Painful Lessons

When I was a Freshman in high school I broke my arm during gymnastics practice. No, not doing some really cool but dangerous stunt, just a simple tumbling pass. (I could go into a long explanation of why it was the wrestling teams fault for the way they put the mats back after their meet, but that's not really important to the story, so I won't...at least not anymore than I just did. :)). Anyway, the doctors couldn't set the bone and I had to have surgery to repair the break. When I woke up from surgery, and all the medication started to wear off, I was in excrutiating pain -- worse than when I broke it. I was sobbing, begging someone to make it stop. My poor father sat by my beside, holding my hand, with this devastated, heartbroken look on his face that let me know he would trade places with me in a heartbeat. (I think he even said it at one point.) That image of my sweet Daddy, hurting because I was hurting, has always stuck with me.

The other night, I got to feel that hurt for myself. The Girly came into our room at 2:30 in the morning, doubled over and crying from a pain in her hip. We laid her on the bed, trying to assess what was happening, asking for specifics on how and where it hurt. She was writhing on the bed, sobbing as the pain would periodically intensify. It didn't take long to determine that one of us had to get her to the hospital. Brian gave her a blessing as I got dressed to go. He tried to carry her downstairs and to the car, but that hurt worse, so we just supported her as best we could as she hobbled, doubled over, to the van. We put her in the back where she could lay down, and I started to the hospital as quick as I could without endangering our lives. She would periodically scream from the backseat, between the sobs that didn't stop. I thought my heart would break. A few times I started to cry, hoping she wouldn't notice since I was driving and it was dark, as I tried to be calm and reassure her that we would be there soon, and it would be okay. When we arrived and checked in they made us sit in the waiting room, her still crying out in pain. All I could do was hold her hand, speak calmly and lovingly to her, and remind her to breath. After about half an hour the pain started to subside to the point that she could bare it more easily, and talk to me again. After a few more hours it was gone. They never did figure out what it was. Just ruled out broken bones or kidney infection and sent us home.

I thought about my dad in that heartwrenching hour or so between when The Girly had come to the bedroom door and when the pain began to subside. About how he wanted to take my place when I was in pain. And about how I would have gladly, and instantly done the same for my daughter. And then I thought about my Heavenly Father and the Savior. How they must hurt as well when they see any of us in pain, physical or otherwise. But how they can take our pain from us. Maybe not always instantly, though I know that has happenend, because pain can help us to grow, and to an extent it is something we must all experience. But they can share it with us, carry some of it for us, carry us, and help us to heal. I think of the Savior in the Garden of Gethsemane. The anguish and suffering he endured, for me, for all of us. How The Father must have anguished as well as He wathched His son endure it. But He watched one child suffer, so that He could save all the rest. I don't know how He did it without hiding His face and covering His ears. But I know He did. And I'm grateful.