Our Testimony to the Hillcrest 8th Ward

Last night we sent the following testimony to our friend, Quinn Kofford, and asked him to give it to the Bishop of our Ward to read during fast and testimony meeting today.  On one hand, we felt a bit sheepish about giving something to the Bishop to read over the pulpit--that is usually reserved for letters from much more important people than us.  But, as we were physically away from our Ward, we felt like we needed to take the chance to thank its members for their faith and to bear testimony to them of the reality of the gospel of Jesus Christ.  I wanted to share it with you because the letter discusses the post-operation slight feeling of melancholy that we had.


Dear Ward Family:

The words “ward family” have taken on new meaning to us over the last 12 days, for you have truly treated us like your family.  We realize that some of you are fasting for the third time in seven days today.  And if you’re anything like us, you don’t naturally love to fast.  We thank you for your sacrifice, for your prayers, and for your faith. We know now more than ever that those prayers work.

We wish we could be there with you on this fast and testimony Sunday, because we would love to both bear our testimony of the reality and the power of the gospel of Jesus Christ and to express the deep gratitude that we feel for you and for our Heavenly Father.

Now that Abigail appears to be on the road to a complete recovery from a complicated surgery--a surgery that will likely allow her to run and jump as much as any in our primary--our thoughts continue to be tender, because in some ways we feel unworthy of the blessing.  Within hours of the completion of the surgery, Lisa and I felt a strange and unexpected emotion:  we felt a touch of melancholy as we reflected on the fact that our child was spared.  In the face of our elation over the success of her surgery were the images of friends and strangers who haven’t received that same blessing--whose child’s heart surgery didn’t fix the problem, whose child walks the halls of this hospital with terminal cancer, whose child is taken in an instant before his parents were able to kiss him goodbye.

I said that those parents didn’t receive the same blessing.  I  choose those words--same blessing--carefully.  This week has taught us that Heavenly Father is much closer than we often give him credit for, and that the details of our lives are much less random than we think.  He knows us better than we can possibly know ourselves, and he gives us various blessings in the form of enduring or short trials.  For us, the trial will be relatively short.  For others, it will linger for a long time.  We were humbled by the fact that our trial was taken from us so quickly, while for others it remains.

As Lisa and I pondered why it is that our trial was short lived compared to what so many others endure, we did not come to any solid conclusion as to why that is so.  We simply don’t know why.  However, Heavenly Father did clearly whisper the following  thought to us:  You can’t possibly understand fully why and how I give others weaknesses and trials.  All you can do is commit to do more for them; to have a bigger heart; to suspend self-interest to serve and love those who suffer.  That answer was conclusive, and that is an answer that we can understand. That is an answer that we can apply.

We have been amazed at how many of you have done just that--you have dropped everything and put your arms around our family in our time of need.  We pray that we will do the same for you when the time arises.  We pray that we won’t be quick to forget.  We know that the essence of our first covenant of baptism is to “bear one another’s burdens, that they might be light.”

God lives.  He knows us and he is in the details of our lives.  Jesus Christ understands to the core every pain and trial we suffer.  He is our example in compassion and love.  May we pray to have that love so that we can help each other in times of trial.

We say this in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.