The One With All the Mysteries

I have had some conversations lately about religion. There is a phrase that I find so interesting. It is this: “That is just a mystery. We can never know the answer.” There are mysteries. I get that. My life is, in fact full of mysteries. Things I really don’t understand.

For instance, chicken and waffles. Together on the same plate. Sorry, Roscoe. Or why I have an appendix. I mean, it is actually called an appendix. An add-on. By definition, an extra part. I won’t even touch the whole “socks in the laundry” phenomenon. I gave up on that one years ago. I have compensated for the mysterious loss of socks by a) never wearing or owning any of my own, and b) dumping everyone else’s socks, the ones that survive the Roulette wheel we call a dryer, into a basket where they have to rummage when they want a pair. This is admittedly not a very “good mom” kind of solution, but, oh well, there you have it. Anyway, point is, there are mysteries in my life.

But when it comes to God, and the doctrines of truth, I think that God wants us to understand his plan for us. There is a scripture I really like in the Book of Mormon that says “… and he that will not harden his heart, to him is given the greater portion of the word, until it is given unto him to know the mysteries of God until he know them in full.” That is found in the book of Alma, Chapter 12. If you get a minute, read verses 9-11. Yes, there are mysteries in the scriptures. And no, I don’t understand them all. For instance, even though I understand the basics of the Atonement of Jesus Christ, I can’t fully comprehend it from a mortal standpoint. But the more I study and pray, the more I understand.

An awesome recently returned missionary told me something very profound. He said that partway through his mission, he came to realize that his first responsibility was to testify of Jesus Christ, and of His infinite atonement, and next to testify of the restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ. It is that simple. Sometimes when people are studying the principles of the LDS church, they are called “investigators.” I have always thought that was an odd choice of words. But, I suppose... what else do you call someone who is trying to solve mysteries? They may be asking: Why am I here? What am I supposed to do now? What is my relationship to God? Where am I going after this? Those are not mysteries to me. Why? Because I am not just an Investigator anymore; I am also a Believer. I have seen that transformation happen to others as well. It happens when a person allows the spirit to teach, rather than just deciding that it is a mystery, that we will never understand. I don’t think Heavenly Father wants us to just give up and call it all a mystery. He wants us to be believers.

I saw a sweet little video clip today about what happens when you embrace being a believer in your everyday life. Enjoy.

The One Where She Prefers it Remain a Mystery

You know, there are things that I would prefer remain a mystery. I have six sons, and I don’t know how to tie a tie. And I’m okay with that. I like how they take the bunny around the tree and down the hole, or whatever that is, and come up with the perfect knot, with the point just touching the top of their belt. It is one of those things I just don’t have to understand to appreciate. I don’t want to know how the internet works. I am content to revel in the magical mystery. Thanks, Al Gore. You’re a genius.

On the way home from church today, Skippy asked me how babies come out of a mommy’s tummy. He is no doubt contemplating how his ten-pound nephew could be in Jessi’s tummy, and now, so inexplicably, out. I must confess, I had no desire whatsoever to explain it to him. So I told him, well buddy, that is a mystery you will solve at a later date. How about some ice cream? Awesome. Oh, and I recently had a friend tell me that her husband was uncircumcised. Again, I would have preferred that one to remain a mystery. Seriously…I could have died happy, never knowing that.

I have a couple of boys in my house (the missionary ones) who are trying, for 21 days, to go without sugar and caffeine, and to exercise every day. I am happy they are doing it, and equally happy that I am not. But in my house, trying to go without sugar is kind of like torture. There is a particular smell in my house… a friend describes it as boynip. It could be described as fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies with undertones of homemade bread and bacon. See? Boynip. So yesterday, I made banana bread. I handed a warm slice to one of the boys who is not on the 21-day plan. I told the other, sorry, none for you. He was crushed. Why not? Because you aren’t eating sugar, right? Come on, he begs…there’s not much sugar in banana bread, right? Right?

Okay, Elder Murray, let’s just say that it would be better for that to remain a mystery. It’s bread. And fruit. How bad can that be? Have a slice.

In case you want to make the banana bread, here is my favorite:

Monkey Squares... with a variation to make super moist banana bread