In spite of my tears, I feel peace

By Erin P.

Thanksgiving is a wonderful time of year.  It is a time for us to focus on what is really important, and to give appreciation for all of the wonderful blessings we have.  But Thanksgiving is also a sad time for me.  Fifteen years ago, while I was visiting my siblings in California for Thanksgiving, my brother, Jon, died in a car accident.  He was delivering pizzas for his job, the roads were slick.  He went around a curve in the road and lost control of his car, swerving into oncoming traffic.  The doctors told us that he was dead before ever getting to the hospital.  

Although much of that day is a blur, there are certain images and feelings that are seared into my mind forever.  I remember getting the phone call telling us to go to the hospital as soon as possible.  After getting the call, Laurie asked if I would say a prayer.  During my prayer I asked Heavenly Father to please help Jon be all right.  I started crying.  I knew that he wasn’t.  When we got to the hospital and told them who we were there to see, and they double checked the name a few times, I knew that he wasn’t okay.  When instead of taking us to see him they took us to a room and a doctor started talking to us, I knew that he wasn’t okay.  

The rest of my visit to California is a blur.  Somehow Becky, Matt and I drove back to Utah.  I know I left a message for my roommates so that I wouldn’t have to talk about it when I got back.  Someone in my parent’s ward used frequent flier miles to get Becky and I home for the funeral.  

I did a lot of crying that week.  And a lot of praying.  I had been taught my whole life that we aren’t gone when we die.  That our spirits live on and we will be resurrected and reunited with our families one day, all because of the gift of our Savior.  I believed these things, but that belief had never been tested.  It is often through our trials that we gain strength, and this was true for me in this.  I can’t even count the number of times where I felt the Holy Ghost giving me comfort, like a huge hug, during these days when everything was still so raw and new.  

Even still, when I feel sad, or when I miss my brother, I can feel comfort.   I know that he is not gone, just away for a while.  I know that I will see him again.  I know that my husband and children, who don’t know Jon, will have their chance to become friends.  I know that he is okay.  Even as I write this, I cry because I miss my brother, and because the pain is still real.  But I don’t have to carry that pain alone, and in spite of my tears, I feel peace.

John 3:16 “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” 

Matthew 28:6 “He is not here: for he is risen, as he said.”

So on Thanksgiving, I am especially grateful for my Savior.  For making it possible for me to see my brother again.

How have you felt God's love in your time of loss? During the Thanksgiving season, how do you show your gratitude for Jesus's sacrifice for you?

We've got a runner.

By Emma

I am not a kid person anymore—but I am a nanny. I became a nanny because I am not a kid  person anymore. I’ve been in college, traveled, and been a corporate monkey; to be honest it felt like a pointless game. My minutes on the time clock were wasted on my hourly wage, but my time spent in service has always felt worthwhile.

This is how I got to be blocking the front door from an almost 8 year-old boy from running away from home. Danny’s birthday was coming up and he got rudely aggressive about his presents. In truth it was a very Dudley Dursley moment (“36…that’s two less than last year!”). (Yes, that is a Harry Potter reference.) There was crying; there was screaming. I’m sure something was thrown. It culminated in doors slamming and tears.

“He’s running away,” said a brother from the couch. The tone in his voice was more impressed at the extreme than surprised. I followed out the door. Danny turned, ran back inside, hugged his tattle-tale brother (his dramatic “I’ll miss you” was almost lost in his brother’s shoulder), and started for the door again.

I caught him there. I am still not a kid person.

There was hitting and screaming. There was crying. Two brothers and I sat and watched as Danny tried to unlock the door and leave again. Keeping him inside the house was all I could think to do—I’d only known the kid for a week.

“I want to leave! No one loves me! I don’t want to be part of this family anymore! Anywhere is better than here!”

There was some wrestling for the phone. There was more screaming. Then came the tears and  he sobbed. I held him.

It reminded me of my mother, when she held me as I screamed those same words at her. My rant hadn’t been about presents, but I suppose in hindsight my ingratitude doesn’t need to be founded in anything. I heard the same words in my head then as I did the day I held that little screaming boy who wanted to run away: if only you knew how much you are loved.

I can’t say that the little boy is better or worse. I am still not much of a kid person, but that little boy is loved by a Father in Heaven, just like me. I got to be reminded of that. That love means the world to me. I am grateful to have it. Having faith in that love makes all the difference.

John 3:16: ¶For ^aGod so ^bloved the ^cworld, that he ^dgave his ^eonly begotten ^fSon, that whosoever ^gbelieveth in him should not perish, but have ^heverlasting ⁱlife.

How has the knowledge of God's love blessed your life?