Sorrow, the Opposite of Joy

It is ironic that as I began to pray for Joy, I was given two opportunities to face some of my life’s greatest sorrows. I had the opportunity to go to Children’s Hospital recently with my sister-in-law to see a three-month old heart patient waiting for a heart transplant. As I walked the familiar halls, I felt nothing. As I rode the familiar elevators where my friend and I used to play Candyland, yes in the elevators, I felt nothing. As I saw sick little children being wheeled around, I felt nothing. But that is normal. When I go to places like this, I usually don’t feel anything at the time but find myself a little disoriented and ditzy which tells me that it is affecting me. It isn’t until a day or two later when I find myself unable to get out of bed that I know the emotions have hit.

I stared at that sweet baby and didn’t think about my month old sister that died of a heart defect or my four-year old brother who died of A-Plastic Anemia, a blood cancer like Leukemia or even my sixteen-year old sister who was in a coma in those beds at Children’s for months before she died. I smiled and talked with the nurse, who seemed so young to me. I tried to support my sister-in-law as she dealt with seeing this sweet baby in person for the first time with all the instruments, smells and sounds of an ICU room. I spoke with the nurse of some of my experiences in similar rooms and tried to not make her cry by telling her too much. My brother and I have always laughed about how traumatizing it is to tell people even pieces of what we have been through and how we have to counsel them through it as we tell it, “You’re going to be o.k., breathe, we made it through,” etc…

The next night, after Children’s Hospital, was my daughter’s Young Women’s in Excellence program. It is similar to a scout Court of Honor but for girls in our church. I was not prepared. All of the first four or five songs were sung by sisters, often in harmony. I loved to sing with my sister. I sobbed through the entire thing. I wished that the song my daughter was going to sing was at the beginning, so I could escape after she was done, but as fate would have it, it was the last song. So there I sat, watching sister after sister sing these beautiful songs about the Savior and though my sister has been gone for nearly seventeen years now, I wanted to sing with her again so bad. I tried to keep control of my breathing through my tears and prayed that the Lord would stop the pain but it wouldn’t go away and I couldn’t leave.

By the time I got home, I had sufficiently supported my daughter and then gave in to the grief and went to sleep. This morning I felt more grounded than I have felt in some time, I actually got out of bed. I don’t know exactly why except that by the time I got home the previous night I had accepted my emotions or at least hadn't fought so hard as I fell to the bottom of my emotions, like I normally do. I actually felt good, except the headache and swollen eyes from my previous night’s cry. It came to my mind that in order to know joy, we have to know sorrow. The doctrine of the Lord teaches us that the depth of our sorrow will be equal to the height of our joy. Isn’t it funny that I would ask for joy and the Lord would lead me to the depths of my sorrow? The irony is thick and I don’t presume to know why but I see His hand in it.
- Christy