But Who's Counting?

I gave Wes a new watch on our wedding night nine years ago.  He needed a watch, but the gift was mostly symbolic.  I wanted him to know that in addition to the eternity we'd been sealed for earlier that day, I was also excited for the time.  All the mundane, mortal, trivial time.  Wes wore his wedding watch until the day he died.  Taking it off his wrist was one of the hardest things I did that day.

July 2, 2011

Eight and a half years.  We measured our marriage in time for eight and a half wonderful years.  I, of course, wanted it to be longer.  I remember one day last winter, I was aching for Wes to be well.  We'd prayed and fasted for his recovery so many times.  There had been so many priesthood blessings.  There had been so many treatments.  Pills and oils and infusions.  I wondered what was wanting.  I thought to myself, maybe I'm not being specific enough.  I knelt by my bed that night and prayed and prayed and prayed.  I was full of faith.  I  knew Heavenly Father had the power to heal my husband and I told him I was ready for it now.  I prayed with all my heart that Wes would wake up well.  I expressed my sincere willingness to accept God's will, told him I'd be patient if it was absolutely necessary, but I also told him that I couldn't help asking - and that I knew He was capable of granting my request. 

It was a strange night.  Maybe I should have felt silly.  Maybe (probably) I should have felt impertinent.  But I was so hopeful.  I was certainly not naive enough to be expectant, but I went to bed that night with so much sincere hope in my heart.

The hope was there when I woke up.  The kids and I played and waited for Wes to come to breakfast.  When he came, I watched him curiously.  His symptoms were subtle enough at the time that nothing could be determined immediately.  After several minutes of conversation, however, it was apparent that he was still plagued with the same symptoms that had troubled him, progressively, for months.

I didn't cry.  I remember shrugging my shoulders in the bathroom and sighing with both disappointment and sincerity, "Thanks for letting me ask."   

I was still in the bathroom when Wes (who knew nothing about my prayer) turned on our ipod.  I'm not sure when it had been played last.  Not for many months.  I didn't pay any attention to the music at first.  It was a country song (we'd fallen off the country bandwagon years before), and an unfamiliar one at that.  Wes couldn't read at the time,  so the selection was completely random.

But it wasn't long before the song brought me up short,
Sometimes I thank God for unanswered prayers
Remember when you're talkin' to the man upstairs
That just because he doesn't answer doesn't mean he don't care
Some of God's greatest gifts are unanswered prayers

The tears I hadn't been crying came abundantly, along with a deep and lasting confirmation that Heavenly Father heard my prayer (s!), knew of my faith, loved me and Wes and our family, but had different plans for us.  I was overwhelmed with the impression that God truly cared about my desires and my dreams, ached for my present pain, was indeed tearing down my comfortable little house but promised to make it a mansion.  Someday.  Somehow. 

A few months after that sincere prayer and that merciful response, Wes had a severe fall that cracked the glass of his wedding watch. It seemed such a dreadful, dramatic omen.  I tried to remind myself over and over:  "The Lord's timetable and our watches are not always synchronized." (T.G. Madsen)  

I still try to remind myself.  I love the quote Wes's mom sent me a few weeks after his funeral.

"Consider Jacob’s virtual unawareness of time as he worked seven years for Rachel, as recorded in Genesis 29:20. “And Jacob served seven years for Rachel; and they seemed unto him but a few days, for the love he had to her.” Beautiful! We mortals are so trapped in this dimension of time. It is not our natural element. We wear it like an ill-fitting suit of clothes, and we wish to hasten its passage on occasion. We also want to hold back the dawn on other occasions. We are not at home with time because we belong to eternity. In the moments when we are true and at our best, we have the experience of timelessness which Jacob had." (Neal A. Maxwell)

Nine years today.

 But who's counting?

Happy Anniversary, Wesley.