inadequate insufficient unworthy
His forever, now and always
I wonder, if Jesus were to choose a place where you and He could meet, a private place where you would be able to have a singular focus on Him, might He choose your unique place of personal suffering, the place of your deepest need, where no one else can go? Somewhere you feel so lonely that you must truly be all alone but you aren’t quite, a place to which perhaps only He has travelled but actually has already prepared to meet you there when you arrive? If you are waiting for Him to come, might He already be there and within reach?
Scene #1 -
A small Sunday School classroom in Arizona, over forty years ago. I was serving as a missionary. My companion and I were attending this class especially designed for new members. Our teacher was the ward mission leader. As he talked about the plan of salvation, he focused on what the scriptures teach about what is required to live with God again and wrote our answers on the chalkboard. The list was long. “Obedience. Repentance. Ordinances. Diligence. Serving others. Attending church.” There were additional things added. At one point in the lesson, something unexpected happened that I still think about these many years later. The teacher’s wife (I still remember her name), a deeply faithful and active member in every sense of that word, said something like this: “I don’t think I am ‘celestial’ material. I don’t think I will ever be good enough to live with God again.”
I didn’t say anything, but I was stunned by her comment and what it implied about myself. “If she doesn’t think she qualifies for salvation, who does?”
Scene #2 -
Over the course of my nine years serving in a position that included helping members who had made serious mistakes, there was one man I won’t likely ever forget. I will be very careful in describing his situation so that even if he were to read this, he wouldn’t know I was writing about him. I believe we likely met as many as ten different times over those nine years. Those meetings were generally spaced about 12-18 months apart. Each time we needed to talk about the same sin he had committed again, and each time he would tell me some variation of the same thing. “I deserve to be punished. You should just kick me out of the church. I know when I die that I am going to hell. I know that God can’t forgive me, and I don’t deserve to be forgiven. I need to suffer for what I have done.”
After hearing this each time we met I would sit in stunned silence for a moment, my heart breaking for this brother. For context, he was a very devoted husband and father. He served faithfully in every calling he was given. He worked long hours every week to provide for his family. But no matter what he did “right,” in his eyes he was damned and there was no hope for him of ever being loved and certainly no way he could hope for redemption. I hope he left our visits with more hope than he had before we met, but I don’t know if that is true. I ached and wept for him. I pled with God to help me to help him believe he was worthy of divine love. I once told him the most important testimony he needed in his life was a testimony of himself. I don’t know if he believed me.
I could share many other versions of these two scenes. Many good people I know and love have believed, and in some cases still believe, that they’re not “good enough” to merit God’s love and grace. Somehow, at some point in their struggle they’ve concluded that others are deserving of heaven but that they are not.
If you are one of those, or even if you sometimes struggle to love yourself just as you are, then this is for you.
“I give [my children] weakness”
I recently spent some quality time with this verse from The Book of Mormon:
And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.
Ether 12:27
While reading, I was also reminded of the four important verses that preceded this important revelation about how God sees and works with His children:
23 And I said unto him: Lord, the Gentiles will mock at these things, because of our weakness in writing; for Lord thou hast made us mighty in word by faith, but thou hast not made us mighty in writing; for thou hast made all this people that they could speak much, because of the Holy Ghost which thou hast given them;
24 And thou hast made us that we could write but little, because of the awkwardness of our hands. Behold, thou hast not made us mighty in writing like unto the brother of Jared, for thou madest him that the things which he wrote were mighty even as thou art, unto the overpowering of man to read them.
25 Thou hast also made our words powerful and great, even that we cannot write them; wherefore, when we write we behold our weakness, and stumble because of the placing of our words; and I fear lest the Gentiles shall mock at our words.
26 And when I had said this, the Lord spake unto me, saying: Fools mock, but they shall mourn; and my grace is sufficient for the meek, that they shall take no advantage of your weakness.
What are “these things” Moroni is referring to that has caused these feelings of inadequacy?
His words. More specifically, the words he has written. And what has made him feel anxious about the words he’s written? Reading words someone else has written, in this case words written by the brother of Jared.
This moment makes me love Moroni so much. I often experience my own version of Moroni’s lament as I wrestle with painful feelings of inadequacy, insufficiency, and unworthiness as a creator and as a person. Perhaps you do as well.
The work of Jesus is you.
You may be familiar with Brother Stephen Robinson’s book Believing Christ, a book he wrote for those who believed in Christ but who had a difficult time believing His grace and forgiveness extended to them and included Robinson’s Parable of the Bicycle. That book was inspired in part by a talk he gave in 1990 at BYU titled “A Practical Approach to the Atonement.” Here is a tender story about his wife he shared at the beginning of that talk.
Sometimes the weight of the demand for perfection drives us to despair. Sometimes we fail to believe that most choice portion of the gospel that says he can change us and bring us into his kingdom.
Let me share an experience that happened about ten years ago. My wife and I were living in Pennsylvania. Things were going pretty well; I’d been promoted. It was a good year for us, though a trying year for Janet. That year she had our fourth child, graduated from college, passed the CPA exam, and was made Relief Society president. We had temple recommends, we had family home evening. I was in the bishopric. I thought we were headed for “LDS yuppiehood.” Then one night the lights went out. Something happened in my wife that I can only describe as “dying spiritually.” She wouldn’t talk about it; she wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. That was the worst part. For a couple of weeks she did not wish to participate in spiritual things. She asked to be released from her callings, and she would not open up and tell me what was wrong.
Finally, after about two weeks, one night I made her mad and it came out. She said, “All right. You want to know what’s wrong? I’ll tell you what’s wrong. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t lift it. I can’t get up at 5:30 in the morning and bake bread and sew clothes and help my kids with their homework and do my own homework and do my Relief Society stuff and get my genealogy done and write the congressman and go to the PTA meetings and write the missionaries . . .” And she just started naming one brick after another that had been laid on her, explaining all the things she could not do. She said, “I don’t have the talent that Sister Morrell has. I can’t do what Sister Childs does. I try not to yell at the kids, but I lose control, and I do. I’m just not perfect, and I’m not ever going to be perfect. I’m not going to make it to the celestial kingdom, and I’ve finally admitted that to myself. You and the kids can go, but I can’t lift it. I’m not ‘Molly Mormon,’ and I’m not ever going to be perfect, so I’ve given up. Why break my back?”
Well, we started to talk, and it was a long night. I asked her, “Janet, do you have a testimony?”
She said, “Of course I do! That’s what’s so terrible. I know it’s true. I just can’t do it.”
“Have you kept the covenants you made when you were baptized?”
She said, “I’ve tried and I’ve tried, but I cannot keep all the commandments all the time.”
Then I rejoiced because I knew what was wrong, and I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. It wasn’t any of those horrible things I thought it might be. Who would have thought after eight years of marriage, after all the lessons we’d given and heard, and after all we had read and done in the Church, who would have thought that Janet did not know the gospel of Jesus Christ? You see, she was trying to save herself. She knew why Jesus is a coach, a cheerleader, an advisor, a teacher. She knew why he is an example, the head of the Church, the Elder Brother, or even God. She knew all of that, but she did not understand why he is called the Savior.
Janet was trying to save herself with Jesus as an advisor. Brothers and sisters, we can’t. No one can.
The devil does his devilish work in so many ways. I believe one of his greatest successes is in convincing us that we are beyond rescue, that we can’t be saved, that we’ve made too many mistakes and have fallen too far. These are Lies with a capital “L.” Don’t believe them. When he whispers that you are “inadequate/insufficient/unworthy,” tell him to go back to where he came from and take his nonsense with him.
The work of Jesus is you. It is me. It is us - every broken, imperfect, struggling, wounded, fractured, and sinning-but-striving one of us. It is. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it as often as it needs to be said - we cannot fall beyond His reach.
We must willingly give everything, because God Himself can’t make us grow against our will and without our full participation. Yet even when we utterly spend ourselves, we lack the power to create the perfection only God can complete. Our all by itself is still only almost enough—until it is finished by the all of Him who is the “finisher of our faith.” At that point, our imperfect but consecrated almost is enough.
My friend Donna grew up desiring to marry and raise a large family. But that blessing never came. Instead, she spent her adult years serving the people in her ward with unmeasured compassion and counseling disturbed children in a large school district. She had crippling arthritis and many long, blue days. Yet she always lifted and was always lifted by her friends and family. Once when teaching about Lehi’s dream, she said with gentle humor, “I’d put myself in that picture on the strait and narrow path, still holding to the iron rod but collapsed from fatigue right on the path.” In an inspired blessing given just before her death, Donna’s home teacher said the Lord “accepted” her. Donna cried. She had never felt her single life was acceptable. But the Lord said those who “observe their covenants by sacrifice … are accepted of me.” I can envision Him walking the path from the tree of life to lift Donna up with gladness and carry her home.
The people in 3 Nephi 17 had survived destruction, doubt, and darkness just to get to the temple with Jesus. After listening to Him for hours in wonder, they grew too weary to comprehend Him. As He prepared to leave, they tearfully looked at Him with such total desire that He stayed and blessed their afflicted ones and their children. They didn’t even understand Him, but they wanted to be with Him more than they wanted any other thing. So He stayed. Their almost was enough.
Almost is especially enough when our own sacrifices somehow echo the Savior’s sacrifice, however imperfect we are. We cannot really feel charity—Christ’s love for others—without at least tasting His suffering for others, because the love and the suffering are but two sides of a single reality. When we really are afflicted in the afflictions of other people, we may enter “the fellowship of his sufferings” enough to become joint-heirs with Him.
May we not shrink when we discover, paradoxically, how dear a price we must pay to receive what is, finally, a gift from Him. When the Savior’s all and our all come together, we will find not only forgiveness of sin, “we shall see him as he is,” and “we shall be like him.”
God is reaching out to us, His arms opened wide. He is in “relentless pursuit” of each of us. He sent His precious Son to experience everything we would experience and atone for every mistake, sin, and weakness.
Jesus’s will is the benevolent Father’s will! He wants to make it possible for every last one of His Father’s children to receive the end goal of the plan—eternal life with Them. None is excluded from this divine potential.
If you are prone to worry that you will never measure up, or that the loving reach of Christ’s infinite Atonement mercifully covers everyone else but not you, then you misunderstand. Infinite means infinite. Infinite covers you and those you love.
Nephi explains this beautiful truth: “He doeth not anything save it be for the benefit of the world; for he loveth the world, even that he layeth down his own life that he may draw all men unto him. Wherefore, he commandeth none that they shall not partake of his salvation.”
The Saviour, the Good Shepherd, goes in search of His lost sheep until He finds them. He is “not willing that any should perish.”
“Mine arm of mercy is extended towards you, and whosoever will come, him will I receive.”
“Have ye any that are sick among you? Bring them hither. Have ye any that are lame, or blind, or halt, or maimed, or leprous, or that are withered, or that are deaf, or that are afflicted in any manner? Bring them hither and I will heal them, for I have compassion upon you.”
He did not cast away the woman with the issue of blood; He did not recoil from the leper; He did not reject the woman taken in adultery; He did not refuse the penitent—no matter their sin. And He will not refuse you or those you love when you bring to Him your broken hearts and contrite spirits. That is not His intent or His design, nor His plan, purpose, wish, or hope.
Do you still need convincing? Still not sure you qualify? Perhaps this story will help. It is one of my most favorite. It is a heavenly whisper in your ear saying this: “I love you. Now. Forever. Always. No matter what. And I will do - We are doing and will do whatever it takes to bring you home forever.”
Many years ago, as a freshman at BYU–Hawaii, I was passing through some difficult life experiences. I was also aware of my imperfections and felt distant from my Heavenly Father. I was not guilty of any egregious sins, but I was not where I wanted to be spiritually. I was much like the boy who, through some carelessness, had wandered into the desert.
On a particular Sunday a conference was held on campus, presided over by President Spencer W. Kimball. He spoke to a large gathering of Saints who had come to hear the prophet. I remember feeling the Spirit as he spoke. Following the closing prayer all arose, and in respectful silence we watched that great man exit the building.
As we filed out, two young Polynesian students I had met at the dorms approached me and invited me to walk with them to the Laie Hawaii Temple, where they were going to spend the afternoon reading from the scriptures. I was a bit surprised at the invitation—not knowing them very well at the time—but I gladly accepted. When we arrived at the temple, we walked to the upper grounds. I didn’t have scriptures with me, so as they sat on the grass to read, I walked a short distance away and sat on a stone bench.
I cannot remember all that I thought and felt that day—it was many years ago—but I remember thinking about my Heavenly Father and about how I wanted to draw closer to Him. I started to pray, but as I did, I remember I felt heavy and discouraged. At that time in my life I had a hard time envisioning a God of love and compassion. I felt I was praying to someone who was always displeased and disappointed with me and far away. I didn’t understand the true nature of my Heavenly Father.
But my perspective was about to change. As I sat on that bench, my attention was suddenly drawn to a small group of people excitedly walking toward the entrance of the temple. I looked beyond them, and to my great surprise I saw President Kimball and some local and general Church leaders coming out of the temple. They were walking down a sidewalk that led to a gate where cars had just pulled up to carry them to the airport. A half dozen or so people lined the sidewalk, waiting to greet President Kimball as he made his way to the awaiting cars.
I stood up and apprehensively approached the sidewalk, deciding to remain a short distance away from where he would pass. However irrational it might sound, I was afraid to approach him. I had decided that as a prophet he might be able to peer into my heart and see my imperfections. I felt that I was in need of greater spirituality and a serious haircut, so I decided to remain what I considered to be a safe distance away from the sidewalk.
Well, I miscalculated. As President Kimball passed by, he looked right at me. I recorded in my journal what happened next: “President Kimball suddenly stopped and turned and headed right for me. The prophet grabbed my hand, gave me a hug, and kissed me on my cheek and then looked me in the eyes and said, ‘I love you.’”
I was overcome with emotion. The only words I was able to get out were thank you. I felt something in that hug and expression of love. I watched him through my tears as he climbed into an awaiting car. He looked through the window at us with such pure and loving eyes and waved good-bye as he drove away.
I then ran behind the temple and had a good cry. Yes, I felt President Kimball’s love for me, but his love pointed to the wellspring from which it flowed. I felt an outpouring of my Heavenly Father’s love for me, so real and so clear. The feeling remained with me for a time. President Kimball’s act of kindness could have come from the groundskeeper that day, because if it had flowed from fountains of charity, I am convinced the same results would have followed. Having it come from the prophet certainly made it very special, but what flowed through him and was communicated to me was my Heavenly Father’s love. Heavenly Father was reaching out to me through one of His special servants and two wonderful students, through whom the pure love of Christ had flowed to me that day.
Loved this. Loved Brother Robinson's book. The Parable of the Bicycle. Yes. Thank you for sharing your thoughts on this all-important aspect of the Savior's love and purpose.
Thank you for providing another beautiful witness of this profound truth, Scott.