When I was in Chiang Mai, Thailand, I received a blessing from a priesthood holder who said, "After faith comes the miracle." I certainly didn't believe him because I had endured so much pain and could not see a possible solution. I kept thinking to myself, "If I could just find an anti-inflammatory I've used in the past, I could make it home to where I could get help."
When we arrived at church in KL, it was Mother's Day. The primary sang the same songs I sang as a little girl. I cried like a baby, mostly out of love for the church and those songs and my mom but also out of pain in my back and leg. During Sunday School, I decided to lie flat on my back in a vacant classroom and take the pressure off of my nerves and joints. My friends were so upset, wondering what they could possibly do to help me. About half-way through the hour, in walked Elder Merritt. He introduced himself and shook our hands, even bending down to reach me on the floor. He looked at me and exclaimed, "You look just like my wife!" At that moment, Sister Merritt came in with the same hunched over back and the same swollen hip. It was just like looking in the mirror. The second she saw me, she asked, "Do you want some anti-inflammatory medicine?" Like my own manna in the wilderness, it was the exact same medicine I had hoped for in Thailand.
Sister Merritt and I crippled over to the Merritts' home like two old, old men. They gave me their bed and their clothes and their food. They invited a nurse over to help me--the same nice girl who periodically helped Sister Merritt. It was a true demonstration of mothering and fathering. I needed it, and they provided it. Their medicine saved my broken body, and their love saved my broken soul.
