To be Cleansed

Last Sunday I studied the lyrics of REVERENTLY AND MEEKLY NOW as we prepared to take the sacrament.  Something about this particular hymn stood out to me in a beautiful way.  This song is written in first-person as if Jesus were speaking, but not like His usual direct quotes that come from the scriptures.  It seemed more like poetry and art than doctrine.  And I loved it.  The words stirred inside of me.

Does anyone else feel like there's a hidden fear to stray from exact scripture and doctrine?  And I don't mean this question in a "go and preach false doctrine" kind of way...  Ew.  That makes me feel icky.

I mean, I don't know, I feel like when Christ was on the earth He always spoke in parables or metaphors to make us have to do the interpreting.  Maybe his words touched different people in different ways based on their personal experiences.  I don't know where I'm going with this....

I guess I'm saying that I appreciate art and interpretation of gospel topics: Enlighten those strengthening feelings of our testimonies with sparks of imagination and creativity.

I found myself pondering the sacrament in a new way that day.  My mind traveled back to memories of my baptism day.  I tried to grasp what it truly meant to be clean and pure, washed away of ones sins.  How does one put into words the sensation of being white and completely stainless?  A picture was painted in my mind and although it won't be found in scripture or sunday school lesson manuals, this is what the atonement means to me...

The silence in the air felt as pure as the hush of my inner soul.  My eyes were pillowed in the comfort of the undiluted white painted down the grand stonewalls.   The cool breath against the borders of my lungs accepted its cleansing gift with full gratitude. 

         Above me, diamonds splashed over the heavy chandeliers and dilated my senses with its unquestioning demand for respect.  The sunlight soaked through the surrounding stain glassed windows, radiating the energy of life fueled from its warming source. 

         My skin felt as soft as the silk, white dress that draped from my shoulders to my toes, dressing my elbows and wrists.   This body, the protector of my tissued spirit, seemed awake enough to fly through an entire wooded forest yet feasted on the calmness that flowed through the room. 

         I was alone.  But had never felt less lonely.  My heart seemed crowded with the attention and love that bubbled through the emptiness.  With no one there to observe or follow, my tiptoed feet crept in front of me, making up their own mind with no need for direction.  I wandered the open space adoring the terrific scene.

         A whisper of subconscious emotions pulled me towards the closed doors that sealed my atmosphere’s perfect borders.  The cushion of my palms pressed against the solid frame and gently swung open my pleasant, soothing obstacle.

         A distinct gravitational pull soared me through the empty hallways longing to find a hidden treasure.  Somewhere in my prison of solitude, I sensed one, and only one, single individual that lingered inside here with me.  My heart raced, longing to find Him.

         I explored all of the quiet rooms, climbed the crystal clear, spiral staircase, and rushed past every closet and secret space until I came upon the hidden doorway of the highest floor. 

         The dark room was cracked open with traces of candlelight and quiet hummings of reverent melodies seeping out the thin lines of the opening doorway.  I peeled open the blocking bolder that rested against its entrance and studied the precious scene that awaited inside.

         There He was.  I recognized His soul before even glancing at his face.  He knelt alone with His eyes pressed above to His almightly God in the throne of the stars.  And I wept.

... I asked my hubby to read this before posting to tell me what he thought and he told me it sounded like I was playing hide-and-go-seek in the temple with Jesus.

"Maybe I am, Mitchell... Maybe I am."

Art.  Interpretation.