A Reason to Remember

I have puzzled many times over the years why I lived. I did not feel I had done anything to deserve the grace of life that had so miraculously been bestowed upon me. I lived my life dependent on other people, surrounded by wonderful siblings and devoted parents. In my young mind, I understood that it was no coincidence that I was where I was and I felt an inner urgency to figure out why I was. My mother once sat beside me and read to me her journal entry of my birth. I was dying; too weak to be touched by her loving fingertips and too sick to rest. I screamed for days. The doctors said that the only reason why I had lived thus far was because I was fighting to live. I was sent in an ambulance to a more advanced hospital where I was connected to numerous wires and tubes. But no matter what the doctor’s did, I could not breathe. It was during that time that my mother knelt beside her bed in humble prayer, asking why her child had to go through so much pain. Peace overcame her and a subtle voice answered that her child needed this trial. She did not know why. I am not sure anyone understood why. But with much prayer and fasting from family, friends, and church wards, one day I miraculously found an unexpected strength to pull out my food tube. The doctors were stunned and said if I was able to pull a tube from my stomach, I would indefinitely live. I was shortly thereafter sent home. My mother’s answer to her prayer troubled me. I did not remember the pain I went through. And yet her answer said that I had needed the trial. Why had God desired of me to suffer so much just so I could forget it? Had I learned anything in those moments of pain? Had I consciously been aware of the prayers of others or my parents standing overhead? And more importantly, had I suffered these things alone? Would God leave a newborn infant to suffer pain alone? 

When I thought of being alone in those moments, no matter how many times I tried to consider it, I could not. I felt that if I had been entirely alone I would not have fought. I understood myself as a dependent child inadequate to fend for myself. There must have been a being to stand by me, lift me up, and keep me from giving up on myself. There must have been angels sent to touch me when mortal men could not. God must have existed. God must have heard the prayers of the children of men, and for some divine purpose answered them.

When I was 7 years old, I learned I was to be baptized in the L.D.S church. I was overjoyed.  I felt all my questions would be answered and that I would finally know why I was here. I remember the bishop interview very well. He had asked me if I believed in Christ and if I had wanted to be baptized. In primary, church leaders told me he was sent by my Father in Heaven to be my big brother and help me. I believed it with all my heart. In my childhood mind, he was that someone that must have helped me when I nearly died. A loving Father would have offered me no less. I wrote small letters to God often and would put them in my pillow. Sometimes I wished like the tooth-fairy God would take the letters and leave a letter of his own in its place. But I was taught that prayer was what God provided us to keep in contact with him, so I complied. Because of the strong bond I desired to have with God and his son,  I was able to answer all of the bishop’s questions sincerely, despite how young I was, and consented to be baptized.

The baptism was not odd to me. There were moments later in my life where I asked myself why God had chosen to have us dipped fully in water and have a blessing with hands on our heads as the proper ordinance. It has not been until recently I have come to understand why. But what I did find odd is that when I went home and prayed for answers to my questions, all I heard was silence. I had expected to know everything because of baptism. But I only felt more troubled than before. More questions arose and I wondered what had been the purpose of baptism if all I was realizing was how much I did not know. But it was not until after much searching in the scriptures, persistent prayer, and guidance from my church leaders and parents that I came to understand the importance of faith. When we act in faith, no matter how small or insignificant the act may appear, we allow God to give us his power and knowledge. The Lord gives us knowledge when we earn it. As a result of baptism, I felt myself being guided to the answers to my questions and after much contemplation realized it was the Holy Ghost I had received that was assisting me.  It was this gift that helped remind me when I had doubts that the Lord did speak to the children of men and that he spoke to me. I just needed to trust in what I felt in my heart and spoke to my mind. 

I testify that we are never alone. That God is real and loves us. We may not remember him fully, but that does not mean we should forget to believe. Our physical bodies may have not experienced God’s presence, but our spirits have. If we earnestly believe in the testimonies of others and the miraculous experiences around us, we will feel in our souls a feeling of remembrance; a feeling of love and peace that comes from a Father who has not forgotten us.

I am a living testimony of prayer and the Lord’s power. If it can give strength to a weak and lowely infant, I know it can answer you with strength upon your heads. I may not remember the pain and suffering of my birth, but I remember that experience as a reason to move forward and to not give up. The Lord is beside me. He is the reason why I live the way I do. I decide to answer his faith and the faith of his people in my behalf by repenting and becoming perfect in him. I pray that I can live up to what he has done for me. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter day Saints is the church God has provided for us to reach our divine potential and I promise if you will seek earnestly for the truth in it, you shall find it. This I testify in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

Moroni 7 (page 521-525 in the Book of Mormon). You can know for yourself :) 

Rebecca Wilkinson