I've Done the Work

Only once, in the fourteen years I have been dealing with cancer and its associated ills, have I wished and prayed to die. I had been very sick for months, and none of the doctors I had seen could tell me what was wrong with me.¹

One day, a friend stopped by to check on me and found me nearly debilitated and in great pain. She felt that I should see a neurologist immediately, and somehow managed to get me to her car.

The ride was excruciating. I curled up in a ball in the back seat of the car in agony. Every bump on the road, every beam of light through the windows brought on a fresh wave of pain and nausea.  I felt that anything would be better than what I was experiencing, and I cried out in my heart to God, “Please take me, Father, please let me leave this body, please, please, let me come home!”

Obviously, my prayer was not answered. That was not the Lord's plan for me. And now I'm very glad that I did not get the rather selfish desire of my heart.

❤     ❤     ❤     ❤     ❤     ❤    ❤     ❤      ❤     ❤     ❤     ❤     ❤

￰ﾟﾍ

This week, we celebrate the resurrection of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. It is a wondrous event to honor and a beautiful thing to ponder.

It is not unusual at this time of year to read or hear a statement like this: “Christ was half-mortal and half-immortal. He didn't have to die. He willingly gave His life for us.” And of course, that's true.

But I believe that when we think this way, we might miss an important point: Christ, because of the immortality He inherited from His Father, could have chosen to die at any point along the tortuous path from Gethsemane to Calgary – or any time before. It is the fact that He chose to live as long as He did that makes for a more meaningful celebration. I suspect that dying was the easiest thing he ever did – and the option dangled alluringly before Him through some very rough territory. His suffering in the Garden was profoundly and infinitely agonizing – so much so that it astounded Him, and made Him recoil. But he held on.

And he was withdrawn from them about a stone's cast, and kneeled down, and prayed,
Saying, Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done. And being in an agony he prayed more earnestly: and his sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground. (Luke 22:41 – 44)

But if they would not repent they must suffer even as I; Which suffering caused myself, even God, the greatest of all, to tremble because of pain, and to bleed at every pore, and to suffer both body and spirit—and would that I might not drink the bitter cup, and shrink— Nevertheless, glory be to the Father, and I partook and finished my preparations unto the children of men. (D&C 19:17 - 19)

Weakened and fatigued after His suffering there, the soldiers added to His agony:

Then the soldiers of the governor took Jesus into the common hall, and gathered unto him the whole band of soldiers.
And they stripped him, and put on him a scarlet robe.
And when they had platted a crown of thorns, they put it upon his head, and a reed in his right hand: and they bowed the knee before him, and mocked him, saying, Hail, King of the Jews! And they spit upon him, and took the reed, and smote him on the head.
(Matthew 27:27 - 30)

And the world, because of their iniquity, shall judge him to be a thing of naught; wherefore they scourge him, and he suffereth it; and they smite him, and he suffereth it.  Yea, they spit upon him, and he suffereth it, because of his loving kindness and his long-suffering towards the children of men. (1 Nephi 19:9)

And they that passed by railed on him, wagging their heads, and saying, Ah, thou that destroyest the temple, and buildest it in three days, Save thyself, and come down from the cross. Likewise also the chief priests mocking said among themselves with the scribes, He saved others; himself he cannot save. (Mark 15:29 - 31)

Certainly He could have saved Himself. But He did not. He knew His mission on this earth was not yet complete.

After this, Jesus knowing that all things were now accomplished, that the scripture might be fulfilled, saith, I thirst. Now there was set a vessel full of vinegar: and they filled a sponge with vinegar, and put it upon hyssop, and put it to his mouth. When Jesus therefore had received the vinegar, he said, It is finished: and he bowed his head, and gave up the ghost. (John 19:28 – 30)

“It is Finished.”

“I did the work thou gavest me. Receive my Spirit unto Thee.” ²

As we appropriately celebrate his glorious resurrection, may we also remember the horrors of His final hours, and that it was His love for His Heavenly Father, and for all of us, that kept Him on the job until He knew He was finished.

Although my mortal pain and burdens cannot be compared to His, I only hope that I can have a small portion of His faith and courage – to hold on until I can humbly say, "I’ve done the work thou gavest me; Receive my spirit unto thee.”

This is my message of hope, for Easter and for every other day.

¹ Several months later I learned the cause of these symptoms: my cancer had metastasized and formed a tumor in my brain. 

² "Behold the Great Redeemer Die," Hymns of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, 191. Text: Eliza R. Snow, Music: George Careless. See also the beautiful hymn "Reverently and Meekly Now," Hymns, 185

To read other posts about Easter, click here or here.

 This video, from the LDS.org website, presents a moving depiction of the Savior's suffering.

Knocking the House About

I have been sick this week.

Some who know me might ask, “But, Marnie, aren't you always sick?”

Well, yes, technically. But this week I have added, to my usual serving plate of sickness, a very icky cold.

“A cold! A cold! What are you whining about? Everybody gets colds sometimes!”

It's true. I know that. But this little illness took me by surprise, and happened to come at an especially inconvenient time, as this week we are doing some remodeling of our house.

Our house was built in 1987, so it's not really an old house. But it certainly is not a new house. It's not cute, like new houses and young children usually are, and it's not sweet and charming and full of memories, like senior citizens often are. It's middle-aged, and in need if some improvements and repairs.

It's a lot like me that way.

And home improvements, like sudden illness, always seem to take more time and be more trouble than you expected them to be.

(Disclaimer: These are not actual pictures of our actual home messes. These are other people's messes. I don't want ours to go on record).

  This combination of events has me thinking about something C.S. Lewis wrote in his book Mere Christianity:

"Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense. What on earth is He up to?”

(I have wondered that myself). Lewis continues:

“The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of – throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself."

I am not yet as Job (see D&C 121:10). He went through some terrible afflictions, so difficult that he cried “Why died I not from the womb? why did I not give up the ghost when I came out of the belly?

(Job 3:11)

He was in serious misery. But still, he knows his physical oppression will not last forever. He declares his testimony of this truth:

For I know that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth: And though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God: Whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall behold, and not another; though my reins be consumed within me. 

(Job 19:25 – 27)

I won't live in this imperfect, aging house forever. And I won't live in this imperfect, aging body forever. Like Job, I know that I will be resurrected and have a perfected body, freed from flaws and aging. 

I know this because I know that Jesus Christ was resurrected so that all people can live again. He conquered death for all:

As one of His latter-day witnesses, I testify that He lives today. He is a resurrected Being. He is our Savior, our Lord, the very Son of God. I testify that He will come again as our glorified, resurrected Lord. That day is not far distant. To all who accept Him as Savior and Lord, His literal resurrection means that life does not end at death, for He promised: “Because I live, ye shall live also.” (John 14:19.) Ezra Taft Benson, April 1992

He Lives.

And now, after the many testimonies which have been given of him,

          this is the testimony, last of all, which we give of him: 

 That he lives!

            For we saw him,

    Even on the right hand of God;

             and we heard the voice bearing record that he is the Only Begotten of the Father—

That by him, and through him, and of him, the worlds are and were created, and the inhabitants thereof are begotten sons and daughters unto God.

           (D&C 76:22 – 24)

He lives, and grants me daily breath –

He lives, and I shall conquer death!

He lives, and while He lives I'll sing –

He lives, my prophet, priest, and King.

                        Happy Easter. 

Invisible Blessings

Friday, January 2^nd was my son Ben's 18^th birthday. I straightened up the kitchen after breakfast and started to leave the room, flipping off the kitchen lights as I left. When one of them didn't turn off, I turned around to hit it again and I slipped and fell, breaking my hip on the wood floor.

I had surgery to repair the break that afternoon. It went well, and I am now recovering at home and feeling okay. I am amazed once again at the outflow of love and service from my friends, neighbors, and my wonderful family.

But there were some bad moments at first – some moments of questioning and fear. I suppose that most people in situations like this are prone to ask themselves, “Why? Why me?” Even the most devout believer might question, “Why did God let this happen?”

(At least, I hope other people do. I don't want to be the only one.)

I am remembering the terrible events of September 11, 2001, when people asked the same kind of questions: “Why would God allow all those people to be killed by these terrible men? Doesn't He have the power to stop them? Doesn't He care?”

I don't have the answers to those questions, but here's another question I don't have the answer for: How many times did God stop terrorists from killing? How many hijackings, kidnappings, and murders has He prevented?

In that context, I have to ask myself, “How many times did He keep me from falling? How many times have I fallen but have not been hurt? How many times have I had unseen protectors?”

I love the image this scripture paints on my heart:

I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up (D&C 84:88).

These scriptures below bring up another question: 

Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows:  (Isaiah 53:4)

Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. (Matthew 11:28)

And I will also ease the burdens which are put upon your shoulders, (Mosiah 24:14)

Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light. (Matthew 11:29 - 30) 

How much of the pain, how much of the nausea, how much of the all-around difficulty of this broken hip and its treatment have I borne myself? How much has He taken from me? During how much of my life have I been enduring only the tip of the misery iceberg?

I once heard a woman say that when she counts her blessings she reminds herself to double the count

to include “invisible blessings” – the car that didn't hit her, the cold she didn't get, the vicious dog that didn't bite her child. I certainly have reason to enumerate my blessings the same way.

I'm feeling really grateful now, and I want to keep feeling this way. So I'll be counting my blessings not doubled, but squared.

That's a lot of blessings. I hope I can count that high!

Hurting and Healing

I don't like getting hurt.

And I get hurt quite often. I have very thin skin – the result, I suppose, of my years of cancer treatment. And I am clumsy and impulsive and impatient.

This is not a good combination for personal safety.

Because I have seven children (and five of them are boys), I have a good amount of experience with broken things: dishes, chairs, windows, beds, large appliances. Fortunately, some of these can be repaired. But I have not yet seen one that has the power to fix itself.

But my body can do that. It can fix itself. And while I don't enjoy being injured, I do like the healing process. It is always a wonder to me to watch a cut or a bruise get smaller, and smaller, and then, disappear.

When I wrote my two missionaries a few weeks ago, I included these thoughts:

I feel blessed. Being sick and in the hospital is of course no fun, but I am glad to be home and I am glad I was able to touch some people while I was in the hospital. So many people need a little boost, a little inspiration. We should always be ready to share our light.

I also realized this: Pain hurts.

Okay, I know, this is hardly news. Everyone – even a small child – knows that pain hurts. And a lot of us sometimes put enormous effort into avoiding any kind of pain: physical, emotional, or the spiritual pain that comes from unrepented sin. Alma spoke about this kind of pain:

But I was racked with eternal torment, for my soul was harrowed up to the greatest degree and racked with all my sins. Yea, I did remember all my sins and iniquities, for which I was tormented with the pains of hell . . .

         (Book of Mormon | Alma 36:12-13)

But the way I felt when I was sick is worse than pain. I can deal with pain, because I know what and where it is. The horrible feeling that something was wrong with me rang through my entire body. If pain is comparable to sin, I would compare this feeling to perhaps apostasy, or spiritual darkness. A sin can be repented of and made right eventually. The darkness of spirit can be lifted too, with light and faith and acceptance.

I am not saying this well, and I am not saying it because I want you to feel bad about me. I am very happy now. I am telling you this because you will meet people who are experiencing spiritual misery at both these levels, and although you cannot be the healer – you don't have that power – you can be the light that shows the way to the Only True Healer, our Savior Jesus Christ.

When I wrote that, I was writing to my son and daughter who have been called, and who have accepted the call, to serve as full-time servants of the Lord. So perhaps it doesn't apply to the rest of us.

Or perhaps it does.

I, too, have been called to be a servant, a disciple, a witness of God. And I, too, have openly accepted that calling; that mission. 

I can't do everything. Some days, I feel like I can't do anything. But on those days, I am wrong. Even on dark days, I can be a light -- for my family, my neighbors, my friends, even for strangers. It might be just what someone needs to help stop the hurting and start healing.

The way of the wicked is as darkness: they know not at what they stumble. But the path of the just is as the shining light, that shineth more and more unto the perfect day. (Proverbs 4:19, 18)

So go forward. Treat everyone you meet as if they need your smile, your help, your light. Some of them really will need it. Others can take it and pass it on. Either way, you've done something really, really good.

For Susan

My dear friend Susan Turley passed away last night, holding her beloved husband's hand. After years of chronic health problems, she finally left her frail body behind and now lives freely.

Her physical problems never slowed down her generous heart. When I was first diagnosed with cancer, she visited me, served me, and somehow, made me laugh. She sneaked into my house while I was at chemotherapy and adorned my home with seasonal decorations. She had a great talent for making things beautiful.

Her husband, her children, and her little grandchildren were her most precious jewels. Throughout her life, she loved them immensely and intensely. I know she still does.

I wrote this poem, with great love, in Susan's honor:

It will not be for men to say
Which breath shall be my last.
We know that there will be a day
When death is coming fast
And men will stand around my bed
And wait to say "She's gone, she's dead!
She's left behind her earthly ties –"
But you must not believe these lies.

I am not gone, I'm living still –
I always have, I always will.
I'm sealed to those I love the most
And that means I will yet stay close.
Though now you might not see me here, I promise:

I am very near. 

Asleep in the Car

We were getting ready to leave for a little family day-trip when the phone rang. I answered it and found it was our bishop, calling to give us some bad news – my neighbor Alice had been in a car accident. She was only slightly injured, but her husband had been killed.

I said, “No, no.” I said it quite politely, yet firmly. It wasn't, I think, so much a denial as a rejection of the news: “No, no, thank you, I don’t want that. I don’t want it, and I won’t take it –” as if by refusing the news, I could make it not true.

I dropped the phone and began to cry. Alice had been there for me during the worst of my cancer treatment, and we had become close friends. It was horrible for me to think about how devastating this was for her. 

And then I had to load up my kids and our things, get in the van, and head south, trying to provide my kids with a fun weekend, just as Alice and her husband had done 18 hours earlier.

How do we ever do it? I wondered. How do we drive our cars, and go on hikes, and eat the food, and drink the water, knowing that anything we do can kill us? How can stand to live and love and have children and husbands and friends when everything can change in an instant and it hurts so much to care?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

That afternoon we stopped in Salt Lake to go to the Joseph Smith exhibit at the Church History Museum. The two youngest children had fallen asleep in the van on the way, and did not want to be awakened to go to a museum. We eventually got one of them to come with us willingly, but the other was too tired to behave rationally. We had to drag her out of the van screaming and crying. We tried to talk to her, but she wasn't listening. She kept running back to the car. We knew we couldn't leave her there, but she wouldn't cooperate so I picked her up and carried her down the street. She fought and cried so I had to put her down, but I took her hand and pulled her along. She kept screaming, “Let me go!  I don’t want to go!” the whole way as we walked from where we had parked to the museum. I felt terribly mean, but I didn't know what else to do.

When we got there I took her into the restroom and tried to calm her down. She continued to yell. I finally managed to ask her why she didn't want to come to the museum and she screamed, “Because I've been here before, and I don’t want to go again!” I told her that we had never been there, but she insisted that she had.

I had heard there was a fun children’s area upstairs, so we all headed that way. I was holding her by the wrist and pulling her the whole way up the escalators. When we got there, the other kids got excited at all the things there were to do and see, and they scattered around playing. My reluctant daughter continued to cry and struggle for a minute, but at last she began to look around and see what her siblings were doing. Suddenly she wanted to play, too. She ran off, smiling happily. As it turned out, she loved the museum and was very happy there.

As I was putting her to bed that night, I asked her about the way she had acted. She said she was fighting me because she didn't know where we were going and what it would be like. She said she didn't know there would be so many good things there.

“You understand, don’t you, why I had to drag you there?” I asked. “You know I couldn't leave you at the car. It seemed like I was being mean, but to leave you standing by the car on the street in a big city would be really awful. So making you go was the nice thing to do.”

“Or the other nice thing would be if we just didn't go at all,” she suggested.

“But then you wouldn't have had all the fun you had there,” I said.

“But I wouldn't know about it,” she answered.

Eventually, she agreed that making her go to the museum was the best choice.  She recognized that her misery was relatively short-lived, and said she was glad we had dragged her there.

That night I wrote in my journal: 

All day, I've been asking myself how the Lord could require this thing of Alice. But thinking about the incident at the museum, I might have my answer. I didn't want cancer, either, and although I didn't kick and scream (much), I did a fair amount of whining. But I really didn't know about the good things that I would discover. Maybe I would have been content to “stay in the car asleep,” not knowing what I had missed. There are times when sleeping in the car is nice: is just what we need. But to get to the end of the trip and feel that we hadn't done anything at all would be very sad. It takes faith to realize that God is waking us up to go somewhere that is the kindest choice, even if we are tired, or it seems awful, or we are sure we've already been there.

Best wishes to you all as you step out of the car.

Serving As He Did

This happened sixteen years ago. I'm glad I wrote it down after it happened, because it taught me an important lesson that I don't want to forget.

I was the Primary music leader for our ward, and I had been asked to lead the children in a song for a Stake Primary activity. I needed to be a little early for the activity, which started at nine a.m., and as usual, we were running late. I was ready, but I’d had a hard time getting my children up and dressed and I was getting frustrated. I finally got Hannah and Danny ready while five-year-old Sam put some clothes on, and I thought we were about ready to go. “Grab your shoes and come on, Sam,” I yelled as I headed out the door. I looked back to see him standing there with his sandals in his hand, looking hesitant. “Come on,” I repeated. “What’s the problem?”

Sam looked down, then back at me. “My feet are real dirty,” he said.

“What? Sam, I don’t have time for this. We’re supposed to be there.”  I came back to house where he stood in the doorway and looked at his feet. They were indeed very dirty. The night before, as a Family Home Evening activity, we had gone for a little hike in the canyon. Sam had been wearing sandals on the dusty path, and since he fell asleep in the car on the way home, we had put him right in bed without cleaning him up. “All right, fine,” I said, grabbing his hand and dragging him to the bathroom.  “Sit up here and put your feet in the sink.”

I was exasperated with Sam and annoyed with the whole situation. I just wanted to get his feet reasonably clean and get out of there. I turned on the water and grabbed his foot.

As soon as I touched his foot, something happened. My annoyance vanished, and I was filled with overwhelming love for this child. I felt honored to be performing this service for him. I remembered how the Savior had done this same thing, humbly and with gratitude.

I was no longer in a great hurry, but the task didn’t take long. I dried his feet gently, gave him a hug and walked with him to the car. We got to the activity to find that they were running a bit behind and hadn’t started yet. Everything went well, and I was especially filled with joy as I watched the children, including Sam, sing the song.

Sometimes, when I am frustrated with my children and the challenge of keeping up with their demands, I remember that day, and the lesson I learned. When we serve as the Savior served, with love, our service is no longer a burden, but a joy.

So after he had washed their feet, and had taken his garments, and was set down again, he said unto them, Know ye what I have done to you? Ye call me Master and Lord: and ye say well; for so I am. If I then, your Lord and Master, have washed your feet; ye also ought to wash one another's feet. For I have given you an example, that ye should do as I have done to you. Verily, verily, I say unto you, The servant is not greater than his lord; neither he that is sent greater than he that sent him. If ye know these things, happy are ye if ye do them (John 13:12–17).