Sadness and Joy

Loved ones,

I'll give you the rundown in real time: 10 minutes ago I read my mother's email telling me about how our family dog died this past weekend. I go to the library bathroom and cry like a child for minutes. I compose myself, return to my computer, and 20 minutes later Sis. Hone tells me she just got accepted to BYU-Idaho. I feel genuinely happy in her behalf.

Everything in its right place.

This week we watched a mormon.org profile (which you should all check out because they would fill my heart with joy even if I weren't a Mormon) with a woman who's gone through some major heartache. At the end of this video (which featured a mother who'd lost her 4 year old son), was this basic message: Life is not fair. But life doesn't have to be fair because God offers us so much more. This life is not the final product of who we are or what we can be. Our happiness is intertwined with sorrow because life is about dealing with it ALL...and then rejoicing in the fact that heartache isn't forever, joy is.

This week was wonderful. Service opportunities were rampant. I want to speak to you all candidly about the real blessings we receive because we have a loving Father in Heaven. I refuse to believe in coincidence, chance, or luck. Refuse. I believe in blessings and I believe that God uses us to uplift and carry others. Intentionally, perfectly. That I get to experience this on some level every day reaffirms to me that I'm where I'm supposed to be.

This week we cleared out the house of a family who's garage burned up during the snowstorm a few weeks ago. Their generator caught fire and they're fortunate to be alive. P.S. the day before the house caught fire, an enormous tree in their front yard fell on and crushed their brand new car. We had to throw away everything that smelled so badly of smoke/was burned that it couldn't be salvaged. It included more of their possessions than not.

As we threw piles upon piles of damaged belongings into a massive trash bin, I thought. A lot. Our cars can get destroyed and our homes can be ashes, but we move on. We are alive. We have one another. The mother of the family told us that we were the answer to her prayers, angels in her life. I don't feel like an angel or a glowing, fiery answer to prayer. But I know that I'm a regular person trying to help other regular people.

Maybe you would never feel sorrow about the loss of a pet. Or maybe you'd never feel relief at going to college in Idaho, but some regular people do. We are here for one another. We literally cannot make it alone. Or, maybe you could, but what a hollow way to live. I believe empathy is the word.

Here's what I know: Bad comes with good. Mortality is not the end. Tender, special joys can be found in everything we experience. Everything.

Love,

Sister GP