Believing in the Dark

Life is so very hard sometimes.  None of us are immune to trials, and none of us are immune to the uncertainties of this mortal life.  A couple of weeks ago it was my turn to teach the Sunday lesson to the twelve and thirteen-year-old young women at church.  There were a handful of topics to choose from, and as I read over them I told myself I wasn't going to do it.  I wasn't going to pick the lesson that was screaming at me from the computer screen.  I wasn't going to yet again talk about the greatest trial of my life thus far.  I wasn't going to try and explain to these girls how to find comfort when someone they loves dies, because some days I am not sure if I really know.  But as I tried to prepare for that Sunday lesson, I knew I had to share what I have learned, not only from my personal experience, but from others who I love who have lost, and from the Gospel that has given me hope and joy amidst the pain.

As I reviewed testimonies from family and friends, apostles and prophets, and studied scriptures that have brought me peace over and over again, I was reminded of the truths that I hold so dear.  The things that have helped me find comfort in the darkness of grief.  That Sunday I felt inspired to write.  I wanted to document the things we discussed in that church building, because I knew I would need to refer back to them on hard days.  I also know my children will one day live this life without me, and although I hope by that point they will have gained their own testimonies of these truths, I want them to have no doubt about what I believed or what I held close in the hardest moments.

Life got busy and I didn't get around to writing.  The strong feeling to write these things down was replaced with my to-do list for a busy week, and I thought I might be able to get to it eventually.  Then I awoke last weekend to news of a horrible tragedy that took place in my hometown.  A vibrant, young family was found dead in their home due to carbon monoxide poisoning.  A mother, father and two young sons are now gone; and their two oldest children are returning home from their missionary service to a terrible reality.  I didn't know these people personally, but this story has weighed on my heart and mind since I first heard about it.  How are these two young people going to carry on without their family?  How will they cope and find comfort in the midst of such a senseless tragedy?  Obviously I don't know how they personally will react to and get through this event.  I won't pretend to know the way that they should.  But I do know that my thoughts have again turned to those things that I shared with my young women a few Sundays ago.  And tonight- forever- I need to remember them and ponder on the comfort that they bring to my life.

No matter what you believe or how strong your faith is, it will never take the sadness out of death.  Being separated from someone you love is never easy, especially when that separation is tragic and premature.  I love this quote from Elder M. Russell Ballard:

"Irrespective of age, we mourn for those loved and lost.  Mourning is one of the deepest expressions of pure love.  It is a natural response in complete accord with divine commandment: 'Though shalt live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die' (D&C 42:45)

Moreover, we can't fully appreciate joyful reunions later without tearful separations now.  The only way to take sorrow out of death is to take love out of life."

It's comforting to me to know that sorrow is a natural part of the grieving process.  Sometimes it seems that we need to keep a brave face for everyone else when we are grieving.  I always say that at my dad's viewing I was the one comforting everyone else.  That wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but even now, three and a half years later, I still feel like I need to make sure everyone else feels okay about the situation.  That I need to be strong for everyone else.  The truth is sometimes I am not strong, and many times the sorrow is still deep and painful.  But that sorrow is a result of a great love that I shared for my dad, and I wouldn't trade that love and those happy memories for anything.

As I have matured, and most certainly as I have experienced the death of a loved one, I have come to more fully realize the power and blessing of the Atonement in my life.  When I was younger I thought the Atonement only applied to sin.  And mostly the "big sins" at that.  But as I have come to need strength and comfort that can not be found through the things of this world, I have been able to find them through the power of Jesus Christ and his Atonement.

One of my favorite, if not my absolute favorite, scripture references can be found in Alma 7:11-12:

"And he shall go forth, suffering pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind; and this that the word might be fulfilled which saith he will take upon him the pains and the sicknesses of his people.

 And he will take upon him death, that he may loose the bands of death which bind his people; and he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities."

I have felt my Savior succoring me, most especially during the direct aftermath of my dad's death.  I have often described the feeling of a warm, loving hand placed over my heart in those moments waiting for my husband to arrive and mourn with me, taking care of a six month-old baby, planning a funeral, and grieving with the many people who loved my sweet father.  I joined a distinct club when I lost a parent.  It's a club that none of us want to be a part of, but we are members none the less.  While many people understand a number of the feelings of my heart, there is no one who can actually feel every pain that has stung my heart or experienced every ache that continues to plague me nearly four years later.  No one, that is, except for my Savior.  He does understand.  He has felt those feelings, and I am sure cried those tears.  I do not ever have to feel alone or misunderstood, because my Savior knows me and he understands my struggles.

Some days the sorrow becomes too much.  The injustice of it all overtakes all the peace that I have worked so hard to achieve.  He is missing too much.  It can't be fair that my dad is missing my little sister's wedding, never met my brother's wife, or doesn't get to run and play with my little girls.  I try not to dwell on these thoughts, but sometimes they are real and sometimes they are louder than I want them to be.

The following quote by Elder Shayne M. Bowen reminds me that it is going to be okay:

"I testify that because of Him, even our Savior, Jesus Christ, those feelings of sorrow, loneliness, and despair will one day be swallowed up in a fullness of joy.  I testify that we can depend on Him and when He said: 'I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.'...I testify that, as stated in Preach My Gospel, 'as we rely on the Atonement of Jesus Christ, He can help us endure our trials, sicknesses, and pain.  We can be filled with joy, peace, and consolation.  All that is unfair about life can be right through the Atonement of Jesus Christ."

These words bring me such hope.  Not just in light of the death of my father, but in every struggle I am asked to endure in this life.  Even in the darkest moments, there is light ahead; even if that light reaches past this life and into the eternities.  Sometimes it seems too long to wait, but I have faith that it will come.

One thing that has always brought me peace is thinking about what occurred after my dad left this earthly life.  Of course I do not know with complete certainty what transpired, but I have absolute faith that it was a peaceful, beautiful thing.  Many quotes and scriptures have brought me peace as I have pictured my sweet dad being welcomed with love and admiration into the arms of his loving Heavenly Father.  Elder Ballard states "Our limited perspective would be enlarged if we could witness the reunion on the other side of the veil, when doors of death open to those returning home."

I also love the scripture found in Matthew 25:21, the same scripture that was found on the program at my dad's funeral:

"His lord said unto him, Well done, thou good and faithful servant: thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord."

I know we don't understand the complexities of the eternities.  We don't know for sure what Heaven is like, or what our loved ones are doing without us.  It's something I think about a lot, and thanks to my sweet four year-old talk about just as often.  I wish I knew exactly what my dad was doing, but I have faith that he is happy.  I believe that he is aware of me and my family, that he rejoices in our triumphs and cries with us as we face disappointments.  I believe he is closer to me than I can understand, and that he can see far beyond the short years of mortality that seem so long while we are living them.