Hope in Christ
It would appear that the early spring allergy season is upon us. Trees are blooming, the wind is blowing, and noses are running. As I put my son to bed last night, I heard him start to sniffle. This is not unusual, but it was sudden, and from the sound, it was more than a slight runny nose. I asked him if he was feeling okay and was surprised to hear these words — I miss Art. The sniffle I heard had nothing to do with spring allergies and everything to do with the loss of a loved one.
Art is the name of a favorite uncle who we lost a little over two years ago. Art is the uncle who took my boys to eat and do projects with him during the pandemic when everyone desperately needed contact and to get out of the house. Art is the big kid who my little boy adored. My son was only 8 when Art passed, and he is still struggling to understand it.
As we talked, the conversation moved on to my aunt, who recently needed medical treatment, and to my grandmother, who is in her mid-90s. My sweet, little boy is missing the uncle he already lost and worried about other family members who will someday follow. I offered what comfort I could in the moment and reminded him that it is okay to talk about his memories of his uncle. He asked if we could talk more today about the pictures on our shelf of people he doesn't remember, those of grandparents and greatgrandparents on both sides of the family.
It is natural to mourn those we have lost. I believe that the people in our lives are what makes our memories special. My maternal grandparents took me to baseball games, movies, and amusement parks when I was younger. My paternal grandparents taught me to play card games that were a big part of our family fun.
My great-grandfather let me help him with projects like fixing a leaky faucet, building a bird feeder, and repairing a clock. While all those experiences with each family member were special, I didn't miss the activity; I missed the people I was doing them with. I miss the smile on my grandfather's face when riding a roller coaster.
I miss my other grandfather beating me at cribbage. I miss hearing their voices and the feeling of simply being around them. I know my son doesn't miss working on projects or playing video games. He misses the joy of doing them with Art.
Amid the darkness of mourning, there is light that we can look to. Like many people, we believe that this mortal life is not the extent of our existence. We believe that our spirit continues beyond this life and more importantly, that because of Jesus Christ, we will also be resurrected as he was. We believe that because Jesus paid the price of our sins, was crucified, and rose again, we can have hope for eternal life.
In the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, we believe in being sealed together as families for eternity. We do not end weddings with the traditional—'til death do us part—. We believe that our family structures exist into eternity. When my wife and I were married, we didn't look at it as a 50-ish-year commitment but rather the beginning of an eternal family— linked to our ancestors and our posterity.
As my little boy continues to grow, learn, and understand the nature of our eternal souls, I believe he will find comfort, as I have, in knowing that those we have lost are only gone from us for a season. Someday, we will all be reunited.
As we continue through the Easter season, I am ever grateful for Jesus Christ. He volunteered himself as a sacrifice for me and for all of us. He suffered for my sins and for yours. He allowed himself to be cruelly abused and crucified. And he rose again on the third day, making it possible for all of God's children to have hope and joy in this life.
This Easter season, may we all feel the hope that comes through Christ. May we find comfort as we mourn those we have lost and feel the love that comes from our Father in Heaven and his son, Jesus Christ. And may we look outside ourselves and offer that hope and comfort to those around us. We can and should be the Lord's hands in uplifting those around us.