Elder Lance B. Wickman
Of the Seventy
Mortality's supreme test is to face the "why" and then let it go, trusting
humbly in the Lord's promise that "all things must come to pass in their
time."
Some of my richest memories are associated with weekend assignments to stake
conferences as I have accompanied a stake president in visits to members of
his stake wrestling with life's challenges in courage and faith, especially
those who have lost a child or who are struggling valiantly in nursing a sick
or crippled or handicapped child. I know from poignant personal experience that
there is no night quite so dark as the loss of a child. Neither is there any
day quite so long and exhausting as the relentlessness of caring for a child
crippled in form or faculty. All such parents can empathize exquisitely with
the father of the child afflicted with a "dumb spirit," who, when admonished
by the Savior to believe, responded in anguish of soul, "Lord, I believe; help
thou mine unbelief" (see Mark
9:17, 23–24).
And so today I wish to speak to all who are struggling in this
laboratory of applied faith that is called mortality—and in particular to
those bereaved, burdened, and grieving parents who beseechingly ask,
"Why?"
First, please know that grief is the natural by-product of love. One
cannot selflessly love another person and not grieve at his suffering or
eventual death. The only way to avoid the grief would be to not
experience the love; and it is love that gives life its richness and
meaning. Hence, what a grieving parent can expect to receive from the
Lord in response to earnest supplication may not necessarily be an
elimination of grief so much as a sweet reassurance that, whatever his or
her circumstances, one's child is in the tender care of a loving Heavenly
Father.
Next, do not ever doubt the goodness of God, even if you do not know "why."
The overarching question asked by the bereaved and the burdened is simply this:
Why? Why did our daughter die, when we prayed so hard that she
would live and when she received priesthood blessings? Why are we struggling
with this misfortune, when others relate miraculous healing experiences for
their loved ones? These are natural questions, understandable questions. But
they are also questions that usually go begging in mortality. The Lord has said
simply,"My ways [are] higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts"
(Isaiah
55:9). As the Son's will was "swallowed up in the will of the Father" (Mosiah
15:7), so must ours be.
Still, we mortals quite naturally want to know the why. Yet, in pressing too
earnestly for the answer, we may forget that mortality was designed, in a manner
of speaking, as the season of unanswered questions. Mortality has a different,
more narrowly defined purpose: It is a proving ground, a probationary state,
a time to walk by faith, a time to prepare to meet God (see, for example, Abraham
3:24–25; 2
Nephi 31:15–16, 20; Alma
12:24; 42:4–13).
It is in nurturing humility (see Alma
32:6–21) and submissiveness (see Mosiah 3:19) that we may comprehend
a fulness of the intended mortal experience and put ourselves in a frame of
mind and heart to receive the promptings of the Spirit. Reduced to their essence,
humility and submissiveness are an expression of complete willingness to let
the "why" questions go unanswered for now, or perhaps even to ask, "Why not?"
It is in enduring well to the end (see 2
Nephi 31:15–16; Alma
32:15; D&C
121:8) that we achieve this life's purposes. I believe that mortality's
supreme test is to face the "why" and then let it go, trusting humbly in the
Lord's promise that "all things must come to pass in their time" (D&C
64:32).
But the Lord has not left us comfortless or without any answers. As to the
healing of the sick, He has clearly said: "And again, it shall come to pass
that he that hath faith in me to be healed, and is not appointed unto death,
shall be healed" (D&C
42:48; emphasis added). All too often we overlook the qualifying phrase
"and is not appointed unto death" ("or," we might add, "unto sickness or handicap").
Please do not despair when fervent prayers have been offered and priesthood
blessings performed and your loved one makes no improvement or even passes from
mortality. Take comfort in the knowledge that you did everything you could.
Such faith, fasting, and blessing could not be in vain! That your child did
not recover in spite of all that was done in his behalf can and should be the
basis for peace and reassurance to all who love him! The Lord—who inspires
the blessings and who hears every earnest prayer—called him home nonetheless.
All the experiences of prayer, fasting, and faith may well have been more for
our benefit than for his.
How, then, should we approach the throne of grace as we plead earnestly for
a loved one and place hands upon her head to give a blessing by priesthood authority?
How do we properly exercise our faith? The Prophet Joseph Smith defined that
first principle of the gospel as "faith in the Lord Jesus Christ" (Articles
of Faith 1:4; emphasis added). It is that defining phrase—"in the Lord
Jesus Christ"—that we sometimes forget. Too often we offer our prayer or
perform our administration and then wait nervously to see whether our request
will be granted, as though approval would provide needed evidence of His existence.
That is not faith! Faith is, quite simply, a confidence in the Lord.
In Mormon's words, it is "a firm mind in every form of godliness" (Moroni
7:30; emphasis added). The three Hebrew magistrates expressed trust that
the Lord would deliver them from the fiery furnace, "but if not," they
said to the king, "we [still] will not serve thy gods" (Daniel
3:18; emphasis added). Significantly, not three but four men were seen in
the midst of the flames, and "the form of the fourth [was] like the Son of God"
(Daniel
3:25).
So with us. It is common in our secular world to say that "seeing is believing."
Whatever value this little maxim may have in the mundane affairs of life, it
is an alien presence when we turn to the Lord in the dark hour of our extremity.
The way of the Lord is best defined by a different maxim: "Believing is seeing."
Faith in the Lord is the premise, not the conclusion. We know He lives;
therefore, we trust Him to bless us according to His divine will and
wisdom. This childlike confidence in the Lord is known in scripture simply as
the "sacrifice" of "a broken heart and a contrite spirit" (D&C
59:8).
I offer this as profound conviction born in the fiery crucible of life's
experience. Our second son, Adam, entered our lives when I was far
away in the jungles and rice paddies of Vietnam. I still have the joyful
telegram announcing his birth. Adam was a blue-eyed, blond-haired
little fellow with an impish personality. As he turned five years old,
Adam eagerly looked forward to starting school. Then a common
childhood illness blanketed our southern California community, and
Adam contracted the disease. Aside from concern for his comfort, we
were not worried. He even seemed to have a light case. Suddenly one
morning he did not arise from his bed; he was in a deep coma. We
rushed him to the hospital, where he was placed in intensive care. A
constant cadre of devoted doctors and nurses attended him. His mother
and I maintained a ceaseless vigil in the waiting room nearby.
I telephoned our dear stake president, a childhood friend and now a
beloved colleague in the Seventy, Elder Douglas L. Callister, and asked
if he would come to the hospital and join me in giving Adam a
priesthood blessing. Within minutes he was there. As we entered the
small, cramped space where Adam's lifeless little body lay, his bed
surrounded by a bewildering maze of monitoring devices and other
medical paraphernalia, the kind doctors and nurses reverently stepped
back and folded their arms. As the familiar and comforting words of a
priesthood blessing were spoken in faith and earnest pleading, I was
overcome by a profound sense that Someone else was present. I was
overwhelmed by the thought that if I should open my eyes I would see
the Savior standing there! I was not the only one in that room who felt
that Spirit. We learned quite by chance some months later that one of the
nurses who was present that day was so touched that she sought out the
missionaries and was baptized.
But notwithstanding, Adam made no improvement. He lingered
between this life and the next for several more days as we pleaded with
the Lord to return him to us. Finally, one morning after a fitful night, I
walked alone down a deserted hospital corridor. I spoke to the Lord and
told Him that we wanted our little boy to return so very much, but
nevertheless what we wanted most was for His will to be done and that
we—Pat and I—would accept that. Adam crossed the threshold into the
eternities a short time later.
Frankly, we still grieve for our little boy, although the tender
ministering of the Spirit and the passage of the years have softened our
sadness. His small picture graces the mantel of our living room beside a
more current family portrait of children and grandchildren. But Pat and I
know that his path through mortality was intended by a kind Heavenly
Father to be shorter and easier than ours and that he has now hurried on
ahead to be a welcoming presence when we likewise eventually cross
that same fateful threshold.
When through the deep waters I call thee to go,
The rivers of sorrow shall not thee o'erflow,
For I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless, . . .
And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.
When through fiery trials thy pathway shall lie,
My grace, all sufficient, shall be thy supply.
The flame shall not hurt thee; I only design . . .
Thy dross to consume and thy gold to refine. . . .
The soul that on Jesus hath leaned for repose
I will not, I cannot, desert to his foes;
That soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake, . . .
I'll never, no never, no never forsake!
("How Firm a Foundation," Hymns, no. 85)
In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
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