My God Loves Broken Things

It’s not very often I publish the words of someone else in this format, but from time to time – as I take notes for me to remember, it occurs to me that you might also appreciate them. These words from Chieko Okazaki, are comforting, reassuring and true.

Who is Chieko Nishimura Okazaki?
She was an American writer, educator, and religious leader. I came to admire her while she served in the Relief Society general presidency of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints from 1990 to 1997. I looked forward to hearing her speak – she always started with “Aloha” to which the congregation always responded “Aloha” – and I enjoyed reading her words.

Chieko was born in Hawaii in October 1926, growing up in a Buddhist family of Japanese ancestry that was employed on Hawaiian plantations. She was 15 years old when Japan bombed Pearl Harbor, and her family did not escape the horror that followed, especially for those of her ethnic and cultural status. She was Hawaiian born, from Japanese heritage, and spent most of her life living in mainland America, but she confronted racism throughout her life.

As a young teen, she became a Christian, working as a maid to pay for high school. Her family (parents and two brothers) sacrificed for her education, and education became her life’s work. She received her first degree in Education at the University of Hawaii in Honolulu, her Master’s degree in Education from the University of Northern Colorado when she was 51 years old, and another degree in Educational Administration.  

Ironically, she was about the age I am now when I first became familiar with her as a speaker and writer. To me, she had a lotta credibility, and I loved her. She served in the trenches and she got it. She really got it.

In The Wilderness by artist: Ron DiCianni

“It’s our faith” said Chieko Okazaki “that He experienced everything- absolutely everything. Sometimes we don’t think through the implications of that belief. We talk in great generalities about the sins of all humankind, about the suffering of the entire human family. But we don’t experience pain in generalities. We experience it individually.

That means He knows what it felt like when your mother died of cancer — how it was for your mother, how it still is for you. He knows what it felt like to lose the student body election. He knows that moment when the brakes locked and the car started to skid. He experienced the slave ship sailing from Ghana toward Virginia. He experienced the gas chambers at Dachau. He experienced Napalm in Vietnam. He knows about drug addiction and alcoholism.”

. . . There is nothing you have experienced . . . that He does not also know and recognize. He understands about rape and infertility and abortion. His last recorded words to his disciples were “And, lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world.” He understands your mother-pain when your five-year-old leaves for kindergarten, when a bully picks on your fifth-grader, when your daughter calls to say that the new baby has Down Syndrome. He knows your mother-rage when a trusted babysitter sexually abuses your two-year-old, when someone gives your thirteen-year-old drugs, when someone seduces your seventeen-year-old. He knows the pain you live with when you come home to a quiet apartment where the only children are visitors, when you hear that your former husband and his new wife were sealed in the temple last week, when your fiftieth wedding anniversary rolls around and your husband has been dead for two years. He knows all that. He’s been there. He’s been lower than all that. He’s not waiting for us to be perfect. Perfect people don’t need a Savior. He came to save his people in their imperfections. He is the Lord of the living, and the living make mistakes. He’s not embarrassed by us, angry at us, or shocked. He wants us in our brokenness, in our unhappiness, in our guilt and in our grief.
– Chieko N. Okazaki

One of my favourite songs by Kenneth Cope – Broken. Enjoy.

Warmly,

Cindy Suelzle

When the Price was Paid

This tender image painted by the Danish painter Frans Schwartz at the end of the 19th century, was brought to my attention recently, and I find myself coming back to it again and again. It amazes me, the kind of emotion that can be captured by the talented brush strokes of an inspired artist. This is not the whole picture, its a close up of the faces. While the full image is breathtaking, I am drawn to, and am captivated by these faces.

We learn about it in Luke 22:43,44

And there appeared an angel unto him from heaven, strengthening him. And being in an agony he prayed more earnestly: and his sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground.

Agony in the Garden by Frans Schwartz 1898

Years ago, I was reading this story from a beautiful illustrated children’s book to my then 4 year old granddaughter Rebecca. At this point in the story, when the angel comforted the Saviour, I said aloud “I wish I was that angel who did that for him.”

She sighed and softly replied “I wish ‘I‘ was that angel.” I reflect back on that previous shared moment from time to time. I’m quite sure she has no recollection of it. But among other things, it testified to me of the power of inspirational art to convey the spirit, and the ability that a child has to respond to it when given the quiet opportunity. And it testified to me as well, of the importance of seeking out those quiet opportunities.

I also reflect on the fact, that sometimes, all you can do is offer love and support. There wasn’t a single thing anyone in this universe could have done to take away His pain, or to even make it easier. But this! . . . THIS could be done. . . . A tender embrace, a demonstration of love and empathy, and in this case – heart rending gratitude. For some reason, we do not know the name of this angel, this privileged one sent from above, while many others undoubtedly stood ready, wanting to do the same. What an honour to have been the one to embrace Him at that pivotal moment in time. To have been the one to offer Him comfort, heavenly succor and support. And more personally – Gratitude. Because after all, He did it for us. For you and for me. Personally. Privately. And yet for us all.

Dieter F. Uchtdorf said “What the Saviour did from Gethsemane to Golgotha on our behalf is beyond my ability to grasp. He took upon Himself, the burden of our sins and paid an eternal and binding ransom not only for Adam’s original transgression but also for the sins and transgressions of the billions upon billions of souls who have ever lived. This eternal, sacred sacrifice caused ‘even God, the greatest of all, to tremble because of pain and to bleed at every pore, and to suffer in both body and spirit.’ (DC 19:18)”

Look closely at his reddened eyes in this achingly tender image. At the furrowed brows. I love that his eyes are open. Look at the soft and gentle face of the angel and the enveloping embrace. Though none of us will ever have to experience the depth of His suffering, we know that we do have “our own dark and bitter hours” as Elder Uchtdorf calls them. “Times when our sorrow and grief may appear to be greater than we can bear. There will be times when the weight and remorse of our sins will press mercilessly upon us.”

We can be assured at those times, that we are not alone. That He went before us, and suffered all those things. And not just for our sins, but for our sadness and grief, and hurts of every kind, for our sickness and afflictions. To take them all away. As I heard one say some time ago (referring to suicidal thoughts and intents) “We don’t have to die for our sins. Someone already has.” He knows and He understands. He’s been there. He gets it. He’s atoned for it all. He’s taken my name through the temple of Gethsemane, individually. I don’t pretend to know how, but I absolutely know it. He knows me. And He knows you. He can and will strengthen us. And by taking advantage of that sacrifice, we don’t cause him any more grief, we don’t add to the cost – because the price has already been paid. Whether we accept the gift or not, it has already been purchased. For us.

This song Wondering by Aaron Edson, was brought to my attention from a friend Ron Bissett many years ago. He played it to me over the phone, a poor recording he found somewhere. He wanted me to find him a CD (back before the days of Spotify etc). He asked me because we owned an LDS Bookstore at the time.
I found it for him, and for me, and for several other customers, because that over the phone introduction made it personal for me too. Thanks for the tip Ron. Enjoy.

I really hope that I was that angel, but I kinda think I was not. Unlike the angel however, HE can take pain away. And I can be that angel to others, embracing, comforting, supporting, … not able to take grief away, but loving them through it, and hopefully pointing to the One who can take it away – who will take it away.

Just some of my thoughts on a tender subject. I’d love to hear your thoughts on it.

Warmly,

Cindy Suelzle