Some Rain Must Fall

The saying goes, "Into every life some rain must fall." As I look back I would have to say very little rain has fallen into my life. When Lori and I began our lives together our motto was, "We're so lucky!" It seemed like everything was going so well in our early years together that we were being blessed much more than we deserved. We even considered etching this motto on the inside of our wedding rings. Everything was roses and life couldn't get much better.

There have been only two times in my adult life when my sorrow was so great that I was reduced to bitter tears of grief. I have kept these times to myself. Not even Lori knows about these two times. I feel I can share them now because it is a part of the point I started out with. Only two times of overwhelming grief in 45 years of adulthood is still a pretty good deal.

The first time happened in Windham. I had just returned home after attending the disciplinary council for Bill Chase which ended in his being excommunicated from the church. Normally, only high council members attend these meetings, but I was there as his bishop. I was so blind-sided by the whole situation that I was in shock. I was his bishop and home teacher, but had not seen this coming. I was alone in my bedroom thinking about the gravity of the occasion. The enormity of the eternal impact on so many lives overcame me to the point that I was consumed with grief and wept bitterly. I felt like a total failure as both the spiritual leader and stewardship holder over the welfare of these people.

The second time happened many years later after Lori and I had moved back into the homestead house in Ridgefield. Getting laid off in Maine was a severe shock and a personal tragedy, but I held it together because there was so much to do to relocate from one coast to the other. Through the years of figuring out what I was going to do with myself, I just kept my head down and trudged forward. It was one of the most difficult challenges I had ever faced. I had to totally re-invent myself, at least in a worldly career sense. It was a difficult time, but not one filled with grief. I still had Lori at my side and a wonderful loving family to fall back on. I actually really enjoyed going back to school. I felt very fortunate that I was able to do this and not have to accumulate a staggering pile of debt. Then I landed my dream job with Hewlett Packard. This was the culmination of three years of struggle and effort. I finally felt like I had completed the re-invention process. I fully expected my life to return to the earlier state of bliss and roses.

Loosing this dream job was a total devastation. My brother Tom and I were working at the same job site and commuted to and from work together. After being laid off, I had nowhere to go because Tom had driven his car that day. Upon hearing the bad news, he offered to take me home. It was a silent and sober drive home, but I held my grief in. Lori was not home when I arrived there and my grief finally spilled out in great waves of sobbing that surprised even me. Once again, my dream had been shattered. By the time Lori arrived home, I had recovered sufficiently to appear somewhat normal.

Looking back at these times of sorrow, I can consider them with the perspective that comes with time. How can I deny that I have had a wonderful life when I can only remember two times of grief severe enough to cause me to weep? All the rest has been full of joy and gladness. It adds up to a colossal, good deal if you ask me. I wouldn't want to trade my life for anyone else's, no siree bob.