The Spaces Between

When I moved to Denver, I was asked to give a talk in church about how to keep and maintain a testimony of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

It was at a time where my testimony was kind of hanging by a thread and I really had to dig deep to figure out what that really was.

Here is what I had to say about that.

Being new to Denver as of exactly one month ago today, let me take just a few moments to introduce myself. My name, as you know, is Sarah Worlton. I am here because of a work transfer from SLC. I am happiest when I walk thru the door at my Mom's house and I get attacked by a tidal wave of hugs by my nieces and nephews. I have been to Guatemala more times than I have been to Disneyland. I own over 40 scarves, I have auditioned for the Mormon Tabernacle Choir or MOTAB twice and I have stood on top of the tallest building in the world.


We, as members of the church and as human beings, know that life is a time that we are to be tested. Not in the sense where we sit down in a dimly lit testing center with a number two pencil and are tested on the periodic table of elements.. But what is tested throughout our mortal existence and our daily experiences is our faith, our character, our loyalty and our inner resolve to do what is right. This is a time "prepare to meet God."

We are placed daily in situations where these moral characteristics could be compromised or harnessed. Used or abused. We stare choice and decision in the face every day...and to speak frankly, it is whether we like it or not.


These decisions, no matter how small or life-altering are made, I believe, by what we know. Sometimes what we know is like unto a redwood tree. Strong. Tall. Bold. "Steadfast and immovable." Where other times, it is like unto a match. Small. Yielding little light and even less heat and can be blown out at any second.

Any of this sound familiar?

How do we come to what we know to be true? How do we ultimately gain a testimony and have that be the fuel we need to navigate mortality? How can we have that testimony be the governing force behind our decisions when our faith and character are tested?

Just like a muscle being strengthened, it must be used. It has to pass thru stretching, lifting and aching for it to become strong. And if left untouched, un-noticed and un-cared for- the very laws of nature will cause it to become weak.


Like I said before, I auditioned for the MOTAB (twice). Before I would put on a royal blue frock, I would have to endure several rounds of auditions ranging from site singing to music theory. After making it a few rounds in the second go around, I was certain that if I stayed positive, worked hard and if was the Lord's will, I would get in. I knew that this righteous desire I had was so on point with what the Lord wanted me to do. How could it not be?! To be ambassador for the church thru music? It was the next step. I knew it! I studied. I rehearsed as if it were my second full time job. I prayed. I fasted. I got priesthood blessings. I was super positive. I even brought my text book on vacation. I was putting in the time and I was doing my part.

A few weeks later, I got letter in the mail and it started with that gut-wrenching sentence..."Dear Sister Worlton...Unfortunately..." I was cut. How could this be? I did the work. I put my trust in the Lord and knew that he would make up the difference and that THIS was the next step! I was disappointed to say the least and when the next day was October General Conference and the choir's angelic harmonies filled the house, I had to get up and walk away.


My faith was being tested. This was an experience where I knew my testimony was being challenged. I was now faced with another choice. Do I hold fast to what I know and channel my inner Redwood Tree or do I throw up my hands and let this blow out my match? Did I automatically say that God didn't listen to my pleadings and didn't help me? Or did I use this as a chance to "strengthen my muscle" and seek further light and truth even though my muscles at this point sure ached.


I knew from experiences I had before this one that I had a Heavenly Father who knew me and had a plan for my life if I yolked up with him each step of the way. I knew that my prayers were heard and that "all these things shall give thee experience; and shall be for your good." That is what I knew to be true and after this set back I held fast to that. In time, I took this experience and applied what I already knew to be true, and I let the Lord teach me something new. And that was this: Sometime he loves me enough to say, "No." I also gained a testimony that staying positive was a choice and a power. A lesson that made me "sore" but in time, made me a little bit stronger. My testimony was growing because I took time to be taught from the Master Teacher.


At a time when I was reading the scriptures (the book; not on the screen) something unexpected happened. I was reading the verses, one and a time, and I was interested not what I read one verse to the next, but that little white space on the page that was in between each verse. It was the space between each verse that caught my attention. What happened between the bench marks or verses that caused the action to get them to the next verse. I believe that these "spaces between" are what make up our testimonies. These spaces between to get us from one bench mark or life experience to the next is the daily grind. The struggle. The conversations. The people. The work. The choices. The miracles. The highest highs. The lowest lows. Mortality itself is a "space between." It is the space between our pre- earth life and eternity. What we do on this earth does matter. And a loving Heavenly Father is in each moment helping us gain a firm testimony in Him and His Son so that the fuel that governs our choices are centered in their teachings.


There will undoubtedly be times when our faith is tested and the "space between" seems a little shaky. I can speak from personal experience that our mortal weakness sometimes is a little too much to bare and you wonder if you're going to make it. I know that drawing upon those past experiences and seeing the Lords hand break thru the clouds and remembering those lessons is what keeps our testimony alive.


Last Christmas, I had the honor of traveling to Nepal and lead a humanitarian expedition. We were in a remote village where the basic comforts of life did not exist. Being a major travel junkie/ humanitarian nerd, I was in my element. My soul came alive as I worked side-by-side the Nepali natives helping them rebuild a school that was demolished in the earthquake just months before. I bonded with the women in the village as they taught me count to 5 in Nepali while we dug trenches and moved rocks. I also would teach them how to sing, "You are my Sunshine" in English. It was a beautiful cultural exchange. I asked them gingerly if any of their personal homes in the village survived the earthquake. They answered me in broken English with a single word: "Gone." Everything they had was gone. They had to dust themselves off and start again. They had to draw on their inner strength and what they knew to be true to get them from one day to the next. I would draw on that testimony of the Nepali women for what was to happen next to me. Little did I know, that this moment was a space between.


Working at a construction site can be hard/dirty work. There is a lot of digging, mixing and hauling of rocks to prepare the foundation of the school. We got to the point where our next step was to form an assembly line and move a giant pile of rocks from one side to another. I was on top of a dirt mound and needed to jump the 4.5 feet down into the trench. I did so, albeit with a little too much vigor, and landed on an uneven surface of rocks and dirt. I heard a loud popping sound in my knee and landed right smack on my behind. 40 pairs of eyes were fixed on their "fearless leader" and rushed to help. I was lifted out of the trench and carried down to my sleeping quarters down the hill from the work site. I was in probably the most physical pain I have ever been in. I immediately had a million thoughts race thru my mind: "Am I going to have to go home early? How bad is this really? Why on EARTH did this happen here/now? The timing of this could NOT have been worse! You are the leader. They are depending on you to help facilitate and lead this experience. What are you going to do now?!" The reality was I was on the other side of the world, could barely walk and I now had a choice to make.


Though I was pumped full of pain meds- My mind floated back to the MOTAB audition and what testimony I gained from that. "When you are positive you have power." Ok...you know that to be true, so let's kick that in gear and keep moving. The Lord let me remember that experience from before and now, hearing the stories of the Nepali women, I now had the chance to learn something new and to gain a testimony of what I was going through. And that was we are stronger than we think we are and that the Lord will surround us with people to help us in times of trial and pain. If he could help this Nepali village make the most out of what they had, he could do the same for me.


The MOTAB audition and the Great Kathmandu Tumble of 2015 became verses of my testimony and the spaces between was the studying, the struggle, the pain and the tears. Both of those experiences helped me solidify what I know into words. And that can be summed up perfectly in what we read in
Doctrine and Covenants Section 84 verse 88: “And whoso receiveth you, there I will be also, for I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up."



I know that no matter where we go, and what we do, God is already there. He will send angels to be on our right side and left side to bear us up. Even out of a trench in Nepal. Even after bombing a music theory test. Every time he is there.


Elder Jeffrey R. Holland has said, " In the gospel of Jesus Christ you have help from both sides of the veil, and you must never forget that. When disappointment and discouragement strike--and they will--you remember and never forget that if our eyes could be opened we would see horses and chariots of fire as far as the eye can see riding at reckless speed to come to our protection. They will always be there, these armies of heaven, in defense of Abraham's seed.”


I bear testimony in the Savior that he lives and as a plan for each of his children and the path to get there sometimes is filled with disappointments and pain. I testify that there are silver linings and joy beyond our imagination if we only pay attention to his hand and his love. I know that when we press forward in faith and hold fast to what we know we will be blessed. "He will come and make the blessings flow, far as the curse was found."


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A Tale of Two Cites!

After a 16 hour flight out of Los Angeles last December, I set foot on uncharted ground. Jet lag started to set in as the turban-donned immigration officer stamped my passport with Arabic ink. It said United Arab Eremites. Dubai. The land of the tallest building in the world: the Burj Khalifi. Google it if you haven't seen Mission Impossible-Ghost Protocol or haven't kept up your architectural wonders!

The building is so tall you can watch the sunset from the ground then ride the elevator up to the 124th floor and watch the sunset again. Watch the sunset. Twice! When gazed upon, this building demands your respect. It owns the sky.
 


It has been said that Dubai is similar to Las Vegas. It is. Not in the sense where Elvis impersonators and skimpy cocktail waitresses troll through smoky casinos, but in the sense that the air is thick with wealth, with lights, with a fancy water fountain shows. As I walked through the Dubai Mall (which is the size of my hometown of Lehi, Utah) and gawked at stores like Alexander McQueen, Oscar de la Renta and Prada, it made my bank account cringe. But this was "normal." Seeing an Arab man hop out of his yellow Lamborghini appeared to be "normal" here. I thought at one point I actually saw $50 bills dripping off the palm trees. I didn't say much as I walked around the city. Just watched. Observed. Tried to soak it all in. . .slowly.



Nobu is world-renowned Japanese restaurant that you can find in major cities like New York, London, Tokyo and of course, Dubai. It has won five Michelin stars. In 2015 it was awarded the title "Restaurant of the Year." Not Nobu in general. The one in Dubai. The very one that I sat in and stuffed my face with rock salt tempura shrimp and blackened cod that caused an out-of-body experience. Let us not forget I also consumed a sinfully delicious cronut. If you don't know what a cronut is, imagine a dessert that is part croissant/part doughnut with equal parts chocolate and magic. Just thinking about it makes my pants get a little tighter and my soul a little more happy. I ate there? We paid over $250 for just dinner? Yep. And I enjoyed every morsel.


Being an Arab nation, I was delighted to see the streets lined with ancient Mosques and loved hearing the call to prayer booming over loud speakers five times a day. These are the things that I will remember and absorb (that, and, let's be honest, the many calories consumed at Nobu.) It was the incredibly different things that made me feel alive.


 
I quickly discovered that those "Now, there's something you don't see that everyday" moments were the ones that would change me. And I had no idea how true that would become with what was up next. With my hand-painted bowl and Arabic spices packed neatly away, I was wheels up and cruising to my next destination. Kathmandu, Nepal.

When the big earthquake hit Nepal just eight months before, I never thought in a million years I would EVER be able to go there. That dream was dead. I wanted to go for such a long time and had fought tooth and nail to get myself on that plane to Nepal. And finally, there I stood. Breathing in the air that swept down from the Himalayas.



I was not in the United Arab Eremites anymore, Toto. The first moments in Kathmandu, were a lot to take in. The airport is very cold and rundown. Was it ever "up and running?" Probably not. No Prada shops here, that's for sure. Rather, the bare minimum to get my passport stamped, get my bags and leave. Chaos hit me as I walked out of the airport and a tidal wave of taxi drivers shouting in Nepali to get me to hire them for a ride. I soon hailed a driver and hopped into a taxi cab that resembled a tuna can on wheels. Every car on the broken down street looked like someone had put a quarter in a pinball machine. No lines, no rules, no method to this madness. Just hold on and gun it . . . and try not to hit a stray dog or cow while you're at it. There is no such thing as a "green arrow to turn left" or "the street we are now driving on is Mt. Everest Avenue." It's just pure chaos.

It is "normal" for the power to go off for several hours a day throughout Kathmandu. I knew that going in. But, remember, it is still December when I found myself walking into the Tibet Guest House. A dull chill surged through me as I stood on the stone-cold lobby floor and studied the chart telling me when I would be able to turn the heat on in my room and for how long. 10 PM to 4 AM. 

Check.




I dumped my bags in the icy room and headed down to the lobby for a bite wearing literally half of my suitcase. This meant sweat pants, leggings, tall socks, jacket, puffy vest, beanie and finger-less gloves. Don't judge; I needed every last thread.

"Namaste! Can I get a Coke and some Mo Mo's?"

"Namaste, ma'am. We do not have enough fuel to cook the Mo Mo's, but I can bring you a room-temperature Coke."




Wait just a second. You mean that news article I read on CNN about the fuel crisis that was going on was a real thing? Yep. A restructure of the Nepali constitution was causing India to get hot and bothered just enough that they were rationing off the fuel supply into Nepal and anyone who came in its path would know it. Even when it came to my delicious Mo Mo's. The lights in the restaurant flickered and I swallowed my American pride and ordered something else. Not a soul-expanding blacked cod cooked to perfection, but rice, a side salad and a Coke. I went up to my room and once the clock hit 10 PM, I was delighted to snuggle myself in my bed and thaw out.

Those are the moments you can't expect to have when traveling. When they happen you adjust and say to yourself, "It's all part of the experience." You soak it all in. . . slowly.

The rest of the time in Nepal was spent in a remote village working with an NGO on the construction of a 13 room schoolhouse to replace the one that was destroyed in the earthquake. Yes, those CNN articles I read were coming alive too.





The women in the village were not only educators, but they were pillars of wisdom, strength and friendship. While hauling rocks, they would teach me how to count to five in Nepali and, in turn, I taught them to sing "You are my Sunshine" in English. I asked them very gingerly if their homes and belongings survived the earthquake. They answered me with one word: Gone. They had to dust themselves off and start over. My mind floated back to Dubai for a brief moment. If my Arab friend found a snag or a tear in her Chanel bag, she could hop in her BMW and her driver can take her to the mall to get it replaced. Swipe the Visa. Sign here. Done.



These polar circumstances begs the following questions: How is it possible that in this day and age two extremes such as these can exist side by side? How can such wealth change to extreme poverty in a blink of an eye? Is this normal in the world I live in? This is not to say that one is superior to another. Let me make that extremely clear. One person does not have more value or worth than the person sitting next to him. And this trip, all of it, made that crystal clear.



It also brought another point into the limelight and one that I am eager to share. Riddle me this: Picture the Arab walking through the Burj Khalifa. He is an executive on the 94th floor. He drives that yellow Lamborghini and has a lovely annual salary and a table at Nobu whenever he wants. A textbook example of wealthy, right? But, what if I told you that the wealthy could possibly have a lack. Something that they are in desperate need of. What would that be? Lack of connection, maybe? A sense of not being able to have enough or to keep up? Chew on that for a moment.





On the flip side: Picture the taxi driver in Kathmandu. Picture where he works and the new cost of fuel he has to deal with daily; with no foreseeable end in site. In his home he sleeps with his wife and two children in the same room. Their power has been off for 14 days and they cook with solar power. They do not have internet and the two kids wear coats inside because there is no heat. The kids share the one toy they have and it only causes giggles. When the children are presented with a new deck of Uno cards (by me when I visited my friend Prateek's home) as a present, their faces light up like a Christmas tree. Textbook example of poor, right? What if I told you that the poor can have great abundance? Something they are "rich" with. What would that be? Connection to family and community, maybe? Being content with less. Again, keep chewing.

So, what is "normal?" Humanity. Living how we live in whatever circumstance we find ourselves in. Day in and day out trying to make the most of what we have. With every rising and setting of the sun....even if that means twice.

Over the Grill! (A tribute to adults with braces)

Nobody likes the dentist!


Ok, that was harsh. Let me rephrase that: What I mean is that nobody really likes GOING to the dentist.

Going to the dentist is that necessary evil we must endure twice a year to ensure that our teeth don't turn brown and fall out. The smell when you walk through that dental office door is like getting smacked in the face with a dose of antiseptic and regret. It makes me queasy just thinking about it. As a kid, I remember this all too clearly. As I sat down on the 1980's paisley sofa, I tried to focus on the joy of being checked out of school and not the sound of drilling buzzing through the waiting room. I looked around at the other kids in the room looking squirmy as they waited to go back to "the chair." If any of us had to listen to that demonic drill for one more second someone would need to find a change of shorts. To block out the sound, I would go to my happy place: Birthdays. Swimming Pools. Grandma's House. For the parents in the room, this was that next task to check off the to-do list: Unclog toilet. Mow lawn. Dentist.


"Sarah? Come on back, sweetie,"

(As much as I hated being called "sweetie", it actually gave me the will to keep walking.)


I followed the assistant back for the routine x-rays and small talk. She would ask me how school is going, acted amazed at how tall I was getting while being prepped to see Dr. Brown. The man was borderline creepy. Like a nice clown with a secret. He would wear his mask so low that his cheesy mustache and his peanut butter breath would creep out just a smidgen. You'd think he of all people would brush after every meal.

His headlamp shone down on my face as he picked and poked at my teeth. He would pause and say things like, "Hmmmmmmm" and "Well, lookie what we have here." Then, he leans back from his wheelie stool, pulls his mask down and looks back at my Mom. Through his grinning stache, he says that condemning word: Braces.

I knew it!


A week before starting Jr. High, Dr. Brown gave my grill some street cred. I got braces. Ones with neon green rubber bands. This was socially acceptable because well, I was 12 years old. I soon found out that almost every smelly pre-teen was rocking that same silver and neon smile. When you imagine a 7th grader, you think of the kid who sits at the back of the classroom doodling, who pretends to like skateboarding and what else? Has braces. It was my badge of honor pinned not to my lapel but glued to my teeth shouting to the world, "I'M AWKWARD AND MY BODY IS CHANGING AND I'M NOT SURE I UNDERSTAND WHAT'S HAPPENING!!"

A third of those pimple-faced kids I saw in the hallway were worried about pit stains. A third were picking the food out of their hardware, and, yup, a third were most definitely doing both- and (heaven help us) and a whole lot of other upkeep. My 9th grade brother imparted his sage advice regarding braces maintenance: "Sade, just drink a quick swish of water from the drinking fountain and you're golden!" I could handle that. The truth was that nobody cared that I had braces and quite frankly, nobody noticed. I found solace in the company of my klutzy classmates. When in this company, no one knew their misery.


Ten months later, the B's came off and my tongue ran across my teeth 11,000 times a minute in complete bliss. It was the great return of Corn on the Cob eating and...*cough* flossing!

This was a phase of growing up to which I happily said "peace-out" to and was certain it would fade into a memory.

Fast-forward 22 years. The 12 year is now a full-functioning adult with a bank account and a scarf fetish. I had traveled the globe and had a lot to smile about.


But as time went on, the bottom shelf of the grill was getting a little crowded. I ignored it for a while because... I just did. Like most people, that bi-annual trip the dentist drifted further and further down my priority list. But, I could squeeze in a consult.

Enter on the scene Dr. Broadwater. An 80 year-old orthodontist who, like Dr. Brown, had an oddly shaped mask. Why, in the name of all that is holy, would you wear a mask that did not cover your nose? And, to send me into a tailspin of panic, he had a tiny little droplet of snot just hanging there on the brim of his nostril that with any sudden movement would send it flying. So help me, I will LOSE it if that lands into my mouth that was gaping wide open!

The conclusion was that getting treatment from Dr. Drippy Nose was a hard pass. He did say that I might need braces eventually. But, I shrugged that off like a bad first date.


I would stand barefoot on my bathroom rug and would obsess over every detail of my teeth in the mirror. I KNEW they were moving. I became flummoxed in discovering that the older we get the more noticeable every single change in our appearance becomes. While looking in the mirror, I would tilt my head just so to get a better angle at my- WAIT! Chin hairs? When did THAT happen?! It was now clear that shrugging off Teeth-Gate 2015 was no longer a smart move.


I decided to put on my adulting face one more time for an orthodontist consult. Little did I know that this one would hold my fate in his hand like a tiny bird. Here is the cold hard truth: he said my bite was so off and my teeth were moving so rapidly, my smile would end up looking pretty gnarly if I did nothing. I should probably mention that I'm a grinder.


I spent DAYS flip-flopping on the cost, my age, the pain and all of the horrible things that go along with getting braces. Endless thought bubbles hovered over my head saying things like:

"Getting braces as an adult is a thing, right?" (No.)
"My dental insurance doesn't cover this because I'm not an adolescent." (Eye roll.)
"How long did he say I had to have these on? 18 months? (Basically forever.)
"If I get clear ones they won't be THAT noticeable." (Wrong.)


I was at war with myself and I blamed my years of retainer negligence. I mean how many times did I fish that thing out of the trash? It truly is one of my life's biggest faux pas.

After the storm in my head had settled, and the pros unfortunately outweighed the cons, I did the unthinkable. I found myself squeaking out the words, "Doc, let's do it." On queue, his wannabe hipster assistant handed me a tall glass with "Your pride" written on it and said, drink up!


I was back in the that waiting room. Pandora played softly above my head as my stomach began feeling tight. I buried my face in a People magazine and tried not to make eye contact with anyone; let alone the sea of moody teenagers. They sat heads down with face-to-screen and had no clue what was in store for them. I did. And here I was. Again. I saw the green exit sign above the door in the same neon shade as my 7th grade rubber bands. I was psyching myself up to run when that voice from the past was back.


"Sarah? Come on back, sweetie!"


(Sweetie? Really?)


A few hours of extreme jagged discomfort later, the new hardware was installed. I was past the point of no return. Thus began the 18 month sentence of closed mouth smiles, cutting up food like a toddler and saying adios to dating (probably). It was my new look that would follow me everywhere. It was my cement and chain. Gone were the days of wearing red lipstick- for even the tiniest of smudges would turn into a 3D mistake. As I walked out the door with Cup of Noodles and wax in hand, the orthodontist made an attempt for me to look on the bright side. "Don't worry, I'm sure the guys on Tinder will still swipe right." I typically would say something snarky under my breath, but, I was way too loopy to care.


Later that night, I made myself a grilled cheese sandwich that took 45 minutes to eat. The pain in my mouth matched the pain of my damaged ego. Puree a grilled cheese sandwich? I refused to stoop so low.


While the pain chilled out after a week, eating was just obnoxious. Most humans find this to be a mindless task. But, as my fellow metal mouths know, we have to do this with extra thought and precision. If you think it isn't awkward to buy a $1.99 Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger, try biting into it. I have to either ask for a knife and fork and cut it into bite-sized pieces, or become a barbarian who just saw food for the first time five years and rip it apart with my hands. Classy. Suddenly food in my life needed to be fun sized.

EVERYTHING you eat gets stuck with braces. My mouth, after all was under construction and traffic had a dickens of a time getting down the interstate without hitting some barricades! I would carry around this tiny little brush to get the food out from my teeth after eating anything. Thanks, bro, but a quick swish from the drinking fountain does NOT do the trick.

No longer on dates did I slip to the ladies room to powder my nose. I was picking out half of my Cobb Salad that was lodged in my teeth! I would try to avoid anything green on the menu or anything with "curry" in the title. Fact: Curry stains braces yellow. Neon yellow. So much so that it is probable that even a homeless man will look away.


When I would get all dressed up for church or a date, I would do the TSA scan on myself. First, the shoes: Perfecto! The skinny jeans: Never looked better. The top: Slamming. The accessories: On fleek. The hair and makeup: Runway ready! One last thing- if Little Orphan Annie has taught me anything, it is that you are never fully dressed without a smile. Go on and flash that smile in the mirror, Girl..to see if it's burrito free. Just...about....there. Got it!

*Sigh*


The braces kind of ruined it for me. Even when I felt so pulled together, I'd smile in the mirror and my insides would die a little. They are just not attractive. My confidence took a back seat for a while; just knowing that my look got dinged because of my magnet mouth. I always had this oppressive thought looming over telling me that I had to explain why I had braces to other adults. I blame a Western society that TELLS me that you're supposed to be 13 and NOT 31 during this ordeal. So, I'm age dyslexic, okay?


On occasion, I would have men in my office say that they loved older women with braces. It took them back to their youth and was reminiscent of some bumpy braces lip-action they got with some ditz named Staci. The only appropriate response to that yarn is provided by Colonel Sherman T. Potter: "Bull Cookies!"

After taking several long looks in the mirror (and pausing quickly plucking out those chin hairs), I discovered something. I'm still me even with braces. I am only progressing towards a better version of myself. And if that means not being able to whistle for 18 months, then so be it. One day I will slide my tongue over my smooth pearly whites, and roll my eyes at them a little less. My friends young and old, we all have flaws. Beautiful, messy awkward flaws. The crazy hair in the morning. The disappearing thigh gap. The weird birth mark. Whatever it is, don't hide it- EmBRACE it. When you do, you are giving yourself and others around you plenty to smile about.