Overwhelmed

I have a million pictures of recent festivities. It would be easy to post them and check blogging off my list. But I'm afraid that pictures alone would be slightly superficial. Or at least incomplete. Too much happened that wasn't photographed. Too much happened that was tender. Too many sobering moments. Too much close-to-the-surface emotion.

Let's begin with a simple run down of last Friday:

In the morning we babysat the daughter of some friends who were taking their older son to see a pediatric cardiologist. The appointment revealed that he will need to shortly undergo corrective surgery. This news was delivered to a 40 weeks pregnant mother (who actually gave birth to child #3 the next morning) and to a busy father (who is preparing for a new job that will require the little family's relocation to a far away state in just a few weeks). Our friends, faithful and exemplary in all ways, are optimistic about the whole situation. But, goodness, what stress!

Midday Friday, Wes got a call from another friend. Did we have a couple of diapers he could borrow? He needed one for his youngest daughter, but his wife, recovering from her second major heart surgery of the year, just had a seizure and he couldn't get away to pick up a new package. (Two days later that wife was admitted to the hospital where numerous blood clots were discovered in the chambers of her heart. The life threatening situation was stabilized but our sweet friend is still in the hospital.)

Friday evening we got a call from another neighbor. Could one of us run over and sit with his two children? His wife (who deals daily with Celiac Disease) was seriously ill and needed to get to the ER. Wes watched their little girls for just a short time until other family members arrived, but he came home concerned, describing how very sick our friend was when she and her husband set out for the hospital.

Right after Wes's return Friday evening, his mom (whose generous assistance we so appreciated all weekend long!) reminded us that Wes was needed at the church to set up chairs for the funeral of our bishop's sweet son (who had passed away the week before after a 14 year struggle with cancer and other degenerative disorders). Since Grandma was willing to stay with our little ones, Wes and I both drove to the church to help out. After, we sat in the car together for a few moments, took deep breaths, and reflected on the day's events. We reflected on the exemplary lives of our friends and neighbors - the ones involved in Friday's crises, and others who struggle with quieter, less visable trials.

Our hearts were, and are, overwhelmed with empathy, admiration, grief, and gratitude. As we talked that night in the car, we acknowledged that our involvement in Friday's chaos was truly a tender mercy from a loving Heavenly Father. We had encountered discouragement of our own earlier in the week and we might have curled up for our own private Friday-night pity party. As it turned out, self-pity was out of the question. Rather, we found ourselves surrounded and buoyed up by friends whose faith shone brightly through their various battles. We found ourselves strengthened by the recognition that hardship is not experienced exclusively, and that, while we all have unique, personal, and sometimes heavy trials, those trials are lightened considerably as we view and assist with the weighty burdens of others.

The tender mercies didn't end on Friday. There was the funeral Saturday. The totally unspectacular, but totally sincere visiting teaching message about the Savior's atonement. The prayers and priesthood blessings. The confirmations that there is often purpose in pain and that "opposition in all things" truly does heighten happiness.
"That's the deal."
(Have you seen Shadowlands? Cry.)

And it's a good deal. A merciful mixture of weighty trials and relieving relationships. Truly, God loves us. To an overwhelming degree.

Those of you interested in Memorial Day photos may view them here.