Everyday

Families are Forever. 
Wow, that phrase holds a whole lot more meaning to me lately.  And not the meaning you might think.  First of all, I think, "Families can be Forever."  It's not automatic.   There's no guarantee.  It's dependent on faithfulness and obedience.  It's not a free gift.  The only freebie is resurrection.  Everyone gets that.  Being together forever is trickier.

Then I think,  "When does forever start?"  A statement with forever in it should include now, right?  It doesn't.  My family isn't together now.  We won't be completely together for many, many decades.  To most people the statement Families are Forever gives punctuation to the happiness they feel,  the closeness,  the unity.  To me, it's angst--like eternal truth versus what I can see.

I got away today.  I was alone for several hours.  Even when school's in, that doesn't happen often.  I went to the temple.  I rushed to get there.  I stressed and looked at the clock 500 times on the way.  When I finally got there, got changed, and sat down, the contrast in atmosphere was so stark that I began to cry.  I probably cried for 10 or 15 minutes.  Listening to prayers that I believe are making families forever was overwhelming for me.  One of the gentle, white-haired men brought me some kleenexes.  The woman next to me asked if the names being read were my family.  Nope.  I just had some idea how happy those people who I don't know anything about must have felt to be given the chance to be together forever.

As I left that room and was walking down the corridor, the man who gave me the kleenex approached.  He asked if I was carrying a burden today.  I said yes.  He said it was good that I was there and walked on.  I thought to myself,  "everyday,  I carry a burden everyday.  My son is gone.  It's everyday."

Before I got changed to leave,  I saw a woman I know.  She asked how I was doing.  I think a lot of her.  As we spoke she started to cry.  She was missing her sister and brother and sister-in-law who are all forever--but not right now.  She was also worrying about her mother, who "has good days and bad days."  I'd never seen this woman  be anything but strong and smiling and encouraging.  She was carrying a burden too.

It's not just everyday for me.  There are burdens everywhere--mostly hidden where only the person carrying it can see.  I'm sure the white-haired man has hauled his share around.  It's up to us how we carry them,  what we do with them.  Sometimes being good and serving God and others is easy and sometimes it's not.  It's still Everyday.