JUST GET THERE

A few weeks ago, I had a, "Just Get There", kind of Sunday.

You know the type I'm talking about? No? You have your life more together than I do?Not shocking, but here, I'll give you a glimpse of what it looks like. That way, just in case it comes your way, you'll be prepared.

That gloomy Sunday morning, I had to convince myself of a LOT of things.

I had to convince myself that it was fine my hair looked like something out of an eighties' prom gone horribly wrong. (A word to the wiser than myself, do not attempt a new, heatless curling technique the night before church.)

I had to convince myself that the hideous outfit I'd selected in .9 seconds flat was fine. No one was going to be looking at me, right?

I had to convince myself it didn't matter than others would be able to tell I was on the verge of crying. (Due in part to the above-mentioned fiascos, but due mostly to just a really, really hard time.)

With these hideous lies wedged under my belt, I got myself into the car and then into the building. A win, one might say.

And sometimes, that really is a win. Most times, honestly, when everything falls apart and you just barely make it before the first note of the opening hymn is played, it is almost immediately apparent why you needed to be there that day.

The speaker has a message meant just for you, as if the Lord Himself is talking directly to you.

The hymns chosen for the morning speak peace to your soul, reminding you that all really is well.

The Spirit in the chapel sets your heart at ease, allowing you to breathe deeply for the first time in far too long.

Sometimes the stars align perfectly.

And sometimes, they do not. Like on this particular morning.

Sometimes, on the coldest day of the year, the heater is not on in the Primary Room.

And, no matter how hard you try, you cannot get the child having a hard time to crack a smile.

And, perhaps, you start crying, and everyone can see it. There is no denying it now.

Dragging myself back home, I don't know that I counted the day a loss. I had made it, and I knew in my heart that was what mattered, but...it just kind of felt like...I don't know, not a waste, I guess more like a wash. A lateral move. I felt no different than when I'd left for church. Still weighted. Still heavy. Still overwhelmed and just barely making it by.

Later that evening, after a day spent wallowing, I decided to clock out for the evening with a quick, little pity party. Nice way to round things out, don't you think?

Pouting and lost, suddenly, I felt this outpouring of love fill my bedroom. It was warm, it was all-encompassing, and it had just the touch of pride to it.

My Savior and Heavenly Father were proud of me. Why?

Because I had made it. I'd made there. I went to church despite it all, and that was enough for Them.

What, in my mind, was the barest of the bare minimum, was a victory to be celebrated, to Them. Why? Because of who They are. Because of the love They have for us. Because They have eyes to see the things we can't.

The more we do something, the more desensitized we become to it. Like, say for example, you are used to the German National Team winning a lot, just to pick a scenario at random.

The more they win, the more you expect them to win. It makes it so you can't even fathom not getting out of the group stage, because that's just impossible. They win. It's what they do.

The big victories still carry huge, swinging weight, but the little ones to get there? You're used to them. They are givens.

But, what if they weren't? What if you got just as excited about the friendly win as you did the rest of them?

That, is what our Savior and Heavenly Father do.

Could we really believe that the Savior of the World gets desensitized each time we go to church? Each time we take the sacrament? Each time we repent? Each time we do anything to draw ourselves closer to Him?

No! No way. Not possible. He's proven that just by the fact that His sacrifice has gifted us countless times to try again. To start over. To use His help. To be changed. He never turns us away, no matter how many times we've done something wrong, or how many times we've done something right.

I truly don't believe our Savior grows distant to the feeling. I don't think it ever causes Him any less amount of joy, whether this is our second time to church, or our 1,092 time. I think He gets just as excited. I think He cheers us on just as hard, champions us just as much.

Because He can see. Because He knows. He knows that sometimes just getting there is so, so hard. He is aware to the foundation we are building up each time we do something spiritual, the sure rock we are creating of a testimony, through Him. He knows that each step towards Him is important, necessary, and one to be celebrated.

The Savior of the World is proud that you just made it there, that you got it done, that you gave whatever all it was that day, and you should be to. Though it may have felt like it availed you nothing, don't believe it. Through your mortal eyes you might not be able to see, but through His eternal eyes, He can. He knows what a victory it was, just getting there.