Because of certain things I have experienced and heard lately, I have been thinking a lot about how the Savior was moved with compassion as he ministered among the people.
Matthew 14:14: And Jesus saw a great multitude, and was moved with compassion toward him, and he healed their sick.
Luke 7:13 (when he saw the widow whose son had died): And when the Lord saw her, he had compassion on her, and said unto her, Weep not.
3 Nephi 17:7: Have ye any that are sick among you? Bring them hither. Have ye any that are lame, or blind, or halt, or maimed, or leprous, or that are withered, or that are deaf, or that are afflicted in any manner? Bring them hither and I will heal them, for I have compassion upon you; my bowels are filled with mercy.
The Lord did not only feel compassion; he was moved with compassion to action, and as disciples of Christ, we must be moved as well.
This brings to mind an experience I had a couple years ago during my sophomore year at BYU.
Fall semester it seemed like everything was descending on me at once. I was taking one of the hardest semesters I had ever had, and I was working part time on top of a full class load. I was missing my best friend overseas horribly. My computer broke. And then conference weekend, I got a phone call.
My mom has had leukemia for 15 years, but has kept it under control with diet and other things and up to that point, she hadn't had any kind of formal treatment. But that day she called me to say that she had gone to the doctor, and her white blood cell count was astronomical. She was very sick, and if she didn't seek treatment immediately she would only have a few months to live. However, she had a priesthood blessing, and in it she was promised that she would be healed and everything would be all right. Hearing about that blessing from my mom brought a lot of comfort, but in some ways I still felt like the rug was being ripped out from under me. No one expects their mom to have cancer. It was my mom, the rock of our home, the source I went to for comfort whenever I was feeling sad or weak. And she was so sick, nearly to the point of death.
With all these things heaped upon me, I felt stretched to the breaking point. Tears threatened to come many times during the day as I walked around trying to function normally and survive to the end of each day. And I did cry--many times.
One afternoon I was sitting in the huge quad in front of the Joseph F. Smith Building when everything just came crashing down on me, and I lost it. I cried, right there in public, tears streaming down my face as the tide of students hurrying to and from classes swirled around me.
I had my head down, trying not to show that I was crying but not succeeding very well, but at that point I didn't really care. It was all too much.
And then I had one of the sweetest experiences with compassion that I have ever had before or since.
I distinctly remember looking up, and I met the eyes of a girl before looking back down. She could tell I had been crying--I'm sure the evidence was all over my face.
She walked past me
and then I felt her stop
and turn around
and she came back to sit down in front of me.
She asked me what was wrong, and choking back tears, I told her that my mom was sick with cancer, and it was really bad. I could see her eyes become moist, and she asked me if there was anything she could do for me.
"Yes--you can give me a hug," I said.
And she did.
She had to leave soon after that.
She told me her name, but I don't remember what it was--I think it was Julie. I had never seen her before, and I haven't seen her since. I don't know that I would recognize her if I did see her again. But I will always remember her and what she did for me--the compassion she had on me--that day.
For can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? Yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee, O house of Israel.
This is the testimony that is in me.
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