There is a balm in Gilead

Hmmm. I just read about another small airplane crash. That makes three. The first hit me hardest because it was people I know. Three men from my ward in Blanding. Good men. With good wives whom I worked with and loved. Woman left alone with small children. The second was Friday--a team of dermatologists from here in Cedar. They were in Moab and incidentally one of the patients they went to see was Mark, my future father-in-law. Jeremy had just gone into their office on Thursday, the day before it happened, to have a mole removed, and I needed to set up an appointment for sometime next month. Ten people were killed. Again leaving spouses, unborn children, fiances, children, and grandchildren.

It just makes me hurt. So many. So suddenly and unexpectedly. And it also makes me remember and be grateful that I know there is a plan. A bigger plan than just this life. There is more to just getting up in the morning and going to work or school or whatever. There is more than just what we see. I know there is a loving Father in Heaven who has given us this time, these precious years, to learn to be like him. He allows us opportunities to love and to hurt, to rejoice and to sorrow, to look outside our own spheres and to lose ourselves in the lives of other people. I know that He knows us and loves us individually.

When I was a little girl I would think about how much God must love other people. I would think about the man riding his gondola in Vienna. I would think about the family in the remote reaches of China or Mongolia. And I knew instinctively that He loved them. It took me a while to realize that He could love me and know me just as purely. I have always been grateful that I made those discoveries in that order--that I first saw the love God has for those around me, and second the love he has for me. I try hard to keep seeing it that way. And when I find myself being far too selfish, I remember in my mind's eye my childhood image of the man in Vienna or the family in China, or the homeless woman in South America. I know that God has a purpose and a plan for all of us. Not just me.

And I know that no matter what pain or hurt or loss or sorrow we feel, that we are not alone. I know that such hard things are part of the refiner's fire of this life. We cannot receive a fullness of joy someday without experiencing--even for a moment--just the opposite. But I am grateful that in His infinite and eternal wisdom He put us here together. The real test comes in our ability to reach out to others while even in our deepest trouble or pain. It's not about me. It's not about what I want or need or wish for--it is always about seeking to fill the other person's need first. Therein do we find rest from our own hurt and pain.

It is easy, somehow for me to forget this. And then when something happens where the suffering of someone else is so obvious--as in the cases of these three tragic plane accidents--I am reminded to forget anything I might be worried about or stressing over or struggling with. My troubles are not so bad nor so heart-breaking. And it helps me to remember that I should not just be looking to help someone with the obvious pains and struggles--but with the hidden ones. How many people around me are hurting? How many people do I know who need a hug or a phone call or a friendly comment on their blog? How many of my neighbors need a friend or a listening ear? I cannot grow, I cannot change, I cannot receive a fullness of joy until I seek them out and seek to bring them relief.