In our sacrament meeting yesterday, a father, mother, and son spoke about their faith. They were not particularly eloquent speakers, but their testimonies were moving. The son has Leukemia, and his doctors are not optimistic about his chances of survival. Yet in the face of looming death, all three spoke of their trust in a loving God, and in meaningful suffering. One moment in particular stands out to me: As the father spoke, he said something like, "I pray for a miracle, and I can see the doctor announcing to us that he cannot explain how it happened, but the cancer is gone. My son may live to attend my funeral. I believe that could happen. But I may attend my son's funeral. And, although I still pray for a miracle, I recognize that it may not be God's will to heal him." It struck me that this was faith at it's core: a simultaneous clinging and letting go--hoping for a miracle, finding meaning in suffering, submitting to God--and it was beautiful.
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