You Are Powerful Beyond Measure

Remembering a special note from my dying mother

Nestled at the foot of the Italian Alps lies the small Piedmont town of Biella, population 44,777.

Historically a textile town, Biella’s major claim to fame is that it’s the birthplace of FILA, an international sporting goods company.

Another, perhaps lesser-known claim to fame is that for a glorious 5-month period in early 1999, Biella was home to Elder David Smurthwaite, a 20-year-old missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.

I was bright-eyed and brilliantly naive back then (as is the case with most 20-year-olds).

My signature move was to say “Buongiorno!” to everyone I passed on the street. Given that I roughly knew .00125% of the town’s population, my smiley greetings usually prompted odd expressions or the flat-out question, “Sorry, do we know each other?”

We didn’t, but that never stopped me extending a warm invitation to our free English classes or, even better, to a Sunday sacrament meeting.

Unbeknownst to me…

Back home in Utah, my mother was closer to dying than I would ever know.

A victim of fen-phen, an obesity drug that was eventually banned in 1997 because it caused serious heart valve issues for an alarming number of patients, especially women.

My mother’s heart valve issues were so bad that her doctors feared she could not survive much longer without a heart transplant.

She never said a word to me.

Instead, her weekly letters were filled with the trivialities of home life she knew I would love to hear: the antics of my three younger brothers, the opening of a local pottery shop we had to visit together when I got home, a favorite soup here, a story about my dog there.

Life seemed perfectly normal on paper, so I kept greeting strangers and sharing the Good Word, which is precisely what she wanted.

The Letter

Then, one weekday afternoon early that summer, I received a different kind of letter from my mother.

It was much shorter than I was used to — really more of a note than a letter. She said that she loved me, that she was proud of me, and that she hoped I would appreciate the quote she was sending along.

The quote was from Marianne Williamson:

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn’t serve the world. There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you... As we’re liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

I loved the quote and, had I known the deteriorating condition of my mother, I would have loved it even more.

It was not a farewell note, but it was a powerful reminder of both her role and my role in life at that moment.

We were both called to selflessly preach the Good Word. Me, to the beautiful Biellese that surrounded me every day and she, to me.

Thinking of you Mom

That letter arrived in the mailbox of my soul over 20 years ago now.

13 years ago, my mother passed away. Just days before, she had told me “I haven’t felt this good in a decade.”

I had hugged her good night, told her “I love you,” and drove home completely unaware it would be the last time I would see her.

I can still see her smiling and waving to me as I backed out the driveway, her fuzzy peach nightgown glowing brilliantly in my headlights.

I’ve been thinking a lot about you Mom; thinking about the quote that lifted me as you yourself were sinking.

I’ve spent too much time lately shrinking from my light. I’ve played it small, hoping that I could go unnoticed while life still managed to work itself out in spite of me.

Today I know that’s no longer possible.

You, your gift, your love reminds me today that I have a larger role to play in this world; a role that requires that I stand up tall, walk out the door, and once again say “Hello world, you may not know me, but I am David Smurthwaite, the son of an amazing mother and I have something important to say.”

Thank you for reminding me that I have a voice that needs to be heard, not for my benefit, but for all of us that need to be liberated from our doubts and fears.

You will forever be a fuzzy peach light in my life.

What to get more out of your next family trip? Here’s a great place to start

Thanks for reading. My name is David Smurthwaite. I’m a top writer on Medium in Travel, Parenting, Health, & Short Stories. I’m a father of four rapidly-growing boys, and husband to a near-perfect companion, all of whom I’ve enlisted in writing Why We Roam: a book dedicated to helping families have life-changing experiences around the world.

You can follow our family of seven (including our 16-year-old puppy) on Instagram as we live in four countries (Spain, Rwanda, Vietnam, and Colombia) on four continents over the next 12 months.