If my fourteen-year-old son’s vocabulary is any indication, it is in vogue to be “weird”
or feel “weird” or act “weird.” I’d like to begin this morning telling you of
a truly “weird” experience I had last year.
Some of you will remember that last November we had a concert on campus featuring Billy
Joel. Now President Holland and I aren’t quite up to the Billy Joel kind of performance
(we are more into the St. George Senior Citizens Chorus), so we didn’t attend. But the night
after the Billy Joel concert, I had a very unusual dream—a “weird” dream, I think
it is safe to say. I dreamed that Billy and I were driving down
the highway talking about his experience at BYU. I was driving the car and completely
in control, but suddenly I became terrified of something that was ahead. So, instead of
continuing on our journey, I veered off the road and sent the car careening over the edge
of a steep cliff. Instead of the crash landing expected, we were somehow plucked out of the
car and perched safely on a ledge hidden from view. We sat comfortably, watching huge crowds
of people milling down below. They were coming and going and looking around but never discovering
the occupants of the battered car. When I awoke the next morning, I was incredulous!
What on earth—I said to myself—would a forty-five-year-old mother hen to thousands
of BYU students have in common with Billy Joel? Now, at this point, I suppose I do have
to confess to you that one of my lifelong secret desires has been to play the drums
in a rock band, but that didn’t seem to be adequate motivation for a 3-D, Cinerama,
Dolby sound, full-length “weird” dream. I pondered a long time about that dream—and
whether it is the right interpretation or not, I finally decided that I had associated
Billy Joel’s concert performance for you with my own frequent assignments to speak
to the same kind of crowd in this same monstrous hall and with every one of those same eyes
upon me. I surmised that neither of us needed to put up with such performance fears any
longer, so I just detoured us over the cliff. Unfortunately, I forgot to ask Billy if he
wanted to accompany me. But that’s the price he had to pay for riding with me. Next time
he may want to take Greyhound. Nonsense and rock concerts aside, I think
I really did identify with the public performance of such a concert and subconsciously preferred
to hide in safety, far from the gaze of the crowd. Anonymity has always seemed pretty
appealing to me, yet here I am—and there you are—and the show must go on, again!
I tell that ridiculous, but true, story for a purpose this morning. I have wondered and
worried and prayed about what to say to you. And I have felt that perhaps some of you,
who may feel a bit shy and more than a little overwhelmed at a place like BYU, need to know
that the rest of us are pretty shy, too, and that lots of people—maybe most people—have
fears about new experiences with people we don’t know. As long as I’m already on
the analyst’s couch with my dream, I will go on to confess that I have always had my
fair share of fears, too, and maybe you have as well. Life has lots of challenges, and
some of them can be fearful. I remember the fear I had coming here as a
new student. I was terrified that I wouldn’t be able to pass my exams or even find the
classrooms. I was afraid I wouldn’t get along with my new roommate. I worried that
my money would not last, and I was certain that I would never get asked for a date. On
occasion, I still awaken in the night in a cold sweat, having dreamed I had gone a whole
semester without attending a class I’d registered for and that my transcript had incompletes
and UWs stamped across the front of it. I have, in the course of my forty-plus years,
managed to worry about almost everything. That’s the bad news. The good news is that
almost none of the things I have worried about or been afraid of have ever happened. I suppose
that is why Elder Packer said recently, “You can’t tell me worrying doesn’t help because
the things I worry about never happen.” So I have come to realize, as perhaps you
need to, that our real problem is not so much fear of things or people or places but rather
fear itself. I’ve learned, as many of you have, that such anxiety is one of Satan’s
greatest tools, and it needs to be opposed. In a motherly sort of way, I plead with each
one of you to understand that your opportunity to learn can greatly magnify your faith—faith
in yourself, faith in your future, faith in a God who is your father and who loves you.
Please understand this right now—God is not a vengeful, punitive god who is somehow looking
for new ways to torment, embarrass, and punish you. For too much of my young life that is
the way I saw him, and I often obeyed him out of guilt and anxiety rather than faith
and genuine desire. But you—you are here at the university that teaches of a living
God, of which Elder George Q. Morris, a former member of the Council of the Twelve, once
said, “It is called the Brigham Young University, but it is the University of the Kingdom of
God.” Please understand, you have come to a place designed by God, governed by apostles,
and presided over by a prophet to help you discover your divine potential. I promise
you that if you will treat it seriously and sacredly, faith will begin to replace fear,
and you will stand confident before God and man.
Brother Dennis Rasmussen of our philosophy department has written:
To be a child of God is to share his divine nature. But that nature is still potential
in man, and the purpose of life (and I might add learning) is to make it actual . . .
Man has invented many names for himself; most of them are wrong. But man wears them like
labels and often comes to believe them. Who has not worn with shame and mute belief the
name of Stupid or Awkward or Nobody or even Wicked? But God calls to man with a new name
that only God can speak. He addresses his children born in his image and asks, “Can
you look up, having the image of God engraven upon your countenances?.”
We owe it to that divine potential in us to look up to God without fear. Some of you
wonder whether God even knows you exist, or if he does know, does he care that you exist?
He declares in reply that he knows every one of you and loves you dearly and can call each of
you by name. He has promised that the very hairs of your head are all numbered to him. “The
very hairs of your head”—that proclaims a lot of fatherly interest. He has also
declared that not even one sparrow will fall to the ground unnoticed. “Fear ye not therefore,
ye are of more value than . . . sparrows.” Did you notice the way the Lord begins that
scripture? “Fear ye not.” Have you noticed how often the Lord prefaces so many things
that he has to say with the words fear not? He knows that all people struggle with fears
and anxieties and problems. He wants so much for us to know that. If we will but come to
him, he will comfort and reassure us. And he will carry us in his arms until we are
able to walk by ourselves. For I the Lord thy God will hold thy right
hand, saying unto thee, Fear not; I will help thee.
Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen
thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.
As a new school year begins, I know that some of the pressures of study, finances, employment, and
dating weigh heavily upon you. Take your fears to the Lord. Talk to him and listen
to him. Then, if you feel a spiritual motion as tiny as the touch that a butterfly’s
wing might make, acknowledge it, heed it, and let his influence work upon you. The Lord
wants you to succeed even more than you want to yourself. Have faith in a perfect Father’s
love, fearing nothing. Remember that love is promised not just to those who have never
made a mistake, but that love is promised to every one of us—who have all made mistakes.
I think I have a glimpse of that kind of love because of my own experience of giving birth
to three beautiful children. I have discovered that the child who is at the moment content
and happy often has little need of me. That gladsome child usually runs away to play.
But the child who has made a mistake, has faltered, or is wounded or frightened turns
quickly to come back home for reassurance. As that child draws near unto me, nothing—I
repeat, nothing—can stop the opening of my heart or the reaching out of my arms to
enfold him or her into my protection. Is anything more powerful than a mother’s
love? The scriptures say one thing is more powerful.
But, behold, Zion hath said: The Lord hath forsaken me, and my Lord hath forgotten me—but
he will show that he hath not. For can a woman forget her sucking child,
that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? Yea, they may forget [As
unwilling as I am to believe it, Pat Holland may forget her children. Yea, earthly mothers
may forget], yet will I not forget thee, O house of Israel.
Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands.
Christ’s compassionate atonement is more powerful than even a mother’s love. He has
engraven us upon the palms of his hands, and those marks make certain that he will never
forget us. I bear my witness that he will never forget us. I promise that we will not
forget you either. We love you and pray for your success. “Fear not,” in the name
of Jesus Christ. Amen.