I was unable to write last month, both for the reasons of travel that I foresaw, and one or two reasons that I did not. I am catching up a bit, beginning this letter in Paris, and will continue it later in Lyon.

March was an odd month, but full of valuable experiences. As planned, I went to Palm Springs, and then to Los Angeles, all in the space of four days. Very hectic, but I met with great kindness, as has been my experience everywhere.

At home in the far north of Scotland we have had no snow or ice all winter, and in Palm Springs in the Californian desert, they told me they had lost many of their tender flowers and even some of their palm trees because they had three or four days of bitter frost! They were busy replacing the flowers. It was the first time this had happened in more than half a century. And I had roses out in my garden!

How unpredictable life can be. Although it is hard to think of bad surprises ahead, it is wonderful to know that unimaginable good can also appear without warning.

It all went extremely well, because of the delightful people I met — so interesting, intelligent, widely read and possessing the sort of dignity and charm no one can teach.

The return journey to Britain was miserable because I was ill. I arrived home late at night having been two days in transit, and the following morning felt worse. I went to the doctor and all very dramatically, was sent to hospital in an ambulance.

Adversity's Silver Lining

The interesting learning curve lay mostly in the intense gratitude I felt, and still feel, for the care I received, and for the fact that my illness was no worse than pneumonia, which was eminently treatable. And of course in our case in Britain, I had the visit to the doctor, the ambulance, seven days and nights in hospital, scans, x-rays, six different lots of medicine, food, nursing, and so on — and no bill! And strange to say, the food was excellent. It was some of the best soup I have ever had.

But on a more serious level, when one is in a lot of pain, to be cared for by strangers, with patience, cheerfulness and kindness, is a humbling thing, and fills one with gratitude. Other women were there for surgery to remove growths or other things, which might have proved to be much longer lasting in effect, and the treatment not necessarily completely successful.

In a period of seven days one makes friends. We came to care for each other's welfare, in a sense like people stranded on a lifeboat. We may have been very different in character and background, but what we had in common was far greater, and a smile or a word of encouragement can mean much, a reaching outwards rather than inwards.

I was also was visited by my friends. Some sent flowers so beautiful the nurses kept saying they loved to come into our ward because it was like a florist's shop. Others brought the small tokens of kindness and thought which can make such a difference, such as something that tastes nice. Antibiotics and painkillers can leave your sense of taste temporarily altered so even clean water is disgusting!

Others brought perfumed wipes to keep hands and face clean, or even all of me, when it is difficult to struggle to the shower. A book of crossword puzzles was good for the occasional time I felt like doing anything other than sleep. And gorgeous hand cream with a flowery scent made me feel relaxed and good. I was overwhelmed by the kindness of people. I began to feel that although I have my family — and it is now very small — I would not change the generosity and the kindness of my friends for anything, and that was a very happy thought to hold onto.

And of course the greatest comfort of all, well or sick, is to have the power of the priesthood to draw on when your own strength is depleted. When we are ill we can feel terribly dependent upon circumstances out of our own control, and without the strength or resources to do much fighting back. No wonder people who do not know of any power in heaven can sometimes become angry or bitter and believe there is nowhere to turn, and no one to help.

We all realize that some illnesses are not going to be cured in this life, but even then, there is help in the endurance. One does not have to do anything alone.

A New Resolve

I came away resolved to do more, all the time, with the health that is now almost fully restored to me, both to use it wisely, and care for it with a bit more sense; but also to be more mindful of those who suffer. I mean to be “anxiously engaged” in finding what wisdom I can to comfort those who face dark nights of pain, disability or loss.

I want to be more patient, more willing to listen and to seek the right thing to say or do. Perhaps a little more contemplation of Gethsemane would not hurt. It is the best time of year to do that with earnestness of heart. If Christ could endure the griefs of all of us, surely in seeking to be like Him, as we must, it would be a good thing to try to understand other people's burdens a bit more clearly. He asked his disciples to “watch with me.” Surely he is also asking us to do that for one another?

How many people suffer alone? Maybe each one of us can say or do something to “watch with” somebody else in a time of their need. It may be physical illness, but it may be fear of pain, fear of loss, of failure, of guilt, of disillusion, or any of a score of other things. We may say or write something that can help, or simply wait in silence, not leaving, not criticising or turning away.

One of the greatest things we can offer is the wholeness of our own faith, not mindlessly with platitudes, but because we have thought it through and are speaking from our own hearts, with our own words. Quotes from others are sometimes worse than useless; they simply make it seem as if we have no understanding and are brushing away the person in need.

For our own “dark nights of the soul,” and for those of others, we need to understand how to keep trust in God when everything seems unbearable, and the loss or the pain too total to believe there will ever be joy or meaning again. But when we have found that trust, then the greatest gratitude we can offer is to share it with others, so they also can have hope.

Finding that Inner Light

I have set myself the goal of trying to find an inner light that I could pass on when I meet people whose burdens are close to intolerable. If I pass by on the other side, telling myself I don't know how to help, therefore I am excused, then I really have denied the spirit of Christ which in my better moments I have felt so strongly.

If I fall asleep, because I am tired and would rather not “watch” with those in grief or pain, or illness of soul, then I too have fallen asleep and left Christ alone, when I could have been there.

No one said it would be easy, nor would it be worth much if it were. We all know whose plan the easy one was — and what the reward for that will be. None of us want it.

My slowly forming resolution for 2007 — and for all the future — is to be gentler. I want passionately to be someone who will “temper the wind to the shorn lamb” as does God Himself. I have had a good many times when my own “fleece” was not sufficient to keep me warm when the wind was hard. How blessed it would be to be the one who protected some of God's lambs from the spring showers, the knife edge of wind on tender flesh.

I have been protected by others, and especially by the Saviour. Now I would like to do a little protecting also, learn how to recognize the “shorn lambs,” because they are not always obvious. It must be done discreetly. It is a favour to us to be allowed to do God's work; it is something for which we owe, not for which we are owed. Let me never forget that!

I step forward into the next month filled with gratitude, and anxious to try harder, do better and use every opportunity I see — and learn to see more.