Just over a week ago, it looked as if Spring had finally come. The bush in front of my living room window burst into bloom with large, creamy flowers with pink-red streaks that reminded me of fairies’ wings. Next the flowering plum turned from a spindly rust-colored frame to bouquets of pink blossoms.
And then it snowed. Not just a little snow, but a heavy, wet blanket about six inches deep. The flowering plum was the first casualty, its frame bent over and roots ripped out under the weight of the snow. The landlord came by and tried to prop the tree up and put some soil over the exposed roots, but to no avail. The once-vibrant blossoms are brown and shriveled. Likewise, the bush by my window has only one bloom left on the very highest branch, the petals opened to the heavens as if longing to escape the decay around it.
It made me think of the wreckage of my once-living faith. My faith in God and in His prophets kept me going through so much and helped me find meaning and contentment in my life. And then, suddenly, like after a late snow, it was all gone. For a long time I thought it was all gone, like that uprooted tree with its dying blossoms.
Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe like that lingering bloom, I still believe in something. No, my faith isn’t wrapped in the trappings of Mormonism anymore. I don’t put much faith in corporations or dark-suited prophets anymore. But somewhere, there is still inside me a faith in God, a belief that there is something larger than this life. And above all, I want to know what I am supposed to do with my life. I suppose I could be content to believe that my life has purpose only as far as I give it purpose. But I want something more.
No, I’m not going back to my former belief, but I’m determined to find what else is out there, what kind of life I am to have.