Hurricanes rage and tsunamis flood, killing people and destroying homes. Dictators oppress their people; destitute children beg in the streets of major cities throughout the world. Loved ones die, and family members suffer. If God is loving, we may ask, why is there suffering in the world?

God Himself has answered these questions in the scriptures. Every moment of every day, He remembers us:

Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee.

Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands… (Isaiah49:15-16)

But still the question remains: if He remembers us and loves us so completely, why does He allow us to suffer?

God loves us, so He sent us to earth to choose between good and evil

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (inadvertently called “The Mormon Church” by the media) teaches that God has a plan for us. In The Pearl of Great Price, which contains ancient writings of Abraham and Moses as well as modern revelation, God explains that we are His work and His glory:

For behold, this is my work and my glory—to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man. (The Pearl of Great Price, Moses 1:39)

Mortal life is not the beginning of our existence, and it is not the end. As the literal spirit children of God, our Heavenly Father, we lived with Him before we came to earth. We are here because of His loving plan for us to learn, grow, and become more like Him, so that we can have eternal life and experience the fulness of joy that He experiences. To be like Him, we need physical bodies like His, and the opportunity to choose between good and evil. God loves us so much that  He allows the natural processes of the world to go forward so we can fully experience mortal life and the ultimate gift of eternal life. He loves each of His children, even those who choose evil and cause others to suffer. Because He loves us so much, He allows us to suffer at the the hands of others so that we each can experience fully the consequences of choosing good or evil. Because He loves each one of His children so much, He allows everyone to choose good or evil, to make real decisions with real consequences.

In this environment, we are required to act for ourselves and prove to ourselves and to God whether we would keep all of His commandments and overcome sin and opposition…The Father’s desire is to provide all of us with the opportunity to receive a fulness of joy, even the fulness that He possesses in His perfected and glorified state.(Christoffel Golden Jr., Our Father’s Plan, October 2001 General Conference of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints)

By choosing to overcome evil and opposition, our natures can eventually become like His, thus allowing us to feel as He feels and live as He lives.

God loves us, so He sent Jesus Christ to atone for us

Because God loves us enough to let us each choose, the choices other people make often cause us pain and suffering. God sent His Son, Jesus Christ, to provide a way for us to overcome the suffering others may cause us to experience, as well as the suffering we bring upon ourselves though sin. The atonement of Jesus Christ mitigates the effects of sin and suffering in our lives if we learn to choose good by repenting of our sins and keeping His commandments. The gift of the Savior is the greatest evidence of all of God’s love for us:

For God so loved the world, that he gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life. (John 3:16)

Jesus, the Only Begotten Son of the Father in the flesh, willingly took upon Him the suffering of all men because of His great love for us. Our Savior, who had committed no sin, suffered beyond our ability to comprehend and died for our sins. In The New Testament and in The Doctrine and Covenants, a book of revelations to modern prophets, Christ describes His love and His sufferings. No greater love could ever be shown (see John 15:13 and Doctrine and Covenants 18:10-13). Jesus Christ’s sufferings in Gethsemane and on the cross paid the price for our sins, on condition of repentance; His resurrection from the dead broke the bands of death and physical suffering for all men. The atonement protects us from being destroyed by the struggles of our lives. Because of our Savior’s sacrifice, we can have our burdens lifted in mortality and return to God to live with Him eternally.

We can personally experience God’s love here on earth

Through our faith in Jesus Christ, we can feel the great love God has for us here on earth. Many Christians throughout history can testify of the joy and healing they have felt as they have experienced God’s love. The Book of Mormon, Another Testament of Jesus Christ, is the modern translation of some records of God’s dealings with an ancient people in the Americas. One story contained in it is the story of Alma the younger, who was the son of the prophet of an ancient people. Alma caused great pain to his father and others by actively going about, seeking to destroy the faith of the Christians who lived during his time. One day while he was traveling with his companions, he experienced a vision similar to Paul’s in which he was commanded to cease his work of destruction. He suddenly realized the terrible harm he had done to his people, and he fell to the ground, unable to move, consumed by despair. For three days he was wracked with torment at the thought of his sins. But at the end of the three days, he remembered the things he had been taught concerning the atonement of Christ. He called upon Jesus Christ for help and for forgiveness:

Now, as my mind caught hold upon this thought, I cried within my heart: O Jesus, thou Son of God, have mercy on me, who am in the gall of bitterness, and am encircled about by the everlasting chains of death.

And now, behold, when I thought this, I could remember my pains no more; yea, I was harrowed up by the memory of my sins no more.

And oh, what joy, and what marvelous light I did behold; yea, my soul was filled with joy as exceeding as was my pain!

Yea, I say unto you, my son, that there could be nothing so exquisite and so bitter as were my pains. Yea, and again I say unto you, my son, that on the other hand, there can be nothing so exquisite and sweet as was my joy. (The Book of Mormon, Another Testament of Jesus Christ, Alma 36:18-23)

When we are overwhelmed with sin or despair, we too can call upon our loving Heavenly Father for help. Through the atonement of Jesus Christ, we can feel His great love and be healed. Other Book of Mormon prophets described a Tree of Life, whose fruit represented the love of God. They described God’s love as filling their souls with great joy (1 Nephi 8:12), and being “most precious, …sweet above all that is sweet, and pure above all that is pure,” (Alma 32:42) so that by feasting upon it, they hungered and thirsted no more.

talk more about how we suffer for others’ sins, agency

Additional Resources:

Jesus Christ, Our Savior

Finding Ourselves in Lehi’s Dream

Amazing Grace: Sarah’s Story

By Tessa Joy McMillan

As an eight year old, I was extremely excited to have a room of my own. But it was not like other rooms. It was an attic: twenty foot vaulted ceilings, exposed wooden beams, spider webs, protruding nails, hard wood floors, and a column of brick created an exciting atmosphere. But to make my room even more amazing, my dad hung an attic swing from one of the large wooden beams. During severe thunderstorms, I would sit on my swing and move to and fro to the pitter-patter of the rain. Life was good on my swing.

***

It was my freshman year in high school. I loved every minute of it. I had lots of friends, I was getting good grades in all of my classes, and I was to be in the spring play, Winnie The Pooh. Life couldn’t have been better, except for the fact that because I was a member of the LDS church,  I was impatiently waiting to be the big “one six” to start dating. But, all that mattered at the time was what was happening right then and there. The future seemed too far away to worry about. Besides, I was having too much fun in the present to worry about something so distant.

***

I remember back in junior high I came home after an exhausting day of school activities. I ran up the two flights of stairs to find my swing waiting patiently for me. I slid easily into the wooden seat. It always fit me perfectly. Then, I took off! I blasted off into my imagination pretending I was flying over Germany in a WWII dive-bomber or pretending I was a superhero flying through the air to help rescue those in need. But then I realized I was the one in need of rescue. I had reached the height limits of my swing and by pushing it to its peak one of the ropes had broken. I came crashing down with my hands outstretched to catch my fall. But it was too late. I had fallen at such a great height that my hands could not stop me from slamming with terrifying force onto the hard wooden floors. I lay dazed and shocked for a moment. Then pain came into my hands. I had sprained them both. I screamed and cried not only for the pain I was experiencing but for the betrayal of my precious swing. Why did it happen? Why after years of reliable happiness did it betray me? What did I do to deserve this?

***

Monday, April 13, 1998.  Today, everything was going my way. High school was definitely treating me well. My table during lunch was overflowing with friends who all wanted to sit with me. But with the ring of the bell I had to leave that taste of popularity behind to go to my girls’ gym class. I left for the locker room, changed, and came to join my friends in class to see what physical activities were in store for us. Our teacher arrived and gave us the happy news that we were able to do whatever activity we wanted for class. I had an idea and raised my hand to suggest that we should play games on scooters. Scooters are square boards with wheels on them. You sit on top of them and push yourselves on them with your hands. So, we spent the hour pushing ourselves around and laughing at our enjoyment. Class ended and I felt happy the rest of the day because of the fun I had had in gym class.

Wednesday, April 15, 1998. After a long but good day at school, I crashed on my usual spot on the couch to watch a few meaningless hours of television. Yet something seemed different. My fingers seemed uncomfortable holding the remote control. I tried popping my knuckles and fingers to make the discomfort go away. It seemed to work, and I shrugged off the experience.

A few hours later, it was time to go to Mutual at the church. I had to go since my mother was in charge of the activity for the Young Women. We were to tie quilts that night for poor people in the community. So, we left for the church and set up the quilting racks when we got there. Soon the girls arrived and we began to tie quilts. But as I was enjoying myself tying quilts and chatting with the other young women, the discomfort from hours earlier came back; only the discomfort became an unbearable pain. I dropped my needle, which was in the middle of a knot. It was too painful to even hold the large needle between my fingers. I ran from the room afraid I would scream aloud due to the pain.

The only place I could think of to be alone was my mother’s car. I ran to the car and opened the door. But it caused even more pain to lift the car door handle. I bit my lips and fought the screams that tore at my throat. Yet, as I sat in the car and painfully pulled the door shut, I could not fight the tears from gushing out.

I looked down at my hands. They looked like my own hands. I turned them over examining them to see if I had any bruises or deep cuts that caused this horrific pain. But there was nothing to see. They looked normal but they felt alien to me.  It didn’t make sense. Why was this happening to me?

I had hoped the pain would subside after a few hours. But it never did. The pain wouldn’t go away. Friday, I was sent to a neurologist. He didn’t know why I had pain. Monday, I was sent to a rheumatologist. He didn’t know. Wednesday, I went to a hand surgeon. He didn’t know as well. Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months with no answers from anyone in the medical profession. Each doctor didn’t know what I had. So, they would send me along to someone else who might know. But the next doctor never did. Most of my teenage years were spent in doctors’ waiting rooms. My parents wanted to find a cure for this pain and so did I. But I hated feeling as though I were a lab rat that was constantly observed, poked, and prodded by the doctors studying it.

Diagnoses were made, but the next doctor would disagree and another name was placed upon my mysterious pain. It was a hideous cycle. Treatments turned into torture. At one time, I was diagnosed with reflex sympathetic dystrophy (RSD). The treatments for this diagnosis were injections into my neck to slow down the nerve messages of pains that my brain was supposedly sending to my hands. Since the pain was bilateral, I had to have two injections done into two nerves in my neck. My mother would get off work and drive me two hours up to KU Medical Center in Kansas City for early morning treatments. I would change into a hospital gown, be laid down onto an examination table and my neck would be wiped thoroughly with iodine. I tried desperately to ignore looking at the thick three-inch needle that was heading to my neck. Faces covered in operating masks would blur my vision as the needle entered my skin. Yes, I was quite conscious and awake during these treatments. I am not sure how I endured the sting each time the needle entered into my neck. But these treatments never helped. I would come home, with my neck bandaged up, and would have such terrible reactions to the treatments I would need to go to the emergency room. I realized that with these “treatments” more problems were created than were fixed.

My pain that had been only located in both of my hands spread to the rest of my body. Not only was I a teenager who could  not dress or feed myself, there were times when I could not even walk because it was too painful to move. I could only feel pain every single day. Not only could I feel the pain from my physical problems, but also pain from losing my teenage independence. I had to depend solely on my parents to help me function at all.

Pills never worked. They also created more problems than they fixed. At one time I was taking pills to stop continuous migraines I had been having. But my pills made my hair fall out. So, I would stop the medication to stop my hair loss, but the migraines would come back again. Nothing seemed to work out right. When doctors would see what medications I was on or had taken, they jokingly nicknamed me the “walking pharmacy.” I didn’t share in their humor and began to wonder if there was any hope for finding a cure.

While in the midst of searching for answers, my lovely social life was gone. My friends who had been around were no longer to be seen nor heard from. I was in too much pain to do anything. School was out of the question. I could barely hold a pencil without tears of pain coming to my eyes. The friends I had would only see me for my disability. I was deformed and changed in their eyes. I was quickly dismissed from interacting with them because I was “different.” Once when I was feeling well enough I came to visit my high school for an hour. I was walking down the hall when one of my former friends saw me. His jaw dropped and his eyes bulged out as I walked up to him.

“Hey Maurice.  How are you doing?” I asked.

He still looked at me with that look of shock and disbelief.

“What’s the matter Maurice? Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked. I started to walk towards him, but he slowly backed away. “Maurice?”

He finally snapped out of it and said, “I thought you were dead.”

“What?” I yelled.

He continued, “There’s a rumor going around school about you. People have been saying you were at home dying.”

I just stared at him for a long time with my mouth gaping open. I finally turned around to leave him standing there. I couldn’t believe people were spreading that kind of rumor about me.

It was awful to think that my former friends who had been so close to me before hadn’t even stopped by to confirm this rumor. It looked as though no one outside of my family even cared about me anymore. I was alone, fighting an unknown enemy within. I kept wondering if there would ever be a time of peace in my life.

One day I couldn’t take it anymore. I had had enough and I broke down. After another useless day of lying in my bed in pain, I found myself sitting on the floor tucked into a corner of my room. My arms were clutching my legs to my chest as tight as I possibly could. I was in a daze as I began rocking back and forth in my corner. All I could think about was how much of a burden I was to my family and what a burden the pain was for me. I wanted to end it all. Death seemed so peaceful and inviting after a year of being in constant pain. I began to sob thinking that my life had to end like this. But my thoughts were interrupted when my parents walked into my room.

“Tessa!” they gasped. “What are you doing? What’s wrong sweety?”  Frantically, they ran to my side but stopped a foot away from my rocking frame. Apparently, I was mumbling the phrase, “I want to die.  I want to die.  I want to die,” over and over again. They watched horrified as I rocked and sobbed on the floor. They tried to calm me down and make me take my mind off of wanting to end it all. They even tried calling more doctors to understand why I was acting this way. Didn’t they realize I didn’t want them to suffer anymore on my account?

Somehow through their coaxing, I finally snapped out of it. My parents got me off of the floor and placed me back onto my bed to rest and relax. I asked them to bring my CD player over so I could listen to some music to calm my nerves. They did and pressed “play” for me. The song Ordinary World by Duran Duran came on. I had listened to that song many times before, but the lyrics of that song awoke a new hope I had thought was gone forever. These were the lyrics I heard:

What is happening to it all?

Crazy some say.

Where is the life that I recognize?

Gone away.

But I won’t cry for yesterday.

There’s an ordinary world somehow I have to find.

And as I try to make my way to the ordinary world,

I will learn to survive…

What is happening to me?

Crazy some say.

Where is my friend when I need you most?

Gone away…

And I don’t cry for yesterday.

There’s an ordinary world somehow I have to find.

And as I try to make my way to the ordinary world,

I will learn to survive.

Any world is my world.

Every world is my world.

There was hope for me. I realized my “ordinary” life was gone. I had lost it. But that didn’t mean I had lost a life worth living. I could never be the person I was ever again, but I had hope. I had hope in a future world I was soon to create for myself.

From that point on, I had a chance to live. Of course I still had pain, but I worked through it. I was able to graduate from high school with several college scholarships. I attended a community college and worked hard to have a 4.0 G.P.A. My efforts paid off when after a year and a half attendance, I applied to Brigham Young University. I was readily accepted and was offered a full tuition scholarship. I later moved to BYU and was able to get back the social life I had once thought was lost to me.

After attending BYU for several years, I was able to find a man who could love me despite my pain. He was the first man who was not scared away by my disability. He stayed by my side to comfort me while my body was crippled with uncontrollable pain. After three months of dating he proposed to me. He also took on my goal to help create our own “ordinary world” together and to give me hope when others doubted my abilities. Four months later, we were married and sealed together for eternity in the Nauvoo temple.

After over nine years of being in pain, no answers were ever found. But I still live my life with hope that someday I will be back in that “ordinary” world again.

Someone once said, “It takes courage to grow up and turn out to be who you really are.” I truly believe that. It took a lot of courage to realize I would never be that young freshman girl ever again. But I accepted it and ended up creating a new future for myself.  I have “learn[ed] to survive.” Because “any world is my world, every world is my world.”

First original copy published in Segullah 2008 Summer edition (segullah.org).

Karen

Part III

“The Crust of Irony”

Well, you’ve probably noticed in your trials, as I have in mine, that there is always some irony, but not nearly as much as in the ironies the Savior endured. Enduring mine enabled me to see and appreciate the grueling ironies of the Savior, and to come to know Him better.

The Spirit tutors and chisels and presses even or especially around the “crust of irony,” as Elder Maxwell aptly calls it. Such was the case here.

Mom confronted pancreatic difficulties all her life, but was never diagnosed with cancer until nine days prior to her passing. Apparently, pancreatic cancer is one of the most difficult to diagnose, and more than 60 percent aren’t actually even identified until death or some other necessary surgery that reveals it.

Mom’s official diagnosis prior to the final one was “benign cystic disease.” Like most others whose loved one has an illness, I began immersing myself in articles about the nature of pancreatic cysts.

As I read about the types of cysts, I noticed that each one except one was either cancerous or pre-cancerous; or had strands of cancer cells lined within an innocuous, non-cancerous group of cells.

As all the lit indicated overtly the difficulty in distinguishing benign and malignant pancreatic growths, I wondered, naturally, “How did they make the call in Mom’s case?” In fact, in spite of my ignorance, flags went up, and, ultimately, I suspected cancer.

I decided to e-mail Mom’s doctor. An excerpt of that original e-mail appears below:

Dr. [X],

Hello. I’m Karen . . .,  daughter of Adele . . . who will be coming to see you next Wed for a second opinion after a bout of pancreatitis and long history of pancreatic and biliary problems that no one has been able to figure out.. I guess she’s one in a million!

Anyway, I’m not a medical person, but just an interested family member with lots of questions after pouring over material on the net …and reading Mom’s reports. I wonder if I could list a few of my questions… I apologize for my ignorance.

How do we know this is psuedo-cyst for sure since it sounds like neoplasms are hard to identify clearly and some carcinadenomas are mistaken for or initially diagnosed as pseudo-cysts…?

It sounds like biopsy is poor way to detect if cancerous since some strands of growths/cysts in pancreas tend to be benign while others malignant, is that true? If so, how does one know if it’s malignant? They say 60% plus of malignancies aren’t correctly diagnosed til autopsy,amazing… Are there are new ways of diagnosing?

Has mucinous ductal ectasia, [mucinous carcinadenoma], been ruled out? Some say this mimics pseudo-cyst…

He wrote back and kindly assured me that her diagnosis was benign. Here is a copy of the response I received:

Hello Karen,

I’m sorry-I just happened to see this email today. You’ve certainly read a lot about pancreatic lesions. Essentially, I don’t think your mom has a pseudocyst. I think it is a real (not pseudo) cyst, probably like that of her kidney cysts. We will watch it, however. If it should grow, it may well need drainage. In this location, it would be best drained surgically. Don’t worry about rupture, or cancer, as her CA19-9 was normal and there appear to be no solid elements present.

While I recalled reading that the mentioned blood test was highly inaccurate in diagnosing pancreatic cancer, I thought I ought to take the doctor’s word at this point.

So when Mom was ’suddenly’ diagnosed on that memorable Friday, it seemed so odd in a way. As Dad read the report to me over the phone, I heard the words, “mucinous carcinaden-oma.” I realized that it was precisely the kind of cancer I’d inquired about.

Now the natural man would have missed the feast-the signature dish. And, initially, she began to surface in thoughts like: “How could the team have missed it?” But just as quickly as I let it in, the Spirit hovered close and whispered in no uncertain terms something to this effect:

You see, this is part of the answer to prayer. Had Mom been diagnosed two months ago, or a year or three ago, she would have had to go through chemo/radiation just to extend life. But she had expressly asked me to spare her that-and in her case, I can, for she has suffered enough in her life to be with me. The fact that it was overlooked or somehow not recognizable from prior tests and scans was more than human error.

I believe that to be true.

Purifying Our Lineage
Back to the story about my Dad. He was not a believer in the afterlife. That was another most difficult thing to bear. I can’t imagine the feeling of thinking his sweetheart of 50 years was gone-forever-just ceased to be.

I watched him agonize as his world as he envisioned it turned upside down. Last year at this time, we were at the same hospital, same floor, watching him struggle with chemo for his esophogial cancer. He thought it would be him going-all his funeral papers were worked out, and nothing was yet in place for Mom. I tried to find right moments to continue to plant seeds and all cousins prayed for the gift of faith for him, and he took some steps forward I believe. As I saw him grieve-part a necessary grief, and part an unnecessary grief, I grieved.

And then the Spirit washed over me as I thought of the little offering I had made for him this year. This was the year I felt so impressed to have an extended fast for Dad and to pray for a miracle of conversion for him. I was joined on one of those days by about ten close friends, my husband and children. I can’t tell you how secure I felt knowing, at least, that ‘that’ was in place.

In those difficult moments of watching Dad, the still small voice was saying to stand back and watch “the arm of the Lord be revealed” in his behalf (D&C 90:10). I knew what I was promised then. I knew the outpouring of the Spirit I felt. I knew the words of Truman Madsen that still ring in my ears and that are typed in 22-or is it 26-point font in my journal.

They are the words that came to me as I was well into my fast for Dad, feeling the thinning of the veil, and receiving impressions regarding the time my father would accept the fullness of the gospel of Jesus Christ as revealed in our day.

I was driving, listening to one of Brother Madsen’s (a Mormon scholar) talks, in which he spoke of the redemptive work of the Savior in gathering families to Him eternally. He spoke of how individuals coming into the Church, if righteous, could be grafting in branches of their own family and cleansing a lineage. As part of this commentary, he shared on tape a blessing given by Joseph Smith to, I believe, Elder Snow.

Fortuitously, I was pulling into a parking lot when I heard it; otherwise, I think I may have veered off the road, for it penetrated my heart so. The words resemble these:

…Your earthly father has not accepted the gospel, but Heavenly Father will be your father. And if you will live in full path of righteousness, the time will come when you will save all your kindred flesh and the blessings which are being conferred on you by your Heavenly Father will be conferred on you by your own father.

In those moments of longing to help Dad, I was comforted with the previous promise of a miracle. The Lord never bows out, so we don’t need to either. He always comes through.

The Funeral
So, Dad and I were virtually at opposite ends of the spectrum. I was so relieved that Mom got to go home early while sorry for his dear loss and he felt “the gods had cheated her” and given her “a raw deal.”

However, by the time we were all finished visiting with him-all of my Italian Catholic extended family who believe and made comments as inspired, and after all the prayers, and after the funeral Mass, I sensed a nuance of change in him-from his sure disbelief to an “I-hope-you’re-right” stance. The music of the funeral service was so faith-infusing, it was amazing. Perfect for Dad. Perfect for Mom.

I was asked to give the eulogy-another of Heavenly Father’s purposeful interventions. I told my Dad he might want my sister to give it since he didn’t believe in the afterlife, and I could only speak about Mom and offer comfort in that context. His preference didn’t change. His reasoning was that since Mom believed in the afterlife, and the eulogy and remarks were for her, it would be appropriate.

I had the opportunity to share a portion of Alma 40 regarding the state of the soul between death and the resurrection during the eulogy, which I invite you, if you are a friend of another faith reading this, to consider:

Now concerning the state of the soul between death and the resurrection-behold, it has been made known that the spirits of all, as soon as they are departed from this mortal body, are taken home to that God who gave them life.

And then shall it come to pass, that the spirits of those who are righteous are received into a state of happiness, which is called paradise, a state of rest, a state of peace, where they shall rest from all their troubles and from all care, and sorrow.

The soul shall be restored to the body, and the body to the soul; yea, and every limb and joint shall be restored to its body; yea, even a hair of the head shall not be lost; but all things shall be restored to their proper and perfect frame (Alma 40: 11, 12, 23).

And while I have always been grateful for that passage, never have I been as grateful for its clarity, explanation, and succinctness.

Well, the service brought back my Gentile days and confirmed the blessings of the restored gospel. Snow blanketed the ground as she was entombed in a mauseleum, with the words, “together forever” inscribed on the outside of the crypt. I felt the Lord’s hand pressing and melting Dad’s heart.

Additional Witnesses of God’s Hand

After Mom’s passing, I found information she seemed to have left for me to find about her ancestors. It was joyful to provide for them and her in the temple the gospel blessings. Bellos seemed to be ever present in our home.It was all amazing to me. God is so good. How can we say the smallest part? How can we miss the signature dish of His love? In or out of adversity? The lines begin to blur. Is this really adversity?

A Heart Pressed
The heat of summer, the heat of the furnace, the heat of the Son, is intense-”white hot, a holy flame.” Likely there will be pain. But there will be greater joy.

And, as Shad Mash Abed aptly observes,

“Sometimes we must take the heat even if we are not certain the thermometer of trial will soon be turned down” (As quoted in Elder Neal A. Maxwell’s All These Things Shall Give Thee Experience).

For Dad-and for some who have struggled with the loss of a loved one-”the grief of death may be the fuel, an understanding of God’s plan the oxygen, and the love of God the heart that makes the refiner’s fire burn”-or the heart pressed to perfection (Dunn & Eyre, The Birth We Call Death p. 41).

For some of us, the press is something else.

Just Remember:

There are two ways of seeing the world-one way is that nothing is a miracle. The other way is that everything is. And:

The crushed oil is virgin…all bitterness and unsavory flavor is gone.

The silver refined by the refiner is perfect when finished. And the Silversmith knows it’s complete by seeing His own image reflected in the silver.

That is the miracle of the atonement of Christ-of hearts pressed and perfected-and hope for a life with the Savior forever and a way through the pain and struggle that will be worth it one day, some how, some way.