Eleven.

It's amazing what can happen in 11 years. There has been so much pain, joy, love and adventure since the time that I felt that my world my falling apart. And if I could write my ten-year-old self a letter, I would tell her that it's going to be okay. I would tell her that it's hard and that life is going to keep being hard--but that doesn't mean it's ending. I would tell her that she has already had to endure so much in ten years, but that the next ten would make sense of them. I would tell her that she has so much to live for. I would tell her that if she could see the person that she becomes in 11 years, she would be so proud that she wouldn't even believe it. And I would tell her to keep on trying and that it's okay to keep on crying. I would tell her that the pain she feels will disappear, and that there will be peace. 

Eleven years ago, my older brother died. I remember watching my family go through this and believing that nothing was ever going to be the same. I remember wishing I could trade him places. I remember thinking that everything was so broken; and not knowing how life could go on. But it did. And now I'm here, eleven years later, being able to testify of the healing power of time and the atonement. I've tasted bitterness in these 21 years of my life and I am sure that everything I've experienced is only the tip of the iceberg--but I know that thanks to the atonement, I don't have to carry the boulder of this loss on my shoulders by myself. I know that life goes on, that broken hearts CAN be mended, and that even if it seems like the end of the world--it is not. Things get better, but they take time. And it can seem like it will never end. But the sun comes out. And the Son of God came, in part, to make our burdens lighter. He loves us and that never changes. 

It's a difficult perspective to take, but I know that it's the one we must take. Because this is where we are learning eternity. And I know that in 11 years, I will look back at whatever I am going through now and not even remember the pain that I feel. I wont even feel the smallest twinge of bitterness. Because this too shall pass.

The words of Jeffery R. Holland come to me, back when he said "if these blessings don't seem to come fully or seemingly at all, remember the Savior's own anguished example and take the bitter cup and drink it, trusting in happier days ahead." 

There have been happier days since that day I felt there couldn't possibly ever be. And there are still happier days now. Sometimes we must drink the bitter cup. We will have our Fridays of despair, persecution, and heartache to the point where we don't feel we can take it anymore. But our Sundays will come. And it will be glorious.