“Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need.” Hebrews 4:16

Letting go is a recurring theme in my journey of health and happiness.  I check in with myself when I’m struggling or anxious and find out what I’m trying to hold that needs to go. Like change, letting go is a constant throughout our lives.  Unfortunately it’s not my strong suit.  Actually, I’m really good at letting go of “stuff.”  I can fill the trunk of my car with donations to the thrift store every single week, but when it comes to relationships and emotional letting go, I struggle.  I want to hold on tightly, even though it hurts, because it also hurts to let go.

After my divorce, I studied and searched for ways to heal and move ahead in my life.  One course I took had a section on “letting go.”  The rest of the work for the course was difficult, requiring introspection and journaling, revisiting painful subjects, but I did all that work steadily until I came to that section. Screeching halt. I was stuck.  I married my husband in a temple of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, where I believe marriages are sealed for eternity, if we keep our covenants. The scriptures tell us, as husband and wife, to cleave to one another and become one.  If we’re sealed, and become one, when we divorce, we sever off part of ourselves.  I couldn’t figure out how to let go of that part of myself.

I also struggled with an enormous feeling of failure. When a marriage ends, there is shared responsibility. No matter who did what, the family is shattered.  Everyone hurts. The effects are heart-wrenching and long-reaching; I agonized over the impact on my children and their children, down through the generations.   As the mom, I’d always taken care of the kids, shared their sorrows, and mended their wounds. I wanted desperately to fix all that was wrong, protect them from the hurt, but I was forced to accept my powerlessness. It wasn’t my job to fix the situation or heal their pain. I had to trust the Savior, the Great Physician, to do that. I had to accept His Grace was enough. Relying on that, I learned how to be a support on the sidelines, carrying their burdens with them, not for them, and allowing them to do the same for me.

“When tragedies overtake us, when life hurts so much we can’t breathe, when we’ve taken a beating like the man on the road to Jericho and been left for dead, Jesus comes along and pours oil into our wounds, lifts us tenderly up, takes us to an inn, looks after us. To those of us in grief, He says, ‘I will … ease the burdens which are put upon your shoulders, that even you cannot feel them upon your backs, … that ye may know of a surety that I, the Lord God, do visit my people in their afflictions.’ Christ heals wounds.”  Sharon Eubank

Letting go is arduous and ongoing. For some reason, I keep picking up the things I’ve preciously let go. Worry changes nothing. Holding onto guilt changes nothing. Feeling responsible for circumstances or others’ actions changes nothing. It’s all unproductive, energy consuming, and detrimental to my peace of mind.  When my concerns about one of my children, myself, my mom, anyone I love, overwhelm me with fear, I remind myself, over and over, I can trust the Lord; His Grace is sufficient. No matter what happens, He has it covered.  I won’t be alone, they won’t be alone, it will be okay.  It has taken me many years to understand that letting go is a matter of releasing the illusion of control and wholeheartedly relinquishing my will, regardless of the outcome, to the loving omnipotence of my Heavenly Father, trusting He will make it all good.

“How many of us, at times, try to resolve life’s challenges ourselves, without seeking the intervention of the Lord in our lives? We try to carry the burden alone…

“I bear witness that if we will seek the grace of God, He will come to our aid and the aid of our loved ones in times of need. Let us obey the Lord in all things and offer to Him the ultimate sacrifice of ‘a broken heart and a contrite spirit.’” Gene R. Cook

The following words are the result of that exercise on letting go, which I was finally able to work through.

I’m letting go of my belief that I can fix anything or anyone.  I’m freeing myself of the burden by giving it all to Jesus.  I trust Him.  Nothing is unfixable to Him.  I’m letting go, thankful that I’m not in charge of saving myself or anyone else.  I’m letting go of my belief that I can control anything except my own choices and actions, and willingly, happily, give all the rest to my Savior.  I’m humbled and grateful to know that He holds everyone and everything in His loving and capable hands. I know He walks beside me as I make mistakes, learn, and grow.  I don’t have to be perfect yet. 

I’m letting go—freeing myself to bravely embrace a life led by the Spirit and full of hope and joy because of my Heavenly Father’s plan and my Savior’s atonement. 

I’m letting go and accepting Grace.

Spring time.  Conference time. Easter time. I love it all.  It amazes me how blessed we are with the knowledge of our Savior, Jesus Christ, and the Plan of Happiness our Father designed for us.  It’s part of the good news of the gospel that we have a living prophet on the earth today who teaches us and tells us what the Lord wants us to know.  We have ancient prophets’ words in the scriptures and latter-day prophets to help us navigate our current crazy, scary world.  It’s a singular blessing of being a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.

For me, watching General Conference is like paying tithing, in that the Lord opens the windows of Heaven and pours out blessings, that there is not room enough to receive it. The information and inspiration poured out in one weekend, may overflow our cup and overwhelm us. When I feel that way, I try to welcome the flood, capture all I can, and then slowly and thoughtfully, drink it in over the next few months, going over it again and again, reading, discussing, praying, and applying the messages.  

The year after my divorce, I came to Conference seeking help, healing, and wisdom.  Many messages seemed just for me. Later, I used my notes to compose this pledge for myself.  I read it often and it continues to be a strength and a guide for me.

I am not a victim, but a woman of faith.  I choose to repent of my mistakes, weaknesses, and sins, forgive those who have harmed me, and allow the Savior’s atonement to heal me and my loved ones so that we can be whole.

Today, and the rest of my life, I will keep my focus on Jesus, seeking and embracing joy amidst the sorrows, which I will endeavor to learn from, so that I may be more like my Savior.  I know I don’t walk alone.

I will share with others what I’ve learned from my experiences.  I will open my heart and cherish the wonderful relationships I’ve been blessed with and be grateful for countless blessings from my Heavenly Father.  I will pray more earnestly and sincerely, on my knees, to be blessed with the spiritual gifts I need, and to be taught and led by the Holy Ghost.  I will ask to feel Him more in my life, with a commitment to do what I feel inspired to do.  I will seek God’s will above my own and give my heart more fully to His will for me, trusting Him rather than “wrestling” with Him.

I will remember, especially during difficult times, that steady and sustained progress is enough, and that I can do this—with my Savior’s grace.  In gratitude for the precious gifts of the gospel He has given me, I will love and share and always press on, because God needs brave daughters.

For General Conference, I try to be as prepared as possible to receive what I need to know. I’m at a stage in life where I can attend the temple, take time to ponder what I need help with, and sit and quietly listen to the speakers.  It’s new, and wonderful, but the times of Conference with my big family surrounding me, are treasured memories, happily softened around the edges by time.  Here’s a glimpse, from the past, of my busy mom version of Conference preparation:

1. Monday—Before Family Night, spend the afternoon cutting out tiny pictures of all the Apostles and First Presidency. Realize it’s getting late and think (for an hour) about what really quick thing I could make for dinner. Listen to hungry, grumpy children while I crank out grilled cheese sandwiches. Play the apostles game while the kids whine, “How many more do we have to do,” and “What’s the treat?”
2. Tuesday—Conference tradition: Drag out all nine 72-hour kit backpacks and place them in the family room. Take out the old food items (what’s left after the kids have stolen the granola bars) and make a grocery list of items to replenish. Inventory the rest of the pack for missing socks, mittens, toilet paper, and Band-Aids used in other emergencies.
3. Wednesday—Add to the grocery list items needed to make fun food for Conference days; so the kids will think of it as a special weekend. Absolutely do not forget cheese balls and beef jerky! Also be sure to include treats—they help the kids concentrate and sit quietly. Count to ten before asking the kids to stop taking everything out of the 72-hour kits and blowing the whistles. Attempt to reroll the TP.
4. Thursday—Spend hours scouring the internet for fun Conference activities. Print, copy, and staple together a packet for each child. Feel really proud of myself. Clean up all the messes that somehow happened while I was accomplishing this amazing feat. Add new crayons and jigsaw puzzles to the shopping list.
5. Friday—Enlist the kids’ “help” getting the house clean for Conference. “Why? Is somebody coming over to watch with us?”  “No, but it’s easier to concentrate in a clean environment.” Tired and overwhelmed, go grocery shopping, mentally substituting easier “fun” meals, and decide to save the 72-hour kit stuff for next week, or month, or whenever.  At home, unload all the groceries myself, hiding the surprises in my closet.   Give in and pick up dinner even though I just bought $235.00 of groceries.
6. Saturday—Get up super early. Make individual snack bags for each child, so I don’t have to listen to fighting over who’s hogging the skittles. Rearrange all the furniture, set up the puzzle table, get out clipboards, packets, and crayons, and set out snack bags. Realize I didn’t get to the temple and feel a little defeated. Make the breakfast casserole and put it in the oven. Fifteen minutes before Conference, attempt to get the big kids up. Five minutes before, try again, mentioning food bribes. Two minutes before, turn on the TV and try to find the BYU password to login. Give up and make a new password. Sit down to listen to conference. Breathe deeply.  About an hour in, fall asleep while taking notes on my phone and accidentally erase them all.

Although, this seems amusing to me now, I was giving my all, at that time, to show my family how important General Conference was to me.  Over the years, there have been varying levels of success in attempts to make it just right, but the habit, the preparation, the tradition of sitting down together for Conference, because a prophet of God was going to speak to us, made an impact.  We made a place where the Spirit could be welcome and teach us. I try to always be home and ready for those special times—two of my favorite weekends of the year.

One year, my son was home alone during Conference because I went to help my daughter. He sent me this. 

“Of all the traditions we should cultivate within ourselves and our families, a ‘tradition of righteousness’ should be preeminent. Hallmarks of this tradition are an unwavering love for God and His Only Begotten Son, respect for prophets and priesthood power, a constant seeking of the Holy Spirit, and the discipline of discipleship which transforms believing into doing. A tradition of righteousness sets a pattern for living which draws children closer to parents, and both closer to God, and elevates obedience from a burden to a blessing.” Donald L. Hallstrom

I never really thought about my name much when I was younger.  I grew up as Jennifer McEwen (mik-you-in). McEwen was a difficult last name.  Nobody knew how to say it or spell it.  I said it and spelled it out loud, a million times! When I was little, my family called me Jenny.  My teachers and friends called me Jennifer.  I sometimes made up a name it would be fun to have, like Rose. When I was 11, I decided to name one of my daughter’s Rose. (I never did, though.)

When I got married, as a young adult, I happily took my husband’s last name.  To me it meant becoming one—united—starting a new family unit. Plus, it meant I wouldn’t have to say and spell my last name over and over anymore; everybody can pronounce Barker.  I liked having that new name, and I loved my husband’s parents and siblings, increasing my extended family.  It was a little weird at first, especially at church, where people called me “Sister Barker.” Although I love my mother-in-law dearly, I didn’t want to be called the same name.  Many years later, I chose “Gran” as my grandma name, because “Grandma Barker” was my mother-in-law, not me.

My children had to deal with the typical juvenile name-calling and teasing about barking dogs and such (does anybody escape that?), but Barker is pretty mild in that regard. Year after year our family grew…and grew, until there were 7 Barker kids.  We worked hard, doing the best we could to establish a Christ-Centered home, including sleepy family scripture study before early morning seminary, family prayer, (largely uncivilized) family home evenings, chaotic dinner together every night around the table, and family traditions.  One tradition, still continued today, was our holiday talent show, usually performed after Thanksgiving dinner.  We always had varying musical talents, including singing, piano, violin, ukulele and guitar, but we’ve also enjoyed, throughout the years, a variety of other talents such as Lego creations, magic tricks, artwork and video presentations, dancing, sign language, and even speedy Rubik’s Cube solving.  We were the Barker Family, with a subset of Barker kids who were intelligent, talented, and beautiful as a group and in their own individual ways.  Also tall! They looked and acted like siblings and had an identity and belonging as part of the Barker family, especially in our church family, where they all grew up and were loved by many. With nine of us, we filed in to church together each week and took up one whole pew.  We shared our testimonies and helped each other stay strong in our faith.  Time has dulled the frustration of the drama, fighting, and mutiny that occurred on Sunday mornings, and sharpened the sweetness of those memories.  Now, I sit in church each week with my youngest daughter, grateful that she is with me for a few more years, and more than a little sad that my row is no longer filled with a small army of funny, annoying, wonderful little children. 

After my divorce, I struggled with my identity, my name.  Who am I now? I had been Jennifer Barker for 30 years—10 years longer than I had been Jennifer McEwen.  I didn’t feel like either of those people anymore. My closest connection to the name Barker had been severed, and it felt like I had been cut adrift.  For a time, I considered changing my name back to McEwen.  My associations with that name were fond ones; my loving dad, who died only a few years ago, and my mom and sisters, who have been there my whole life and seen me through these rough post-divorce years, are all part of my McEwen identity. Changing a name, however, isn’t quick and easy, and I was hesitant about having a last name differing from that of my children.

One afternoon, I was driving home from church with my daughter. She was filling out a questionnaire-type form, for an activity in her church youth group, about what made her unique.  It was anonymous, and the other kids were supposed to figure out who each form described. There were questions about favorite foods and movies and such. One question asked, “What’s your claim to fame?”  She and I humorously discussed possible responses, for a couple of minutes, and then she said, “I would say, ‘I am a Barker kid,’ but then everyone would know who it was.”  We chuckled about that, but after she went inside, I sat in the car for a few minutes thinking about what she had said.  Yes, she was a Barker kid.  It was part of her identity and her “claim to fame.” Tears came to my eyes. I was incredibly grateful she knew what it meant to be a Barker kid, that she felt that connection. Some of my daughters are married, and no longer have Barker as their last name, but they will always be one of the Barker kids. It occurred to me then, that I am also a Barker.  I’m happily part of that crazy, wonderful, talented group; I still belong to them and to that name.

The name of the church I belong to has always been The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, since it was first organized in 1830, by Joseph Smith Jr., a prophet, called of God to restore Christ’s original church in the latter-days. Many people don’t know that name for Christ’s church.  Some know it as the “Mormon Church,” because a book of scripture we believe in was abridged by, and named after, Mormon, an ancient prophet. Others know it as the “LDS” Church, which stands for Latter-Day Saints.

Jesus Christ is central to the church. The Prophet Joseph Smith declared,

“The fundamental principles of our religion are the testimony of the Apostles and Prophets, concerning Jesus Christ, that He died, was buried, and rose again the third day, and ascended into heaven; and all other things which pertain to our religion are only appendages to it.” 

Russel M. Nelson, the President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and a prophet of God, said, recently in a General Conference,

“Jesus Christ directed us to call the Church by His name because it is His Church, filled with His power.”

Admittedly, it’s a long name for a church, however, it’s my blessing to use it, sharing with others that I believe in Jesus Christ and follow Him. 

Both my last name, and the name of my church, are part of my eternal identity.  I’m thankful and comforted knowing that I belong to an amazing family, here on earth, and to an eternal family in Heaven.