I vaguely remember waking up in a cramped, dark area with the distinct feeling that I had just been run over by a Japanese commuter train. I had never before realized just how connected the abdominal muscles are to the rest of the body. But then again, said muscles had been recently lacerated in three places. I found myself literally unable to move anything from the neck down. Soon after my memory re-engaged, Elder Hicks informed me that the Japanese nurse needed me to turn onto my side. After failing twice to roll over on my side, I found it necessary to enlist Elder Hicks's help. I was, for all intents and purposes, temporarily paralyzed. It was a most disconcerting sensation. I didn't have to worry about it for long, as I didn't wake up till the next afternoon.
An elderly gentleman sat on a chair near the end of my hospital bed, sunlight filtering in through the windows at his back. He concentrated on his laptop until I began to stir. He broke out in a smile that radiated throughout the room, and I'll admit, I was pleased to realize someone was glad that I was alive. Because at this point, I still didn't know if I should be glad to be conscious. The feeling that my abdominal muscles wanted nothing more than to escape through my recently stitched up stomach gave me good reason to not move.
He started telling me about the Outreach Center project that he was heading in Kumamoto, providing a place for youth to congregate and participate in all sorts of wholesome activities. I can't recall much else of the conversation, I was just glad to have a cheerful face around. He put me on his laptop and insisted that I e-mail my parents personally. I had a few messages, one that my mom had sent me between me leaving the Salt Lake airport and my arriving in Kumamoto. She admitted that it was harder knowing I was now in Japan and that if something happened, "like your appendix bursting," she wouldn't be there to drive me to the doctor. I tried really hard not to laugh because of how tender my abdominal muscles were, but I couldn't help it. I think Elder Prisbrey was slightly concerned when the sick missionary under his care suddenly started wheezing in his hospital bed, but chuckled when I showed him the e-mail. To this day I still tease my mother about jinxing me.
Over the next few days, I received several visitors. Elder Chung, a jolly Hawaiian elder, was going to be my temporary companion while I recovered. The sister missionaries came to visit and gave me a small pink teddy bear with a name tag to be my hospital companion (yes, I still have it and no, I am not ashamed of it) and a fun-sized Twix bar. To this day, that Twix bar is still the best thing I have ever eaten. Pretty sure it was what kept me in Japan.
When visitors came to check on me, or when the nurses were bustling about, I was upbeat. I had wondered several times over the years how I would act in a situation like this, and I was determined to be a good patient. I did have about four times the attention that the other patients in the recovery ward had, and the nurses appeared to be having the time of their lives taking care of this little foreigner. When they said a word I didn't know, which was over ninety five percent of what I heard, I would slowly reach for my pocketbook dictionary, and look a word up. It was a rather laborious process. Pretty soon the nurses figured out to take my dictionary and look up the most important word in the sentence, and I could figure usually out what they were trying to say.
On about day three, a nice lady in a more administrative outfit came up and started slowly speaking to me. One word stuck out, and I once again reached for my dictionary. After finally finding the word for insurance, I realized they wanted to know how they were going to get paid for this. My mind was blank. She gave me a kind of "sorry, but I have to ask this" look. I thought for a minute, and finally said in halting Japanese "I...am...a...missionary........My...church...can...pay." I hadn't the foggiest as to how the hospital would get their money, but I was sure that somehow it would be worked out. I don't know how satisfactory my answer was, but I think she could see that I had strained my mental capacity to the max trying to come up with an answer and had mercy on me.
When traffic to and from my hospital bed died down, however, feelings of loneliness engulfed me. I was thousands of miles away from family and friends. I had been sick for the last two months, and was now taking an hour to get out of bed and walk 15 feet to use the bathroom. I had endured incredible amounts of pain, and no small amount of humiliation at the fact that a nurse had to help me preform the most basic of bodily functions. I was in a foreign country, and I had long since realized that I didn't speak a lick of Japanese. The food was quite different, I was surrounded by people I didn't know (even if they were nice), and to be honest, was quite scared of something that I couldn't really pinpoint.
When I was 12 years old, my father was diagnosed with cancer. At 12 years old, I thought my dad was going to die. I assumed that I had learned pretty well just how fragile life can be. However, even though this was not nearly as serious or intense as cancer, going under the knife myself was a whole 'nother ball of wax. I was scared. Five days in a Japanese hospital, even with all the hustle-and-bustle around me, gave me a lot of time to think about life.
In those times of difficulty in the hospital, I prayed, like my parents had taught me. And then I turned to the scriptures. I had been told for as long as I can remember that they provided answers and comfort to the challenges this life provides us with. One day in the hospital, I was reading the Book of Mormon, in the Book of Mosiah, Chapter 24. It describes a people in bondage, suffering as slaves with heavy burdens. They poured out their hearts to God, who told them (vs 13) to:
"...Lift up your heads and be of good comfort, for I know of the covenant which ye have made unto me; and I will covenant with my people and deliver them out of bondage."
And then I read the next verse, verse 14, which has forever changed my life.
"And I will also ease the burdens which are put upon your shoulders, that even you cannot feel them upon your backs, even while you are in bondage; and this will I do that ye may stand as witnesses for me hereafter, and that ye may know of a surety that I, the Lord God, do visit my people in their afflictions."
Time seemed to stand still as I tried to wrap my head around what I had just read.
And for a moment, I felt the truth of those words in my own life. While I was a missionary laying in a hospital bed, I'd been in Japan less than a week, hadn't changed my clothes in days and had bits of food all over me, hadn't showered in days (and smelled like it), was unshaven, and physically and emotionally a wreck, I sincerely felt that the Savior of the world took a moment to stand by that hospital bed in Kumamoto, Japan, and check to see if I was okay.
I know He already knew of my condition. The important part was He was letting me know that He cared for me. That an obscure 21 year old missionary of no importance to the world was valued by his Creator. In my hour of greatest need, I found I was important enough to Him that He made a personal visit to let me know that He cared. More powerfully than I will ever be able to describe in words, I felt, not only the reality of Deity, but was privileged to feel just a small portion of the magnitude of the love that our Savior has for God's children.
While I was blessed with countless miracles, large and small throughout that experience, the greatest and most powerful took place in my heart as I began to understand the power that comes with knowing that the Savior of the world does deeply care for each individual, and atoned on our behalf so "that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities" (Alma 7:12).
This world can appear to be a cruel and heartless place. Sickness, war, hunger, abuse, neglect, natural disasters and other catastrophes run rampant. Everything from the greatest of nations down to the smallest of families and individuals are affected by these calamities in one way or another. When we see cancer in a child, families ripped apart by divorce, nations torn by war, millions affected by starvation, or any other such scourges and atrocities, it is easy to see how one might shake their fist at the heavens and ask how God could allow this to happen. How could a caring God allow His children to suffer? Or, it might be simpler to say that there is no God because He would not allow such things to happen.
This life was designed to be a small, but important part of eternity. The Lord knew that in order for His spirit children to progress, we needed to have the chance to obtain a body, and to learn and grow. We would need to be separated from Him in order to see if we would follow Him in faith or not. He gave every human that has come to this earth a most precious gift, the ability to choose how they would live their lives. He gave us this knowing that there would be those of His children that would abuse this gift of agency. Does He have the power to stop some of these things? I'm sure He does. But I think He has the wisdom and the foresight to allow them for this short time. It was so important to Him (and to our eternal progression) that we personally choose to use our agency to follow Him or not, that He steps back and lets people use their agency for better or worse.
And He allows other trials to refine us as well. Those that choose to follow Him in faith are not free from the burdens of this life. He gave unto men weaknesses, that we would be humble. We are subject to and endless parade of strife in this life. But, we are also given the chance to have joy in this lifetime. And if we choose to follow Him for this short journey through mortality, He has promised us that He will not leave us alone. Though the struggles may be great, and this mortal experience may be unfair, He has promised us all the blessings eternity has to offer if we but follow Him.
To this day, I am absolutely convinced that the Lord does care for us. And I am even more convinced that when we are suffering, when we feel alone, when our hearts is broken, and we are experiencing the deepest and darkest recesses of the human experience, the Lord draws near unto us. With His arms outstretched, He is constantly inviting us to come unto Him. No matter how many times we fall, no matter how often we have rejected Him in the past, no matter our importance to the world, He cares for each and every member of the human race that has lived, is living, or ever will live.
This I know.
Part 1 and part 2 of this series can be found by clicking on the links.
