I recently went through a trial. It doesn’t matter what it
was. The thing is that I knew for some time before the actual events that it
was a possibility. I knew that it might happen and I knew how it would make me
feel. At least, I thought I did.
Anticipation of a negative event is a funny thing. It gives
us the opportunity to prepare ourselves and to decide exactly how our heart and
head will react. Then, if the trial never actually comes, we can feel a sense
of accomplishment because we lived it vicariously and know that we would have
handled it very well. Most of my life
has been lived in this world of anticipation and avoidance of trials. I have
cried real tears for mothers who have lost children, sat up late at night
feeling sick over injustices read about on the news, and wrote bold words of
empathy and comfort to friends who have dealt with tragedies that I have only
ever experienced in my mind.
I stand, constantly, in a torrent of difficult trials, like
a tornado tearing up the Earth around me. I am in the eye, where it is quiet
and calm. But for one day, I was forced out of my comfort zone and the torrent
sucked me inside.
It’s not the events that matter, but my reaction. You see, I
did not react as I had planned to. I did not feel what I had known I would. I
did not muster the grace or class or control that I had anticipated and planned
for. I found my heart unexpectedly broken, my impeccable sense of logic
completely MIA, and my strength sapped.
But I learned something. For the first time in my life, I
think I finally know why the atonement of Christ was necessary. It’s never
really made sense before. I watched all of the seminary videos about justice
and mercy. I still didn’t understand. I assumed there was some greater natural
law that I couldn’t comprehend which necessitated Christ’s sacrifice in
exchange for our redemption. The heartlessly cruel requirement that an innocent
Savior suffer for someone else’s crime did not square at all with my perception
of a loving, nurturing Father.
I have never been one to pray for trials. It’s been my assessment that I can know a
fire’s heat without feeling it burn. But this past week I realized that my world
view is wrong. Without the actual experience, I can know that a burn is painful,
but not what it feels like. It turns out that those are two very different
things.
Having my heart broken taught me that I cannot even begin to
anticipate the pain of life’s trials, that I don’t understand what another
person is feeling just because I can imagine having to face a similar
situation, and that I am not nearly as kind of a person as I should be. It also
taught me that the Atonement of Jesus Christ may have served a purpose in
meeting the demands of justice. But, the purpose I need to understand better is
the one it served in qualifying our Savior to be our advocate with the Father.
We live in a cruel world. The tendency to criticize is
strong and seductive. But I am beginning to learn that kindness and compassion
are probably the most powerful forces on Earth.
I am still not ready to pray for trials. But I am writing
these feelings down today in hopes that when I am securely back in the calm,
quiet eye of the storm, I will not forget how little I know about the trials
around me.
As the primary song says, “I want to be kind to everyone; for that is right, you see.” I want to be kind to those who I disagree with, to those who make bad decisions, to those who don't like me, and to those who I think are cruel. I'm going to need a lot of help getting there, but I'm starting to understand where I can find it.
