What I Learned About Mountain Trips and Temple Visits

By Lauren Madsen

I write this as I sit among the pine trees. The only sounds I hear: the mountain breeze blowing through the forest and my family laughing around the picnic table. 

This camping trip has had its challenges: a sick child who had to stay home, a screw in our front tire the morning we headed out, and limited power to Grandma and Grandpa’s trailer upon arrival. The low water level of the lake combined with the lack of rain is especially disappointing, because the normally green meadows are yellow and most of the wildflowers are shriveled and dry. Compared to past experiences here, the surroundings have not quite lived up to my experience and expectations. At the same time, I have no regrets and am so glad to be here. The kids have caught fish after fish, and we have traded the heat of summer for comfy sweatshirts and sleeping bags.

It reminds me of a conversation I recently had with a friend about our current circumstances and temple visits. She lives three hours away from the nearest temple. I told her I could count 11 dedicated temples within an hour of my home (and 3 or so announced or under construction). Her temple visits take her the good part of an entire day, while mine are just a fraction of that. After several months she had finally been able to go to the temple again, and she went in with some hope that she would have a great spiritual experience. While her experience that day was “fine” she told me there was not anything particularly special about it, and that was okay. She went on to say, “We have to learn to be content with that—that life isn’t always these grand revelations.”

At times we may go to the temple expecting or hoping for a clear answer to a question, the nearness of a deceased loved one, or a confirmation that the work we are performing is accepted by the individual we are doing it for. Some temple experiences meet our hopes or expectations, while others may not.

Sometimes we arrive late or the session starts late, the patrons around us are loud and distracting, or we feel flustered when we forget part of the ordinance. Sometimes we get caught going through the motions. 

Whatever the reason, temple experiences may fall short of our hopes and expectations, and yet we get to decide how we put it into perspective. We choose whether we come again as soon as our circumstances allow, or whether we procrastinate our next visit. We choose whether or not we see our offering—our sacrifice of time—as a means of refining us in small, sometimes almost imperceptible ways that add up over time. We choose to appreciate the fact that we unplugged for a little while, cutting ourselves off temporarily from the things of the world. We choose to remember that, in the words of Boyd K. Packer, “Our labors in the temple cover us with a shield and a protection.” We choose to believe that blessings and answers can still come in the Lord’s own time.

So as I sit here inhaling the scent of earth and sap, I know that the visual “let down” of this camping trip does not mean I will never come back. Some years the lake level will be high, and others low. Some summers the meadow may be yellow, and others green. Some trips the wildflowers will look well past their peak, and others they may very well take my breath away. 

In mountain trips and temple visits, I choose to feel the love of the Lord despite everything else that might be happening, and plan to come back again and again and again. As Karl D. Hirst taught, “The house of the Lord is the home of our most precious covenants and a place for us all to retreat and sink deeply into the evidence of our Father’s love for us.”