The first time I really thought about Alma’s advice to his son Shiblon about passion–“bridle your passions, that you may be filled with love”–it was in the context of a seminary lesson on sexual purity. And for years afterward, I assumed that was all there was to know about this scripture: physical passion is a good thing, in moderation.

But lately I’ve been coming back to this scripture and wondering if there isn’t more to it. The quarterly theme for Segullah is passion, and thinking about passion in a broader context has me rethinking Alma’s advice.

So often, we’re told that if we’re passionate about something, we should go for it. We should throw our heart and soul into it. But the more I think about it, the more I believe that there are only a few things in life that may require unbridled passion–family. My relationship with God. The gospel. And even then I’m hesitant: the scriptures are full of stories of people whose unbridled passion has made them overzealous. C.S. Lewis’ lovely Till We Have Faces is ultimately the story of a woman whose unbridled passion for family (and close friends) distorts the very love she treasures.

In other areas, I think unbridled passion can be dangerous, even destructive. This feels particularly true for me. I tend to have a bit of an obsessive personality: for me, passion can be a double-edged sword that draws me into areas that are deeply fulfilling, but that risk distracting me from what should be my real priorities.

Right now, I’m in the process of revising a novel before (hopefully) sending it out to agents. This has been a long labor of love, nearly eighteen months and multiple drafts. And yet, some days I find myself craving to shut everything else out, to retreat into a writing cave and do nothing but immerse myself in words.

But that kind of immersion brings with it the risk of drowning. I can’t devote myself to my craft at the exclusion of everything else: I have young kids, a husband, a part-time career (and obligations to my students), church callings, friends with real-life needs.

When I look at Alma’s words now, I see something besides a caution. I also see a promise. That ye may be filled with love. I can’t sufficiently love the people I need to if I am not also present, if I don’t curtail some things to fulfill their real needs. Alma doesn’t advocate suffocating passions, only bridling them. I’m not giving up the things I love, merely allocating them a place so that I also have resources to devote to the most important things. I’ve found that when I do this right, the promise comes back multiplied. My family is happier, and that deep joy of living a real life comes back to infuse my writing.

In an otherwise controversial talk at LDStorymakers conference last spring, Orson Scott Card gave some excellent advice to LDS writers: Write, but be a good person first.

Do you struggle to find balance in the things you love? How do you make time for everything important to you?

 


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