Last Saturday the morning sky was dismal and gray and as I woke up my mood was in the same vein. I could feel the oppressive force pushing down on me like a hand. I was worried that the melancholy mood would roil out and follow me to the temple; affecting all of those confined to the tiny cabin of the car for the hours the commute would take.
I allowed myself to wallow for a beat, and then reluctantly dropped out of bed to the floor and offered up a prayer. As the carpet bit into my knees, I could feel a calm pour over and coat me like thickened nectar. I often hear people refer to themselves as a chalice or vessel that fills up with the Spirit, permeating their entire being. I don’t know if these words can fully describe what was felt. It was a warm, loving feeling that encased my whole self. Filling me, completing me, igniting the spiritual half of myself.
Rising from the ground, I was on fire. I felt so vibrant, that moments before I could only be described as asleep, deadened to the subtle whisper of my Constant Companion. The rest of the day was a high that made the drive to the temple pass by in the blink of an eye, the Endowment session rich with undertone that I felt rippling below the surface, a permanent picture of the light that shown from our friend’s face when she saw we were there forever pressed into my memory, a wedding brighter with the joy in the air, and friendships especially treasured.
That night, as I returned to my room, I again knelt in prayer and with a greatful heart, I told my Father how much I cherish days like that. Not every day is like Saturday, but it is those days that makes all the other bearable.
