Risen.

We sat behind a girl at church today whose husband died five days ago from a blood clot after a fairly simple day-procedure he had on Monday. They celebrated his life yesterday and had to say an earthly goodbye for a time. He left behind her and four children, eight years and younger - and one just a few months old. I've thought of them all week, and here she was at church, her parents sweetly beside her, with the children all in a row, grandpa bouncing the baby in his arms. I was so overcome. I couldn't believe the weight I felt for this girl, maybe just a year older than me. I cried quietly behind the  m as I sang Easter songs. And as the sacrament was passed to them, I couldn't believe how directly I was witnessing someone so like me, so purely experiencing a true Easter. My heart was so solemn, wondering what she was thinking and how she was even composed enough to be there. I know I'll never forget the thoughts that passed through me as I watched them and as I thought about the Savior, the resurrection and about the impossible crosses we are sometimes called to bear.

As much as I personally struggle with keeping fear at bay since I've become a mother, I've made careful note over the last few years as I've watched from the side lines others suffering through the excruciating pain that accompanies loss. There's this unmistakable peace that I see in their faces. It doesn't remove the sorrow or suffering, but somehow they endure. I'm so thankful I know the source of that peace.

A few weeks ago, I read an essay written by a man who had just lost his little boy to a very taxing disease. A few days after his son had passed, he wrote this:

"It would seem that in all religious texts, no matter your religion, God makes no apology for pain and suffering. In fact, I have come to understand there is a sacred relationship between suffering and spirituality, if we learn to listen and endure it well. 
....I admit the burden of losing my precious son has my knees trembling and hands shaking and my soul in tremendous pain. There exists no word in the human language to describe this pain. It is simply, utterly, bewilderingly heavy. But, like all suffering, the sting of that pain can make way to a deeper compassion toward others, a greater capacity to love, a stronger desire to reach toward God and understand His purposes."

How incredible it is to see from a distance Jesus Christ very presently moving within another. I saw that today. I won't soon forget it.