The Swings

I see her sitting there, all alone in the park.

The swing she's perched on is gently rocking back and forth. Her head hangs low, her shoulders slumped, and although her back is to me I know that she's been crying.

I know because I've been there. I was once that girl on the swing set, no one to talk to, drowning in my sorrows. I've been there before. We all have.

As I watch her I think to myself, "Does she know? Does she know how beautiful she is?" I wish I could reach out and envelop her with a hug, and tell her that eventually it will be okay.

The struggles at school.

The trouble at home.

The lack of self-worth.

The sadness.

The loneliness.

The pain.

She doesn't have to deal with this forever (no one does).

I can tell what she's thinking, the things she's contemplating that will, in her mind, make it better.

They won't.

"You're beautiful," I whisper into the wind, hoping she might hear me, "Inside and out. You don't have to do this to yourself."

I think of the Savior, and what he did for each of us, how he suffered all of our pains. No matter what we've done, he still loves us. He wants us to return to live with him someday, and to live a good life before then. He wouldn't want that girl to be swinging alone in the park, lost in her pain. He wants us all to be happy.

As these thoughts race through my mind, I hear the creak of rusty swings that have been neglected far too long. I notice that the girl is swinging higher and higher now, her head raised, pumping her legs with vigor.

Why did she suddenly seem more happy?

Then I noticed a stranger swinging in the swing next to her. His entire countenance seemed to be glowing, and from across the park where I stood, I could feel a sense of love coming from him. Impressed in my mind were the words I had read only hours before in seminary,

"In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world." (John 16:33).

I smiled to myself; everything would be okay.