SEEDS
Her name was Julie. She was a cashier at a local grocery chain I frequently shopped at. Young and petite with short honey blonde hair, she had large striking eyes that glistened when she smiled. She had a fair and seemingly flawless complexion and a smile that glowed like the moon on a clear dark night. Over a period of time we came to know a little about each other through short conversations we had while she rang up an assortment of gluten free items I had come in to purchase. She was married and had two children she absolutely adored. She often had photographs of them with her that she’d quickly take out to show me; I knew from the look in her eyes when she spoke about them, she loved them more than she had words to express. A few times I was able to share simple testimony of the importance of the family unit. One day I asked if she had a church she belonged to. She replied that she and her husband attended a church in the community together. I quickly summoned all of my courage and told her I attended The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints then invited her to bring her family and attend one Sunday in the near future. She thanked me but declined, stating that she was quite pleased with the church she attended. Deep in my heart I felt she would have a chance to hear and accept the gospel of Jesus Christ. However, I was not prepared for the circumstances which would afford her that opportunity.
On the evening of June 3, 2005, the local news jolted me from my state of semi-awareness, demanding my immediate and undivided attention as the news anchor announced that Julie and her children had been murdered…presumably by her husband. I was too shocked for tears; my mind went crazy with denial…there must be a mistake. They have her confused with someone else. This just cannot be true. In my head I tried to rationalize in so many ways, but my eyes verified the truth of what my ears refused to believe when a photograph of her family flashed blatantly on the TV screen. I was too horrified to hear or see any more, and quickly tried to divert my attention back to preparing dinner. But I’d lost my appetite and it seemed a hopeless cause.
Two days later, I boarded a flight for a previously planned trip to Salt Lake City, Utah. On that beautiful late spring afternoon, my sister and I visited Temple Square, where we soon found ourselves wandering toward the North Visitor’s Center. Upon entering, we slowly made our way up the ramp that led to the statue The Christus. Suddenly overcome with fatigue and a jumble of emotion, I quickly found a place to sit. In an attempt to silence my weary mind and calm my troubled heart, I looked up into the face of the Savior and let a flood of tears wash down my face. Memories of my friend Julie flashed through my mind, and though I really just barely knew her, the hole her death had created in my heart had become too enormous to bear. This was the first opportunity I’d had to contemplate that horrific event, but the questions that barraged my mind had more to do with her “here and now” rather than the circumstances surrounding her death and the deaths of her children. “Is she afraid? Who are they with? Did someone she know come to ‘get them’? Are they being taken care of? Did she know I counted her as a friend?” As a youth I’d sat through many lessons that focused on the life hereafter, and I’d already experienced the loss of loved ones, but somehow knowing Julie’s life had been violently snatched from her shook my faith in ways I had not expected.
Softly and quietly, the peace and comfort I was so desperately seeking came. “Do not weep for her,” the Spirit whispered to me. “She is finally safe.” Slowly, my eyes were drawn to the outstretched arms of the Savior as I heard a sweet and loving message of reassurance. Those arms…His arms…had held her and her children; had comforted them and escorted them through the passageways of heaven to a place where they would be encircled in love and enveloped in the security of peace. They were in good hands; they are in His hands.
