“Trials Can Teach Us to Love,” Liahona, October 2021
Trials Can Teach Us to Love
The author lives in Virginia.
My experiences with grief and loss blessed me with understanding and compassion.
When I was young and new to the Church, I was assigned to minister to an elderly man who lived by himself. He lived on the edge of town in an old motel room that had become an extended-stay residence for those who couldn’t afford apartments. He didn’t appear to have many possessions or family in the area and lived a lonely life. During one visit, he told me about the child who was stillborn to him and his wife. I marveled that he was brought to tears by the recollection of something that must have happened at least 50 years before. It would only be a brief time before I better understood his feelings.
Two years later my wife and I drove past the scene of a car accident. I realized that no police or ambulance had arrived yet. I had just completed an emergency medical technician course, so I stopped to see if I could help. When I made my way through the crowd, I saw an overturned vehicle with a small child lying nearby on the ground. There was no one giving her any care. I kneeled beside her and began to assess her condition, which was serious.
As I did, I heard someone call my name. I looked up into the face of a man in our ward who was less active. I realized this was his young daughter, who had attended our Primary. A nurse arrived, and we began CPR. When the ambulance crew took over, I returned to my friend’s side. I learned later that his child had ended up partially under the vehicle and others had pulled her out before my arrival. Her injuries were internal, and she did not survive.
Less than a year later, we were expecting our fourth daughter, and my wife carried her the full nine months. My wife woke me early one morning, saying her water had broken. We went to the hospital. After I parked the car, I went to her room and was told that the baby had died. I didn’t immediately understand, since we had only just arrived. When the doctor did his initial check, he couldn’t find a heartbeat. We never knew why. Instead of enjoying a newborn, we found ourselves planning for her funeral and taking down the nursery items.
Less than a year after that, a two-year-old boy in our ward was run over and killed by a service truck in the parking lot where he lived. I visited the family and spoke at his funeral. The mother mentioned he had been unusually cuddly that morning, almost as if he were saying goodbye.
Our ward had experienced the deaths of three young children in just over one year.
About a year after the death of our baby, we moved and I was assigned to minister to a young couple with two children. The older daughter had contracted an infection while in the womb and was born with a severe mental disability. Although she was nine years old at the time, she was like an infant developmentally. It was a struggle for the young family, who had limited means.
One day I received a phone call telling me she had died during the night. No member of the bishopric was available to visit just then, so I was asked to visit until they could get there. I arrived as her body was being removed, and I had a chance to talk with the father. The wife’s ministering sister arrived and did an amazing job comforting the family and taking care of the home.
I went with the father to the funeral home to make the arrangements. I suppose I was able to render some service because of my prior experiences. I don’t consider myself a great ministering brother, but I was glad I wasn’t a stranger in that home.
Many years later, one of our daughters was expecting her first child. She had married later in life and we knew from tests and exams that the child would need corrective surgery at birth. She went into early labor, but his condition apparently placed too much stress on his heart and he died before birth. We knew how she felt, but it was very difficult to see her so heartbroken.
When reflecting on these events, I wrote in my journal that I never expected to have so much to do with the death of children. The experiences, although tragic, helped me feel greater love and compassion for others because I understood what they were going through.
When I ponder what the gospel means to me, I have to say it is about relationships: those we had before, those we form in this life, and those we hope for after this life—the type of relationships and love that would cause an elderly man to mourn the loss of a child he would never know in this life.
Photograph at Oakland California Temple by Christina Smith
I don’t know how the blessings and protection of the temple reach out from the house of the Lord to touch our families, but I believe they do. Heavenly Father strengthens us according to our needs and uses us to help others in their trials. The hope and promise of priesthood ordinances and covenants are provided by a loving Father who knows our trials.