Chapter 10

The Clown of God

As we bear our little burdens, we are learning to be more like Christ, who bore all burdens. As we make our small sacrifices, we are learning to emulate His great sacrifices. As we pass through our Gethsemanes, we are learning to value and appreciate His.

 

One of my favorite picture books is The Clown of God, a retelling by Tomie de Paola of a European folktale that has been a part of oral storytelling tradition for centuries. The story is about Giovanni, a homeless boy who could juggle. Before long the boy’s talent was noticed, and he was invited to join a group of performers who toured throughout Italy. Giovanni would put on a clown’s face and then juggle sticks, plates, clubs, rings, and torches. Next he juggled a rainbow of colored balls, and finally, while still juggling the other balls, he would add a golden ball he called “the sun in the heavens.” How the crowds would cheer!

Years passed, and Giovanni grew old. His audiences tired of the same old show. Rejected and belittled, the old clown packed up his sticks, clubs, and colored balls and gave up juggling forever. He begged his food and slept in doorways as he had done as a child.

One Christmas Eve, Giovanni, wet and cold, took refuge in a church, where he fell asleep in a dark corner. It was the music that woke him. The church was filled with people singing and placing beautiful gifts before a statue of the Madonna and her Holy Child. When the pageantry ended, the church emptied except for old Giovanni, who hesitantly approached the statue and noticed that the child in the Lady’s arms seemed so serious and stern, even with all the beautiful gifts. “Perhaps I have something to offer too,” said the clown. “I used to make people smile.” Slowly he opened his bag, put on his clown’s face, rolled out a little rug, and began. First he juggled sticks, plates, clubs, and rings.

One of the priests entered and caught the old clown juggling. “A sacrilege,” he cried, rushing off to alert his superior. Giovanni didn’t see or notice him. He stared only at the face of the child as he said, “First the red ball, then the orange, yellow, green, and blue.” Higher and higher, faster and faster he juggled until the balls looked like a rainbow. “And now for the sun in the heavens,” he proclaimed and added the gold ball. He had never juggled so well in his life. “For You, sweet Child, for You!” he cried, and then his old heart failed him and Giovanni fell lifeless in front of the statue.

Two priests arrived to find the clown had died, but one of the priests then noticed the statue and backed away. The other priest looked in the same direction and his mouth dropped open, for “the child was smiling, and in His hand He held the golden ball” (The Clown of God, 42).

I love the story and read it often. A friend who teaches art history told me that in medieval and renaissance art Christ was rarely portrayed smiling. But Christ is not a statue or a painting. He is alive and—regardless of how He is portrayed in art—He smiles (see 3 Nephi 19:25). And I believe He smiles when we juggle—not sticks, plates, clubs, and balls, but all the demands of family, church, work, and other responsibilities that fill our lives. Is Jesus smiling because He is laughing at us trying to keep all the balls in the air? No. I believe Jesus and Heavenly Father smile because they know juggling is part of how we learn, grow, and develop. They purposely planned earth life to give us more than we can comfortably handle.

When my friend Kris Belcher tragically lost her sight due to cancer, people attempted to comfort her by saying, “You can make it through. Heavenly Father wouldn’t give you anything you couldn’t handle.” Kris wrote, “Although that was meant as encouragement, it made me feel horrible. I already felt powerless, weak, and unable to cope with my new life.” Inside she would cry, “I really can’t handle this! I have no more strength left. Everyone thinks I am so brave when I am scared to death!” In those low moments, the Holy Ghost comforted and taught her. She wrote, “The idea that I wouldn’t be given anything I couldn’t handle was not true! If it were, then there would be no need for Christ. I had been given many things to handle that required more power than I had. Only when I accessed the power of Jesus Christ would my strength be magnified and my weaknesses overcome” (Hard Times, 91).

In Alma 13:28 we are told to “watch and pray continually, that [we] may not be tempted above that which [we] can bear,” but temptations are far from being the only challenges we face in life. We all encounter many struggles that quickly become more than we can bear alone. One of the most vexing in today’s world is dealing with the onslaught of competing demands being made on our time.

A returned missionary wrote an update to his mission president: “Since returning from my mission, life has been busy. I got married, graduated from college, and started a business in the middle of a horrible economy. Then we had twins, and I was called as elders quorum president.”

This young husband/father/business owner/quorum president admitted he missed the days of his mission when, though he was busy, he had a singular focus. He wrote, “On my mission I had time to dedicate myself to scripture study. Since getting back I have to really discipline myself to make time for it, along with temple attendance and prayer. It is more difficult than I ever imagined. It seems like everyone needs my full attention constantly, and that leaves little time for anything else.”

Who can’t relate to this young man’s situation? And many of us know his juggling act is just beginning. He and his wife will add more children. His business will grow. His callings will become more demanding. Soon his twins will become teenagers. His bills will multiply, the house will need repairs, his aging parents will require more attention, and the list goes on and on. No wonder Elder M. Russell Ballard said, “I would like to let you in on a little secret. Some of you have already learned it. If you haven’t, it’s time you knew. No matter what your family needs are or your responsibilities in the Church, there is no such thing as ‘done.’ There will always be more we can do. There is always another family matter that needs attention, another lesson to prepare, another interview to conduct, another meeting to attend” (“O Be Wise,” 19).

What is the solution? Initially we are told to simplify and cut out of our lives everything superfluous. That’s wonderful advice for those whose juggling consists of deciding which computer game to play or TV reality show to watch. The rest of us have long ago cut such pastimes out of our lives. What’s next on the chopping block? Vacations, recreation, and relaxation? No, we are told they are important for emotional health and family bonding. Church activity? Some have tried to delete that one with less-than-stellar results for themselves and their children. Exercise? Healthy eating? Just try to remove those and Stephen R. Covey will show up in your dreams saying, “Sharpen the saw! Sharpen the saw!” (7 Habits, 287).

Cutting nonessentials is a good place to begin, but most of us soon discover that what’s left still constitutes more than we can handle. For most faithful Latter-day Saints, overscheduling is the rule rather than the exception. That’s when we are told to prioritize. More great advice, but did you ever notice how the people giving that advice always want to be our priorities? Teachers who tell us to prioritize never mean to stop doing homework for their classes. Church leaders who tell us to prioritize never mean for us to quit attending our meetings. When spouses say, “Place your priorities,” they mean the family needs more time. When bosses say, “Place your priorities,” they mean they expect more work. When bishops say, “Place your priorities,” they usually mean the home teaching and visiting teaching stats have dropped again.

In the Church we are given the list of what our priorities should be—family, church, and work—which sounds wonderful until we step back and see that the bulk of our time and efforts are spent in the reverse order. Then we are filled with guilt because the ideals we value do not match the realities we live. There’s the single mother who must leave her children with a sitter as she drives off to work a graveyard shift in the car with the bumper sticker that reads, “Happiness Is Family Home Evening.” There’s the dad who gets pulled aside between his PPI and PEC and asked to speak in sacrament meeting on “Putting family first.”

I have friends who say that rather than thinking of prioritizing the various aspects of their lives, they would rather think of balancing them. I hope it helps them, but such a view has never worked well for me. In my mind the word balance still holds out some sort of illusion that there really is a way to walk the tightrope indefinitely without falling off, to fit everything on the scale without ever seeing it tilt, or to plan out all my meals with the perfect blend of whole grains, fruits, vegetables, and proteins. Is consistent balance even possible? Even if it were, how do I combine the image of balance with scriptures that call for ever-increasing devotion, sacrifice, and extra miles? Elder Bruce C. Hafen has written that although a balanced foundation helps us reach upward, a focus on consecration and spiritual growth “takes us to a higher spiritual realm than mere balance can ever lift us” (Spiritually Anchored, 120).

I’m afraid that when all the lessons on simplifying, prioritizing, and balancing are over I am left with only one option—juggling. That’s why I relate to the old clown in the story. My family members are silver, blue, yellow, white, and red. Church is green. Service is pink. Teaching, speaking, and writing are lilac, lavender, and lemon. Research is orange. Committee responsibilities and consulting are brown and violet. Higher and higher, faster and faster, the rainbow of colored balls fills the air. Then one by one I begin dropping them. Crowds don’t ridicule me as they did the old clown. But I do a pretty good job of beating myself up when I see more balls on the ground than in the air.

In such moments I am tempted to quit, but somehow I find the motivation to stoop down, pick up the balls, and keep juggling. It’s not money. There are moments in my life when I try to convince myself it is, but then the paycheck arrives, taxes hit, and I am reminded that money never provides enough long-term motivation for me to keep picking up dropped balls—especially when so many in my life have no pay attached to them. At times helping others has been my motivation, but not always. I hope my efforts make a positive difference. That’s extremely important to me. However, I’ve received too many mean emails, hurtful teacher evaluations, and less-than-constructive criticisms to ever allow that to be my only motivation. Just like the little clown, I’ve learned I juggle for God—because I love and appreciate Him and want to serve Him. That provides me with enough motivation to keep going no matter what.

In the story, the clown’s finale was to toss into the mix a gold ball. For me that gold ball is my relationship with the Godhead, and it doesn’t come last. Elder Jeffrey R. Holland has said, “first and foremost” we must develop and maintain “a personal spiritual relationship with Deity, including the Savior, whose kingdom this is” (Trusting Jesus, 64). As I have learned to develop and maintain those divine relationships, then the Spirit has always been good enough to let me know what needs to come next. And that changes from week to week, day to day, and even hour to hour.

Elder M. Russell Ballard said, “As mortals, we simply cannot do everything at once. Therefore we must do all things ‘in wisdom and order’ (Mosiah 4:27). Often that will mean temporarily postponing attention to one priority in order to take care of another. Sometimes family demands will require your full attention. Other times professional responsibilities will come first. And there will be times when Church callings will come first” (“O Be Wise,” 19).

Similarly, Robert L. Millet wrote, “What comes first, Church or family? . . . Well, doesn’t the kingdom lead out? No, isn’t the family the most important unit in time and eternity? The fact is God comes first, and if we seek his will, he will make known to us what, in that specific instance, comes second” (Men of Valor, 44).

President Thomas S. Monson is admired the world over because he has been known to miss meetings as he reaches out to individuals in need (see Heidi S. Swinton, To the Rescue, 11). However, he is also admired for the diligence he shows in doing his duty. He has said, “I love and cherish the noble word duty and all that it implies. In one capacity or another, in one setting or another, I have been attending priesthood meetings for the past 72 years—since I was ordained a deacon at the age of 12” (“Willing and Worthy to Serve,” 66). I think one of the reasons I so greatly admire President Monson is that he is so sensitive to the Spirit that he knows when to miss a meeting and when to attend one.

There are times in my life when I too have had to say, “I’m sorry, Bishop. I can’t come because I need to attend my son’s game.” There are other times I have had to say, “I’m sorry, son. I can’t come to your game because I have to attend bishopric meeting.” Sometimes I’ve said, “I can’t come to the youth conference because it is scheduled on my anniversary.” Other times I have had to ask my extremely patient wife, “Would it be okay if we celebrated our anniversary on another weekend?” Sometimes I’ve said to my boss, “I’m sorry I can’t be there. I have to speak at a funeral.” Other times I’ve said, “As much as I would love to speak, I really can’t miss work.”

Following a list of priorities usually leaves me feeling inadequate and discouraged. Following the Spirit allows me to be at peace—even when I let people down, fail to meet important deadlines, or find I have been overlooked for professional recognitions. As I strive to stay close to God, then in His kindness and mercy He lets me know which of all the other aspects of my crazy, multifaceted life need immediate attention and which can wait a little longer.

Some would see this as managing by the crisis of the moment. I choose to see it as avoiding a crisis by letting God manage my moments. Stephen R. Covey called this subordinating “your schedule to a higher value” (7 Habits, 169). I like to look at it as subordinating my schedule to the highest value—God’s will and direction. Aligning our choices with a personal mission statement is only a step toward aligning our personal mission statements with God’s missions for us.

When my son David was in the Missionary Training Center, one of his teachers, Katelyn Wettlaufer, taught that although Jesus was often surrounded by throngs of people all desiring His attention simultaneously, He always knew which one needed Him most right then. The woman with the issue of blood “came behind him, and touched the hem of his garment,” and “Jesus turned him about, and when he saw her, he said, Daughter, be of good comfort” (Matthew 9:20–22). We do not have Christ’s perfect knowledge, but we do “have his Spirit to be with [us]” (D&C 20:77). As we are thronged by people and projects all competing for our time and attention, we can trust the Spirit to touch the hem of our garments and turn us about to focus on the most important need right then.

David H. Yarn was a beloved teacher at BYU who influenced many lives. He was also my dear friend and home teaching companion in my home ward. One day I received a newsletter published by the religion department featuring his picture and contributions. I wrote David a note, addressed the envelope, and placed it in the pile of outgoing mail. As soon as I let go of the envelope I felt a tug on the hem of my garment. Something said, “Deliver it in person.” I retrieved the envelope and put in my pocket. I was far from finished with my to-do list that day, but on the way home that evening I stopped by David’s home and had a wonderful visit with this dear friend and mentor. Imagine the gratitude I felt for that little tug on the hem of my garment when I heard two days later that David had passed away.

That was a day when it all worked. Some days go better than others. Attempting to live this way has required more humility, honesty, and sensitivity to the Spirit than I can usually muster or maintain consistently. It is not always easy, effective, or efficient. But because it allows me to be adaptable and flexible when my schedule changes or my to-do list gets turned upside down, I can still live with integrity and peace. My juggling will never win awards or applause. It is not pretty. It has meant too many early mornings, long days, and late nights. It has meant multitasking and getting my work done slowly and in bits and pieces. I feel completely worn out at times, but rarely guilty. Worn out I can live with. Guilty I can’t. Juggling doesn’t allow me to be everything to everyone everywhere, but it does let me be something to someone somewhere. In the Garden of Eden, Adam and Eve juggled more commandments than they could actually keep. I used to think it was just God’s way of teaching them to choose between good and better. Now I realize it was also, in part, God’s way of transforming them from good to better.

Elder Jeffrey R. Holland told of a young mother who heard talks on LDS motherhood and worried that she didn’t measure up. “She felt like the world expected her to teach her children reading, writing, interior design, Latin, calculus, and the Internet—all before the baby said something terribly ordinary, like ‘goo goo’” (Broken Things to Mend, 26). This mother felt underappreciated because no one seemed to recognize “the mental investment, the spiritual and emotional exertion, the long-night, long-day, stretched-to-the-limit demands that sometimes were required” (27). Elder Holland wrote, “But one thing, she said, keeps her going: ‘Through the thick and the thin of this, and through the occasional tears of it all, I know deep down inside I am doing God’s work’” (27; emphasis in original).

This mother was remembering for whom she was juggling. She was not doing it for others—not even her children. She was juggling for God (who knows quite a bit about being underappreciated). As she juggled, God must have smiled. He was not only watching her go through all this, He was helping her through all this.

What of Elder Holland himself? What keeps him going when he juggles more people, pressures, plans, and plane flights than most of us can even imagine? What about other leaders who, between the demands of their public and private ministries, rarely have two minutes to themselves? How do they keep all the balls in the air? I am sure they too must say, “I know deep down inside I am doing God’s work.” The number and size of the responsibilities we juggle will never equal theirs, but our motivation and purpose must equal theirs.

In the story of the Clown of God, it is the old clown who dies in his efforts to juggle for the Christ child. In real life, it was Christ who died that we might live and juggle and learn. As we bear our little burdens, we are learning to be more like Christ, who bore all burdens. As we make our small sacrifices, we are learning to emulate His great sacrifices. As we pass through our Gethsemanes, we are learning to value and appreciate His. As we juggle our little responsibilities for Him, we are learning to be a little more like Christ, who juggles galaxies for us.