Getting Acquainted

In the last two weeks, I've heard the words, "I'm sorry" a lot.   I understand what people are trying to say, or to convey, especially as they stare at my new tiny baby and my swollen tired eyes, and I appreciate the heartfelt empathy or compassion. But the more I hear those expressions, the more it makes me think about my current situation, so I'm not so sure it's such a good thing.

A few nights ago, while I was thinking at 2:30 AM, I stumbled across a talk given by one of my favorite church leaders, James E. Faust. I loved that man and how tender he was. I found his talk because I had googled the words, "refiners fire."  I mean, what else do you google in the middle of the night? As I read that talk, hunched over my baby girl and with wearied and watery eyes, I felt something inside me come to life.

Elder Faust was recounting  the experience of a member of the Martin Handcart company, who shared this testimony after hearing a Sunday school teacher ridicule those who put the company together. 

"... We suffered beyond anything you can imagine and many died of exposure and starvation, but did you ever hear a survivor of that company utter a word of criticism? Not one of that company ever apostatized or left the Church, because everyone of us came through with the absolute knowledge that God lives for we became acquainted with him in our extremities.

“‘I have pulled my handcart when I was so weak and weary from illness and lack of food that I could hardly put one foot ahead of the other. I have looked ahead and seen a patch of sand or a hill slope and I have said, I can go only that far and there I must give up, for I cannot pull the load through it.’” He continues: “‘I have gone on to that sand and when I reached it, the cart began pushing me. I have looked back many times to see who was pushing my cart, but my eyes saw no one. I knew then that the angels of God were there.

"'Was I sorry that I chose to come by handcart? No. Neither then nor any minute of my life since. The price we paid to become acquainted with God was a privilege to pay...'" (Relief Society Magazine, Jan. 1948, p. 8)

President Faust goes on to say:

"Here then is a great truth. In the pain, the agony, and the heroic endeavors of life, we pass through a refiner’s fire, and the insignificant and the unimportant in our lives can melt away like dross and make our faith bright, intact, and strong. In this way the divine image can be mirrored from the soul. It is part of the purging toll exacted of some to become acquainted with God. In the agonies of life, we seem to listen better to the faint, godly whisperings of the Divine Shepherd.

"Into every life there come the painful, despairing days of adversity and buffeting. There seems to be a full measure of anguish, sorrow, and often heartbreak for everyone, including those who earnestly seek to do right and be faithful. The thorns that prick, that stick in the flesh, that hurt, often change lives which seem robbed of significance and hope. This change comes about through a refining process which often seems cruel and hard. In this way the soul can become like soft clay in the hands of the Master in building lives of faith, usefulness, beauty, and strength. For some, the refiner’s fire causes a loss of belief and faith in God, but those with eternal perspective understand that such refining is part of the perfection process." (James Faust GC April 1979)

I mean, wow. Could it be any more clear? The word privilege denotes the idea of an opportunity that should be sought out, or a rare gift or treasure. Is that how we see our trials?  I know I am not being asked to traverse the snowy fields and mountains in a handcart with only a few ounces of flour for my daily meal, nor to bury my children in the hard ground along the way. Does that mean Heavenly Father is looking down on me saying, "Come on, pull it together. It's not that bad. Other people have been through worse." No, definitely not. He is fully aware that in my own little section of His vineyard, I am pulling a type of handcart with little ones in tow who are depending on me to show them the way. I can do that. And it's a privilege to do so because I know there are angels pulling up the rear.  

So, no more "I'm sorry" or apologies are needed. In my quiet moments when you're not watching, I won't tell you how hard it really is, and that there have been a few nights when I actually said, "I can't. Not one more minute. I really can't." But know this, in those same quiet moments I am finding out what I am really made of, and am getting acquainted with Him who believes so much about me. And truly, that is a privilege.