Don't Let Me Forget...Part 1

Sunday I listened to a fabulous talk by Elder Webb, a general authority in town to call a new Stake Presidency for our Stake.  I will be paraphrasing his talk of course and hopefully, I can do his thoughts justice.  This is part 1 of where this week is taking me in the world of chronic illness. By the end of the part 2, I hope my feelings have gelled with a little more clarity. 

       I don't ever want to forget this story....  He relates his experience as a Mission President in Venezuela some time ago.  In that country, the government dictates what job a person can get and is based on the amount of education a person has.  Many people are not well educated and are not able to get decent jobs because of this law.  Elder Webb had a missionary who was from Venezuela.  He was very bright and sharp but only had a junior high education.  This meant that the only job he would be able to get after his mission was digging ditches, with a shovel.  The thought of this broke Elder Webb's heart.  He prayed about how he could help this missionary so that when he returned home, he would be able to have a good job.  He discovered that there was a clause built into the law which stated that anyone who could speak a foreign language would qualify for a job in the travel and tourism industry.  Elder Webb decided to transfer this missionary, who only had 3 months left in his mission, to an english speaking branch in the mission.  He called the three other missionaries this young man would be serving with and forbade them to speak anything but english to this missionary.  Of course the missionary was discouraged and despaired.  He called Elder Webb to complain and Elder Webb would only speak english to this missionary.  It was the only way he knew of to teach this missionary english so he would be able to be gainfully employed after his mission.  The poor Venezuelian missionary was so upset with his new calling.  He called Elder Webb again and through tears said, "Why do you hate me President Webb?"
President Webb replied, also with tears in his eyes, "I don't hate you!" 
The young missionary couldn't understand that this transfer would be a blessing in his life. It would allow him to learn english so that his standard of living could be better.  It was all for his good but he could not see it at the time.  "How often" Elder Webb asked, "do we go to our Heavenly Father in the midst of a trial and say, 'Why do you hate me?" 
        I have never gone to the Lord and asked why he hated me or even asked "Why ME?"  I already know the answer to those questions but this story put it all in perspective for me.  A great reminder that there is a plan, a method to this maddness, a reason for all the rhymes of life. 

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