope disappears. I will not watch them crucify my Lord!" And then at the climax of the song Peter cries out with both heartache and conviction, "For I know this man! I know Him! And when my eyes have closed in death, these words will hang on my last breath: I know Him." As I run past the gravestones I wonder how many knew him, and how many could have said so with Peter's conviction. But one thing is certain, there in the Garden he knew us all.

This Easter morning I got up early and went for a walk with a friend to the cemetery. We meandered through the grave stones before settling down in a pavilion where we listened to the song "I Am the Resurrection." When it came to the words "I am the Resurrection and the Life, he that believeth on me though he were dead, yet shall he live," a sweet spirit seemed to settle on the cemetery, and I saw what a wonderful gift his sacrifice was.

 As we were leaving the cemetery, my friend and I listened to the song of Mary when she sees the resurrected Christ. Listening to that song of hope and joy and looking around at the beautifully blossoming trees it seemed less to me like a cemetery and more like a Garden.

So many beautiful and central events that form the pillars of eternity happened in a Garden. In the Garden of Eden, Adam and Eve talked with God and made the choice that allowed them to have children and allowed us to come to earth and learn and grow and experience the joy of redemption. In the Garden of Gethsemane, our Savior suffered for our sins, trials, and weaknesses. And in a Garden outside an empty tomb, the resurrected Christ appeared to Mary, who, in all its symbolic beauty, thought Him to be the Gardener.



I cannot know the joy Mary must have felt to realize it was her Lord. But I do know the joy I feel to know that he is MY Lord. My Gardener. My Savior. And that over 2000 years ago today he rose again, bringing hope and life. I find comfort in the words of Paul, "O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is they victory?" and Isaiah's resounding response, "He will swallow up death in victory; and the Lord God will wipe away tears from off all faces."

Thanks be unto God for his unspeakable gift.

Remembering Him

In his talk “This do in Remembrance of Me” Elder Jeffrey R. Holland discusses the sacred significance of the sacrament and the importance it should have to us. He speaks of it as the commemoration of the passover, when the blood of the lamb protected the ancient Israelites from the destroying angel. “How sacred and how holy is it? Do we see it as our passover, remembrance of our safety and deliverance and redemption? If remembering is the principal task before us, what might come to our memory when those plain and precious emblems are offered to us?”

The sacrament is the time to reflect and to remember—to remember Christ, his ministry, his miracles, and his atonement. This can be hard because for all of us, we have no primary memories of these experiences on which to draw. None of us were there when angels proclaimed to shepherds Christ’s birth. None of us where there when healed the leppers. None of us were there when he calmed the sea. And none of us were there when he suffered in the garden or on the cross. How then, do we remember what we never saw happen?

May I suggest that is the perfect time to remember instead the times that we felt the joy of the Gospel and redemption, that we remember the times that we were healed from illness or from spiritual and emotional pains, when Christ calmed the tumultuous seas that raged in our lives, and when we have felt of his forgiveness and grace that come because of his sufferings for us. It is wonderful to reflect on what we know of Christ from the Old and New Testaments, but when it comes to remembering, it is, in my opinion, even more impactful to remember our own experiences with him. As we think on these experiences, “we could—and should—remember the wonderful things that have come to us in our lives and that “all things which are good cometh of Christ” (Moro. 7:24). 

Additionally, we are told in 1 Corinthians 11:28 that we are to examine ourselves. Often I am inclined to dwell on my misgivings, short comings, and sins. But a full examination would look also at my progress. It would look at how I have improved since the previous week, and then at what I could do the coming week to continue in my efforts to come unto Christ and be perfected in him. 

As we think on the coming week, it’s appropriate to think of those close to us and how to serve them as well. “We could remember that Christ called his disciples friends, and that friends are those who stand by us in times of loneliness or potential despair. We could remember a friend we need to contact or, better yet, a friend we need to make. In doing so we could remember that God often provides his blessings through the compassionate and timely response of another. For someone nearby we may be the means of heaven’s answer to a very urgent prayer.”

In the very least, we can be the answer to one urgent request given by the Savior so many years ago to his three disciples on that night of deep anguish and grief, “Could ye not watch with me one hour?” (Matt. 26:40). I think he asks that again of us, every Sabbath day when the emblems of his life are broken and blessed and passed. “Could you not think of me, just in this moment?” When I picture the savior suffering in the garden, or when I picture him administering the broken bread to his disciples, or when I picture him inviting people to come and feel the marks in his hands and see him, I imagine and long for the moment that he would spend just with me. That moment that he would look into my eyes and know me. But even that moment can happen only if I, too, spend a moment with him, look deeply at my life for traces of him, and know him too. 

Love Everyone

I still remember in perfect clarity a moment from almost 6 years ago. I was sitting in a counselor’s office and we had been talking about love and relationships when she asked me, “Do you love me?” I thought for a moment. I didn’t really like her. But I did love her. “Yes,” I responded, “I love everyone.” The counselor seemed a little taken aback, and then she challenged it as though such a claim weren’t possible. And it left me wondering, “Do I—could I—really love EVERYONE?”

The answer is an emphatic yes. Yes, I can. But I can see where my counselor was coming from. Loving, in our difficult and convoluted world, isn’t always easy. Said Elder Robert D. Hales, “Our Savior’s command to love one another as He loves us is probably our greatest challenge.” But that Christ-like love is also our “greatest need.”

In 2 Timothy 2:3 we are told that “in the last days, perilous times shall come.” These are the last days. And they are certainly perilous. These are the days when Satan is his putting forth his final, urgent fight. We are told, too, that in these last days men will be found “without natural affection” and that “the love of men shall wax cold.” In Matthew we read that it is because iniquity shall abound that love will wax cold. While this may be true, I believe the greater lesson is in its inverse: because love will wax cold, iniquity will abound.

In his talk “Christian Courage: The Price of Discipleship” Elder Hales emphatically stated, “[God’s] love . . . is the only power that can subdue the adversary.” It is by simple, courageous acts of love that we make Satan quake and tremble as we bring heaven closer. As President Nelson stated in a recent address, “Our doctrine is not complicated, convoluted, or complex. It is so simple—love God and love your neighbor.” Love EVERYONE.

STAY

In a painting titled “Lost and Found” by Greg Olson, the savior is depicted sitting on a bench with his arm stretched out towards a teenage boy, listening intently and lovingly. Beside the bench, the boy’s bundle of belongings—a heavy load—give the impression that he does not have the intention to stay.

The painting is the theme for a short film on the church about suicide titled “Sitting on a Bench.” The video portrays the hardships of suicide and the hope and healing that can come through Christ for both those considering it and those who have witnessed or been impacted by it.

It may be tempting to feel that we are alone. But recently as I read the account of Christ’s temptations in the New Testament I found that the same message portrayed by Greg Olson’s beautiful painting might also be portrayed in a very different scene—this one taking place a very long time ago, with the same figure, but here having traded places with the boy on the bench. In this portrayal, Christ is standing atop the pinnacle of the temple in Jerusalem when the devil comes tempting him. “If thou be the son of God, cast thyself down . . .”

In the words of Elder Holland, “The temptation here is . . . subtle. It is a temptation of the spirit, of a private hunger more real than the need for bread. Would God save him? Would he? [Jesus] knows that among the children of men only suffering, denunciation, betrayal, and rejection lie ahead. But what about heaven? Why not get spiritual confirmation, a loyal congregation, and an answer to this imp who heckles— . . . Right now. The easy way. Off the temple spire.”

We recognize the differences between Christ’s temptation and a suicidal thought or inclination, but the similarities are what struck me. You and I know that a lot of suffering, betrayal, and hardship lie ahead. Perhaps they also lie in the present—a present you would love to escape. A future you would love to avoid. Jump from this bridge, take these pills. See if God cares—if anyone cares. See if someone helps you—saves you. Then they will flock around you to comfort you and reassure you that you are wanted here and that you are loved. Or perhaps there is no such desire to stay, even if it is to receive such comfort and affirmation, but only the longing for a better place, one with God or with loved ones who have passed on before.

In our own way, we are all hoping for the reassurance of heaven or an escape from the hardships of this life. We are all longing for love and acceptance, in whatever form that may take for us.

Christ would gain followers, he would receive reassurance. People will show that they love you. You will receive comfort and relief. But this is not the way.

The good news is that for you and me there is a way. A better way. And it has everything to do with the man at the top of that temple spire. He is the way. Because of Him, “there is a remedy for life’s most difficult and painful periods. There is the gospel of Jesus Christ and the Atonement. There is peace and safety and a future.”

Recently a friend walked me through a very impactful experience in which I was told to imagine those who I know love me and then, approaching one, attempt to explain to them everything about who I am—everything I love, everything I fear, everything I struggle with. The task was frustrating. Then I was told I could use any method, real or fictional. But the task quickly became just as frustrating as it had been before. This person could not understand.

In that moment, something clicked, and in my mind, the person before me vanished and it was Christ who stood in front of me—it was him that I had to explain to. Except that, to my relief, the burden of explanation was gone. He opened his arms and invited me into them. I didn’t feel like I was worthy of that—that I belonged there. But, I realized, once you are there it is impossible to feel that kind of love and not want to stay.

In the past year suicide awareness has focused its campaigns on one word: STAY. If you can think of nothing else to stay for—think of someone to stay with. Stay with Him. He is not just up there in some cloud—he is here now, in every moment with his arms outstretched inviting us to feel his love, his peace, his comfort. And though his arms may not feel real now, his peace can.

“Satan, who is the father of all lies, can cause people to believe that they are worthless and have no purpose.” When such thoughts come, remember the response of Christ, “Get thee hence Satan,” and the similar response of Moses when tempted, “Who are thou, [satan]? For behold, I am a son of God.” When things get hard, remember who you are, and who God is. He will not leave us comfortless. If we invite Him in, He is there in every moment. So stay with Him.

When You Feel Nothing

“And now, my beloved brethren, after ye have gotten into this strait and narrow path, I would ask if all is done? Behold I say unto you, Nay; for ye have not come thus far save it were by the word of Christ, with unshaken faith in him …” --2 Nephi 31:19

This scripture reminds me of the words of Elder Bednar in his talk “Seek Learning by Faith.” Elder Bednar highlights the three aspects of faith: (1) faith as the assurance of things hoped for, (2) faith as the evidence of things not seen that are true, and (3) faith as the principle of action. In this sense, faith has three components, one that looks to the past, one that looks to the future, and one that exists in the present.

It is the past component that perhaps interested me most. We receive evidence of things not seen as we consider the evidence from our own lives—our own past experiences. As we see how God has helped us in the past or how we received promised blessings from obeying a certain principle, our trust in God and testimony of that principle increase. In that sense, I saw the scripture in 2 Nephi 31 as an invitation to look back at my life and ponder how it is that the Word of Christ helped me to get to where I am. Most recently, the Book of Mormon reinforced to me the importance of attending church. And it was not because of some incredible, overwhelming spiritual experience or confirmation of its truth, simply that, upon finishing it, I felt a gentle urge to continue—to press forward, and had the hope and assurance that such a path would bring me both the peace and joy I could not find otherwise. I feel like often when faced with a question of how the Word of God has made a difference I am inclined to look at moments when I received an undeniable testimony of its truth and to say that were it not for those moments I might not be a member of his church, and from there speculate on the differences between this hypothetically terrible life, and my life now. But the big differences come in small, daily doses. “By small and simple means are great things brought to pass.” Sometimes, it is not even the Spirit that makes the difference. I would read the Book of Mormon again even if I never felt a confirmation of truth or of peace, simply because I know that God has commanded that I read it and has promised to bless me as I do so, and so as I pick it up each morning or evening I testify to myself that I will obey. It is a different kind of assurance. One not of the Spirit, but of my own heart and mind, committing, no matter what, to stay on the path. Even when I don't feel anything right away or answers don't come immediately, I will commit, because faith is acting before or without the confirmation. Because it is not His Word that makes us unshaken, but what we choose to do with it.