Comfort and Joy

I learned something really profound last night, in the middle of the night.

In the early hours of the morning, my youngest started to scream. Not crying: screaming. Like the Best Spouse in the World that he is, my husband got up to try and comfort her. This was difficult since Thing 1 and Thing 2 had each moved to the couches in the family room during the night, and he didn't want to wake them up. So he shut himself in the nursery.

I awoke and was alarmed by the intensity of Wee One's crying and went to see if I could help somehow, and found her pitching an absolute fit. She was writhing in Dave's arms and pushing against him. I could tell that he had used all of his resources, with no result.

Eventually, I found myself in a dim room, by myself, with a screaming child. I employed different tactics to try and soothe, but they seemed to bring only momentary relief or intensified crying. And in my daughter's eyes, I could see anger--WHY wasn't I making the hurt go away? WHY didn't I make it stop?

And suddenly, I could see something from the eyes of a Heavenly parent... the way my Heavenly Father must feel so often. I knew that I was doing all in my power to comfort her, and that there was nothing else I could do but let her little body work it out. But I could love her through it, and make sure that she knew I was there. Even though I suddenly became the object of her anger and confusion, I knew enough not to take it personally, and to comfort her as best as I could.

Eventually, we found just the right thing (a tight swaddle and a slow "cha cha cha" motion) that soothed her to sleep. She slowly relaxed and her eyes fluttered shut, as she took deep, hiccuping breaths. I didn't lay her down, right away, but let myself enjoy the silence and the peace of comfort that has been desperately sought and finally found. And I found myself uttering a silent little prayer... "Thank you, Heavenly Father, for comforting her. And for comforting me, when I need it. I don't think I ever really understood before, but I think I do now... at least a little bit."

So today, I am truly grateful.

Week of Thanksgiving: Interfaith Thanksgiving Service

Sunday night, in the pouring rain, I drove up Providence Road to a place I'd never been before: Temple Israel at Shalom Park.

A week previous I got an e-mail asking for people to be a choir participating in an Interfaith Thanksgiving Service the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. The rehearsals and performance will be held, this year, at a Conservative synagogue.

That is one bandwagon I jumped right on. Not only that, but I decided to drag our local sister missionaries with me--just for effect. Any excuse to visit a new house of worship is something I'm up for. Not to mention how fun it sounded to sing with people from lots of religions. We Mormons have our Tabernacle Choir, but we will never have the soul of a good, Southern Baptist choir.

I got there right on time, and entered the beautiful building, feeling a little unsure. I saw the stacks of kippot for the men, but reassured myself that they were optional for women, before entering the synagogue.

A group of people sat in the folding chairs, some sitting in little clusters, some sitting alone. Taking a deep breath, I marched down the aisle and introduced myself to a lady sitting by herself. We began to warm up.

Our music directors include a Jewish Cantor, a Universalist Unitarian Music Minister, a music minister from Friendship Baptist Church, and the music pastor at St. Gabriel's Catholic Church, although he is actually Episcopalian. The director from the Baptist congregation is so fun to watch, he jumps up and down all over the stage, which inevitably sends his kippah flying from his head. At which point the most delightful little Jewish lady trots up to the stand in the middle of the song and plunks it back on his head. Repeatedly. And neither of them even miss a beat.

Meanwhile, the Unitarians are crossing out every referal to "mankind" and urging us all to substitute the word for "humankind" so that we're gender inclusive.

At about which point the man from St. Gabriel's starts railing on us for being even slower than the speed of sound and begging us to KEEP UP!!!!

I find myself grinning and laughing and just singing my heart out. My favorite are, of course, the songs in Hebrew, with their lilting melodies and softly accented words.

At the end of the first practice, the music pastors all stood on the stand together. They talked about how they first started meeting over 6 months ago. And how they learned that you haven't learned to live in peace with your neighbors of a different faith until you've sat down and discussed and disagreed and been uncomfortable with each other. Only when you've faced your differences, can you find real friendship and peace. I thought that was beautifully profound.

So, Shalom. Have peace.

Good Friday

I'm pondering, this morning, on Good Friday. As a Latter-day Saint, we celebrate Easter with the rest of the Christian world, but we don't really celebrate Good Friday. (Okay--really, in all honesty--I didn't even know that Good Friday really existed or was a big deal until I moved to the East Coast. I believe that it to try and help us focus whole heartedly on the glory of the resurrection of the Savior, which is also the reason that I believe we don't wear symbols of the cross. ) In any case, this year I decided that I wanted to put more thought into this day, because it does have a significant meaning for me. I want to draw closer to the Savior, and I've decided to set out to do that this weekend.

As I studied this morning, I came across a talk from the late Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin of the Quorum of the 12 Apostles called "Sunday Will Come" and I love his words:

I think of how dark that Friday was when Christ was lifted up on the cross.
On that terrible Friday the earth shook and grew dark. Frightful storms lashed at the earth.
Those evil men who sought His life rejoiced. Now that Jesus was no more, surely those who followed Him would disperse. On that day they stood triumphant.
On that day the veil of the temple was rent in twain.
Mary Magdalene and Mary, the mother of Jesus, were both overcome with grief and despair. The superb man they had loved and honored hung lifeless upon the cross.
On that Friday the Apostles were devastated. Jesus, their Savior—the man who had walked on water and raised the dead—was Himself at the mercy of wicked men. They watched helplessly as He was overcome by His enemies.
On that Friday the Savior of mankind was humiliated and bruised, abused and reviled.
It was a Friday filled with devastating, consuming sorrow that gnawed at the souls of those who loved and honored the Son of God.
I think that of all the days since the beginning of this world’s history, that Friday was the darkest.

But the doom of that day did not endure.
The despair did not linger because on Sunday, the resurrected Lord burst the bonds of death. He ascended from the grave and appeared gloriously triumphant as the Savior of all mankind.
And in an instant the eyes that had been filled with ever-flowing tears dried. The lips that had whispered prayers of distress and grief now filled the air with wondrous praise, for Jesus the Christ, the Son of the living God, stood before them as the firstfruits of the Resurrection, the proof that death is merely the beginning of a new and wondrous existence.
Each of us will have our own Fridays—those days when the universe itself seems shattered and the shards of our world lie littered about us in pieces. We all will experience those broken times when it seems we can never be put together again. We will all have our Fridays.
But I testify to you in the name of the One who conquered death—Sunday will come. In the darkness of our sorrow, Sunday will come.
No matter our desperation, no matter our grief, Sunday will come. In this life or the next, Sunday will come.

I was so touched by Elder Wirthlin's comments, and the imagery he uses. Because I have had my moments of sorrow, even if they were brief in a lifetime of sunshine. But I have known some days when I knew I just could not go on myself, and I have been carried by my faith, my family, and my friends. I have even known my share of spiritual temper tantrums, when I was mentally shaking my fist at the heavens and the only prayers I could utter was of my utter confusion and anger at a plan that I don't always comprehend. Heavenly Father really is patient. And I've been amazed at how, almost always sooner than I think possible, "Sunday" has come.