Come Unto Me

My favorite excerpts from a fireside address delivered by Jeffrey R. Holland at Brigham Young University on 2 March 1997.

Come Follow Me

“When Andrew and Philip first heard Christ speak, they were so moved, so spellbound that they followed him as he left the crowd. Sensing that he was being pursued, Christ turned and asked the two men, “What seek ye?” (John 1:38). Other translations render that simply “What do you want?”

They answered, “Where dwellest thou?” or “Where do you live?”

And Christ said, “Come and see.” Just a short time later he formally called Peter and others of the new apostles with the same spirit of invitation, “Come, follow me” (see Matthew 4:19).

It seems to me that the essence of our lives is distilled down to these two brief elements in these opening scenes of the Savior’s mortal ministry. One element is the question, to every one of us, “What seek ye? What do you want?” The second is his answer as to how to get that. Whoever we are, and whatever our problems, his response is always the same, forever: “Come unto me.” Come see what I do and how I spend my time. Learn of me, follow me, and in the process I will give you answers to your prayers and rest to your souls.

... I know of no other way for you to succeed or to be happy or to be safe. I know of no other way for you to be able to carry your burdens or find what Jacob called “that happiness which is prepared for the saints” (2 Nephi 9:43). That is why we make solemn covenants based on Christ’s atoning sacrifice, and that is why we take upon us his name. In as many ways as possible, both figuratively and literally, we try to take upon us his identity. We seek out his teachings and retell his miracles. We send latter-day witnesses, including prophets, apostles, and missionaries, around the world to declare his message. We call ourselves his children, and we testify that he is the only source of eternal life. We plead for him to swing open the gates of heaven in our behalf and trust everlastingly that he will, based upon our faithfulness.

Lay Down Your Burden

“I don’t know what things may be troubling you personally tonight, but, even knowing how terrific you are and how faithfully you are living, I would be surprised if someone somewhere weren’t troubled by a transgression or the temptation of transgression. To you, wherever you may be, I say, Come unto him and lay down your burden. Let him lift the load. Let him give peace to your soul. Nothing in this world is more burdensome than sin. It is the heaviest cross men and women ever bear. And while I believe you to be the greatest generation of young adults ever to live in this Church, nevertheless the world around you is an increasingly hostile and sinful place. Occasionally that splashes onto us, and perhaps, in the case of a few of you, it may be nearly drowning you.

To anyone struggling under the burden of sin, we say with the Prophet Joseph that God has “a forgiving disposition” (Lectures on Faith 3:20). You can change. You can be helped. You can be made whole—whatever the problem. All he asks is that you walk away from the darkness and come into the light, his light, with meekness and lowliness of heart. That is at the heart of the gospel. That is the very center of our message. That is the beauty of redemption. Christ has “borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows,” Isaiah declared, “and with his stripes we are healed”—if we want to be (Isaiah 53:4–5; Mosiah 14:4–5).

For anyone out there seeking the courage to repent and change, I remind you that the Church is not a monastery for the isolation of perfect people. It is more like a hospital provided for those who wish to get well. Do whatever you have to do to come into the fold and be blessed. For some of you that is simply to live with greater faith, to believe more. For some of you it does mean to repent: Right here. Tonight. For some of you (I hope there are investigators out there. There better be!) it means to be baptized and come into the body and fellowship of Christ. For virtually all of us it means to live more by the promptings and promises of the Holy Ghost and to “press forward with a steadfastness in Christ, having a perfect brightness of hope, and a love of God and of all men.”

…Jesus taught the the Nephites, who also lived in a difficult world. “For the mountains shall depart and the hills be removed,” he said, “but my kindness shall not depart from thee, neither shall the covenant of my peace be removed [from thee]” (3 Nephi 22:10; see also verses 13–14). I love that. The hills and the mountains may disappear. The seas and oceans may dry up completely. The least likely things in the world may happen, but “my kindness shall not depart from thee, neither shall the covenant of my peace be removed [from thee]” (emphasis added). After all, he has, he reminds us, “graven thee upon the palms of my hands” (1 Nephi 21:16). Considering the incomprehensible cost of the Crucifixion, Christ is not going to turn his back on us now.

Peace to Our Souls

“Just because God is God, just because Christ is Christ, they cannot do other than care for us and bless us and help us if we will but come unto them, approaching their throne of grace in meekness and lowliness of heart. They can’t help but bless us. They have to. It is their nature. That is why Joseph Smith gave those lectures on faith, so we would understand the nature of godliness and in the process have enough confidence to come unto Christ and find peace to our souls. There is not a single loophole or curveball or open trench to fall into for the man or woman who walks the path that Christ walks. When he says, “Come, follow me” (Luke 18:22), he means that he knows where the quicksand is and where the thorns are and the best way to handle the slippery slope near the summit of our personal mountains. He knows it all, and he knows the way. He is the way.

Listen to this wonderful passage from President George Q. Cannon teaching precisely this very doctrine:

No matter how serious the trial, how deep the distress, how great the affliction, [God] will never desert us. He never has, and He never will. He cannot do it. It is not His character [to do so]. He is an unchangeable being; the same yesterday, the same today, and He will be the same throughout the eternal ages to come. We have found that God. We have made Him our friend, by obeying His Gospel; and He will stand by us. We may pass through the fiery furnace; we may pass through deep waters; but we shall not be consumed nor overwhelmed. We shall emerge from all these trials and difficulties the better and purer for them, if we only trust in our God and keep His commandments. [“Freedom of the Saints,” in Collected Discourses, comp. and ed. Brian H. Stuy, 5 vols. (Burbank, California: B.H.S. Publishing, 1987–92), 2:185; emphasis added]”

 

 

Down We Go and Up We Climb

This past summer, Cameron and I (along with Steve and Sharon) climbed a mountain.  We set out with a guidebook in hand and looked forward to a destination that promised to be well worth the journey.   I would describe the hike as an easy to moderate climb.  At times, we strolled and enjoyed talking with each other.   At other times, breathing took priority, and there was no conversation.   Most of the trail seemed ordinary, and some of it even less than.  But, at various points along the way, our view was opened up and we were able to catch a glimpse of the scenery and valley below, giving us just a taste of what lay in store at the top of the mountain.

After some time, we reached our destination and we were not disappointed.

It was beautiful. 

 From where we stood on that mountain peak, we looked down upon a scenic valley and saw two small lakes tucked into the trees far below us.  We were glad we came.  We felt content with our accomplishment that evening.  

After resting for a few moments, we noticed that the trail continued from where we stood.  It descended partway into the valley and then climbed steeply to an even higher mountain peak.  While we had already reached our intended destination, there was now an opportunity for another one.  This sparked our interest and we wondered out loud if we should continue and climb to that next peak.  The argument to call it a day was a good one.  We were tired.  The trail ahead looked much steeper than the trail behind had been.   The sun was falling lower in the sky and darkness would be upon us if we didn’t turn back soon.  And finally, the biggest reason, in my opinion, to turn back was that we would have to go down into the valley first which meant an even longer and steeper hike to the top of the next mountain.

There were so many good reasons not to climb higher.  The view from where we stood was lovely.   But, we knew that we would be disappointed in ourselves if we didn’t make the extra push and see the view from that next peak. 

So, down we went.

And up we climbed.

The trail was steeper. 

The sun was lower. 

And we were indeed tired.

But, the scenery from that next peak was not just lovely like the first had been…it was spectacular.
 

 

From this second, higher mountain peak, our view was opened up on all sides.  As we turned full circle, to the north we saw the original valley beneath us, and could now see that there were three (not two) gorgeous lakes nestled in the pine trees below.  We then turned our gaze over the mountains that divided that valley from the next one, and in the distance to the east, we could see the scenic little towns of Midway and Heber.  And finally, as we turned to the south, our eyes took in the majestic mountain peaks of American Fork Canyon including the impressive Mount Timpanogas.

We stood in awe as the clouds raced by beneath our feet.  We took pictures with our camera and pictures with our hearts, hoping to never forget what we saw that night.  We talked about how grateful we were that we did not turn back, that we did not miss this chance to see the world like we saw it in that moment.  Had we not climbed higher, we would never have known what we missed.   We were so glad we didn’t miss it!

As I have reflected on this memory, I can’t help but see this experience as a metaphor for our Heavenly Father’s plan for each of us.  The last few years have been difficult ones for me.  I have spent a lot of time traversing a valley floor and longing to reach that next peak.  The trail has been steep, much steeper than I was previously accustomed to.  Because I am still climbing, I sometimes look back at that last peak in my life and can’t help but wish I was there, where the view was lovely and where I was content and simply glad I came.  

But, I have come to know that my Heavenly Father, who sees the end from the beginning, has given me an opportunity.  He has taken me from that previous mountain top, down into a deep and wide valley and He has invited me to climb higher.    Most days, the trail I am climbing feels quite ordinary.   Some days I get lost in the trees.  But once in a while, my view is opened up, and I catch a glimpse of what my Heavenly Father has in store for me and, in those moments, I know that it is worth the climb.   In those moments, I know that while it might be easy to list the reasons to not keep climbing, I will surely be disappointed if I do not push onward and upward to that next peak.  I feel in my heart, the promise of another mountain-top moment ahead, and I know that when I get there, I will be in awe of what I could not see from the previous peak in my life.

The experience that I have described is not unique to me.  I know that I am not the only one that has been led from mountain peak to valley floor and invited to climb higher.  In fact, I believe that this is the essence of our mortal journey on earth.  If you want to look at the big picture, we stood on a mountaintop called heaven before we came to earth.  I would guess that the view from our heavenly home was lovely, that we were content and glad to be there. We arrived here on earth and found ourselves on a valley floor, with a great big climb ahead of us.  We have each been invited to return to our heavenly home and we know that when we get there, what used to be a lovely place to live will then be a celestial place filled with joy beyond comprehension.  

Our time on earth teaches us that this is more than a “big–picture” analogy.  While we are all striving for the same end goal, we each climb an individual trail to get there.  Each of us will have our own series of mountaintop and valley floor moments in the journey back to Heaven.  Sometimes the valleys are shallow and are crossed quickly and without much trouble.   We climb from mountaintop to mountaintop with ease and enjoy the view along the way.  We don’t feel pushed beyond our limits and we become very comfortable with the scenery from where we stand.  Other times we are led into valleys that are so deep and dark that we go days or weeks or even months without feeling the sun on our face.  Sometimes, we cannot see past the trees right in front of us, let alone catch a glimpse of the beautiful destination that lies in store ahead.  During these times, we might wonder why a loving Heavenly Father would lead us through such a valley.  We might question our ability to keep climbing and even long to turn back to a time and a place when we were comfortable and life was easier.

I have learned that even though we don’t like spending time in the valley, good things can happen there.  I have learned that while the trail from valley floor to mountain top can be steep and strenuous and certainly unpleasant, remarkable growth happens when we push ourselves to climb higher.  The beginning pages of the Book of Mormon are a perfect example of this.  Nephi tells of his life in Jerusalem.  We know that his family had many possessions and, given his brothers’ incessant murmuring upon leaving these possessions, we can assume that life for their family had been comfortable.  In the book of First Nephi, the Lord leads this family from their comfortable “mountaintop” existence and down into the literal valley of Lemuel.  From here they travel for years in the wilderness trusting that they will one day reach the Promised Land.  It is easy to skim through these chapters and not notice that this family spent eight entire years in the wilderness before they finally boarded a ship and started their journey across the ocean.  After a long and arduous sea voyage, they finally reached the Promised Land.  While I am sure that this was a mountaintop moment for them, we know that Nephi did not enjoy peace and contentment for long before he was led into yet another valley and invited to climb even higher.   What do we learn about Nephi when he was faced with seemingly endless adversity?  We learn that he sought to know the mysteries of God (2:15); that he prayed and had faith (2:15/ 2:19); that he was not a complainer (3:6); that he was obedient even in the most trying circumstances (3:7,);  that he was receptive to the promptings of the spirit (4:3,);  and willing to do whatever the Lord asked of him (17:8-10).  While we can be sure that Nephi proved himself to the Lord, I love to think about what Nephi proved to Nephi during his time in the wilderness.

 I believe that it is through adversity that we prove to our Heavenly Father and, more importantly, learn for ourselves who we really are and who we can become.  It is in the valley floor moments of our lives that our flaws and our strengths are magnified.  In these moments we discover critical elements of our character and then we are invited to climb; to make weak things become strong and strong things become stronger.  We are promised that we will never be sorry that we made the climb and that the destination will always be more than well worth the journey. 

Amy Loader

Amy Loader was a strong and faithful woman.  She and her husband, James lived in England where James worked for a wealthy gentleman as his head gardener and foreman of his estate.  They had 13 children together.  When they were converted to the gospel and baptized as members of the church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, James was fired from his job as a consequence.  In November of 1855 they left for America.  They arrived first in New York where all of them, even the children worked for a time.  In June of 1856 they traveled to Iowa where they met their grown daughter Zilpah, who had arrived previously with her husband, John and her one-year-old daughter Flora.   

The days and weeks ahead were not to be easy ones for Amy and her family.  At one point in their journey, her daughter described how little they had to eat: “We did not get but very little meat as the bone had been picked the night before and we did not have only the half of a small biscuit as we only was having four ounces of flour a day.  This we divided into portions so we could have a small piece three times a day.” 

We know that many pioneer families started for Zion together, but arrived in the valley having buried and left precious loved ones on the trail behind them.  Amy’s family was no exception to this.   Her husband, James died fairly early in the trek, leaving her and her children to finish the journey without him.  Her young granddaughter, Flora, also died, one week before they reached the valley. 

Trying times for sure, but instead of crumbling under the weight of these burdens, Amy rose to the challenges she faced.  It has been said of her that “She protected, sustained and cheered her children as well as others without complaining, and manifested great faith in God.”  She was a wonderful mother.  It has also been said of her that, “She put on all the extra clothing she could carry under her own, so when the children needed dry clothing, she always had it.  As the weather became colder and provisions shorter, they were given four ounces of flour a day for each person.” While others made gruel, Amy made her small rations of flour into biscuits so that she and her family could have a bite or two throughout the day and she could share with her children when they were tired and faint. 

After one exceptionally cold night, Amy (whose health was also very fragile), could not get her daughters to arise.  I imagine that she felt fear rising in her chest, when she finally said, “Come girls, this will not do.  I believe I will have to dance to you and try to make you feel better.”  Amy struggled to her feet, hair falling about her face as she filled the air with song.  Louder and louder she sang, her wasted frame swaying as she finally danced waving her skirts back and forth.  The girls laughed, and momentarily forgot their frozen toes and snow-covered blankets, as their mother danced and sang and twirled until she stepped on an icy patch and fell in a heap to the ground.  Then, her daughter wrote, ‘…in a moment we was all up to help our dear Mother up for we was afraid she was hurt.  She laughed and said ‘I thought I could soon make you all jump up if I danced to you.’  Then (her daughter said) we found that she fell down purposely for she knew we would all get up to see if she was hurt.  She said that she was afraid her girls was going to give out and get discouraged and she said that would never do to give up.”

I stand in awe of pioneer women like, Amy Loader; women who sacrificed their comfort, their homes, their health and sometimes their lives for a God that they loved and a gospel that they knew to be true; women who buried their husbands and their babies on the dusty or the frozen or the muddy plains and then picked themselves and kept on walking; women who fed their children from their own rations while their own stomachs surely ached with hunger; women who danced and sang and twirled their frail and ravaged bodies on cold winter mornings to lift their children’s spirits and ensure that they did not give up.  While Amy lost much on her journey, she never lost her faith.  Her daughter said “Heavenly Father heard and answered our prayers and we was blessed with health and strength day by day to endure the severe trials we had to pass through on that terrible journey.  We know that if God had not been with us that our strength would have failed us…I can say we put our trust in God and he heard and answered our prayers and brought us to the valley.” 

Amy Loader will not be far from my mind or my heart as we embark on our trek this summer in honor of her and so many others that walked and walked and walked across the plains.  I pray that I and we will not miss any opportunity to learn from the past, lessons that will surely bless us today and tomorrow and for years to come. 

Abish

When I read the story of Abish, I am touched by her example of Christ-like love and service.  When I look closely at these verses of scripture, I can pinpoint three things she did that made a difference in the queen’s life…three things that any covenant-keeping woman would do for another in need.

She came.

She loved.

She lifted.

Abish came to the queen’s side in her hour of need.  She did not decide that someone else would be better qualified to deal with the problem and shrink into the shadows.  She did not leave it to another to step up, to be there, and to come to the aid of her beloved queen.  She did not hesitate.  She came.

Abish loved the queen,

and because she loved her, she was able to lift her in her time of need.

Like the queen, my life has been blessed by others that have come, and loved, and lifted me during times of trial and distress.

Almost three years ago, my husband and I arrived early one morning at Primary Children’s Hospital to have an Echocardiogram performed on our unborn baby’s heart.  While the doctors had previously assured us that they believed all was well, we left the hospital that morning with the devastating news that our daughter had a series of life-threatening heart defects.  Three months later, Annie was born and we began a journey with her that, while sacred and sweet, at times left me paralyzed with sadness, fear and grief. 

While my baby girl was fighting for her life, my five older children were still living theirs.  They still needed clean clothes to wear and rides to school, food on the table and help with their homework.  The weeds in my yard did not stop growing.  The dishes in my sink did not stop piling up.  My bathrooms still got dirty.  My kitchen floor still got sticky.

And, all the while, I felt like I was hanging on by my fingernails, just trying to cope with what was happening in Annie’s hospital room.

My life should have been a disaster.  Any one person could have fairly judged my situation to be beyond their ability, and left it for someone else to remedy.

Thankfully, that is not what happened.

Thankfully, my life is filled with covenant-keeping women who did not hesitate to come, to love and to lift. 

These women showed up.

They showed up in my kitchen, in my laundry room and even in my flower beds.  They came to the hospital; they came to my kids’ schools; they came to my door step; and eventually, they came to Annie’s funeral.  

These women loved me and their love helped to carry me through the darkest time in my life.

With their love and acts of service, each of these women lifted a piece of my impossible burden.

Each lifted me.

I will forever be grateful to these covenant-keeping women, who like Abish, did not hesitate to come, to love and to lift.    

Annie's Funeral (My Talk)

Annie died on a Sunday afternoon.  Monday morning, I woke up, like I have every day for the past 4 months, with my first thought being to call the hospital.  My second thought was that I did not need to.  I laid in bed for quite some time and let the memories of the last year run though my head.  Never could I have guessed that life would bring me an experience like the one I have just lived through.  People ask me all the time how I endured so well.  The truth is that I didn’t always.  There were many days, especially during the last month of Annie’s life, when I felt literally crushed with anxiety, panic, fear, and a whole host of emotions that left little room for faith and enduring well.  I can honestly say that I did the best I could, and I am truly grateful for the lessons I learned along the way.  When speaking of Annie’s life, I tend to refer to the months we had with her as a journey.  Today, I want to share a few thoughts about my journey with Annie.   

Most of you know that Annie was a surprise from the beginning, so our journey began with the stunning news we received last August that I was expecting a baby.  Nothing short of a miracle, and yet, all I could do was cry.  Hadley was just a baby herself, and between her and my four older children, I felt stretched to the full extent of my mothering abilities.  I could not understand why Heavenly Father would see fit to send another baby to our family when I was barely keeping up with the five I had.  As time passed, I found a place of acceptance and even gratitude for this expected baby.  I decided that this little one must be meant for our family.  I started calling her our “bonus” baby and began to think of her that way- an extra blessing that we didn’t even know we needed.  In November, we watched the ultrasound technician examine and measure each part of her tiny body and were so happy to hear the good news: “It’s a girl and she looks perfect!”  We left the doctor’s office that day filled with gratitude for our many blessings.  However, upon reading the ultrasound, the radiologist mentioned a tiny bright spot in her right ventricle.  We were told that this was not uncommon and was not cause for real concern.  Just to be sure, my doctor recommended that we go to Primary Children’s Medical Center for an echocardiogram. 

There are many moments on this journey that I will never forget.  That first appointment at Primary Children’s is one of them.  We were devastated by the news that our unborn baby had a cluster of heart defects.  The official diagnosis was tetralogy of fallot with absent pulmonary valve.  The doctor explained each defect very carefully and what could and would need to happen to save her life after she was born.  She then asked if we had any questions.  I could think of none.  I was so unprepared to hear what she had to say and knew so little about even a healthy heart that I had no idea of what to ask or have clarified.  I went home that day and began my education in heart defects.  I was terrified to read the statistics on Annie’s condition.  Tetralogy of fallot, by itself, has quite an optimistic prognosis.  Tetralogy of fallot with absent valve does not.  I could never have imagined how much damage could be done to a developing human body in the absence of one tiny heart valve.  The rest of my pregnancy was filled with worry, anxiety and countless visits to the doctor.  However, I came to really know that Annie was not an accident at all.  I knew that Heavenly Father had hand-picked this little girl just for us.  Her mission was specific to those of us that would come to know and love her.  Every desire of my heart became to help her fulfill her mission.  I did not want to waste any time feeling sorry for myself and instead wanted to open my heart to receive and appreciate every blessing that would come to us along with and even because of her broken heart.  I wanted to share her life story, whatever it might be, with those that wanted to be a part of it.  I started her blog with this desire in mind.  Most here have followed the story of her life through this blog, and I do not want to spend my time today retelling the experiences that I have already shared there.  I will say that Annie was born, and the roller coaster ride of my life began.  I have never experienced such a wide range of pure emotion and feeling like I did during the four months of Annie’s life.  You name it, and I probably felt it:  Fear and faith; peace and agony; unspeakable joy and heartbreaking sorrow; never more loved and never more alone.  I have never felt closer to the Spirit than I did during most of her short time with us.  However, as the weeks turned into months and one by one, the doctors lost all hope that she would survive, I struggled more and more to feel and keep the Spirit with me. The last month of Annie’s life was the darkest of mine.  I have never known suffering like I did during those four-and-a-half weeks.

We went to the temple in early July desperately seeking an answer.  We needed to know if Annie was to live or die so that we could make the important decisions that the doctors were asking us to make.  In the celestial room that day, my prayer could not have been more sincere.  I prayed and prayed and felt nothing in regard to my question.  We were sitting against the wall in the center of the room, the large chandelier right in front of us.  In the mirrors on either side of the room, you could see the chandelier repeat again and again all the way into forever.  Heavenly Father did not answer the question that I hoped He would that day.  Instead he assured me that from His vantage point He could see the whole plan and all was working according to it.  I looked at the chandelier above us and felt Him tell me that while I can only see one chandelier, He can see the whole row; that this experience with Annie, even my entire mortal existence is but a tiny piece of eternity.  I left the temple frustrated that day.  This was not the answer I wanted or needed.  This could not help me make the critical decisions that I needed to make right then for Annie.  Things did not get better after that day in the temple.  The pressure and stress only increased.  My ability to feel any kind of lasting peace was gone.  The journey became increasingly difficult and even unbearable as the days and weeks continued.  I was in constant agony, trying to reconcile the belief that our hopes would be realized and we would bring Annie home with the reality that my baby was indeed dying.  I could not understand why Heavenly Father would fill my heart with so much hope only to leave me comfortless.  I knew He was there, but I could not push aside the fear enough to really feel Him for more than a moment at a time.  Every time I received direction from Him through prayer and priesthood blessings, the answer was the same: stay the course and all will be well.  It just didn’t make any sense because she was getting progressively worse every single day.  I could not see how all would ever be well.  During this time, President Christofferson came to the hospital and gave me a blessing.  The only specific thing I remember from that blessing was that he told me that the Holy Ghost would comfort me and wrap me as if in a blanket.  I needed and wanted that blessing, I prayed for that blessing to be realized day after day, and yet lasting comfort was nowhere to be found.

The night before Annie died, we again went to the temple.  The doctors were telling us that the end was near and if we did not make the decision to remove support, we might not be there to hold and love her when she died.  We knew we could not make this choice to end her life without His approval and again needed an answer desperately.  That night I told Heavenly Father that I could not endure the agony for more than one more week; to watch her suffering go on and on was more than I could bear.  I begged him to take her soon, if it was His will for her to return to Him.  I made the decision that if she did not improve that week, we would let her go.  I prayed to know if this was the right decision.  I told Him that I would likely choose the following Sunday to say goodbye to her, as Sundays in the hospital are quiet and peaceful.  I also expressed that while we hoped with all of our hearts that He would take her in His time, we desperately wanted to be with her if the end came.  I felt the spirit confirm that He approved of these things and left that night feeling comforted that we had a plan and that, whether Annie got better or not, her suffering would soon be alleviated.

 

At 5:30 the next morning, my cell phone rang.  I answered it with my heart in my throat, because the hospital only calls at 5:30 am if things have taken a serious turn for the worse.  Sure enough, the doctor on the other end of the line told me that Annie was declining.  The levels of carbon dioxide in her body were higher than they had ever been, her kidneys were not functioning as they needed to, and she was again struggling to get the air that she needed from the ventilator.  When we arrived at the hospital, they told us that the line they were using to replace the fluid that she was constantly losing from her chest tubes had broken and they no longer had enough access to meet her needs.  We talked with the doctors and knew that there was no option to continue this fight for Annie’s life.  Our children joined us at the hospital that afternoon, and at around three o’clock, together, we removed all of the lines, monitoring devices and finally the respiratory therapist removed the breathing tube from her tiny bruised and swollen body.  Annie lived for less than ten minutes and took less than ten breaths on her own.  She was peaceful and somehow, for the first time in such a long time, so was I.  I literally felt the Holy Ghost envelop our entire family and, in that moment, I finally knew that all was well.  I thought of the promise I had been given that He would wrap me as if in a blanket and knew that, at last, that promise had been realized. The spirit filled Annie’s room and my heart with peace.  That peace has not left me since she died.  I expected to feel intense sorrow and heartbreak if Annie died.  I have been surprised that more often, I have felt love, peace and even joy for her freedom from suffering.  I believe that Annie’s passing was a tender mercy from the Lord.  He knew the desires of my heart if she were to die, and granted each one, even letting her pass on a Sunday.  I have realized that the answer I received in the temple a month ago about perspective, the answer I was not seeking and was frustrated to receive, IS the answer after all.  This life is but a moment and Annie is not gone from us forever.  God will keep every single promise given to Annie, to me and to Cameron.  Some He has kept already, and some will wait for the next life and the resurrection.  He will keep them ALL in His own time. 

Last winter, I read an article written by Elaine S. Dalton in which she related the true story of a young girl named Agnes.  Agnes was a pioneer, and at nine years of age, she crossed the plains with the Willie Handcart Company in 1856.  Agnes later recounted her own journey as follows:

 

Although only tender years of age, I can yet close my eyes and see everything in panoramic precision before me – the ceaseless walking, walking, ever to remain in my memory.  Many times I would become so tired and, childlike, would hang on the cart, only to be gently pushed away.  Then I would throw myself by the side of the road and cry.  Then realizing they were all passing me by, I would jump to my feet and make an extra run to catch up.

 

She continues:

 

Just before we crossed the mountains, relief wagons reached us, and it certainly was a relief.  The infirm and aged were allowed to ride, all able-bodied continuing to walk.  When the wagons started out, a number of us children decided to see how long we could keep up with the wagons, in hopes of being asked to ride.  At least that is what my hope was.  One by one they all fell out, until I was the last one remaining, so determined was I that I should get a ride.  After what seemed the longest run I ever made before or since, the driver…called to me, “Say, sissy would you like a ride?”  I answered in my very best manner, “Yes sir.”  At this he reached over, taking my hand, clucking to his horses to make me run with legs that seemed to me could run no farther.  On we went, for what to me seemed miles.  What went through my head at that time was that he was the meanest man that ever lived…Just at what seemed the breaking point, he stopped.  Taking a blanket, he wrapped me up and lay me in the bottom of the wagon, warm and comfortable.  Here I had time to change my mind, as I surely did, knowing full well by doing this he saved me from freezing when taken into the wagon.”

 

My journey with Annie has been very different from Agnes’ journey across the plains, but it is not hard for me to relate to her story.  In the beginning of her journey, even walking was difficult. She described throwing herself by the side of the road and crying, only to get up and keep going.  I am sure she wished, at times, that she did not have to make the journey.  At the start of my journey with Annie, I too, cried and wished that I would not be required to make this journey.  I cried about simply being pregnant, and cried even more when we learned about Annie’s heart.  Like Agnes, I knew I had no choice but to get up and keep going.  I know we both grew stronger as the journey progressed; muscles that had previously been dormant were stretched and exercised daily.  Growth was happening every single day.  And yet, the trail grew increasingly difficult for both of us.  I would guess that she, like I, had days so dark that she wondered if she would ever see the sun again.  The journey for each of us became almost unbearable. Agnes described running along the side of the wagon, holding to the driver’s hand, desperate for relief.  She said that she felt she could run no farther and yet he required her to run for what seemed like miles.  There were so many days with Annie where I felt sure I could run no farther.  Many times, I told my Heavenly Father in prayer that I could not endure even one more day and yet the days stretched on and on.  Towards the end I felt my hand continually outstretched, seeking God’s.  I knew that He was with me, but I could not always feel Him there.  I was desperate for relief and ached for the Comforter to be with me.  Agnes questioned the motives of the wagon driver and there were days when I wondered what a loving Heavenly Father was seeking to accomplish by allowing such extreme suffering.  Agnes said that in the end, the wagon driver stopped, scooped her up, wrapped her in a blanket and laid her in the bottom of the wagon where she could rest.  It was then that she knew that what she thought was cruelty on his part was actually mercy- an act that saved her very life.  In the last moments of Annie’s life and after she had passed, I too felt as though I was lifted from my suffering, wrapped in the comfort of the Holy Ghost and carried in the arms of my Savior.  In every way: physically, emotionally and spiritually I finally found rest in Him. And finally, I was able to trust that these experiences, even the great suffering that we and Annie endured, will be for our eternal good.

 

I have been blessed to know that Annie accomplished all that she needed to on this earth.  I feel deep gratitude to have the honor of being her mother.  I know that she will stand as a beacon for our family, guiding us home to her; I count the time I had with her as one of the greatest blessings I will ever receive.  She taught me more in her short life than I could have learned in a lifetime otherwise.  I learned that a hospital can be sacred in many of the same ways that the temple is sacred.  I learned the goodness of humanity- that the world is full of really good people; people that care about the suffering of others and are moved to help lift another’s burden; I learned what it feels like to have the Savior so close that His presence is almost palpable; I learned, as David A. Bednar once said, that “the tender mercies of the Lord are real and they do not occur randomly or merely by coincidence;” I learned that a loving Heavenly Father does not leave us alone in our trials, and if we can’t feel Him, we just need to hold on- in time, He will lift us from our suffering and we will feel the sun again; I learned a new appreciation for the gift our Savior gave to each of us when He was resurrected and made sure the promise that not only will Annie live again, but with a perfect heart- a beautiful gift that I will never take for granted.

 

I wish to close my talk with the words of Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin.  Speaking of this gift, of the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, he said:

I think of how dark that Friday was when Christ was lifted up on the cross.  On that terrible Friday the earth shook and grew dark.  It was a Friday filled with devastating, consuming sorrow that gnawed at the souls of those who loved and honored the Son of God.  I think that of all the days since the beginning of this world’s history, that Friday was the darkest.

But the doom of that day did not endure.  The despair did not linger because on Sunday, the resurrected Lord burst the bonds of death. He ascended from the grave and appeared gloriously triumphant as the Savior of all mankind.  And in an instant the eyes that had been filled with ever-flowing tears dried. The lips that had whispered prayers of distress and grief now filled the air with wondrous praise, for Jesus the Christ, the Son of the living God, stood before them as the firstfruits of the Resurrection, the proof that death is merely the beginning of a new and wondrous existence.

Each of us will have our own Fridays—those days when the universe itself seems shattered and the shards of our world lie littered about us in pieces. We all will experience those broken times when it seems we can never be put together again. We will all have our Fridays. But I testify to you in the name of the One who conquered death—Sunday will come. In the darkness of our sorrow, Sunday will come.  No matter our desperation, no matter our grief, Sunday will come. In this life or the next, Sunday will come. 

We will all rise from the grave. Because of the life and eternal sacrifice of the Savior of the world, we will be reunited with those we have cherished. On that day we will know the love of our Heavenly Father. On that day we will rejoice that the Messiah overcame all that we could live forever.  Death is not the end of existence.  No matter how dark our Friday, Sunday will come. 

I add my own testimony to Elder Wirthlin’s that Sunday will come.  For Annie, for me and for each one of us, Sunday will come.