Three lessons from the Eternal Week

Earlier this month my wife and I celebrated our fourth wedding anniversary. Also, earlier this month marked four years since my father passed away. We had been preparing for both events for months, but never expected them to happen within the same week. It was a whirlwind experience full of happy tears and tears of mourning, but that time helped give me a deeper perspective on what this life is all about. The week was eternal--both in length and meaning. Here are three lessons I learned.

Love thy Neighbor 

The morning after my father passed, I attended church with my mother, sister, brother-in-law, and soon-to-be wife. We received handshakes, hugs, and all forms of condolences as we walked into the chapel. I’ll never forget the opening prayer of the meeting as a sister in the ward expressed sincere love and appreciation for my family, and prayed that we would receive special blessings of strength and comfort during this time. At that moment the spirit hit my heart with such piercing power and I felt an overwhelming sense of love around us from our friends and neighbors.

The Plan of Happiness 

I have thought that all we needed was someone in the family to have a baby and we would have had every major event in this life covered in one week. Birth, marriage, and death. There were multiple special and sacred moments that week that solidified my testimony of the Plan of Salvation. I know we lived with our Father in Heaven before we came to earth, and I know that we can return to live with him and have an opportunity to live with our families again.

Strength in the Savior 

I saw a quote by the pioneer prophet Brigham Young that read “We went West willingly--because we had to.” That sums up my explanation as to how I got through that week. Just as the early pioneers of the Church left their lives behind to go to the Salt Lake Valley, we willingly did everything because we had to and there was no other way. At the end of it all, I was both physically and emotionally exhausted, but I had never felt closer to my Savior and Father in Heaven and felt a deep inner strength moving forward.

I know that Jesus Christ is there for us, He will not leave us comfortless, but will lift us up and give us strength when needed. That is the most important lesson anyone can learn.

Hope in Christ

A few weeks ago I was in an emergency room with a friend of mine who was my missionary companion. As missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we are supposed to stay with our companion at all times. He was in some serious pain, and they were running tests to find out what was going on with him.  As some of these tests were pretty serious, I was asked to stand out in the hallway outside the door, doing my best to stay as close as I could in the situation we were in. We were in the hospital for most of that day, somewhere around 14-15 hours. Alone time is something you don't get a lot of as a missionary; but as I spent a good part of those 14 hours standing or sitting in a hallway, alone, I had a lot of time to think, read the scriptures, and watch the happenings and bustle of the Emergency Room. I have never needed to go to an ER before then, so I was captivated watching the diverse variety of people coming in and out, bringing with them a host of seemingly endless problems and concerns. Every so often a team of paramedics would arrive with an ambulance, burst through the door, and move with practiced efficiency as they went about their duty of maintaining life.

Then something happened that forever changed my outlook on life. During my stay there in the hallways of that hospital, I watched as two people left this life. I had seen death before, but never in this setting. As I watched these two individuals slip from mortality, I could see the effect of their departure on those around them. 

The first person was an older woman, who appeared to be on a DNR (Do Not Resuscitate) basis. As the heart rate monitor flat-lined, several nurses rushed to the room only to quietly exit a few moments later to give the small group of what must have been loved ones and friends that stood near the bed their privacy; their heads bowed in quiet reverence as they shed tears of grief. 

The second was a young boy, probably no older than 6 or 7. As his small form went limp and still, I watched a young couple who must have been his parents slip into a desperation-fueled frenzy of sorrow. The mother fell to her knees, screaming, desperately trying to wake her son from his final rest. His father turned and begged the doctors and nurses who stood nearby to do something, anything to bring him back. The doctor confessed that there was nothing that he or anyone else could do.   

Though the older woman appeared to have been ill for a while and her passing seemed to be more expected than the young boy's, the loss of a loved one is always difficult. When that loved one is a child, it can be one of the most tragic things that happens here on this earth. But why was there such a difference in the reactions of these families? As I observed and thought about it more and more, some realizations came to me. The parents of the young boy had no hope. To them, their son was gone forever. As they watched him slip away, all their hopes and dreams went with him; and they were left with nothing but their regrets and their pain. As I watched them from a distance, I too started to feel that pain. That crushing, soul-tearing, sense of vulnerability. 

The other group, though they too were mourning, had a… light about them. They had hope. They knew that death was not the end of life, but yet another step in the path our Father in Heaven has established for us. Through the darkness of the sorrow in their hearts, the glorious light of hope burst into a brighter day. That hope is what keeps us going when there appears to be no way to continue, what saves us from drowning in our misery and gives us the energy and power to overcome.

That hope is found in Christ, “our Saviour, [the] Lord Jesus Christ [who] is our hope" (1 Timothy 1:1). Through Him, all our trials can be overcome. Death, sin, and hell itself were defeated by our Heavenly King. Because of His atoning sacrifice, we can have hope. The perfect love of Christ enables us to endure the trials and challenges we face in this life, and to do so with the knowledge and assurance that we will be with the ones we love again. 

As this new year commences, may we all remember the cry of the angels to the shepherds: “Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord…  Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.” (Luke 2:10-11, 14) God be thanked for the glorious gift of His Son!

Elder Duvall is a full-time LDS missionary serving in the Texas Houston Mission but originally hails from Cache Valley in Northern Utah.

Hearing the music

Our local College Station congregation had a chance to hear from our stake president, the leader of a group of congregations, a few weeks ago, and he related an analogy that really struck me. 

He and his wife recently became "empty nesters" and realized that no one in their home can play the piano now. For years, he would sit in the living room and listen to each of his children practice and perform hymns, concertos, and other arrangements. But now, the music is gone and there is only silence. The piano that once brought joy and happiness into the home still remains, but the music and feelings of love that came with it are gone until the ivories are played again. 

Similarly, can we hear the music in our lives? What instruments bring you true happiness when played? Every day we are surrounded by these instruments (scriptures, prayer, etc.), but often they are left on the shelf to collect dust.

For me, I hear the music when I spend time with my family. When I put my wife, my daughters and their needs first. Or when I study the scriptures, or learn something new that I can directly apply to better my life.

We can all play an instrument. There are many different ones to be played, and each one gives a different tune. The important thing is that the music we play makes us better people and brings us closer to our Father in Heaven, so that we can be His instruments to do good.

Romans 6:12-13

"Let not sin therefore reign in your mortal body, that ye should obey it in the lusts thereof. Neither yield ye your members as instruments of unrighteousness unto sin: but yield yourselves unto God, as those that are alive from the dead, and your members as instruments of righteousness unto God."

Are we hearing the music in our lives?

Leave a comment with what you do to keep the music playing in your life.

It's a short flight.

This post was originally published here by Jessica Garlick Dyer, a graduate of A&M Consolidated High School in 2008. We post this with her permission. 

It was a cold, bitter day back in early March of 2013. My contacts had been in for way too long. My hair was up in a high tangled bun and we were still in our clothes from 24 hours before.

We'd been sleeping {more like waiting} in the Denver airport all night. At 6 a.m. on the dot I got in line at the customer service desk of United Airlines to attempt to get added onto the next flight home. Our flight the night before had been cancelled a few hours after our connection landed in Denver. It would be a miracle if we got seats on that flight, and it was a miracle that we were capable of functioning physically, emotionally, and mentally at that moment.

That day Travis had a midterm he needed to be back in time to take, and the fact that he hadn't been able to study all night in the below freezing airport didn't even phase us. All we were worried about was getting him in his classroom to take the test. Not to mention that the purpose of all the crazy back-to-back traveling across the country was for intense interviews for PhD programs. Our future was completely uncertain. And just 5 weeks earlier, I had given birth to our little girl, after being pregnant for just over 34 weeks. Travis held my hand while I endured labor, delivery, and then the worst drive of our lives---the one when we drove home from the hospital with an empty carseat installed behind us. And then for a couple weeks after that, Travis held my hand again as I felt the terrible pain---both the physical and emotional pain---that comes with tons of breast milk coming in, but not being able to let it out at all, but especially not having a little baby to feed the milk to.

Sitting in the airport that early morning I really wondered if life could get any worse. It just seemed like one thing after another. Not to mention the week before we ended up in the ER for Travis' leg and I could go on and on about little things that in the moment scared me out of my mind. Because after our traumatic experience with our baby girl, I then felt vulnerable. And to top it off, all I could think about was how in order to get a baby here to raise it would take at least 9 more months of agonizing fear, doubts, and worries {the list goes on and on}, where each day feels like a year, in order to bring a baby home with us. And then the realization came that it will always be hard for us to have a baby---pregnancy is now one of the greatest ways that our faith is tested from now on. And that is overwhelming at times.

This scripture from Isaiah has come to my mind often: “For, behold, I have refined thee, I have chosen thee in the furnace of affliction” (Isaiah 48:10). 

Yet, while the refiner’s fire is the path by which we must go to obtain joy, it is just that—a fire—hot, uncomfortable, and dangerous. We do, though, have the ability to come out refined from the experience---not damaged.

Thankfully the woman at the customer service desk was in a semi-good mood. We ended up getting on the plane. We lined up to board, trying not to fall asleep standing up.

And that’s when I saw an older couple with a teenage girl who had disabilities try to get tickets on the same flight, it appeared that they had slept in the airport that night too; my heart hurt for them. I said a silent prayer they would get on the flight.

Once on the plane, I noticed the couple and daughter got seats, just in the row across from us. Right as they sat down, the cycle began: crying, silence, questioning—repeat. This was the process that the tall teenage girl, with blonde hair and glasses, with some sort of mental handicap repeated to her father. She talked very loud and used childlike phrases. Some people stared and acted annoyed.

She was scared. She had no choice but to be on that plane to make the connection in Salt Lake to eventually get to her destination. When we first boarded, the plane was neat to her. She stared out the window watching the crew de-ice the plane. But then, as soon as the plane left the solid concrete ground for the air, she panicked.

She sat in the window seat and talked the entire flight, repeating over and over, practically yelling, “It’s a short flight, right dad?” She repeated this all the way from Denver, Colorado, to Salt Lake City, Utah. She stammered these words through tears and then the next second through confidence, then back through tears. Sometimes she would start to cry hysterically and then her dad would calm her down and she would go on to repeat all these emotions in the same cycle.

I sat in awe the whole flight---watching, listening. This girl's father, ever so patient and calm, reassured his daughter every few minutes by answering her question with, “yes, it’s a short flight,” over and over again. Though, there was no doubt in my mind that it had to be what felt like the longest flight ever to him. He let his wife sleep the whole flight, while he took care of his daughter, constantly calming and reassuring her. How tiring it must have been.

My mind was racing. This man and his wife are taking care of their daughter for what I assume would be 24/7 for the rest of her life. He never gets a break. But oh how patient he was. He was noticeably exhausted, yet he never once raised his voice, got upset, or ignored his daughter. I felt humbled and ashamed to have ever felt tired or sorry for myself, or having ever talked impatiently. This man was handling his own furnace of affliction in that moment so well, ultimately as Christ would have responded. 

I was reminded that morning what it must be like for our Heavenly Father to watch us panic in a time of trial, only to console us with perfect patience and compassion. And I was also reminded how everyone has trials as I watched in awe a father so patiently and lovingly be in control of a very stressful, trying situation. I watched him care for her realizing that he and his wife would have this responsibility for the entirety of their time on earth. How hard it must be. 

"It’s a short flight, right dad? Yes, it’s a short flight.” Over and over again, crying.

When I felt the plane skid on the runway in SLC I was relieved. Not for me, but for this girl and her dad. The flight was over. And then, as soon as we landed, in a voice I can still hear in my mind, the girl exclaimed to her dad with so much excitement: “It was a great flight! It was short flight, huh dad?”

And her father agreed, “yes, it was a great, short flight.”

I have a feeling that's how we'll all respond when our individual flights on this earth are over. It’s hard not to know what hard things are around the next turn. But this Travis and I do know, that because of the atonement of Jesus Christ, we are enabled to do what we need to do in this life to become more like Him. That knowledge brings power, no matter how smooth or bumpy our flight gets. 

And in the grand scheme of eternity, it really is just a great, short flight.