Lukewarm.

I know thy works, that thou art neither cold nor hot: I would thou wert cold or hot. So then because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spue thee out of my mouth. - Revelation 3:15-16

Today, as I taught this lesson about the Revelation of John and his instruction to the Churches in Asia to help them avoid impending apostasy, I was struck by this scripture in a far more personal way than ever before.

Why?

Last week in Relief Society, the women's class at church, we studied Through God's Eyes, the talk given by our newest apostle, Elder Dale G. Renlund, in this past general conference. He told of his profession as a cardiologist specializing in heart failure and transplantation. Many of his patients came to him in dire circumstances and he worked to save their life, something that was a times successful and other times not as much. Of this experience, he said,

"I saw many people die, and I developed a kind of emotional distance when things went poorly. That way, feelings of sadness and disappointment were tempered."

... emotional distance ...

The two words, emotional distance, hit me to my very core. While my life was in no way like a cardiologist who loses patients, I have dealt with my challenges using distance. I, like all of us, have faced moments that have broken my heart and experienced losses that have pushed me into my darkest of times.

The real trick was when they seemed to pile on top of each other. Instead of facing them head on, something inside me broke and I retreated, mostly because I could. I didn't (and don't) have a family of my own or people who are dependent upon me. I got stuck in the loss and the pain of it all: job stress, broken relationships, demands coming seemingly from every side, financial trouble, deep, dark insecurities. My emotional energy was tapped out. I got to where I only had space and energy for a few people and shut all others out. Taking the time to go out of my way for others felt like a heavy burden, and those wanting my help seemed to weigh me down more.

But perhaps the most tragic piece of this chronic lukewarmness was my worship. Due to the burden I began to feel, I let things slack. I was hurting, and rather than turn to the Master Healer, I let my simple and most profound acts of worship become nearly nonexistent.

I wasn't doing terribly bad things, though, right? But was I doing any good either? I was living an emotional yet lukewarm rollercoaster, facing all of these challenges alone. It was rare that I let anyone in, let alone the Savior.

As we discussed the Book of John last week, I had a thought that changed me. Christ himself was in every way the opposite of emotional distance. The very act of the Atonement, the at-one-ment, indicates that he gave every piece of himself to his Father and to each of us.

These are all recent feelings and this realization is not an instant fix, but I'm thankful for the inspiration that has opened my eyes and started to crack this frozen heart.

I know that Christ lives. I know he was born in humble circumstances, lived a sinless life, took our sins, pains, aches and losses upon himself, and will come again. He is coming. We must point our lives to our Father. We must rejoice greatly: