Tender Mercies

This afternoon I want to describe and discuss a spiritual impression I received a few moments before I stepped to this pulpit during the Sunday morning session of general conference last October. Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf had just finished speaking and had declared his powerful witness of the Savior. Then we all stood together to sing the intermediate hymn that previously had been announced by President Gordon B. Hinckley. The intermediate hymn that morning was "Redeemer of Israel" (Hymns, no. 6).

Now, the music for the various conference sessions had been determined many weeks before—and obviously long before my new call to serve. If, however, I had been invited to suggest an intermediate hymn for that particular session of the conference—a hymn that would have been both edifying and spiritually soothing for me and for the congregation before my first address in this Conference Center—I would have selected my favorite hymn, "Redeemer of Israel." Tears filled my eyes as I stood with you to sing that stirring hymn of the Restoration.

Near the conclusion of the singing, to my mind came this verse from the Book of Mormon: “But behold, I, Nephi, will show unto you that the tender mercies of the Lord are over all those whom he hath chosen, because of their faith, to make them mighty even unto the power of deliverance” (1 Ne. 1:20).

My mind was drawn immediately to Nephi’s phrase “the tender mercies of the Lord,” and I knew in that very moment I was experiencing just such a tender mercy. A loving Savior was sending me a most personal and timely message of comfort and reassurance through a hymn selected weeks previously. Some may count this experience as simply a nice coincidence, but I testify that the tender mercies of the Lord are real and that they do not occur randomly or merely by coincidence. Often, the Lord’s timing of His tender mercies helps us to both discern and acknowledge them.

From Elder David A. Bednar
Of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles

April 2005 General Conference

This morning I woke up in a cloud. Not because it was cloudy and rainy outside (I was actually a little happy I didn't have to water my garden today). It was just cloudy and rainy inside of me.

Occasionally I have these running away from home fantasies when I can't take what I've been taking anymore. Usually I hatch a plan that I'll board a bus and head to South Dakota and be a waitress in a truck stop. Last night when I was talking to Adam (I guess the cloud didn't show up just this morning), he asked me what would make things better. I said, "Leaving." He said, "Where do you want to go?" I said, "New Mexico."

I'm not really sure where that came from. Sorry South Dakota, it's nothing personal.

So back to this morning. And my cloud.

Mark came to my bedroom wrapped in his bathrobe. He was bleary eyed and with major bed head and major allergies. Even though I was fully dressed and ready for the day, I crawled under the covers of my bed to snuggle with him. He's usually way too squirmy for such activities but this morning he was sleepy enough to relent.

I told him he was precious to me.

He told me I was precious to him.

Then he told me that if I died, he would be so sad he probably would stay home and cry and not even play with his friends.

I appreciated the sentiment.

And the cloud was lifting (inside, not outside my window).

Then my cell phone rang. It was my brother Tabor. Did he get more than he bargained for when he called me and I laid out in great detail Everything Bothering Me? Maybe, but it's not like it's never happened before.

He listened. He empathized. He advised. He validated. He told me it would be OK. He made me laugh.

He told me that he could tell from my emails and blog that I'd been "despairing" and he wanted to call me. Really? I went back and looked over what I'd written. How did he know?

Because he's my Tabor, I guess. He always has been.

So I'll be OK.

Then I talked to Adam. I told him I was doing better. No South Dakota/New Mexico on the horizon.

Then my mom called me. (Do you ever have days when the troops interminably rally around?) She bolstered me as mothers do.

It's so nice to have people around to pick up the pieces when you're falling apart. Like I've always thought, it takes a village to raise a Thelma.

And I have a village. (Thank you, Village.)

So onward...