#she carries so much anger. and I think especially for her ER verse

[executionersghost]

Me: staring at blender at 12AM “Yes I think ER Meca will use the glintstone key of her deceased beloved as a cloak pin close to her heart.”

[aripuppyistired]

FFXIV Endwalker Lyrics Breakdown

Hello all! As you might be aware, Yoshi-P recently did an interview where he mentioned that the Endwalker song was meant to represent Hydaelyn and Zodiark as each having their own voice. So, using this information, I wanted to go over each verse to determine what they might mean or refer to!

[Sam Carter vocals] Heart of ember*, out of time Cooling swiftly, bleeding light Smoldering softly, biding time Marching forward, left behind

This is our introduction to the song, and I think it’s interesting that Zodiark is the main ‘speaker’ throughout the song. It should be noted that the “ember” here might also refer to “amber”. In both cases, I believe the first two lines are referring to Hydaelyn, and Zodiark’s view of the situation. We know that Hydaelyn had been significantly weakened after she protected us from the Ultima weapon, and that Zodiark’s seal has been weakening due to the calamities. There have been seven such calamities so far, which is over half of the seals broken.

The next two lyrics refer to Zodiark himself. After his defeat at the hands of Hydaelyn, he’s been biding time until his return: his essence never truly left. Since he was sealed, not truly defeated, I think this and the Ascian’s mentions about ‘re-writing the laws of this star’ might refer to Zodiark and Hydaelyn actually BEING the star and moon now, too, but I’m getting ahead of myself. In any case, Zodiark seems keen on making his debut soon.

Fire as shadows clash Forgotten footfalls engraved in ash Fire will be repaid ‘Fore our echos begin to fade

Fade away

Fade away

This section seems to refer to the End of Days that the Ascians suffered, and notably, begins playing before the narrator describes the End of Days occurring again. As we’ve defeated the last of the unsundered Ascians, I believe this refers to their last attempt to lash out at the world they tried so hard to protect, the world that had forgotten them.

Heart of ember*, out of time Burning brightly, all in white Kindred souls in a […] web Sorrow’s silence breeding there

Here the first two lyrics refer to Zodiark’s view of Hydaelyn again... or possibly you, the Warrior of Light. It’s a tough call. If it’s referring to Hydaelyn, she could be going through one last burst of energy before the final curtain call in their tale. If it’s the Warrior of Light, he could be referring to the idea that we’re out of time to stop his return. If we are out of time though, we’re still very powerful and are a beacon to those around us.

I personally lean a bit more to the WoL interpretation, especially with these last two lyrics. I have had the absolute worst time trying to figure out what the word in between “Kindred souls in a“ and “web”, but I believe the basic gist is being trapped and sad here. I unfortunately can’t figure out much more without that missing word.

[Amanda Archen vocals] Strum a song along the way Tales of loss and fire’s fate

This is the first time we here from Hydaelyn in this track. This part is interesting because it breaks from the sad, minor-key we’ve been in to something somewhat hopeful. I also think it’s important to remember that Hydaelyn was ALSO summoned by Ascians. Because of this, and because of how Hydaelyn tempers people, I think she very much does Not want the Ascians to be a forgotten people. I think maybe part of the reason why she’s had so much trouble with the calamities is that, at her core? She didn’t want to fight the other Ascians. She doesn’t really want to temper people, either. But she still wants the Ascians to be remembered, even if she wants to stop them from their goal of reviving Zodiark.

[chanting Heavensward lyrics]

Ok yea no idea about Heavensward dragon lyrics here other than I think we’re going to get an answer as to where the dragons were running from.

[Sam Carter vocals] Storm of blood, Born from blood, Of our fallen brothers Time stays still, oaths fulfilled, Now we yearn for freedom!

Switching back to Zodiark, we have the beginning of the Stormblood lyrics that takes on a new meaning with what we know about how the Ascians summoned Zodiark and Hydaelyn. It was half of their population sacrificed to stop the End of Days and another half to return life to the planet, and then another half to summon Hydaelyn... So I think that puts us at 87.5% of the Ascian population, gone. And since we know of no other primals using souls as their source instead of Crystals, there’s a non-zero chance that they’re still cognizant in there. Spooky!

(Side note: how messed up would it be if the crystals we mine are either the remnants of wounds from Zodiark/Hyadaelyn’s clash, or the remains of Ascians?)

In any case, it seems like these souls are now tired of this game, and long to be set free. Whether it’s through the dispersal of their soul back into the aetherial sea, or if it’s through the sacrifice of everything on this star to revive them, is anyone’s guess.

Born in blood, (Still we forge ahead) Stained in red, (Until tomorrow) Bound by blood, (Still we forge ahead) Hunger’s fed, (Until tomorrow) Cull these thieves, (Ever forge ahead) Hand-in-hand, (Until tomorrow) Souls aligned, (Ever forge ahead) Forge ahead, (Still we forge ahead) Forward- !

There’s a lot of anger here, and the Ascian’s hands are stained in blood. I vaguely remember something about a blood oath to restore Zodiark, and with the lyric about ‘Cull these thieves’ and ‘Hunger’s fed’... I’m thinking that Zodiark is powerful enough to start breaking his bounds himself, and is ready to set about restoring the star to their ‘rightful’ stewards.

[Amanda Archen vocals] Our song of hope, she dances on the wind Higher, oh higher 'Ere our boughs/foes endure Everything for better/ever, strong Standing tall in the dark do we carry on

Here we have Hydaelyn again, and she’s still hopeful. Knowing now that this represents Hydaelyn, I am leaning closer to the “boughs” interpretation for that third line. Despite how grim things look Hydaelyn seems confident that we can handle it. And that, at the end, we will come out better and stronger for it.

On wings of hope you rise up through the night, Higher, oh higher, Carrying a song, Made of voices in our hearts, That its chorus might ring for all!

This, she’s speaking to you, the Warrior of Light. You are a bastion of hope, made up of the people you’ve met along the way, and you carry their hopes and dreams with you as you press on. You are at the point where your story has inspired people to travel through time and space to save you, because you gave them something to rally around. You gave them hope for a better tomorrow. And it is that same hope that will carry everyone through the fight ahead.

[Background] One brings shadow, one brings light, Two-toned echoes tumbling through time,

Tumbling down, to! the! end!

This section, the speaker is not Zodiark or Hydaelyn, but the narrator. The speaker is referring to the fact that Zodiark and Hydaelyn are echoes of each other, and that perhaps their time is coming to an end. I think at the end of this expansion, we will see both primals return to the aetherial sea.

[Sam Carter vocals] There’s a step we take, Echoes in our wake, Went and [mount] our best, Forge ahead- !

This takes on an interesting meaning if we continue to take this as Zodiark speaking. Each step taken on this path to resurrection has left something behind. Whether that’s entire shards, the other Ascians, or referring to something else is hard to say. But no matter what, Zodiark is going to continue on this path forward.

Should we lose our way, Tire of our disgrace, We won’t be afraid, Forge ahead- !

Now this part is interesting. For a while I was torn between “disgrace” and “dismay” as the last line of the second lyric, but the idea that it’s Zodiark speaking has me leaning firmly to “disgrace”. As evidenced by Emet-Selch’s attempts to help you as much as he can despite his tempering, I do not think any of the Ascians really want to be doing this. They feel lost, disgraced, and are generally unhappy with how things have gone. But they’ve come too far, waited too long, to stop now. They still have their own people to save, after all.

There is not a place, Nor the time to wait, No it’s not too late, Forge ahead- !

Again, referring to the idea that the time to strike is now. It’s not worth waiting to see if this is really the time and place, the iron is hot! They still have a chance, even with the unsundered Ascians gone!

As we ride again, To another end, Where it all begins, Forge ahead- !

And finally, I believe we’ll be seeing the original site of the battle between Hydaelyn and Zodiark. Time has finally come full circle, and it’s time for these two to finish what was started oh so long ago.

---

Other notable things throughout the song are Zodiark’s propensity to speak in plural, I think referring to the fact that he is made up of so many souls. Just, so many. And I think part of Zodiark’s issue, why he was defeated the first time despite Hydaelyn being significantly weaker (Compare his roughly 75% of the population’s souls to Hydaelyn’s 12.5%) is that the souls are discordant with one another. Hydaelyn has never had a problem referring to only herself, and even here uses plurals to refer to both herself and the WoL. And we don’t know how many of that 75% were sacrificed knowing of the plan to sacrifice the new lifeforms to bring them, the Ascians, back. I can’t imagine many of them were happy about that. But, at this point, I think their will might be over-powered now by those that DO wish to complete the plan, or at the very least, that is the portion of Zodiark speaking in this song most strongly.

[bates--boy]

Peter was just about done with work that day, cleaning the bottles for the infant animals when his phone buzzed in his pockets. He shut the sink off, yanked off the wet rubber gloves, and pulled his device out of his pocket. “Oh!” he chirped, seeing the name of the sender.

         [Naseem] Yo, Pete, it’s Naz. Was wondering if you have plans for lunch today? 

         [Naseem] I wanted us to do some extra rap practice and maybe go over the lines between Troy and Stefan before our big night

          Peter turned to sit back against the lip of the sink, hugging one of his arms across his torso as he typed. 

          [Peter] i have a half-day today so i’m free once i clock out at twelve.

          [Peter] i’d be happy to buy you lunch if you haven’t eaten yet. i know a great place to get a bite to eat.

          [Naseem] Bet. My break’s half past noon. See you at your work?

         [Peter] fine by me! see ya!

          Smiling at the screen before shoving his phone into his pocket, Peter finished cleaning the rest of the bottles, went to the changing area to wiggle out of the waterproof overalls, and then to the employee area to punch out at the time clock and fetch his hoodie and his copy of the stage play from his locker. He looked down at the practically beaten-up book, some pages curled in, corners folded, colorful tabs poking out of the pages: pink for Josef’s spoken lines, blue for Troy’s; green for Josef’s songs, yellow for Troy’s. Slightly crinkled from the times Peter shoved it into his bag to carry at all times, or when he had his quick bursts of sleep while reading over the thing.

          With a quick cleaning at the employee basin, Peter made a brisk walk back to the grounds, heading to the entrance area. He sent a quick message of his location and waited with the play lying open, quietly murmuring Josef’s verses. Soon, the familiar deep blue XC60 rolled onto the lot, with the Nigerian, Palestinian, and Swedish flags painted across the back. Naseem climbed out and waved as he strolled over, a leather messenger bag slung over his shoulder and his copy of the play rolled in his hand. When he drew close enough, Naseem said, “Wow, it’s been a while since I last came here.”

           “Ah, so you probably don’t know about the new aerial arts performance they have here,” Peter grinned as they walked back to the conservatory grounds together. 

         Naseem shrugged. “I have. And I’ve been meaning to come check it out, but, you know. Schedule..”

          “Well, the next time you’re free, come on over! I can even sneak you in for a show!” Peter nudged his shoulder against Naseem.

           “How are you gonna--” Naseem stopped once he saw the coy grin on Peter’s face. “Lemme guess: you’re the star?”

          “One of them.” Peter bobbed his shoulder and looked away in faux modesty. He giggled and patted Naseem’s arm. “Come on, I know a great picnic area we can practice in.”

          Peter and Naseem took the stroll to the benches, dodging giggling little kids darting everywhere to get to the next animal enclosure that caught their eye, and the wandering animals that escaped their habitats, mainly small bird and marsupial species. After Peter bought them both bottled smoothies at one of the snack kiosks, they settled at a table near the wooden fence post, drawing annoyed glances from passersby as they sat on the tabletop instead of the benches.

         “Which scenes do you want to practice today?” Peter asked before pulling a long draught from his bottle. “We can just do a couple so I can treat you to lunch.”

          Naseem skimmed the pages he had marked, going back and forth and shrugging. “Ones that have our characters singing so we can work these vocal cords. Let’s start with...” he consulted his shorthand notes. “Act III, scene 4. So, my character comes up to yours.”

          Naseem clambered down the picnic table, took a few steps away, and stomped back. The chills Peter felt may or may not have to do with the complete switch of energy Naseem made. Even his green eyes flared with fury.

          “Why the hell did you do that to Josef?!”

          Peter sighed as his character did, shifting on the table and leaning forward on his knees. So cool and unaffected, to the point of almost being despondent. Peter still couldn’t figure this Troy out, but he spoke his lines.

          “I didn’t do a thing to him, Stef.”

           Naseem crossed his arms and tilted his head. “Oh, really? So when he said no to that stage deal because ‘his mom’s gonna die alone in their apartment while he’s out singing for pocket change’, that wasn’t you?” Peter had to pause here, as Troy struggled to find an excuse. Naseem threw up his arms. “God, what is wrong with you?! What kind of a friend are you?!”

          “A realistic one.” Peter’s tone remained calm, stoic - a stoner too mellowed out to get worked up.

          Naseem rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. Realistic. Jo finally had what he needed right in his lap, and you couldn’t even be supportive of him because you’re realistic. That’s bull crap, even for you.”

          “You can say whatever you want about me, Stef, but of all these people feeding him these wild dreams --” Peter swept his hand about, gesturing to a figurative crowd while a few eyes turned their way. He pointed to his own chest. “--I’m the only one looking out for him.”

           “No, looking out for him would be helping him with this. He has a chance to get a better life, but you don't want that for him!"

          "I don't--?!" Peter gave a scoffing laughing and rolled his eyes. "You're so far off, it's funny!"

           "Yeah? So all this time you kept telling him to don't do it, it's not because you know you're wasting your own life being some bum mad that you lost your trust fund and you're angry that Josef can make it?"

          "No!" Peter's voice started to boil, Troy's cool, arrogant façade starting to crack and chip. His free hand curled into a shaking fist.

          "Then why? Why are you being such a shitty friend?!"

          Out of the corner of his eye, Peter could see a uniformed figure walking up to them, parents trying to distract their kids from the argument.

          "Because this would break him just like it almost did me!"

          In a blink of an eye, and a sudden flush of heat on his cheeks, Peter was on his feet, too, feeling Troy's despair as he and Naseem were practically nose to nose. For all the anger, the anguish, and the overprotective adrenaline Troy was supposed to feel at that moment, Peter channeled the underlying heartache and exhaustion; he sounded tired.

          "Like it did my sister."

          "Er, excuse me," the uniformed man said when he came close enough, a hand reaching out to them. "Is there a prob--"

          Naseem stared at Peter for a breath. "Your sister?"

          Peter gave a soft, sad laugh. "Oh, that's right, I never told you about Anna, did I?" He silently filled his lungs with air.

You don't know the story of a boy and a girl Mommy pleasers destined to dominate the world

           The worker looked between the two men, casting an especially long glance at the singing one. "...What?"

Born to hold the dreams that Mommy tucked away Cause she got bare footed and pregnant Waiting on her someday

          The worker furrowed his brows. “What is--” he spotted the open scripts in their hands and lowered his own hand. “Oh... okay...”

         Peter felt a tickle of a grin almost appearing on his lips, amusement almost breaking his character. Almost.

Commercial deals, toddlers on every single ad Barely out of diapers, and we’re out there selling fads Taught to walk so we could tap dance and do a twirl And hold our hands out for all the gold, silver, and pearls

Yanked outta school when the lime lights calling us Daddy got you a gig, so you better not fucking fuss! Tuck in your gut, tilt up your chin, chest out and sing You’re gonna make it worth taking this diamond ring

What you do with heavy makeup and cameras flashing? Swallow cotton and pinch our cheeks red to stay dashing Seeing enemies in friends looking for a ladder to climb Trying to bring you to ruin when they find the right time To strike, like vipers on the hunt for your big juicy kill And the only way to stop the cracks is a tiny yellow pill

A tiny yellow pill A tiny yellow pill A handful of tiny yellow pills Until her heart went still

          Naseem slowly started to unfold his arms, his character Stefan hit with a world-shattering realization. “Oh...”

          Peter turned his face away. “Yeah...”

         Naseem shook his head and sighed. “Man, I’m... I’m sorry. But, see, here’s the thing...”

 I had never known you were crushed this hard Ruled by your fears, beaten, tattered, and battle scarred Now that I think it, so much shit start to make sense Is this why a little stage work gets you so incensed?

I hate that for you, all this pain you’ve been burdened Chasing a high and identity that doesn’t leave you hurtin’ But it’s unfair how you hurt Josef with your sister’s ghost Breaking a dream for someone else’s overdose

What does it do for the person on the other spectrum Piss poor, tryna get meds for his ailing, dying mum When even his close friend is robbing him of a dream Cuz he can’t stop himself from falling apart at the seam? Still blinded by phantom lights, suffocating at the gills? What about Josef’s mum little pills?

Her little pills Her life saving pills If she don’t get hers, then her heart will stand still.

          This was the part where Peter is stunned into silence, indignant, hurt, scrambling for more excuses, still trying to cling to the death of his sister -- the crux of Troy’s listlessness and indifference. But then a loud cry rang out around them.

          The crowd of mere picnickers grew during their rehearsal, it seemed, now cheering and clapping and whistling, someone even going “You tell him, baby!”

          Stuttering, Peter looked towards Naseem and exchanged smiles with him. They stood closer together, held hands, and took a bow.

          “Thank you, thank you!” Peter called out, waving to the cell phones held out. “If you want more, purchase tickets for Inner City Lights before they sell out!”

          “Written and produced by Gunnar Didig!” Naseem added, calling out the website to purchase over the hooting and whistling.

[patheticnugbaby]

Fugitive IV

Finally managed to get this done, I’ve been struggling with it for awhile.

I hope you like it.

“Nanin! Claricia!” Their heads snapped up at the sound of the keeper’s voice carrying down the train of aravels.

The two of them shared a nervous glance before scuttling up to the aravel she sat on, staff resting across her knees. The keeper smiled scooting to the edge of her seat and leaning down to speak.

“How go the lessons?” She asked.

Claricia gave Nanin a quick look, then glanced up at the keeper, “Me?”

“Both of you, though if you’d like to go first you may,” Keeper Ellas gave her a conspiratorial grin, large eyes glittering with a kind of playfulness that made her look much younger.

“Nanin has been a good teacher,” Claricia inclined her head a little before raising her bruised arm, “If a little more hands on than I expected.”

The keeper laughed loud enough to startle the halla, the animals tossed their heads nervously before the keeper managed to quiet her laughter, “How do you find your student, Nanin?”

“She learns quickly, Keeper, with time I’m sure she’ll be exceptional,” He smiled a little, tapping his staff on the ground, “will we have Lahalaan craft her a staff?”

“Do you think she needs one so soon, da’len?” The keeper’s ears pricked forward, head cocking a little, like a cat.

“I think that by the time he is finished crafting it for her she will be ready for it, Keeper,” Claricia blinked, narrowing her eyes at him, he sounded confident, though his ears twitched.

“I see,” The keeper nodded, leaning back up against the aravel, “I will consider your suggestion, Nanin, ma serannas.”

“Would it be rude of me to ask what ‘ma serannas’ means?” Claricia asked before she could stop herself, she cleared her throat a little to hide her embarrassment.

“Essentially it means ‘thank you’,” The keeper replied, only a hint of amusement on her face, “much of our language has been lost, but you are elf-blooded, would you like to learn it?”

“Oh! I’d be honored- I mean, if it’s not too much trouble,” Clarcia managed, flexing her fingers nervously.

“It’s no trouble, da’len, we can start when we stop,” The keeper gave her a reassuring smile, “that being said, we won’t stop until tomorrow evening. We plan on traveling through the night. You two should get something to eat and rest.”

“Are you sure, Keeper? I can-”

“Peace, Nanin. We are journeying to Dirthavaren and you will need your strength when we arrive,” The keeper paused, pursing her lips, “As will you, Claricia.”

“Why? What’s Dirthavaren?” She frowned, pressing her lips together in a thin line.

“Humans call it the Exalted Plains, and it has been a place of war and death for centuries, such-”

“Such places attract demons and thin the veil,” Claricia didn’t mean to interrupt, she cleared her throat a little, a blush creeping on her cheeks, “Er, how do I apologize in elven?”

“That would be ‘Ir abelas’ if it was needed, but you don’t need to apologize, da’len. It is good that you know these things,” The keeper replied with a wider smile, still gentle at the edges, “You may be in the most danger, da’len, spirits of the fade always flock to new mages and they will get worse as we near Dirthavaren. Be wary and be in control, both of you.”

She nodded solemnly, trying to ignore the slow seeping of fear in the core of her belly. She couldn’t help but suddenly remember the harsh illustrations in dusty tomes, detailing the hunts of valiant Templars of ages past, triumphant over demons and abominations alike. Now she vividly recalled how they looked, bodies twisted and morphed around the shape of the demon. The many eyes and winding horns of Pride, the heavy, gelatinous fire of Rage, the sharp, piercing legs of Fear corrupting a mage’s body, flesh rent and remade into a grotesque medley of man and spirit. She swallowed hard, nodding again, more firmly this time.

“Now, enough of that,” The keeper’s voice cut through her reverie, Claricia looked up at her, “Go to Filduine, she’ll give you something to eat, Claricia, see Athras for something for your feet. If they don’t hurt now they certainly will later. Nanin, tomorrow I’d like you to continue teaching her, is that acceptable?”

“Yes, Keeper,” Nanin bowed his head, “how long before we reach Dirthavaren?”

“Not tomorrow, though by the evening you should notice a change in the veil, and in your dreams that night, we should enter the Dirth by the day afterward.”

Claricia nodded before she followed Nanin back along the aravels. Her feet had started to ache, especially after the keeper mentioned that they would be.

“It frightens you,” He said simply, not meeting her eyes.

“What?” She frowned a little, hoping to hide the fact that she knew exactly what he meant.

“The idea that from now on, every day of your life, demons will come after you and seek to take your body away. That there are some places which are more dangerous for you simply because of who you are, some paths which normal people may walk with ease will be like walking along a mere thread,” His tone was cool, matter-of-fact, somehow that made it worse.

“Of course it does!” She snapped, baring her teeth, “Aren’t you afraid?”

“Not anymore,” His voice was steady, she felt herself believing him, “I know myself and I know the Beyond. I know that I won’t succumb to a demon’s wishes.”

Claricia scoffed, the fear in her stomach souring into something like anger, “Well you have the advantage of years of training. I don’t.”

“Something Clan Nathari is generously trying to fix,” He spat, a spark of anger flashing in his eyes, or maybe it was the moonlight, “The more afraid you are the easier prey you make. Do what you must but you cannot fear them, that is a weakness and if you’re going to live anything like a long life you cannot be weak.”

“Then teach me to be strong. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?” She snarled, feeling the easy hum in her veins, roughly, she yanked it back into her control.

“Tell me, did you earn the strength of your body inside of a few days? Did you learn to swing a sword or use a shield after one lesson? I cannot teach you to be strong enough on your own inside of a few days!” He’d started waving his hands in wide arcs again, lips pulled back in a feline snarl.

“Then what should I do? Lie down and wait?” She rounded on him, blocking his path, ignoring the attention she was drawing from the elves, “To the Void with that! I’ll never give into a demon.”

His lips quirked into a smirk, something devious flashing in his copper eyes, “Good.”

Claricia balked, shock temporarily cooling her rage before it flared anew, “You bastard,” she hissed and shoved him, he stepped back a little, still grinning, “Fuck you.”

She stormed off, magic crackled off of her in prickly heat that shimmered. With a little effort, she reigned it in, boarding the aravel she woke up in without stopping to grab something to eat. Once inside she paced, hands balled into fists, jaw clenched as she ground her teeth. He manipulated her and it was easy. She snarled, throwing a punch into the empty air. She desperately wanted to feel something give under the strength of her fist. Nanin’s stupid smirk preferably.

She shook her hands out, willing some of the stiffness from them. It didn’t work. She wanted to clench them again, to hit something and feel the satisfying sound of delicate bones cracking under her fist, more than making up for the pain in her hand. Claricia shook her head, forcing herself to stop pacing, forcing her hands open at her sides. She closed her eyes, taking a long, slow breath through her nose. She still trembled under her skin, she held that breath before slowly letting it out.

“O Creator, see me kneel: For I walk only where You would bid me,” The words sounded bitter, angry in her mouth; she took another breath to steady herself, fingers twitching, “Stand only in places You have blessed. Sing only the words You place in my throat.”

Claricia allowed herself to breathe again, feeling the hard edges of her anger fade a little, replaced with the soft warmth of faith that warmed and pained her heart.

“My Maker, know my heart: Take from me a life of sorrow. Lift me from a world of pain. Judge me worthy of Your endless pride,” The verses sounded smoother now, spoken with the proper reverence, she cast her eyes to her bedroll which suddenly looked all too inviting, “My Creator, judge me whole: Find me well within Your grace. Touch me with fire that I be cleansed. Tell me I have sung to Your approval.”

She paused in her recitations to undress, putting on the large, baggy shirt to cover herself before she crawled into the bedroll, closing her eyes.

“O Maker, hear my cry: Seat me by Your side in death. Make me one within Your glory. And let the world once more see Your favor,” She more mouthed the words than spoke them but they still soothed her, the angry tangle in her chest loosened, it wasn’t gone, but it wasn’t so sharp as it was before, “For You are the fire at the heart of the world, and comfort is only Yours to give.”

It didn’t take her long to drift off, tired as she was. She barely remembered even falling asleep...

She felt... Awake, aware. Claricia cast her eyes about, finding herself in the chantry, the vague shapes of sisters and Templars moving just out of the corner of her eyes. She touched her chest, finding it covered with gleaming armor, the armor of the Templars. She smiled, warmth blooming in her chest.

She made it.

Ser Ardouin approached her, a smile on his worn face, “Claricia, how do you fare?”

“Well, Ser Knight,” She gave him an eager grin, “Ready.”

Something in the back of her mind asked her what exactly she was ready for but she dismissed it. It didn’t matter. She was home and they would not betray her.

“That’s a shame,” Something curled his lips, the grin of a snake before it eats, “because you are not worthy.”

She felt like something pierced her chest. She looked down, finding that her armor had suddenly lost all its shine, dull and cracked, faint light leaking from it. She passed her hand over the breastplate.

“No...” She blinked the tears from her eyes before she drew herself up, “I am more than worthy. I will be a Templar.”

“No, you won’t,” Ardouin’s smile curled into a syrupy mockery of comfort, metal-clothed hand resting on her shoulder, “The Maker has cursed you, denied you the honor of joining the Order, you are a mage and an elf-blooded mongrel that your parents left on our doorstep,” his voice hissed, each traitorous word planting a deep-seated cold in her heart that hurt, “Try, try, and try, Claricia, you cannot ever be good enough to outlive the fact that your parents hated you enough to dump you in a tiny chantry on this frozen mountain, that on the day of your Vigil, the day you finally knew you were worth something, you’re suddenly a mage, an apostate, a traitor.”

Ser Ardouin circled her, his voice a vicious mockery of comfort.

“The Templars don’t want you, the Maker has cursed you, your parents didn’t want you. Did they know? When you were born did your mother look into your stupid, wailing face and know that something was wrong with you? Did they drop you at a chantry in the vain hope that the faithful could fix your wrongness?”

Claricia trembled, razor needles piercing her chest, her lungs. Every hole they left seemed to grow in her, leaving nothing but cold emptiness. She sobbed and sank to her knees, arms wrapped tightly around her stomach like if she squeezed hard enough she could put herself back together.

“No,” She whispered, more a plea than a rebuke.

“No?” Ser Ardouin tilted his head, raising his eyebrows, “Do you not think that the day you were born the Maker spat on you, a mewling babe, never worthy of love?” He crouched down to her level, face compassionate yet twisted, “If not the Maker’s doing, then why are you so alone? Why have you never been loved? Not by your peers, your mentors, not even by your parents. If it’s not the Maker, then it must just be you, Claricia,” a hand firmly gripped her chin, tilting her head to look him in the eye, “You are what’s wrong.”

She woke with a gasp, shivering. Her skin almost ached with how cold she felt. She threw the blankets away, frantically rubbing her arms as she hurried to dress. Her eyes ached, her head pounded. She felt a crust at the corners of her eyes and she wiped it away with a grimace. Dimly, she was aware of her stomach rumbled, yet she didn’t want to eat. Claricia sighed, wrapping her arms tightly around herself as she shuffled out of the aravel, hopping out and closing the door quickly. Pain shot through her legs as her feet hit the ground and she hissed, hobbling back along the aravels to see if she could find Athras.

The sun had scarcely begun to light the sky, not even streaks of gray on the eastern horizon yet, just the slightest lighting at the edge of the sky. She frowned, scratching irritably at an itch on the back of her head. She spotted his wispy white hair and shuffled around the aravel, gritting her teeth against the deep hurt that made the bones of her feet feel like thick, cracking ice.

“Ser Halen?” She asked her voice heavy with sleep.

He turned to face her, a smile deepening the wrinkles on his face, “Da’len, you’re awake early.”

“Couldn’t sleep. Not used to the aravels yet,” She tried not to grumble but didn’t succeed, she yawned, the ache behind her eyes intensified, “Keeper Ellas said I should come to you if my feet troubled me.”

“Ah, yes,” He nodded a little, mostly to himself before he clambered up onto the aravel seat more nimbly than she thought he could move; he gestured for her to climb up, patting the seat next to him, “come up, da’len.”

Claricia grimaced before she managed to haul herself up on the aravel, her shoulders ached, like she slept on them wrong. She grumbled under her breath as she took a seat next to him.

“May I see your feet?” He asked, large, knobbly hands outstretched.

She nodded and swung one of her legs up for examination. He tugged the wraps away from her foot, baring angry blisters. He clicked his tongue softly and opened the clay jar, the air suddenly filled with a sharp, medicinal scent that made her wrinkle her nose. Carefully, he dabbed a little bit of the paste on the bottom of her foot. When his fingers touched a blister she hissed but held still. He finished quickly and bandaged her foot tightly, but not too tightly with thick strips of cloth. He did the same with her other foot, letting her tug the leggings back down over her heels.

“Ma serannas,” She didn’t quite mumble, blushing softly at the twitch of surprise on his face, “how often do I need to change the bandages?”

“Take them off before bed, da’len, fresh ones in the morning. Just see me when you wake, I do not sleep much, I’ll be awake,” He smiled, then gestured towards the front of the aravel, “Hahren Belavhan retired but Thalia should have something for you to eat. You went to sleep without food last night, are you alright?”

Claricia gave him a sharp nod, “Was just tired.”

He didn’t look convinced but he didn’t push, turning to put away the salve. She hopped off the aravel, pleased to find that the ache in her feet was nearly gone, only lingering in the joints of her toes. She jogged a little further up the aravel, ignoring the open glares from some of the elves that she passed. Her temples throbbed with a dull pain that seemed to leak from her eyes. Thalia turned to greet her as she approached, slinging her bag off her shoulder and pulling out a few strips of dried, smoked meat and a small hunk of cheese.

“What happened with Nanin yesterday?” Claricia glowered, pointedly taking a bite of the tough meat, “Nanin has only said that he provoked you and that he will attempt not to do so again.”

She snorted, “He did. He needed a result from me and had to poke me to get it. I don’t like it but I’m more angry at me than him now.”

“Why?”

“Because I let him manipulate me and it was easy for him,” Claricia grumbled rolling a shoulder to work some of the stiffness out, “I’ve always had a bit of a short temper, I’m sorry for disturbing the clan.”

To her surprise, Thalia laughed, loud enough to make the halla flinch. Claricia clicked her tongue on the back of her teeth with a little frown.

“What’s so funny?”

“You are, da’len,” Thalia chuckled, clapping her on the back, “such things happen, especially when you’re young. The only one who was ‘disturbed’ was Manhen because he bet me a lovely pair of gloves that you’d punch Nanin,” Thalia showed her the gloves, dark, supple leather, lined with what looked like fennec fur.

Claricia felt a little smile tugging at her lips through a headache, “He can be difficult but I understand. I don’t learn well enough, fast enough I will die, or worse. I could hurt people.”

“That can be said of anyone learning to swing a sword, or shoot a bow,” Thalia waved a hand dismissively, “if you never had the gift you would still be in that danger every day. The only thing which changes is where that danger comes from.”

“Maybe,” Claricia shrugged noncommittally, stifling a yawn, “is the Keeper awake?”

“She is. Shortly after you retired for the evening she and Isenama had a fight, not sure what about,” Thalia shrugged, “Isenama’s taken most of the hunters to replenish our supplies, they’ll catch up with us by the evening.”

“Ma serranas,” Claricia bowed her head a little and shuffled ahead, catching up to the keeper’s aravel, “Good morning, Keeper Ellas.”

The keeper gave her a tired smile and patted the wooden seat of the aravel, “Good morning, da’len, how were your dreams?”

Claricia grimaced, tearing off a chunk of the cheese, “Not good. Don’t remember much.”

“Be careful, da’len,” The keeper warned with a tight frown, “until you are stronger trust nothing in the Beyond. Assume anything you see is a trick or a lure.”

Claricia nodded tightly, “Thank you, Keeper.”

A warm arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her into a gentle hug that made her chest ache, “I know it’s hard, da’len, you’re doing very well, especially considering what you’ve been through. I cannot promise that it’ll get any easier for you but I am here, even if you just need to talk.”

Claricia swallowed the tightness in her throat, blinking rapidly as she disentangled herself from the keeper, clearing her throat like it’d relieve the hollow pain nestled in the center of her chest. She wanted desperately to let the keeper comfort her, just for a little while.

You are not worthy... You are what’s wrong.

She took a deep breath and shoved those thoughts away, straightening her back and flexing her jaw, “Thank you, Keeper Ellas, but I’m alright.”

The keeper’s eyes creased, with worry or disbelief she wasn’t sure, “Ma nuvenin, da’len. Today I’d like you and Nanin to continue your lessons, don’t be afraid to bite back if he provokes you, that’s the only way he’ll learn, just expect the same treatment in turn.”

“I’ll keep my temper, Keeper,” Claricia smiled a little, finishing the last couple of bites of dried meat, “what should I do until he wakes?”

“Sit with me, enjoy the sunrise, ask me whatever you wish, da’len. You’ve woken early enough to enjoy a brief respite,” The keeper smiled a warmer smile, leaning her back against the aravel.

“I don’t think I have any questions at the moment, Keeper. Could I just share your company?” Claricia flexed her fingers nervously, tongue tapping on the back of her teeth.

“Of course, da’len, at least until Nanin finds you.”

Claricia giggled a little, leaning back against the aravel, raising a hand to shield her eyes against the light of the rising sun that peeked through the trees. The sun gleamed a brilliant orange, gold and pink staining the sky before it faded to dapples of clear blue, what little she could see through the heavy boughs of the fir trees. Her head still ached and the light made her eyes feel like they were burning but it was beautiful anyways.

[mediumalto]

Best Dear Evan Hansen Moments

This is a list I’m still working on but here’s what I have so far, from what I remember when I saw it and from the cast album. 

When he dropped his cards during his speech and he just sat there on the stage and it was DEAD silent

In words fail when he’s singing that mini reprise of WTAW and he sings “worst” in the most heart-tearing way possible, you can hear his own self-hatred in his voice

All of sincerely me

How he sang in like 3 different octaves in for forever

When CONNOR PUSHES EVAN DOWN AND THEN WAVING THROUGH A WINDOW PIANO STARTS AND YOURE LIKE OH

When Evan spins around in WTAW and the lights turn on and they’re facing away from him

The dialogue in between verses of WTAW

All the foreshadowing in for forever that when you look back on breaks your heart

Having mike faist sing sincerely me

The dancing in sincerely me, including will roland in it

Ben Platt was even better singing live than in recordings

Literally the projections especially of Evan’s letter like ??? what an idea

Jared is literally hilarious and a very realistic teenager

The fact that the story was so realistic, like how Jared said that it sounds like they’re lovers which is exactly what teenagers would think of that, or just how brutally honest Jared was

The jazz band jazz thing – I feel like that’s the kind of thing I would stumble and say to my crush

“The only man that I love is my dad”

Hearing the orchestrations of waving through a window live

“Did you fall? Or did you let go?”

The ending wasn’t really resolved and in a way that’s how it was resolved. I’m so glad things were still a little strange between him and Zoe but they accepted each other as well

Evan telling Zoe he could get her a discount at Pottery Barn

“I don’t need you to sell me on reasons to want you”

“Try to quiet the noises in your head – we can’t compete with all that”

“I never thought there’d be someone like you who would want me. So I give you ten thousand reasons to not let me go”

Laura Dreyfuss’s smooth voice

Can we talk about the costumes?? Connor’s jacket and his nail polish and his skinny jeans, all of Zoe’s outfits and her backpack and the way she walked and carried herself, Evan’s pants and shoes

Addressing how the Murphys are rich and that they don’t really understand and whatever that line was about Cynthia getting bored as a rich mom and changing her interests or something?

How the Murphys had a family song, what a great idea, how they all felt about it differently but they’re sharing this tragedy

“Or girls we wish would notice us but never do” the little look at Zoe, the look down and the cough

Evan noticing things about Zoe in jazz band, seriously it’s so beautiful to watch someone you love playing music

Evan imagining that Connor comes and gets him and takes him to the hospital

On that note, Evan to Heidi “who do you think took me to the hospital?” getting mad that Heidi wasn’t the one…. IT’S NOT HER FAULT

The final set in the apple orchard

The inspirational video of Evan was him standing in front of a mustard yellow-type curtain in an auditorium I was like THIS IS SO ACCURATE for high school

The melody of: “But he kept it all inside his head”

Ben Platt literally sobbing and sniffling in Words Fail with very real tears and snot and spit like TOTAL DEDICATION and emotional investment

“I’m sorry I’m not enough”

At the end of Waving Through A Window when the backup voices cut out and Ben sings the final “whoa”

“You can reach, reach out your hand. And oh, someone will come running” WHY

The first chorus of You Will Be Found just the piano and silence and him singing. So gentle

Whenever Will Roland gets to sing alone

In You Will Be Found they’re in a circle around Evan with the spots on them but this time they’re facing him

Laura’s solo in You Will Be Found and then everyone coming in in harmony right after

RACHEL BAY JONES SINGING IN ANGER AND GRIEF AND CRYING AND I CAN’T

When Connor starts singing the beginning of For Forever near the end

Connor singing Disappear to Evan and him believing it and singing along with him and getting some hope? And I know this thought takes the form of Connor but it’s really a part of Evan that’s telling himself this. And by the end of the show you see how much he really doesn’t like himself but in this scene I have this hope where he truly doesn’t believe he deserves to be forgotten

The piano in If I Could Tell Her

Ben’s falsetto on that long sustained “I love youuuu” in If I Could Tell Her

“Heee thought you looked really pretty – er – it looked pretty cooool”

The melody on “but what do you do (when there’s this great divide)”

The orchestrations (especially the strings) of Waving Through A Window

When the scene is building up and you know Evan’s going to tell them the truth and YOURE LIKE I CAN’T WATCH I CAN’T LISTEN I CAN’T LOOK AT BEN PLATT ACTING LIKE THIS. Like listening again is LITERALLY painful

Falsetto “woooords fail”

HOooooooow in the world does Ben Platt do the song Words Fail EIGHT TIMES A WEEK

“And you want to believe it’s true, so you make it true. And you think maybe everybody wants it – needs it – a little, too”

“’Cause then I don’t have to look at it, and no one gets to look at it”

The smooth transition from Words Fail into a Waving Through A Window reprise

The short For Forever reprise at the very end

I cannot emphasize enough how much I love the melody of For Forever

The fact that Ben sings the first chorus of “For Forever” with falsetto, then the next chorus in full voice, then another time the octave down (in a different key?)

All of Ben’s hand movements and fidgeting and playing with his sweater or his shirt

The set for the final scene

The scoop in harmony in “miss you dearly”

Mike Faist really going all out in sincerely me

“And oh, someone will come running. And I know they’ll take you home”

“Have you ever felt like you could fall and no one would hear”

The last note of the show is (in solfege) “fa”, making it sound unfinished – but not in an unsatisfactory way. I think it makes it seem hopeful and like there will be things coming next and we don’t know what they are yet but we’re getting better at facing them

“Your mom isn’t going anywhere, your mom is staying right here. No matter what”

Rachel Bay Jones’s rocking emotional voice on Good For You

How the last “disappear” of the phrases are in unison

“Kinky!”

Anybody Have A Map? is literally so so great, it’s so catchy, it’s the beginning which sets us up for knowing that the parents are an important part of this show, and not to overlook how they feel. Heidi was the character I felt the most related to my life (not necessarily in myself) and she was so important and from the moment she started singing I was on board with this

“Goodbye, goodbye, now it’s just me and my little guy”

Laura Dreyfuss’s voice when she switches into singing a bit higher – the switch is so seamless and she does it with such grace and elegance. In Only Us, Requiem, all of that

The “oh”s at the end of Requiem

“No no I don’t really care anyway—“ “No no he said so many things I’m just I’m trying to remember the best ones”

WILL FUCKING ROLAND IN SINCERELY ME

The beautiful harmonies in the finale

The harmonies at the end of Sincerely, Me

“Dear Evan Hansen, today is going to be a good day, and here’s why: because today at least you’re you, and that’s enough”

I mean all of the sets with the blue windows/light coming through

Literally all the use of lighting like the squares that they stand in and the projections

“one of my closets acquaintances”

Every single lyric of Words Fail

[sharionpage]

My Faith Crisis: What was Helpful? What was Hurtful?

The following is adapted from a talk prepared for a Stake Conference meeting two years ago in the United States. It was delivered by one of my good friends who was generous to share her experience (names and other personal information have been changed). While my friend’s story has somewhat of a “happy ending,” it is important to remember that not all stories will result in a return to activity in the church. In cases like this, it is even more vital that friends and family do everything they can to apply the “medicine” that my friend so vulnerably describes below and especially for the motivations that she describes. (Further excellent resources are linked to at the end.) We Mormons should also consider that the way we traditionally define “happy endings” is not necessarily the same way that our own religious tradition does, and that if we take Jesus at his word, we will all have “happy endings.” 

…

Three-and-a-half years ago on New Year’s Eve, my husband Daniel and I were in the car, rushing our three-year-old son Joshua to the Emergency Room. We were at a friend’s house that night where he had unknowingly eaten a peanut and was having an anaphylactic reaction. As I was cradling him in my arms in the back of the car while my husband drove, I was literally watching his throat close and hearing him wheeze to death. Through tears both Daniel and I called out to Heavenly Father. We begged him to spare our son’s life. Although still frightened and unsure that we would make it to the hospital in time, we did feel God’s presence so strongly. Heaven felt so close it was almost as if the roof of the car was not there. Despite the craziness, as we were in route to the hospital, I felt prompted to call the ER and tell them we were on our way. I was able to give all our personal information, as well as the details of the situation, so that when we drove into the valet parking and ran out of the car with Joshua, whose eyes were now swollen shut and was close to being unresponsive, there was a nurse waiting for us who wheeled me back with Joshua in my arms to a room waiting with an entire crew of medical staff. Joshua was taken from my arms and in the good care of these physicians, nurses and medical assistants he received everything he needed to become well again.

This was a traumatic event for our family, and it changed the way we viewed and handled life. For example, we now carry an epipen with us at all times, and send it with Joshua wherever he goes. When we show up to a social gathering or ward activity, the first thing we do is scan the food and dessert table for potential threats. We have done a lot of work to help Joshua know what is a safe food and what is not. We have made several trips to the gas station to look at the candy and find the ones that have peanut butter. We have taught his older siblings to read food labels and to help look out for him as well. I now have a completely new understanding and empathy for families that deal with food allergies.

I am going to liken this story about my son Joshua to having a crisis of faith, or a “faith crisis.” A good definition for the term “faith crisis” is: “a term commonly applied, especially in Western culture, to periods of intense doubt and internal conflict about one’s preconceived beliefs or life decisions.” Two years ago I came upon some shocking and disturbing (at least to me) aspects of church history. Upon my discovery of these things, I had what you could call an “anaphylactic reaction.” Over the course of several months, I became unsure of my ability and desire to stay in the church because of the things I had learned about. In my mind, the historical facts didn’t add up to truth. My mind became filled with so much doubt, I thought about it every day, and I wasn’t sure how to fix it. Just as we cried out to Heavenly Father while driving to the hospital with Joshua, I prayed to Heavenly Father regularly and was completely honest with Him about how I was feeling about everything. Although still unsettled, I felt God’s love for me. He had his arms wrapped around me during this time, and I always felt that I was His daughter.

Although I had God’s love and presence in my life, I needed people. Just as Joshua needed medical professionals to put leads on his chest, hook him up to an IV drip, check his vitals, administer epinephrine and even give him a sticker at the end of the ordeal, I needed people who could help me through this difficult time in my life.

One mistake that I made was keeping my feelings, doubts and overall trauma to myself, with the exception of my saintly husband. I was scared to talk openly about this at church. I was afraid to confide in anybody. How could I, somebody who had once been able to stand and profess such absolute truth, now admit that I wasn’t sure if the Church was true anymore? So I kept it inside and although I showed up to church each Sunday, I was falling apart beneath the surface. Finally, after eight months of suffering in silence, I couldn’t handle it any longer and started to open up a bit about what I was thinking and struggling with. As you can imagine, I received a wide variety of reactions from people, some helpful and some hurtful, and even a few I would categorize as harmful. Here are some of the comments and reactions that were less than helpful:

“You’ve lost your faith.”

“What have you done to lose the Spirit?”

“Everything you’ve read is anti-Mormon material.”

“I feel badly for your kids and husband.”

“You don’t need to refer to this as a crisis.”

“You’re dark.”

“You’re status has fallen in the ward, you used to be on a pedestal, and now….”

“Do you feel the need to be angry?”

“You’re too smart, and if you’re not careful, you will intellectualize yourself right out of the Church.”

“It would be better for you to have broken the law of chastity than to have these doubts.”

And all conversations or interactions that had a hidden agenda, or people who actively distanced themselves for whatever reason.

All of these statements/actions were hurtful, and did nothing but push me further away and make me feel even less of a desire to remain in the church body. To get back to our medical analogy: this was not the right kind of medicine.

I have asked myself many times why would people react this way? Why do we sound the alarm, jump to conclusions or judgement so quickly, and become so defensive when people raise questions, concerns or doubts? Although perhaps well-intended by the speaker, these statements are hurtful every single time. They are also, at least in my case, untrue. I have come to the conclusion that often times, statements like these are based in fear. We fear that somebody who leaves the church won’t be happy anymore. Maybe we fear that they will make wrong choices. Do we fear that they won’t make it to the Celestial kingdom? It could just be that we fear the unknown, and that we have labeled things as anti-Mormon to prevent ourselves from facing hard facts.  Or we tell ourselves that somebody is just lacking faith, or has sinned and lost the Spirit and that must be the reason they are questioning or uncertain.

What do the scriptures say about fear? 1 John 4:18 “perfect love casteth out fear.” What is a “perfect love?” When I think of a “perfect love” I think of Christ’s love: charity. In 1 Corinthians chapter 13, Paul teaches about charity in verses 1-8 and again in verse 13.

1 Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.

2 And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing.

3 And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.

4 Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up,

5 Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil;

6 Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth;

7 Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.

8 Charity never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away.

13 And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.

Brothers and Sisters, according to this passage of scripture, charity, or the pure love of Christ, is even more important than our own faith and hope. This is a bold statement. How many of us are striving for that kind of charity? How important is it to you? As Paul says, it is even greater than faith and hope.

I have definitely been the recipient of great acts of charity, and while some of the responses received were hurtful, many more were helpful. Here are some responses and reactions that were very helpful:

“It’s okay.”

“I understand.”

“You’re normal now, most people have questions and doubts.”

“It’s a choice to believe.”

“You belong here.”

“It’s okay if you don’t know the church is true.”

A set of visiting teachers who truly befriended me. Who came every month and sometimes let me express my anger and frustration. Who never tried to change my mind or convince me to stay in the church. Who listened and loved and sometimes didn’t say anything at all. Who created a safe place for me to be me. Who cried with me, instead of for me.

A few sisters in my ward, who like my VTers, accepted me for who I was. Who weren’t afraid to talk with me about difficult issues. Who didn’t treat me like I was a project or a problem to be solved. Who didn’t judge, but rather supported and validated. Who told me I was a good person, no matter what church I went to or what my beliefs were. Who bore my burdens, and believed in me.

An elderly brother in our ward who, upon hearing of my struggle with faith, simply said with tears in his eyes, “I’ve been there too.”

A RS sister who finds me after every lesson I teach and whispers in my ear “You’re a spiritual giant.” (I know she is stretching the truth here, but it sure makes me feel good.)

A husband who has held me while I wept, picked me up when I have fallen, loved me fiercely through all my doubts/questions/concerns and heartaches. Who has been more patient and loving than I thought was humanly possible. Who has counseled me and listened to me endlessly. I can’t tell you of the late and long nights spent processing. Truly a loyal companion.

These kinds of responses are the right medicine. And when given the right medicine, chances are that people will heal.

This is not to say that I am the same as I was before. I didn’t magically go back to believing everything and having everything work out perfectly as it had seemed to before. Faith didn’t suddenly become easy for me. On occasion, it can be pretty hard for me still. Hope has become an important concept in my life and a common word in my vocabulary. Belief has become a choice. Even when people heal, they usually have scars of some sort. Just as my son Joshua’s life changed forever after learning what a serious allergy he had to peanuts, my life has changed forever as well. There are some “peanuts” for me at church now. I have a few things on the shelf, a few topics that I simply avoid or just try to be okay not thinking about too much. However, just as a child with allergies can learn to cope in life, so can somebody who has questions with faith. It might take a little more vigilance, but it can be done.

Because there were people in my life who truly cared about me and loved me with the pure love of Christ, I was able to find a place again in the Church.  Because I chose to stay, I began to see and recognize things that have happened in my life that I can’t deny. The feelings that I had at my baptism, my patriarchal blessing, and a Priesthood blessing given to me about seven years ago by my husband that resulted in a miracle are things that I have not been able to explain away. These three experiences with the priesthood have, at times, been my only link to belief. I am hopeful that more witnesses will come with time, but if not, I believe and understand enough to keep on going forward. I can choose to believe and hold on to the good parts of the gospel and of this Church.

Let us have the courage to exercise charity, the pure love of Christ. It is so important to our Father in Heaven and the Lord. Let us be kind, let us suffer long, and let us create a safe place for people to be. A safe place for people who have differences of opinion, differences in their struggles, differences even in their faith. Let us be more like our Savior. Just as the scripture says, “Charity never faileth,” and I can testify that it won’t.

  Other excellent resources include:

So, you want to help someone going through a faith crisis… by Uncorrelated Mormon

What to say to a friend who is leaving the Church by Jeff Swift

25 Things NOT to Say to a Loved One Leaving the Church (& what to say instead) by Julie de Azevedo Hanks

What To Do If Someone You Know Is Going Through A Faith Crisis by Boyd Peterson

Planted: Belief and Belonging in an Age of Doubt by Patrick Mason

Surviving a Faith Crisis (and How Church Members Can Help) by Patrick Mason

What Stage is Your Faith? by Dr. Greg

Gospel Topics Essays (Most LDS church members haven’t actually read these, or even know they exist. Before engaging in discussions with loved ones who struggle with hard issues, consider reading each of these essays carefully and thinking about their implications.)

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