A Mother There

Mom and I

My mom died one year ago today. When I spoke at her funeral, I ended my talk with this hope, “I’m looking forward to the next few years to see what it’s like to have a mom on the other side of the veil and to experience how she is active and present in my life.” 

Two weeks later I desperately needed my mom. 

I entered my bishop’s office expecting to get my temple recommend renewed and was stunned when he told me he was unsure he could do that. I knew my answers to the temple recommend questions, and in my view, nothing I had done should keep me from getting it renewed. Days later, the stake president told me he needed to clarify some policies before renewing my recommend (this post is not about the recommend story, but if you’re curious you can get the whole story here). 

I felt totally powerless. For the first time in my adult life, I was not able to attend the temple. I was devastated. In the midst of my grief process, I wasn’t permitted to be in a place where I feel close to heaven. And at a time when I needed pastoral care, I was instead met with bureaucracy. 

The following Sunday I was back at church feeling like I didn’t want to be there. After sacrament meeting a woman named Janet came up to talk to me. Even though we’d talked a number of times, we weren’t super close. “I just wanted to let you know that I felt prompted to put your name on the temple prayer roll this week,” she said. “I hope everything is alright.” I replied, “Honestly, it’s been a really terrible week.” “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked. At that time, I hadn’t even told some of my close friends and family what was going on, so I told her I didn’t want to talk about it and she squeezed my arm with a smile and headed off to Sunday School. 

As I sat through second hour on my metal folding chair, I felt that I had to tell Janet what had happened. I just knew it. So when church was over I tracked her down. I had to lurk for a few minutes while I waited for her to finish another friendly conversation. Then I jumped in, “Actually, would it be okay if I told you why my week was so bad?” Then I said, “The reason you prayed for me is that I don’t have a temple recommend right now.” 

She watched me intently as I told her everything that had happened. I told her about my meetings. I told her about the hurt and the pain. I told her about the fear of what comes next. And when I was done she gave me a big hug. Like a big, sincere hug. Like, an “I’m sorry this is so painful” kind of hug. Then she said, “The Lord is in charge, Ben. The bishop is a good man and the stake president is a good man. This will all be okay. I promise.” Then she added, “I often put people’s names on the prayer roll, but I don’t tell them. This morning I felt that I needed to tell you.” 

As she spoke something in my brain clicked. In this tough moment, God was aware of me. God knew I was hurting. I told Janet, “Thank you for letting me know that God has been thinking about me.” 

Two weeks later the temple recommend situation still hadn’t been resolved. I walked into church feeling angry. My ability to worship had been limited, and I still had no idea if it was temporary or long term. As I entered the chapel, Janet quickly found me and said, “My husband and I have been fasting for you. This is going to be okay.” And I felt the truth of her words and my heart calmed down. Her faith helped me feel the truth I needed that day. Then the next week, she told me again she was fasting for me. 

After nearly a month of being in temple recommend limbo, I had a follow-up meeting scheduled with my stake president. I was feeling nervous, completely unsure of what was going to happen. The night before, I got home at 11:30 pm and saw a package for me on my front porch. I opened the accompanying card and it was from Janet and her husband. The card said they saw a poster online that made them think of me. They debated whether or not to get it because they weren’t sure if we were at a gift-giving place in our friendship. But they wanted me to have the message so they bought it. I opened the package and inside was a poster that said “YOU ARE LOVED.” They had no idea how much I needed that message on that specific night. 

The next day I drove to my church feeling quite anxious. I didn’t know if I would leave this meeting with a recommend or without a recommend. As I pulled my panic-ridden body out of my car I saw Janet walking her dog about fifty feet away. She hadn’t seen me, so I called out to her and waved. I walked over to her and she gave me a hug as I told her where I was headed. She looked directly at me and with tears in her eyes said, “It’s going to be okay. We’ve all been praying for you. It’s going to be okay.” 

And it was. 

I got my recommend back. I sat in my car after the meeting and I just cried. Too many emotions to hold in. Hurt that this had happened at all, relief that I had my recommend back, anger that it had taken a month to get resolved, gratitude that Janet had shown up throughout the process. 

Me and Janet

There were a lot of people I wanted to update on the recommend situation, but the first person I told was Janet. I texted: “Just got my recommend! Thanks for your prayers!” Looking back I could have said something a little more poignant, but immediacy often supersedes good prose. She responded right away: “Praise God for being in the details of this!” 

And He was in the details. Suddenly it hit me how much Janet looks like a younger version of my mom (I initially said a 50-year-old version of my mom. Janet told me that was very polite but she’s in her 60s thank you very much). I needed my mom and she couldn’t be there. So instead God sent a woman who looks like her to do what my mom would have done had she been alive. He sent a woman to pray for me and fast for me and hug me and reassure me. He chose someone who looks like Ginny Schilaty to help me feel love from beyond the veil. In the same church community I was hurt by man and healed by God. Calling it a tender mercy doesn’t feel strong enough. It was a miracle. 

A month later as I attended the opening of the 13th International Art Competition for the Church, I approached a painting that took my breath away. The painting by artist Jessica D. Armstrong is composed of three panels. On the left panel is a middle-aged woman and on the right panel is an older woman—both dressed in white. On the skinny middle panel, only a white handkerchief connects the two women, each holding an end. The painting symbolizes how women work together on both sides of the veil. As I gazed at the painting, I immediately thought of my mom and Janet. Two women on different sides of the veil connecting to care for me. 

"Reaching through the Veil" by Jessica D. Armstrong

The Family Proclamation teaches that mothers nurture their children. I no longer have a mother who can nurture me here on earth, but I have a mother there. Just as I shared at my mom’s funeral, I have a mother who is active and present in my life on the other side of the veil working together with Heavenly Parents to nurture me. 

I told Janet the whole story and asked for her permission to share it here. She said that she had been a willing participant in my story, but was completely unaware of the real story at the time. And that’s how these things often go. We miss the miracle as it’s happening. 

I know that other people are going through tough situations right now. I’m not the only person who needs a mother’s love. And my experience has been that we have not been left alone. If God cared enough about me to send a woman who looks like my mom to tell me everything would be okay, I believe that we each will have our own miracles. Because we are deeply loved and cared for by Parents on the other side of the veil. That is the real story.