Faith in Suffering

A dear sister in our ward passed away this week, and her funeral was Saturday.

Brother and Sister A. were some of the first people to welcome us to our new ward almost five years ago. They were just about done raising their large family, with only the youngest of six still in high school. They were in a marvelous place in their lives, with time for grandchildren, genealogy, civic work, and vacations, in addition to both having enjoyable jobs. They were very much considered stalwart members of the ward and community.

Sister A. in particular was like a quiet ray of sunshine. She always had a smile, was always ready with a hello, a hug, a piece of needed counsel. She wrote little notes of encouragement or thanks, and sent them through the mail to brighten someone's day. Sister A. loved her ancestors, and worked hard on her family history as well as the history of our little town. She was a school teacher who adored teaching children how to read.

A few weeks before my father died of lung cancer, three years ago, Sister A. was diagnosed with the same disease. I remember that I learned of it when I returned from Daddy's funeral in Las Vegas. One doesn't expect to know that many LDS people with lung cancer; for me, Sister A. was the third person in seven years. None of the three (my father and grandfather being the other two) had ever smoked a cigarette.

Sister A. began to undergo chemotherapy and radiation treatments, with the attendant physical effects. Her step was slower, she missed more church, but when I saw her, she still smiled.

Then, only a few months after her diagnosis, cancer struck again. This time, though, it was her husband, Brother A., diagnosed with (if I recall correctly) colon cancer. For a time they underwent treatments together. Their family pulled together, and the ward and community tried to help where possible.

Brother A. only lived a few months after his diagnosis. With her beloved companion gone, Sister A. continued to fight her cancer, gaining a sort of remission for more than a year. She knew she didn't have much time, so she filled that eighteen months with as many activities as she could. She visited Iceland, the home of her ancestors (and had tea with the president of Iceland!). She worked hard on her family histories, finishing her father's, her own, and many others besides. She tended one of her grandsons, so his mother and father could work. She was active in the Daughters of the Utah Pioneers. She quilted and gardened and crocheted (she made my baby Hebs a beautiful blanket, bib, and burp cloth set with a pretty crocheted edging).

About nine months ago, the cancer returned. Sister A. made it a point to bear her testimony every Fast Sunday she could make it to church. She spoke of the simple, basic things of the Gospel--the Atonement, the Plan of Happiness, her love of the temple, her husband, her children. Her faith was obvious--when I would see her, sitting on the back row in the chapel next to her youngest daughter, now in college, I would barely notice her increasing fragility. Her faith and peace completely eclipsed her physical problems, so that I all could think when I saw her was, "There is a woman of faith."

Sister A., I'm so happy that your earthly suffering is over, and that you are reunited with your beloved husband. Thank you for your example.