milk & honey mamas

Story by Kristen

We are continuing our letter interpretations this week, imagining Alma’s counsel to his sons and translating it through our own eyes and experiences.

My dear Corianton,

You have done wrong. I start my letter with these words because I must give voice to the walls that have come between us. You have done wrong, my son, not because you do not believe the same way I do but because you do not see the fullness of the people before you. You can only see yourself. 

Corianton, I have done wrong too. I have done great wrong. I am no better than you, though I do not pretend to understand what it is like to be you. I do know, however, what it is like to see only yourself. And I know that for me, focusing on my strength and power and beauty is a frenzied practice of distraction because I am afraid. 

I think, my beloved child, that you are afraid God does not love you. Your ancestors, long before you, had this same fear. The fear beat long and fierce in their hearts, crowding out the warmth of love. Do you know this fear? Does that worry flood your heart in the deep hours, whispering that you are not good, that you are not worthy, that you are not loved? When we believe we are not good, or worthy, or loved, our shoulders droop and our feet drag and our chests fill full of sludge. We may try to earn love, but this will never help because it will always be just out of reach, beyond the horizon of perfection. And this is the key, Corianton, that I want you to understand. You do not have to earn love. It is already there. Your life is already written in love, twinkling through your veins like the blood flowing from your heart.

You wonder what will happen when you die. You wonder if life has any meaning. You wonder if God is kind, or if God cares at all. My child, there are many mysteries to life, and it would be foolish for me to suggest that I hold all the answers. Yet I can share what I believe.

I have prayed over your questions for many years. They are mysterious to me, too. When we die, I do not believe it is the end. And yet I believe this life matters. Our choices here are like threads in a spiderweb. We do not choose the location of the web or even the materials with which to weave. But by weaving, night after night, web after web, we learn the craft. There will never cease to be dangers pulling our webs apart. But to build the web anyway, that is the greatest mystery and deepest beauty of all. When we pull one thread, another sways. The entire creation is bound together, gossamer silk hanging precariously in the night. When our time comes to die, life goes on. And we are still part of it, in ways I do not fully understand. The life force within us, my child, I believe it cannot die. So when we go on, to that place beyond the hills and valleys of this world, we will continue weaving, learning, piecing threads together. All life is one, the spirit of the living one long thread tugging all of us toward the whole. 

And, Corianton, I cannot give you the belief that God is good. That you must learn for yourself. But I can look you in the eyes without hesitation and tell you from the depth of my soul that God does not finally leave us in the cold. I can tell you that the whole of this creation is held, tenderly, in the hands of the infinite mystery. I can tell you, my son, that I believe God is good and kind as deeply as I believe in my own flesh and blood. 

All is not clear in this life. Perhaps the meaning of my words will change from life to life. But I pray that they will find your heart, your aching heart, and speak to you. I think you are like a boat lost at sea, bobbing on the waves without a hope of landing. I pray my words can provide a place to stand, until you can find your own shore to cling to, until you can write your own letter filled with what you believe. 

Take heart, dear one. Have courage. There are many thousands of tomorrows.

With love,

Alma

Ideas for Play

Contributed by Kristen

• Read the Book of Mormon Storybook

• Read Rainer Marie Rilke’s poem “Let this darkness be a bell tower”

• Read “The Coming of the Ship” by Kahlil Gibram

• What happens when I die video

• Is there life after death video

• What do you believe about these big questions? What do your children think? What questions, worries, delights, or wonders do you have?

• Resurrection coloring page

• Read Because of Jesus 

Poetry

Compiled by Caroline

Let this darkness be a bell tower

by Rainer Maria Rilke

Quiet friend who has come so far,

feel how your breathing makes more space around you.
Let this darkness be a bell tower
and you the bell. As you ring,

what batters you becomes your strength.
Move back and forth into the change.
What is it like, such intensity of pain?
If the drink is bitter, turn yourself to wine.

In this uncontainable night,
be the mystery at the crossroads of your senses,
the meaning discovered there.

And if the world has ceased to hear you,
say to the silent earth: I flow.
To the rushing water, speak: I am.

Artwork

Compiled by Caroline