My first area as a missionary was Sissonville, West Virginia, just a few miles north of the state capitol of Charleston. The Mission Leader in that Ward was a great man whose love for the Gospel and his neighbors was immediately obvious. One Sunday, the Bishopric of the Ward was reorganized, and he was called as one of the counselors. There was no question in anyone's mind that he was the right man for the call.
The next week, his family went on vacation to California. While they were there, he suffered a heart attack and died.
We were all in shock. There was no warning, nothing to suggest that he was in ill health. He was simply there taking his place on the stand one Sunday, and he was gone the next.
I remember his funeral--in fact, it's the first funeral I really remember clearly. There were about 800 people there to offer their respects to this pillar of the community, and their condolences to his family. One of the speakers said something I'll never forget: "Brother _____ is gone, and things can never be the same. But that means one of two things. Things can be worse, or they can be better."
Honestly, I was shocked. I couldn't believe the audacity of the statement. How in the world could things be better--better for the Ward, better for his family and children, without him there? But this, my unschooled 21-year-old indignation, didn't last long as I tuned back in to what the speaker was saying.
He said that we would all need to decide whether things would be better or worse now that Brother _____ was gone. We would have to decide what kinds of people we were going to be. Would we be bitter and resentful for having lost him, or would we be grateful for having known him? Would we choose to make a difference the way he had?
I was reminded of all this yesterday as I watched "Music and the Spoken Word". This story was told:
Some time ago an elderly man passed away, and as his friends and loved
ones looked back on his life, they wondered why he often seemed so
angry. Then, while sorting through his personal belongings, his family
found one of his work pay stubs from long ago. Across the top of it he
had written, “The end of a good job with good pay! The start of anger
and ‘Why me?’” The handwritten outburst seemed to connect some dots for
them. He had been laid off from that job, and apparently he never really
rebounded from that disappointment. For more than 30 years, he carried
bitterness in his heart. As a result, he closed himself off to others,
shutting out their light and love.
I thought of something from the Book of Mormon as I listened to this story. It comes from Lehi's words to his son Jacob:
"[F]or there is a God, and he hath created all things, both the heavens and the earth, and all things that in them are, both things to act and things to be acted upon." (2 Nephi 2:14)
There are two kinds of creatures in this universe: things that act, and things that are acted upon. Human beings are endowed by their Creator with moral agency--the ability and responsibility to act. We are not meant to be acted upon. From the same chapter:
"Adam fell that men might be; and men are, that they might have joy.
"And the Messiah cometh in the fulness of time, that he may redeem the children of men from the fall. And because that they are redeemed from the fall they have become free forever, knowing good from evil; to act for themselves and not to be acted upon, save it be by the punishment of the law at the great and last day, according to the commandments which God hath given.
"Wherefore, men are free according to the flesh; and all things are given them which are expedient unto man. And they are free to choose liberty and eternal life, through the great Mediator of all men, or to choose captivity and death, according to the captivity and power of the devil; for he seeketh that all men might be miserable like unto himself." (2 Nephi 2:25-27)
We cannot always choose our circumstances. We all experience things that we have no control over. But in all of these things, we do have the ability--and the responsibility--to choose how we react. The Savior's transcendent Atonement bought us this precious agency. We cannot leave it unused.
There is no end, it seems, to the challenges and heartache and turmoil of this world. We all experience things that we didn't want and would never have asked for. That's just life. The important thing to realize is that we decide whether things will be worse, or whether they will be better.
