Are We Teaching Young Women About A Yellow Brick Road That Does Not Exist?

"Girls, this has been a beautiful program.  I commend the gospel with all of its auxiliaries and the temple to you, but I do not want you to believe for one minute that if you keep all the commandments and live as close to the Lord as you can and do everything right and fight off the entire priests quorum one by one and wait chastely for your missionary to return and pay your tithing and attend your meetings, accept calls from the bishop, and have a temple marriage, I do not want you to believe that bad things will not happen to you. 

And when that happens, I do not want you to say that God was not true.  Or, to say, 'They promised me in Primary, they promised me when I was a Mia Maid, they promised from the pulpit that if I were very, very good, I would be blessed.  But the boy I want doesn't know I exist, or the missionary I've waited for and kept chaste so we both could go to the temple turned out to be a flake,' or far worse things than any of the above.  Sad things—children who are sick or developmentally handicapped, husbands who are not faithful, illnesses that can cripple, or violence, betrayals, hurts, deaths, losses—when those things happen, do not say God is not keeping his promises to me. 

The gospel of Jesus Christ is not insurance against pain.  It is resource in event of pain, and when that 

pain comes (and it will come because we came here on earth to have pain among other things), when it 

comes, rejoice that you have resource to deal with your pain."

Carlfred Broderick, The Uses of Adversity, Ch.12  




I guess I knew difficulties would come to me at some point, but I didn't really know.  What I really knew, because I was taught it repeatedly, was that if I lived righteously and repented when I messed up, that I would avoid a lot of heartache and be happy.   Wickedness never was happiness, so if I wasn't wicked, then I would be happy, right?

For the first half of my life, my experience was congruent with what I learned in church.  I was fortuitous in my birth family and circumstance.  My actions seemed to directly determine my well-being and happiness.  I was voted Most Likely To Succeed when I was 14, and I believed it was pretty likely I would succeed!  After all, how hard could it be to keep going in a good direction?

I entered my marriage with the belief that my worthiness would insulate me; not from physical ailments, sick children, natural disasters or financial troubles, but certainly from grievous sins and their consequences.  Certainly from infidelity and lies.  Certainly from hideous filth and ensnaring addiction.  

I had made calculated, prayerful decisions about my adult life, including whom to marry.  I didn't worry my parents to tears or elope to a Las Vegas wedding chapel.  From all appearances, I was marrying a squeaky clean graduate student that had a great sense of humor.  

Becca, my close friend and mother of five, is mourning her husband's recent suicide.  I am astounded by her goodness and her pure heart.  And yet, her married life has been filled with heartache and troubles.  Heartache and troubles so deep I cannot fathom her pain. 

We don't remember anyone telling us to watch out: that even if we were righteous and made wise decisions, that our lives could derail like a runaway train.  That the actions of our loved ones could be reckless and destructive enough to render our lives unrecognizable.  

Becca and I wonder why, after absorbing a lifetime of gospel lessons and talks, we weren't better prepared for the reality of such emotional pain?