Some of My Spiritual Experiences

I wrote the following a few months ago in response to a request from my youngest daughter. She was working on a project for her youth program at church, and she asked family members to share stories of personal faith experiences. This is my attempt to capture some of the spiritual experiences I have had up to this point in my life.

Childhood

When I was really young, I used to sometimes sit by myself and sort of zone out. I'd think about anything and nothing. I remember one time sitting in the car by myself while it was parked at our house. I was in the passenger seat, waiting for my mom to drive me somewhere. I remember staring out the window, letting my thoughts go wherever they wanted, when I saw little dots of light racing around my field of view. I realize now that what I saw was the shadow of blood cells in my eyes projected onto my retina while staring at the blue sky (yes, I am a geek). But at the time, it seemed so magical. Like I could see into a special, hidden world. And I remember feeling a connection to something. I often felt peaceful when I was alone with my thoughts, but I couldn't really explain why I felt that way or what it was that I was doing that caused me to feel that way.

A simulation of the 'blue sky' effect I talk about above

Look closely ... white dots are moving through the blue background

Teenage Years

When I was a teenager, I had some powerful spiritual experiences that were very formative for me. One of these happened at a youth camp called Especially for Youth (EFY). I think this was the summer I was 16 years old.

The whole week had been amazing. I remember during check-in, I gave up my room twice because each time I got to my room, my roommate-to-be had a friend with him, and they wanted to room together. So both times, the pair of friends asked me if I would mind swapping rooms. I was in Indianapolis. I knew almost no one there. I had nowhere I needed to be, so I said sure. Both times.

I could have felt exasperated the second time it happened, but somehow, I just laughed and went with the flow. Each time, we had to go to the registration desk to swap keys so they had a record of where everyone was. The second time I did it, the people at the desk laughed when they saw me. But I didn't mind. I laughed too.

That initial experience was indicative of the entire week. Somehow, I had an incredibly good attitude about everything that week. I had no prior attachments molding my behavior. I was out on my own, with none of my friends around. And everything was new. Like I was a brand-new baby. I could choose whatever I wanted. I could choose where I went, who I talked with, and what my attitude would be. And I talked with everyone and had a really fun time. This feeling of having no attachments, no prior history, and total freedom to choose my response was incredibly liberating. And it gave me a lot of confidence that I could be whatever I wanted to be. All I had to do was let go.

When I got to my third room, I met my roommate, who, thankfully, let me stay, and I started to get to know the other guys in my group. There were about 20 or 30 boys in our group, and we were led by a counselor who was pretty animated and fun. We had a great time. We played and laughed and flirted with girls. Every night, we'd hang out in a lounge area at the end of our hall. I remember we entertained each other with something called "helping hands" where two people would make up one character. One person would be the character's body and face, and the other would be the character's arms. In another 'game', we drew upside-down faces on our chins and, propping ourselves upside down with a hat covering the upper part of our faces, we'd mess around, telling jokes and stupid stories, and generally acting like idiots. Watching someone's upside-down chin-face try to frown to simulate a smile, then break into laughter that looked like the weirdest scowl I'd ever seen, was hilarious. We laughed a lot in that lounge. In fact, I don't think I had ever laughed that hard in my life up to that point. A lot of this stuff was instigated by our counselor, but we all got into it. We ended up doing a skit at the talent show later in the week, recreating some of the stupid stuff we had done as a group in that lounge. It was a crazy fun week. And we grew really close as a group.

At the end of the week, all 20 or 30 of us were sitting in a small classroom, listening to a devotional given by our counselor. It was the lead-in to what was supposed to be the spiritual highlight of the week -- a testimony meeting. I don't have any memory of what our counselor said. But I do remember sort of sinking into myself and, looking around, I watched the world around me change. I seemed to be listening to an inner voice that week. A voice that had always been there, but that was largely drowned out by my fears and insecurities. When I found the courage to be completely and authentically myself, the voice became clear, and I listened to the voice and accepted it without question or doubt. Now, at the end of this magical week, I found myself transforming in a deeply profound way. And the world itself was transforming. Or perhaps I was beginning to see it clearly for the first time in my life.

There was a subtle shift in the air. Or in the way the air looked. Like I could see ripples in the air that were distorting my vision. But those ripples had always been there. I had just never seen them before. Now that I could see them, I could sort of see through them. And the world seemed more clear. And vibrant. And alive.

I looked around at my friends. I hadn't known any of them before the week started. But we had had some great times. And I considered them friends. And as I looked at them, it seemed to me that I could see into their hearts. Or their souls. I kind of saw through them. I know this all sounds mystical and magical. And probably unbelievable. But it's what I experienced. Maybe I was deluded. But it seemed to be one of the most real things I had ever felt. There were three of the boys in particular whose hearts/souls stood out to me. As I looked at them, I got the distinct impression that I knew them. Not from the week at EFY. But before. Before any of us had been born.

I raised my hand and asked if I could say something. I told the group a little of what I had just seen. And I told them that I had the distinct impression that some of us knew each other before this life. I mentioned the three boys by name who had stood out to me. I don't know why I had the courage to say what I did. Normally, I would have balked at the idea of saying something so bold and outlandish. But I was listening to that inner voice that week and somehow, I felt no fear. I just said what I felt I should say.

When the devotional ended, I went to a drinking fountain in the hall to get some water. When I looked up, those three boys were standing there. Each one of them told me they had felt the same thing. Whether they felt that way before I said anything, after I said something, or simply felt pressured into saying they felt it, I don't know. But I took it as a confirmation of what I had felt.

I had many other spiritual experiences in my later teenage years. These experiences made me feel connected to something larger than myself. Magical experiences that took me out of myself and, at the same time, made me feel more truly myself than any other time in my life. Some of these experiences made me want to laugh and shout. They filled me with energy and excitement. I felt a fire inside me that seemed to make everything beautiful and joyful. Other times, the experiences were peaceful and calming. They made me want to just sit quietly and soak it all in. But they always connected me to something. Something big and beautiful. Something loving and accepting.

One of these experiences led me to decide to attend college at Brigham Young University (BYU). The decision was based on a feeling I had during a campus visit in my senior year of high school. A feeling that I was coming home. I felt like BYU was the right place for me. And so I went.

Young Adulthood

And BYU was a great place for me. I grew into adulthood there and really began to find myself. I had some wonderfully supportive people around me, and I learned a lot. About myself. About my future profession. And about my religion. And after graduation, I took those lessons with me and continued to learn about all three of those areas of my life. In fact, I have never stopped learning about them.

In the middle of my education at BYU, I went on a mission for the LDS church in Germany. Serving a mission was one of the hardest things I have ever done. It was painful at times - physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I was physically ill quite a lot. At one point, I thought I would be sent home because of my illness. But with some help from my parents, my Mission President, and my companions, I worked through the illness well enough to continue my mission for two full years.

During those years, I had some awesome spiritual experiences. One that stands out in my mind happened during a really rough time near the beginning of my mission. I had been in Germany almost four months, and I knew my companion was going home soon. I was feeling pretty overwhelmed because a lot of older missionaries were going home, and a lot of new missionaries were coming. The mission's cohort was becoming younger and younger. And even though I had only been there for four months, I felt like I was going to become a senior companion to someone younger than me and possibly train someone brand new.

It turned out I was right. On both counts. And it was hard taking on that much responsibility with so little experience. But even before it happened, and before I knew for sure that it would happen, I felt really inadequate about the possibility. I spoke the language pretty well, better than most my age, but not well enough to train someone. I didn't even feel competent to be the leader in a companionship, having someone else rely on my language skills and my knowledge of missionary work to guide the work we would do. But I felt strongly that it was coming, so I struggled with my feelings of inadequacy.

One night, I was feeling particularly despondent. I don't know if something specific happened that day that prompted my feeling. It's very likely. But whatever it was, what I remember most vividly was the despair I felt and the hopelessness that seemed to envelop me. I knelt down next to my bed and began to pray. I poured my heart out to God and told Him how weak and hopeless I felt. I asked Him for help. I don't remember what else I said. At some point, in the middle of my prayer, I felt this intense release. Like the tension that had been building in me had suddenly found an outlet and, like a dam breaking, the pressure was gone almost instantly.

Into my heart poured a light that was so incredibly peaceful and relaxing. I seem to remember kneeling there and suddenly feeling every muscle in my body instantly relax. I seemed to hear a voice that calmed me deeply, but I don't remember if there were any words to the voice or what it might have said. And, though I felt nothing physical, I could have sworn there was a hand on my shoulder, like an angel was there, giving me strength.

I have come to believe that sometimes, we simply slide into a spiritual connection. Other times, we unknowingly fight it until we're so overwhelmed that we crack, like I did that night in Germany. We protect ourselves from connection by building a cocoon around ourselves. Most often, I think this comes about by fear, though maybe there are other motivations that cause us to try to protect ourselves. But when we do, the world begins to bear down on that cocoon until we reach a point of desperation and we finally crack. Then the light begins to pour in and we find what we were looking for, but were unknowingly avoiding. Connection.

We sometimes have powerful spiritual experiences as we're pushed to the limits of our endurance. But I find it much more enjoyable to slide into that connection voluntarily. Humility and vulnerability go a long way here. We have to move beyond our own egos in order to experience that connection in a deep and fulfilling way.

Mature Adulthood

As I grew older in adulthood, having married and become a father, I found my spiritual experiences coming less frequently. I could sometimes feel a connection to something during quiet times while reading scriptures or praying. But the weight of the world bore down on me and seemed to drive away the magic. I think this came from the stress of providing financially for a family and trying to give my wife and kids the best of me. I was often stretched thin and, burdened by stress and fear, I found myself longing for the connection I had often felt when I was younger. Church, which had previously been something of a catalyst for those experiences, more often felt like a burden than an asset. And though I clung to it for many years, I eventually came to see that what had once helped me find so much connection to God was now limiting me.

I didn't fully realize this until I found my connection again. But when I found it in the spring of 2014, it felt like coming home. And I learned to let go of what was holding me back.

Experiencing the connection felt very familiar, but it was facilitated by a different method than I was used to. And the fact that this method was so powerful caused me to question many things I had previously held inviolate. The method was centered around meditation, but I realize now that it was very similar to what I had experienced during my most powerful prayers. And it was similar to what I had experienced as a young child during quiet times of reflection. A new world began to open up to me where even the most ordinary things could be infused with life, luster, and beauty. The whole world seemed to be teeming with life and light and love. And love seemed to be at the foundation of it all. But the oddest thing of all was that I experienced all of this without any reference to God, or any calling upon a Deity.

The process of accepting this new method for experiencing a spiritual connection was long and challenging. It involved transitioning away from the church, which was probably the most difficult part. But as I did when I was young, I found my inner voice. And I found the courage to follow it. And in doing so, I found the strength to explore my new landscape. And I found greater clarity than I had ever found before in my life. I think that clarity was facilitated by a rare authenticity and sincerity. Something I have experienced to a large degree at various times, like that week at EFY, but probably not quite as fully as I experienced it a few years ago as a fully grown man.

It's difficult to pinpoint a specific spiritual experience during this time of exploration because my life became a string of powerful experiences, one day after another. No single day stands out among the rest. But on a typical day, I would enter into a state of calm reflection until my mind became completely placid, like the waters of a calm lake. I would feel a deep connection to something beautiful and expansive. Something that seemed to have infinite love and patience. And as I connected with it, which happened consistently and reliably, some of that love and patience distilled into me, and I became more and more like the thing I was connecting with. Days would go by where it seemed my patience was infinite. Nothing could rattle me. I was at peace with myself and the world around me. And I felt a love inside of me that started with me (I accepted and loved myself just as I was) and gradually extended to encompass everything around me. And this love, which I seemed to be swimming in, also became a powerful source of healing for me, both physically and spiritually.

Like many things in life, my spiritual practice peaked, then fell off again as the stress of life began to crowd out my time of meditation and reflection. And as the practice fell away, old habitual thought patterns began to reassert themselves, and I lost some of the spiritual high I had achieved.

Then, about a year or two after my transition, I took a business trip during which I had a lot of opportunities to reflect. As I meditated that week, I began to lean into some uncomfortable feelings and emotions. The feeling that stands out most in my mind is loneliness. I began to see that I was terribly alone. Being away from my family, I was naturally missing them, but there was something more than that. I had once been connected to something incredible, and I had lost much of that connection. As I leaned into the feeling of loneliness and separateness, opening myself to the sensations and sorrow associated with those feelings, I found that connection re-established in a very powerful way. It was almost instantaneous. As if my vulnerability had been the key that unlocked the door separating me from this loving, expansive something. And my soul expanded like it hadn't done in several months. Maybe a year. It felt like whatever was out there was right there, always within reach, accessible anytime I woke up and realized who I really was and how I related to the world. When I began to breathe in the love that was all around me, I became connected to that love. And I remembered that love was my true home. My origin. The essence of my being. And I came home.

I have since cycled at least once more through a spiritual high and low. And I'm happy to say the lows are getting higher over time. I feel like I have no idea where I am headed, but I'm very happy about where my path has been taking me. I don't know where it will take me next, but I feel a deep sense of faith and trust that the path is good. And though I can't see very far ahead, I feel like I'll know where to step if I just pay attention.

Based on my recent experiences, I think maybe that's the essence of spirituality. Attention. Awareness. Consciousness. Built upon a foundation of love and compassion. And all of that leads to connection.

Love is central to it all. And I think maybe it's who we really are. If God is love (1 John 4:8,16), and we are children of God, then ... maybe we are love. And if love is all around us, then we're all deeply connected. Much more deeply, I now believe, than I had ever supposed as a child or a young man. If we are all made of love and we're all surrounded by love, then we're all swimming in the same stuff. And it's the same primordial stuff that makes us who we are. So we're all connected. And that connection, which already exists, seems to be the only thing the soul really craves.

So we already have everything we need (connection). We already are everything we need to be (love). All we need to do is wake up and see it.