This General Conference felt different for me. Maybe it was because of what I am personally going through right now, but so many of the messages seemed to come back to one simple invitation: Trust God, come unto Christ, and keep going.
As I listened throughout the different sessions, I kept hearing messages about trials, trusting in God's promises, becoming more united with Christ, allowing difficult experiences to strengthen us, serving others, and remembering who we really are as children of God. One thought that especially stayed with me was that the gospel isn't necessarily an umbrella that prevents the storms of life—it is the rock that keeps us grounded while the storm is happening.
That means a lot to me right now.
I've been frustrated with my health and with the physical pain I've been dealing with daily. My back, tailbone, legs, and feet have been hurting so badly that sometimes the pain feels excruciating. There are moments when sitting hurts, standing hurts, walking hurts, and even trying to get comfortable feels impossible. Sometimes I'm so tired of hurting that it becomes difficult to concentrate or even have the energy to do the things I normally would.
There are moments when I think, "Lord, how long am I going to feel like this?"
I don't always understand why certain things happen or why healing doesn't always come when we desperately want it. Sometimes I just want the pain to stop. But this Conference reminded me that perhaps instead of always asking why, I can also ask, "What can the Lord teach me through this?"
That doesn't mean I have to pretend the pain isn't real. It doesn't mean suffering is automatically good or that seeking medical help isn't important. It simply means that even in something I would never choose for myself, God can still meet me there.
And that brings me to Jesus Christ.
When I think about the Savior, I realize that I worship Someone who understands pain.
Isaiah testified:
"Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows."
— Isaiah 53:4
Christ didn't observe suffering from a distance. He experienced suffering Himself. Through His Atonement, He descended into grief, loneliness, rejection, exhaustion, temptation, sorrow, and unimaginable physical and spiritual agony.
So when my body hurts and I feel overwhelmed by it, I can turn to Someone who understands what it means to hurt.
I don't believe my suffering compares to His, but His suffering gives meaning and hope to mine. Because He overcame, my difficult moments don't have to be wasted moments.
Maybe endurance isn't always about being strong.
Sometimes endurance is crying and still praying.
Sometimes it is hurting and still believing.
Sometimes it is waking up and simply trying again.
Sometimes faith is saying, "Lord, I don't understand what is happening to me, but I still trust You."
One message I wrote repeatedly throughout Conference was to trust in God's promises. I needed that reminder. God never promised that mortality would be painless. In fact, this life was always meant to stretch us, teach us, humble us, and ultimately help us become more like Him.
I am learning that spiritual growth can sometimes be uncomfortable—even painful. We may not recognize what God is developing within us while we're going through it. Patience, compassion, humility, faith, dependence upon Christ, and understanding for the suffering of others are often developed through experiences we never would have chosen.
Maybe some of the strongest parts of us are formed in the places that hurt the most.
I also loved the reminder throughout Conference to come unto Christ. Not only when everything is going well. Not after we've figured everything out. Not after we've healed.
Come to Him now.
Come tired.
Come frustrated.
Come hurting.
Come confused.
Come with questions.
Come when your faith feels strong, and come when all you have left is enough faith to whisper His name.
The image I keep picturing is myself simply resting in the Savior's arms. I don't have to explain everything. I don't have to pretend I'm okay. I don't have to prove how strong I am. I can simply allow Him to hold me while I continue moving through this season of my life.
There is something beautiful about knowing that healing doesn't always mean everything changes immediately. Sometimes Christ changes us while we wait for things to change.
And maybe that is part of enduring.
I still pray for physical healing. I still hope for relief. I still have moments of frustration, exhaustion, and even tears. But I also believe God can use this experience to shape me into the woman He knows I can become.
I don't know what tomorrow will feel like physically. I don't know how long this particular trial will last.
But I know who walks through it with me.
I know Jesus Christ lives.
I know He is my Savior and Redeemer. I believe He knows me personally—not simply as one person among billions, but as His daughter. I believe He knows every prayer I have whispered, every tear I have cried, every fear I haven't said out loud, and every moment when pain has made me wonder how much more I can handle.
I testify that because Jesus Christ overcame the world, our suffering does not have the final word.
Pain does not have the final word.
Fear does not have the final word.
Our mistakes do not have the final word.
Jesus Christ does.
And through Him there is healing—even when healing comes differently or later than we hoped. There is strength when ours is gone. There is peace in the middle of uncertainty. And there is hope that every experience we endure with Him can help prepare us to become who Heavenly Father knows we can be.
So for now, I will keep trusting.
I will keep praying.
I will keep coming unto Christ.
And on the days when I don't feel strong enough to walk, I will remember that perhaps those are the days when He is carrying me.
I know my Savior lives. I know He loves me. And whatever lies ahead, I know I don't have to face it without Him.
In the sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.
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