Easter

My family is following the Come, Follow Me program of Easter readings.  Every night this week, we read about the last week of the Savior's life.  His atonement, death and resurrection are taking on new meaning for me.

I'm finally starting to understand Easter.

Because of Hannah.

Three thoughts-

1-The Lord is the only one who understands exactly how I feel.  There are people who have been through similar experiences who get the idea of what I'm going through.  But the Savior completely understands because He went through it too.

2-The Lord died and was resurrected to conquer death.  Death doesn't win.  Not ever.  Because the Savior lives, Hannah lives.  I will live.  Hannah and I will both be resurrected.  We will live forever.

3-The Lord atoned for my sins.  Hannah is already perfect.  She skipped ahead and left me in the dust.  I have so much work to do before I will get anywhere near perfect.  I have spent the last few months pushing myself to work harder and faster (maybe even more than I can or should) out of fear that I won't be good enough to be with my daughter again.  It will never be enough.  I need the Savior to make up the difference.

The sum total is that the Savior is my greatest comfort and joy at this time.  I want Him to always be my comfort and joy.  I want to join my light to His.

The Worst Thing

I've heard people say that losing a child is the worst thing that can happen to you.  It's certainly the worst thing that's ever happened to me.  But I've never had cancer.  I've never had to fight in a war.  I've never had to search for the truth of the gospel.

The list is endless.  There are seven billion worst things for seven billion people in the world right now.  There were worst things for every single other person who ever lived.  There will be new worst things for the people who haven't been born yet.  And those are just the worst things.  There are an infinite number of terrible things in every person's life.

The Savior suffered every single one of them.  Every.  Single.  One.

I only know the terrible things in my own life.  But He knows all of those, too.  He knows exactly how it feels to be Hannah's mama, exactly how much I love my baby and exactly how much it hurts to lose her.  But somehow, He still shines.

Hannah only had 13 days in this world.  That was probably her worst thing.  But somehow, she still shines.

I lost my child.  But somehow, I can still shine.

The worst thing in my life doesn't have to be the only thing.  I can't get rid of it, but I can fill up my life with good things.  I can have joy in my life.  I can be grateful for everything I still have and will get later.  I can move forward with purpose knowing that I will see Hannah again.  And that's the best thing.

Time Glides

I've hated time for most of life.  Ten-year old me could barely handle fifth grade math because of time.  It's the concept that bothers me.  It's always seemed to me that there was something wrong about time, as if it doesn't work right.

Abraham 5:13

But of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, thou shalt not eat of it; for in the time that thou eatest thereof, thou shalt surely die.  Now I, Abraham, saw that it was after the Lord's time, which was after the time of Kolob; for as yet the Gods had not appointed unto Adam his reckoning.

I'm finally figuring it out.  There's nothing wrong with time.  Time is perfect for what it is.  It's how I interact with the Lord throughout my mortality.  It's how He helps me to progress.

I hate that Hannah can't be here with me through this time.  But she doesn't need time.  I do.  I hate that the Lord didn't give me more time with my baby.  But I rejoice that He gave me any time with her at all.

There's a lot of phrases about the passage of time.  Time flies.  Time marches on.  Time and tides wait for no man.  But the song Love at Home (from The Church of Jesus Christ hymnbook) says it best.  "Time doth softly, sweetly glide When there's love at home."

I can feel the love and light of Heavenly Father, of the Savior and of Hannah across all the time that I have.