The sun will come up tomorrow

sunrise
This post is dedicated, along with lots of love, hugs and prayers, to my friend Sue, who, just weeks after burying her beloved husband, is burying her dear Daddy today.

The edges of my memories of my father are faded now. I can no longer recall the sound of his voice. But I can still remember how he made me feel. In particular, I recall a handful of times he rescued me.

Sometimes the rescue came by the power of Dad’s strong arms. Once he snatched me, near-drowning, from a deep, dark hole in what had seemed to be a shallow light blue ocean. Another time he lifted me, numb and powerless, off an angry young (also newly former) Angus bull.

But most often the rescue came by the power of Dad’s faith and through his words; those times he saved me from a broken heart. A heart occasionally broken by careless boys. Sometimes broken by my own poor choices. Cause was irrelevant. The method was the same: Dad would wrap me in his arms. I would bury my head, along with my unwanted tears, into his western work shirt (with snaps) . Sometimes he just listened. Sometimes he gave me advice. I usually felt he was on my side. And before he let me go, Dad would always say:

“The sun will come out tomorrow.”

To you, those words may seem trite or cliché. They will, most likely, put the soundtrack from Annie stuck firmly in your head (I’m sorry). Given that we lived in the rainy Pacific Northwest, it was a rather bold promise. But that phrase, coming from my father, soothed my soul.

His words worked for me back then because I was just a little girl who needed the assurance that something, someone more powerful than I was in charge. I needed to know that despite all the things that were broken, the earth was still firm on its axis. I needed to know that now matter how dark was the night, the sun would light my way again the next day.

Despite some sweet and beautiful moments, it’s been a rough summer. My life-work balance is off. Night sweats, insomnia and too-long, too-busy days wear me out. There is too much sorrow, meanness, strife and heartbreak in the world around me and far too close to home. Cancer is carving a wide and vicious swath across the lives of both close family and friends, wrenching my heart beyond what I thought possible. These are hard things.

Like it or not (I don’t), I find I’m a grown up girl with grown up problems. I desperately need the assurance that something, someone more powerful than I am is in charge. And I do know. Even though I am broken and I wobble, I know the earth is still firm on its axis. No matter how dark is the night, I know the Son will rise again. He is my light. He has made everything right.

Wherefore, ye must press forward with a steadfastness in Christ, having a perfect brightness of hope, and a love of God and of all men. 2 Nephi 31:20.

I continue to find brightness of hope in both the truths of the gospel of Jesus Christ and also in the simple beauty of this mortal world, particularly every sunset and every sunrise. Reminders that I am not alone. I can do hard things. And everything will be okay.

Where do you find strength and comfort during the trials of your life? What brings you a brightness of hope? What helps you hang on to that hope?

About Dalene

(Blog Team) began blogging as a legitimate way to avoid housework and to keep a journal of sorts. In her other life she wants to be excellent at a number of things, but in this one she's settling for baking a mean sour cream lemon pie, keeping most of the points on her quilt blocks in line, being a loyal friend and aspiring to moments of goodness as a wife and mother.

16 thoughts on “The sun will come up tomorrow

  1. I always think of my grandfather, and imagine him giving me a hug and calling me his coppertop. I can’t wait to see him again after this life, and sometimes just picturing him beside me as I tackle the hard things makes it a little more bearable.

    Also, “Sunday will come”. Elder Worthlin’s talk from the 2006 October Conference “But I testify to you in the name of the One who conquered death—Sunday will come. In the darkness of our sorrow, Sunday will come.

    No matter our desperation, no matter our grief, Sunday will come. In this life or the next, Sunday will come.”

    Letting myself have a good, hard, long cry works wonders too.

    You, yours and your friend Sue are in my prayers Dalene.

  2. I suck at being positive in times of trial. But the older I get, the more I hang on to “this, too, will pass.” It’s not as eloquent as your dad (you are SO lucky to have had him), but it’s what I say to my kids.

  3. Thank you for this, my beautiful friend. This has touched me on several levels. The sun WILL come up tomorrow, as will His Son. I. Know. This.

    That scripture is printed on my daddy’s program today. You were inspired.
    I love you.

  4. Thanks for this, Dalene and for your reminder of the Sunday Will Come talk, darling Kel.

    Bless you Sue. Your string of losses takes my breath away. I’m so sorry.

  5. Beautiful and a prayer for all who are hurting. A good cry, prayer, quiet hymns, hugs, and tender mercies.
    This scripture is one of my favorites and has gotten me through far too many hard, hard days.

    “For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you and expected end.
    Then shall ye call upon me, and ye shall go and pray unto me, and I will hearken unto you.
    And ye shall seek me,, and find me, when ye shall search for me with all your heart.
    And I will be found of you, saith the Lord.”
    Jeremiah 29:11-14
    This scripture too. It helps to remember that in Hebrew, peace also means to be made whole.
    “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”
    John 14:27

  6. Beautiful! Sadly, I’ve never been easily comforted in my times of sorrow. I’ve learned that time does help tremendously. It sort of helps in the moment that I will feel better eventually, but not completely.

    Sorrow is a deep part of this mortal experience. Fortunately, the sun does come up tomorrow.

  7. Thank you for shring this. You were blessed to have such a father.

    Blessings and prayer for Sue and her family.

    I’m grateful I’ve learned to find comfort in reading scripture. Calls and hugs from friends and family help too.

  8. This quote from President Hinkley has gotten me through some tough tough times:

    “It isn’t as bad as you sometimes think it is. It all works out. Don’t worry. I say that to myself every morning. It all works out in the end. Put your trust in God, and move forward with faith and confidence in the future. The Lord will not forsake us. He will not forsake us. If we will put our trust in Him, if we will pray to Him, if we will live worthy of His blessings, He will hear our prayers.”

    Now, telling me not to worry is like telling me not to breathe and sometimes it IS as bad as you think it is (and it can even get worse!). But the point is that eventually it DOES all work out, it has to. Our Father is a loving Father and families are meant to be together forever. That knowledge and faith is what gets me through the toughest days and makes the best days even better.

  9. Lovely, lovely post. I don’t have any surefire methods for getting through the valleys of life, but I do find that as I get older I am trusting God more than I used to. Time and time again, He has shown me that He knows me perfectly, that He is all-powerful, and that He will use that power invariably to do what is best for me. I just have to remind myself of those tender mercies that he has shown me throughout my life.

  10. I know none of you personally. But the fact that I read my testimony in your words, and feel your faith and it feels like mine, confirms to me that I am never alone. We are never alone. Thank you, all of you.

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