candy canes

Years ago,  I started following a blog called Secondhand Sandwich.  The blogger writes about life, and sometimes her posts completely resonate with me.  She posted this in December, and since I was still in my grieving process about our failed fertility treatments, I appreciated the lesson.  I have been thinking about it again recently, and figured I should post her words in their entirety so I can reference them later. In a nutshell, trials are necessary to shape us into who we are meant to be. It is only through the trials (and the "heat" and uncomfortable growing) that we will be molded into the person our Father in Heaven wants us to become. 

My kids love to watch the How Things are Made videos on YouTube. We’ve watched how cake sprinkles, peanut butter, jars of honey, and more all came to be. Recently, we watched how candy canes are made. I’m not going to lie; I was unprepared for the drama.

1. Boil sugar, water, and corn syrup in a giant kettle until you have a huge, sticky blob.
2. Throw blob on a big slab. Fold peppermint-flavored starch in evenly with a mechanical plunger and mechanical shovels. (Did you know there are mechanical plungers and shovels? I didn’t. They look like torture devices used to seduce spies into giving up their secrets.)
3. Transfer minty blob to the automated pullers, where it will be repeatedly stretched around a metal post until it is properly aerated. (Actually, the automated pullers make the mechanical plungers look like child’s play.)
4. Roll the candy into a 100-lb log and heat until pliable. (Now, a log as big as a small human is going to have to endure some major force to become as skinny as a pencil.)
5. Wrap sheets of red candy around the log. (This is the only nice thing the sugar blob ever experiences, in my opinion. One crimson hug before we get down to business.)
6. Simultaneously roll/torch the log until it is candy cane width. (Trial by fire. Fire necessary for pliability.)
7. Shove the thin candy rope through a series of wheels and two angled belts to twist it, and then chop it to candy cane size with a chain of knives. (Mylanta! A “chain of knives”? Was Willy Wonka a confectioner or a psychopath? Give me the mechanical plunger after all!)
8. Gift wrap. A roll of cellophane unwinds and a device wraps it around the sticks. One final blast of hot air shrinks the cellophane on the end of the sticks.

At this point the narrator of the video says, "This production has been perfectly choreographed."

You might be thinking the same thing I was thinking: “PERFECTLY CHOREOGRAPHED? For the love! When do these sweet and weary travelers become actual curved candy canes? How much more can they endure?”

Never fear. They have arrived. A machine called a crooker neck quickly bends the ends before they cool off. Complete with their signature look, they are laid to rest on a conveyor belt. An overhead mechanical arm grabs and lifts the canes, cradles them (and hopefully sings a lullaby to erase their memory about the chain of knives), and delivers them to the safety of a cardboard box. Heavens to Betsy. All this for a ten-cent breath mint.

I had one singular takeaway from this educational video. I couldn’t help but think of the scripture in the Book of Mormon that talks about faith:

And now, I, Moroni, would speak somewhat concerning these things; I would show unto the world that faith is things which are hoped for and not seen; wherefore, dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith. (Ether 12:6)

Or, if you are a candy stick on a long, mortal, candy cane journey: dispute not because ye bend not, for ye receive no crook until after the trial of your faith.

Don't we all, in the midst of difficulty, want to ask, "Lord, please just let this end and make me a candy cane now." But He's trying to tell us, "If I bend you now, without fire, you'll snap and it will all be for naught. Just trust me on this one. It's going to be worth it."

I believe we will end up becoming what the Lord promises we can be. I believe our individual journeys are perfectly choreographed. I also know the choreography is often uncomfortable. From my own past I've learned the pain of being mechanically plunged, torched, or twisted is a sign of progress—each transformative step is critical in approaching the faith trial finish line. Just keep sticking it out! The Lord's outstretched arm will stay you.

I heard someone ask, “What does your faith look like when life is hard? And what does it look like when life is convenient?” I’m still processing those questions, but, for me, faith-building seems easier when life is hard.