Gratitude

I went to a funeral this weekend. Denise's mother unexpectedly passed away on Valentine's Day. Denise is my visiting teacher and I also visit her as part of my member missionary calling. The funeral was in Craig, Colorado. This little town is about a five hour drive west and north of here, about halfway between Denver and Salt Lake City. I drove up there with three other sisters from the ward on Friday that we might attend the funeral Saturday morning. It was a little more spontaneous than I usually am, but I'd felt like I should go and am glad I did.

Denise's mother was not a member of the church and the funeral was held in a First Congregational Church and presided over by their clergy. Although it was a nice service with beautiful music and many wonderful things said about Margie, I left feeling somehow gypped. Aside from one scripture about mansions on high upon which the minister did not elaborate, not one word, NOT ONE WORD, was said about the after life. Nothing about heaven or paradise or anything, nothing I thought other churches might speak about. It was actually quite sad.

I feel such sweet gratitude to know, TO TRULY KNOW, what happens after this life. It is an understanding and a hope I have often taken for granted. And I begin to wonder if I truly understand how unique I am to have this beautiful assurance in the face of death. Do any of us? And do we thank our Father in Heaven enough for both this testimony and for the Gift of his Son which enables such hope and peace? It makes one feel as the Nephites, doesn't it, when they "went forth, and thrust their hands into his side, and did feel the prints of the nails in his hands and in his feet;..." and cried "out with one accord, saying: Hosanna! Blessed be the name of the Most High God!" (3 Nephi 11:15-17) Hosanna! For I know.