“It is the wounded Christ who is the captain of our soul—he who yet bears the scars of sacrifice, the lesions of love and humility and forgiveness.

“Those wounds are what he invites young and old, then and now, to step forward and see and feel.  Then we remember with Isaiah that it was for each of us that our Master was ‘despised and rejected … ; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief.’ All this we could remember when we are invited by a kneeling young priest to remember Christ always.” Elder Jeffrey R. Holland

I missed posting last week. It’s the first week I’ve missed in over a year, and I was pretty down about it. I had a week where I just couldn’t seem to get it together. As I spoke with a friend about all that was going on, the words I used to express how I felt were that I couldn’t get my feet under me. That’s how life has been, especially these last few weeks. My body and my mind have been trying to catch up on rest, but upheaval and stress make it difficult. Dealing with all the emotions of losing my mom, the many times I went to tell her something before remembering she wasn’t there, the painful memories of her last weeks, along with the relentless details of closing the book on her earthly life, has been a challenge.

At the same time, I have the exciting and overwhelming task of preparing for a move that is getting closer by the minute. More details. Incessant details. My list includes scheduling the move, document signings, utilities hookups, piano movers, bug guy, insurance, along with sorting and packing. Meanwhile, I’m trying to cope with a flood of memories associated with saying goodbye to the home I’ve lived in, loved in, laughed and cried in, for nearly 25 years.

In the midst of these taxing events, my youngest daughter has been having health issues, including pneumonia last week.  Worry for her, and sadness about her having to let go of some things that are really important to her, piled on top of my growing heap of stress. Then, of course, there’s just day-to-day living, with all of its ups and downs, including concern and love for my other six children and their families, who all have their own mountains to climb.

As I shared these feelings, crying on the shoulder of my trusted confidant, her love and faith eased my burden, and I felt able to face another day.  She, in turn, shared much that was going on in her life. Her trials, upcoming events, family and health concerns, and church assignments were staggering. She wholeheartedly concurred with the feeling of not being able to get her feet under her, but we held on to the knowledge of a loving Heavenly Father and His plan for our lives. Our troubles were lightened by our shared hope in Christ.

I believe most, if not all, of us are feeling these emotions, which are part of life in the world we now live in. We’re often tossed on the sea, feeling like we’re in a sinking ship.  However, we know the Captain of our ship; we aren’t steering into the storm alone. At times it may seem as if we’re not even in the boat, but floundering around in the waves, pleading for a line. The amazing part is, our Savior is always there to throw us the life saver. He is able to calm the seas and our troubled hearts. He sees. He knows. He sends help.

Jesus, Savior, pilot me

Over life’s tempestuous sea;

Unknown waves before me roll,

Hiding rock and treach’rous shoal.

Chart and compass came from thee;

Jesus, Savior, pilot me.

As a mother stills her child,

Thou canst hush the ocean wild;

Boist’rous waves obey thy will

When thou say’st to them, “Be still!”

Wondrous Sov’reign of the sea,

Jesus, Savior, pilot me.

When at last I near the shore,

And the fearful breakers roar

’Twixt me and the peaceful rest,

Then, while leaning on thy breast,

May I hear thee say to me,

“Fear not; I will pilot thee.”

(Edward Hopper, 1818–1888)

Remembering my Jesus is in all of this with me, brings the sunshine back into my day. He is my rock, my sure foundation when I can’t get my feet under me. I don’t have the answers, but He does. I don’t have the wisdom, but He does.  I don’t have the strength, but He does. And He’ll always, always be my Captain, through calm or stormy seas.

“Mortality is a period of testing, a time to prove ourselves worthy to return to the presence of our Heavenly Father. In order for us to be tested, we must face challenges and difficulties. These can break us, and the surface of our souls may crack and crumble—that is, if our foundations of faith, our testimonies of truth are not deeply embedded within us.

“We can rely on the faith and testimony of others only so long. Eventually we must have our own strong and deeply placed foundation, or we will be unable to withstand the storms of life, which will come.” Thomas S. Monson