Sunday, February 3, 2008

I wish I knew what to say

I haven't really said much about President Hinckley's passing. I was never really sad about it; I had more of an "oh..." reaction.

I considered writing something here, but never knew what to say. I go through spurts of righteousness and enthusiasm about the church, and I suppose at this moment I'm sort of on the decline. I haven't been that excited about religion recently, though that's not to say I ignore it by any means. It just means I don't get excited about church things like I do at other times.

I wish I knew what to say about this. I wish I had some heartfelt, deeply spiritual thoughts about him. I wish I could go on about how he inspired to me to be a better person and how I took every chance to hear him speak. I didn't. I enjoyed hearing him speak, but I never got giddy about the idea or jumped at the chance. It's odd, but now, I feel like something is missing. I feel like something that is honestly missing from the world. It's the same feeling I had when Lindsey and I broke up years ago; it's a feeling of being incomplete; of knowing that there's an absence of something great and important.

It's the sudden loss and noticeable absence of love.

I suppose I often deny it when these things come to me. As I said, I go on bursts of righteousness and faith, and then I slowly pull back, thinking about things through critical eyes and telling myself "You believe this, but you don't know it's true. You believe it to be true because you feel it is true, but have you ever put that much effort into finding out if Buddhism or Islam or Hinduism is true? Have you ever put as much faith in them as you do into that which you were raised? Maybe they provoke the same feelings. You don't know and as such you can't say for certain your faith is true. It may be merely a placebo effect. You may be feeling it's true because you want it to be true." There are times when I do feel things - when things might not work out at all and yet I'm completely content and actually happy, even though my plans failed or that cute girl said "Sorry, let's just be friends." It doesn't make any sense, but there's something inside me that tells me "It's ok. This is for the best," and instead of doubting it or arguing or becoming sad, I know it's true and I smile.

As I was saying, I don't know exactly what to say about the Prophet's death. I think my brother's description of him was more accurate and clear than I could ever write, so I'm just going to quote him (he never capitalizes his blog and I have no idea why):

"he was never an old man--he knew what was going on in the world and was someone you could turn to for advice; he was a dictionary example of what it meant to have a twinkle in your eye; he cracked jokes that made us genuinely laugh; his smile made you feel comfortable, loved, and encouraged; just hearing his voice brought peace and optimism; when he spoke, the worries and fears around you were forgotten, and the choices to doing good were suddenly so clear. he taught us to be grateful, be smart, be clean, be true, be humble, and to be prayerful."

That was President Hinckley. That was the man whom I now know provided so much love and peace in this world. That was the man who's absence I now feel.

And I miss him.

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