I almost didn’t make it to church yesterday. That, in itself, isn’t remarkable. Everyone misses church for all kinds of reasons. But yesterday, mine was because thirty minutes before church started, I was still undressed, with wet hair, ugly crying into my towel so I wouldn’t make too much noise.

First of all, let me say that last week was mostly fantastic. And exhausting. But fantastic. Monday was my birthday. I felt extremely loved and blessed and showered with gifts and sweet messages and time with my husband and family and a fantastic massage and PF Chang takeout in my pjs and kisses from my darling grand babies. My life is pretty amazing. Christmas Eve and Christmas morning were gloriously chaotic. (Chaotically glorious?) We had most of our children and grandbabies home and the house was filled with present wrapping, cooking, lots of giggling, and Penny Bee announcing every two seconds what Olaf was up to at the moment. She is slightly obsessed with him. Also, she took her duties as head elf on Christmas morning very seriously, and delighted in delivering every present to its recipient…until she opened the one from Mimi and Grandpa that had a stuffed, you guessed it, OLAF! inside. After that, she was a wee bit distracted.

Late Christmas afternoon, I got a text from one of my dearest friends, who also happens to be my sister-in-law, that her father had just passed away. Lara is one of the most amazing women I have ever met. When I first heard that my husband’s brother, Matt, a newly returned missionary (aged 21) was dating a 16-year old girl, I thought, “What kind of bimbo is this?”. Totally unfair, I know. After I met Lara, all I could think was that I one day hoped I could grow up and be someone like Lara Anderson. She was beautiful, funny, and mature beyond her years. She has become one of my best friends, confidantes, cheerleaders, and partners in crime. This past year or so, we have been able to share a lot of the heartache of having a father who is dying a slow death. She is the youngest of 6 children, but is really the one who is the caretaker for her sweet parents. As her father has battled Parkinson’s and heart problems and other ailments, Lara has been the one to navigate the finances, the insurance, the selling of her parents’ home and settling her dad into assisted living. She did all this while caring for her very busy husband, four daughters and one son and planning a wedding this past summer. Honestly, I do most of my caretaking long distance, while she is very much right on the spot, 24/7. But she still has helped me to work through a lot of my feelings, or just the fact that I was having feelings and helped me feel less alone through this sandwich stage of life.

Lara’s father dying was very bittersweet for them. He was definitely ready to go and I know that they were ready to let him, but it’s still hard. We met for a few hours the other day to just talk and hang out together. One of the things we talked about was how much compassion matters. Being seen and heard. I told Lara about one of my very first religion classes at BYU. My teacher was one of President Ezra Taft Benson’s sons. President Benson was the current president and prophet of the church. Brother Benson related an incident where he and his wife were at some function with some church officials and they were being asked to go around the dinner table (I think?) and share their favorite scripture. When it was his wife’s turn, Brother Benson heard her say, “ I love John 11:35”. He wanted to die. It is the shortest verse in all the scriptures-Jesus wept. He couldn’t understand why she picked something so simple and un-scholarly! Seriously? Then he listened as she explained that she loved it because it showed Christ’s compassion and love for Mary and Martha. Even though He knew He was about to raise Lazarus from the dead, His attitude was not one of arrogance or impatience. It wasn’t about Him at all. It was about their sorrow-a sorrow that He shared. So He wept with them, because He loved not only Lazarus, but MARY and Martha as well, and their grief was His, too. Brother Benson was very humbled by his wife’s insight. I’ve thought about this scripture often. It’s become one of my favorites.

So this week I’ve been mourning along with my sister, Lara. And it’s also triggered my own anxiety over my father’s illness and his deterioration. I spoke to him a couple of days ago and could barely understand him. Loss of speech is part of the progression of his illness. He’s changed so much in so short a time and yet I feel like he has been dying forever. I hate this grieving in slow motion. I was trying to explain this to my husband last night. Feeling my feelings is hard for me. I know some of it’s genetic, some of it’s learned, and I’m working on it, but it’s one of my issues. In my Asian brain, someone dies, then you have denial, anger, bargaining, acceptance…I forgot one in there. Cookies? (Now I’m terrified that every time I forget something it’s the beginning of Frontal Temporal Dementia which can hit in your fifties. Guess who is 51?) Depression! That’s the one I forgot! Although, cookies should definitely be a stage of grief! Anyway, death, 5 stages of grief, put on your big girl panties and move on. I AM EXTREMELY IRRITATED THAT MY FATHER’S DEATH IS NOT GOING THIS WAY. Could SOMETHING in my life, for the love, just be a little bit organized?! Is it too much to ask that he just be perfectly healthy and then drop dead of a heart attack in his eighties like his parents did? Then I can grieve through each stage for a couple of days and life can go back to normal in a couple of weeks instead of me crying into a towel like a crazy person when NOTHING HAS ACTUALLY HAPPENED YET.

I know. That’s not reality. And grief can’t be organized. And life can’t either, really. What I learned while I was crying into my towel was that God can still hear me pray when I can’t actually say any words. That He can dry my tears when I can’t. That I can take myself to church and feel His Spirit there and remember the greatest gift I have. I would say it’s my Savior’s love, but I think I have to take it even farther apart and say it’s His compassion. Because I can feel Him not just loving me, but mourning with me and grieving with me and holding me when I am frustrated like a toddler that I can’t even grieve in the proper order. He came and lived this life so He would know exactly how I feel and how to help me. Not in a “Hey, do you even KNOW who I am? I can fix all this! I made all this! Give me five minutes and it will be all fine!” kind of way, but in a “Let me hold you. I love your Dad, too. I know it hurts” kind of way.

So for me, this Christmas has been about remembering Bethlehem and Gethsemane. That we need both or there is no meaning in anything. That love and joy only matter because there’s some pain. And it’s ok if things are out of order. Christ makes everything right in the end.