Gratitude for a spiritual moment

Before I go to bed, I wanted to quickly record (since this blog basically serves as my journal now) something that happened to me this morning. I was on the bus, riding in to campus, reading the Book of Mormon on the way—Moroni 7, to be precise. And suddenly, for no particular discernible reason, I had that lifting-of-the-heart feeling that I've learned to recognize as the Spirit. It went on for, I don't know, a minute or so maybe. And then it subsided.

I haven't experienced that for a while. The time in my life when I experienced those moments most frequently was my mission. The temple was another place where I often had them, which was really important to me during my last couple years at BYU, when going to church had become a white-knuckled agony. Nowadays these moments tend to come, when they come, while I'm reading the scriptures, though I don't experience them very often. I don't feel as much of a need for them as I did at BYU or on my mission, when I was often discouraged or depressed. There are other ways the Spirit communicates with me, and especially since coming out, I've come to appreciate how the Spirit guides imperceptibly over the long term, even over a period of years.

But still, I'm grateful for those lifting-of-the-heart moments when they come. It's a grace, a touch, a gift.

P.S.: It occurs to me add—and maybe there's a connection here—that I taught a good class today as well. We were discussing Angels in America, my all-time favorite play. Just before class started, I said a silent prayer as I was washing up in the restroom that the discussion I'd planned would go off well, that I'd be able to communicate effectively with the students, that I'd know how to guide the discussion as it unfolded. And I feel that prayer was answered.