I've been reading a book called The Continuous Atonement by Brad Wilcox, one of my most
beloved college professors. (Tangent: In case you didn't know, Brad Wilcox was an elementary
school teacher long before he was a best-selling author and renown education week favorite at
BYU. He's a pretty rad guy with lots of talents and I want to be like him when I grow up).
beloved college professors. (Tangent: In case you didn't know, Brad Wilcox was an elementary
school teacher long before he was a best-selling author and renown education week favorite at
BYU. He's a pretty rad guy with lots of talents and I want to be like him when I grow up).
Anyways, as I've been reading this book I came across a question that a young missionary
posed to brother Wilcox years ago. I hadn't quite put this question into words myself, but
when I read the words I felt this aching feeling in my chest that told me "hey self, you
resonate with this." The question was something like this: "Why did Jesus have to atone
and die? Why didn't Heavenly Father just do it if he's a loving God?" followed up by "Why
do awful things happen in the world, especially to good people?"
posed to brother Wilcox years ago. I hadn't quite put this question into words myself, but
when I read the words I felt this aching feeling in my chest that told me "hey self, you
resonate with this." The question was something like this: "Why did Jesus have to atone
and die? Why didn't Heavenly Father just do it if he's a loving God?" followed up by "Why
do awful things happen in the world, especially to good people?"
I remember being surrounded by a group of children in a dark part of town in Argentina
who were shoeless, hungry, and starved for attention. Myself and the three other sisters
I lived with were often greeted by these beautiful little ragamuffins. We'd stop in the
middle of the puddle-ridden street to sing with them. They quickly learned "I am a child
of God" and "head, shoulders, knees, and toes" and begged us to sing with them whenever
we met on the dirt paths. We'd hug them, give them a little picture of Jesus, and be on
our way... sometimes with one or two of the children trailing behind us. These children would come
all on their own to church on Sunday. Our chapel was often half-filled with children
seeking Jesus alone, no parents in sight.
who were shoeless, hungry, and starved for attention. Myself and the three other sisters
I lived with were often greeted by these beautiful little ragamuffins. We'd stop in the
middle of the puddle-ridden street to sing with them. They quickly learned "I am a child
of God" and "head, shoulders, knees, and toes" and begged us to sing with them whenever
we met on the dirt paths. We'd hug them, give them a little picture of Jesus, and be on
our way... sometimes with one or two of the children trailing behind us. These children would come
all on their own to church on Sunday. Our chapel was often half-filled with children
seeking Jesus alone, no parents in sight.
My soul was tormented at my inability to do more to improve their situation. I was angry
that these precious niños had to suffer so much at such tender ages. One evening, the other
three hermanas and I were walking home from a church activity with heavy hearts, after
time with some of these little ones. Hermana Rane and I talked with heavy hearts as we
plodded to our apartment home. We mutually expressed our anguish at the poverty we
saw and the children who innocently suffered it. Hermana Rane calmed my heart as she
quoted a line from Preach My Gospel: "All that is unfair about life can be made right
through the Atonement of Jesus Christ."
that these precious niños had to suffer so much at such tender ages. One evening, the other
three hermanas and I were walking home from a church activity with heavy hearts, after
time with some of these little ones. Hermana Rane and I talked with heavy hearts as we
plodded to our apartment home. We mutually expressed our anguish at the poverty we
saw and the children who innocently suffered it. Hermana Rane calmed my heart as she
quoted a line from Preach My Gospel: "All that is unfair about life can be made right
through the Atonement of Jesus Christ."
I believe that with all my heart. But still, the question has bothered me these past 4
years since those experiences with those niñitos in the street. Why do good people
still suffer so much? Why didn't God the father complete the atonement himself if
He really loves his son Jesus so much?
years since those experiences with those niñitos in the street. Why do good people
still suffer so much? Why didn't God the father complete the atonement himself if
He really loves his son Jesus so much?
Brother Wilcox helped me with this a little bit. He explained that God the Father already
had an immortal body. He couldn't die. The atonement required that a savior's life be
given for our sakes. And Jesus loved us enough to give us His. And God loved us enough...
He loved me enough!...to allow Jesus to do it. He loved me enough to let me grow and let
Jesus atone so that that growth is possible.
had an immortal body. He couldn't die. The atonement required that a savior's life be
given for our sakes. And Jesus loved us enough to give us His. And God loved us enough...
He loved me enough!...to allow Jesus to do it. He loved me enough to let me grow and let
Jesus atone so that that growth is possible.
As far as why suffering is essential... I think about the refinement children undergo as they
attend school from August to May. Nine months of letters and phonics and reading and
figures and addition and digits and social situations on the playground. While some of
these experiences seem trivial and distant for adults, they are acutely difficult to the
kidlets immersed in them. But the children I meet in August are not the children I send
off in May. These children are more experienced, aware, confident, and able.
Our mortal journey is much the same.
Are our burdens fair? Nah. Not at all. But some children enter the classroom in August
with dyslexia while others enter with mature vocabularies.
God will explain this to me someday, but the challenges we each face do not seem--to
our mortal eyes--balanced to one another on the difficulty scale.
our mortal eyes--balanced to one another on the difficulty scale.
No matter the amount or the severity of our challenges, the beauty of the atonement is
that Christ chose to take all of my load--ALL OF IT!--and shoulder it with me. He's with
me to make me better for it, to make me stronger because I've carried pain and experience
and he's carrying it with me. And instead of ending up bedraggled and scarred, I'm
turning out glorious, brilliant, and brighter than ever. That's something to be celebrated.
And that's something that I chose, and that you chose, and that we all chose before this
life because we wanted not only to live with God (we already had that as his spirit children)
but to become like Him. We wanted to be the May versions of ourselves, not the August ones.
that Christ chose to take all of my load--ALL OF IT!--and shoulder it with me. He's with
me to make me better for it, to make me stronger because I've carried pain and experience
and he's carrying it with me. And instead of ending up bedraggled and scarred, I'm
turning out glorious, brilliant, and brighter than ever. That's something to be celebrated.
And that's something that I chose, and that you chose, and that we all chose before this
life because we wanted not only to live with God (we already had that as his spirit children)
but to become like Him. We wanted to be the May versions of ourselves, not the August ones.
And I'm so grateful for Jesus for giving us that chance to grow and become. I love him.
These are a few of my thoughts about Jesus. Incomplete. But sincere.
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