Polepole

Reaching 5895 meters above sea level, Mount Kilimanjaro is the world's tallest free-standing mountain and the highest peak in Africa.*  At the tender age of thirteen, I along with my sister and my father, set out to conquer Kili.  Eager, and with spring in our steps we began the journey, three and a half days up, one and a half down.  We carried only our day packs and were ready to run with the gazelles up the constant incline.  Our guide, however, warned us against such sprints.  His advice was simple, "polepole" - slowly.  The idea was that going slowly at a sustainable speed would be quicker than a binge and purge approach.  It's the story of the tortoise and the hare.  It worked.  Our trek was slow, but it was consistent.
Polepole.  I am often overwhelmed at how much I have to learn, how much I have to grow.  I have goals of being totally humble, completely faith-filled and perfect.  While those goals are great things to aim for, they are not achieved over night neither are they achieved sprinting.  Polepole.  I hope that every day I can become a little more humble, gain a little more faith and move closer towards perfection, but the journey is long, the destination is still far away.  What matters though is that I am on the journey, I am taking steps, no matter how polepole, in the right direction.
You might think this is a poor analogy if I tell you that I never made it to the top of Mount Kilimanjaro.  However, even in that there is a lesson to be learned.  The goal set out for us was to summit for sunrise.  My sleep, uncomfortable in a dorm of strange men and women, was cut short when I was awoken a little after one and beckoned to begin the journey heavenward.  It was dark, the steep trail lit only by our head lamps.  I was tired, grouchy.  Our goal, which had previously been hidden from us by the clouds, was now cloaked in darkness.  There was greater urgency than in the previous days.  If we were to make our goal, we had to keep going.
I couldn't keep up.  I didn't feel well.  Whether it was because of the altitude, the physical exertion or the lack of sleep, i do not know, but I felt miserable.  I begged for a break, and in the darkness I sat down.
I couldn't do it, I told them, and then I was told that I didn't have to.  I could go back to the scary dorm room filled with strange men and go back to sleep.
The choice was mine - conquer Africa's highest peak or go back to bed.  That was a big choice for little 13 year-old me.  I knew hours of hiking were still ahead.  The summit seemed to be nothing more than a fictitious promise, and surely the sunrise couldn't be that amazing.
I'm convinced I could have made it.  While altitude sickness seems to be the most honourable excuse, I think I was just tired.  Had I gotten up, taken just one step and then another, polepole I would have made it to the top.  However, my sister, rather than encouraging me along, gave me a ultimatum.  Now or never.  "Let's go, and if you can't, then you go back and let us go on."**  I went back.  I spent the night coward in a corner of the dorm room hoping and praying that the men wouldn't touch me.  So much for sleep.
My sister and my dad when on to summit the world's tallest free standing mountain while I stayed behind.
I'm thankful for the people who haven't left me behind as I journey to become more like Jesus.  I too often I'm pouty, I sit down and complain that I can't do it.  Every time I do, someone comes along and tells me to get up, to take another step, to look back at how far I've come, remember the strength I've been given thus far and to carry on.  Little by little, inch by inch, do whatever I can do, and if all I can do is sit there for a minute or two, that is better than retreating.  I love that the Gospel asks us just to do however little it is that we can.  What matters is that I am on the right path, not the speed at which I am progressing and while I want to sprint towards the goal, I can't.  It is too far away, but everyday I can learn something new, I can put into practice everything I've learned and step by step, polepole, I'll get closer to my goal.  Will I succeed?  Ultimately the choice is mine.  A choice made up of a thousand choices.  On Kili the choice was mine and this is no difference.  I'm just thankful for those who have made the choices easier, who have encouraged and supported me and reminded me that I am where I need to be.  I'm on the journey, I'm on the right path, I'm going in the right direction and that's what matters.



*http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mount_Kilimanjaro
**I feel like I should defend my sister.  She's great and we had a lot of fun together hiking up Kili.  She was also a teenager, grumpy from not getting enough sleep, and well you can't expect much patience from a 16 year-old.  She likewise has made little steps towards greater change, so when she decided that we should run 15 miles a couple years ago, and with less than a mile left I just wanted to give up, she wouldn't let me.  She encouraged me every step and told me I could do it.  It turns out that she was right, but I couldn't have done it alone.  Thanks.

Ferry - God - Mother

We waited in a forever long lineup of cars.  After hours of driving through the mountains, we stopped to pick up a second car for my mom to use, and then headed to the ferry terminal.  Soon we would be on Salt Spring Island.  In the long line, we disembarked the vehicles, stretched in the parking lot, breathed in the salt water and stood on tippy-toes trying to see the ocean.  Then the cars up ahead started to move so we jumped back into the vehicles.  Me, my sisters and my dad in the van; my mom following right behind us.  Excitement grew inside of us.  We would soon be aboard a massive boat.  I love, have always loved boat rides.

We were waved ahead, started to drive on to the boat, but when I looked back, I realised they had stopped my mom.  I panicked.  Our van was the last vehicle to get onto the boat.  I might have cried as I realised that we were leaving my mom behind.  I think I demanded that we go back to be with her.  We couldn’t leave her behind.  My dad did what he could to assure my sisters and me that we would wait for my mom on the island.  That she could catch the next boat over and everything would be fine.

I’m not sure I agreed, but everything turned out fine.

I’m on the other side of Canada today.  The ferry has just pulled in and soon I’ll have to stand in line to board.  I’m sad to be leaving New Brunswick.  I met a lady here, a lady who showed me that the nurture from a human is far greater than anything mother earth has to offer me.  She’s not a woman I’ve known for long, but she cared for me, looked out for me and mothered me when that’s what I needed.  As I prepare to leave NB, I feel the pain of leaving her behind.  I want to cry, catch a bus in the opposite direction and go be with her.

The announcement tells me that it's time to board.  The ferry will not wait for me, it will not mother me.  Though the waves of the ocean may rock and comfort me, nothing compares to those who have nurtured and mothered me.

On Kate Kelly and Ordain Women.

“...you have stopped teachings and actions that undermine the Church, its leaders, and the doctrine of the priesthood.”

“persuade them to support your particular interpretation of Church doctrine”

Those are two statements found on the excommunication letter sent to Kate Kelly.  There seems to me to be a huge difference between undermining Church doctrine and trying to get other to support one’s understanding of the doctrine.  I’m not just talking about the motivation of an individual, but what it ultimately comes down to is the doctrine.  Are the Ordain Women trying to change how a doctrine is interpreted, or are they trying to change the doctrine.  I would think that from their perspective they are trying to do the former.  They love the Church, they love the Gospel and the Doctrine of Christ, but they want to see that doctrine played out differently.  If that is all, who can fault them?  If however they desire to change doctrine, I can see why that is problematic. 

What I’m trying to say, though I’m not sure I’m articulating myself very clearly, is that I think their motives matter less than what the doctrine is.  Their motives matter, and I think their motives are good, but if trying to get people to support their interpretation of doctrine is actually undermining the doctrine, I get why that is problematic.  So, what is the doctrine?  What is the doctrine stated so clearly that will make it obvious if Kelly’s interpretation is an acceptable one of many, or if it undermining the Church's doctrine.

Jesus, as recorded in 3 Nephi 11, makes it seem pretty clear that there should be no disputes among us about doctrine.  Then, the doctrine is clearly laid out:  Believe, Repent, Baptism, Reception of the Holy Ghost, and then build upon Jesus’ rock so that the gates of hell shall not prevail – endure to the end.  To me, that’s the doctrine.  That’s it, and I certainly don’t hear the Ordain Women speaking out against any of those things.

Should Kelly have listened to the warnings she was given?  I don’t know, maybe.  I get the point made by a different Kelly over here, I’m not surprised, but I’m still sad.  I still think there are many questions left unanswered.

Chocolate Ice Cream

This is a story from when I was three.  It is accurate according to my memory which may not be accurate at all.

It was a bright sunny day.  My sisters and I and two of our friends were playing house in my back yard.  I had to get the “food” which was leaves from our May Day tree.  Against the fence ran a bench.  I stood upon it, leaned against the fence for balance and reached up to pluck the leaves. 

An angry swarm of wasps came rushing out from the other side of the fence.  Apparently they didn’t like having their nest disturbed.  I panicked, screamed swung my arms wildly. 

“Stay calm,” my nanny Gail yelled as she came rushing out of the house.  “Don’t swat them, it will only aggravate them.”

My arms couldn’t stay still, but my feet couldn’t move.  Gail picked me up off the bench and rushed me into the house.  There we assessed the damage.

I was three years old and had been bitten three times: once on my arm, once on my lip and once on my pinkie.

Gail lectured me about how one ought to behave around wasps as she held me and comforted me.

“Did you swat one away,” she asked.  “Is that why it bit your pinkie?”

“No,” I lied.

I was afraid to go back outside.  The following night after dark my father and my sister took a spray and went to kill the wasps.  It was past my bed time, but my other sister and I sat nervously by the window.  We ate chocolate ice cream and feared for their lives, at least I did.  I was terrified that they’d get bitten just as I had.  The fear made me feel sick to the stomach.  Yet, they went willingly, to ensure my safety, and for that they were my heroes.  When they came back unharmed I was filled with relief.  Only then could I go to bed in peace.