Isn’t it Wonderful?

Source: Messengerandadvocate

Isn’t it wonderful?

I used to love to watch President Hinckley in action with the press. Whenever he fielded a really difficult question, he would answer simply and directly, and then follow with a cheerful, “Isn’t it wonderful?” His sharp mind and guileless manner always won over his detractors. He was absolutely disarming in his warm, clear and plain witness of what was true.

Perhaps the thing that stays with me the most is his hopeful declaration: “Isn’t it wonderful?” With these three words he expressed faith, hope and charity all at once. It makes me think of the account of Dutch sisters Corrie and Betsie Ten Boom, who were imprisoned in a concentration camp by the Nazis for their role in protecting Jews during the Holocaust. Their barracks were the most detested by the prisoners, because of the infestation of fleas. Through it all, Betsie urged Corrie to follow the Lord’s counsel to give gratitude in all things. Corrie was a good soldier through most of what they had to endure, but could not reconcile how the Lord’s love was manifest in such a meaningless pestilence as the fleas.

And yet…

Much later Corrie came to know that the reason that the Bible they huddled over for clandestine prayer meetings in their barracks was never found–nor much less, the prayer meetings themselves–was because the guards themselves were loath to enter into the barracks where the fleas were such a problem. The very fleas were a gift from God–a gift that allowed them to share hope and faith with so many others who were without a reason to live.

Isn’t it wonderful?

The very things that seem to try our patience, our faith, our endurance, our good will–these, not least of all, are the things that represent the Lord’s abundant kindness to us. We all know this, in hindsight. Would that, like Betsie, like President Hinckley, we could see with the eyes of faith and praise God for the fleas.

xoxo rd

Sacrament Meeting Does That.

Source: PreparedNotScared.Blogspot

I remember when I was very small—maybe four or five, sitting on a cushioned chapel bench and staring up into Mama’s face during the Sacrament prayer. Her face looked very serious, and her lips moved in sync with the words the priest spoke. Always. I asked her why she did that. She told me it helped her think about the words that were being spoken. As she sat with her head bowed and eyes closed throughout the passing of the bread and water, I thought about the words she had spoken.

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