I'm reflecting this morning.
When I was a teenager, I did a lot of babysitting for my parents. I'm the second oldest of nine. My youngest brother was born after my oldest sister had already left for college. One night when my parents were out, my baby brother became very sick. He had a fever and wouldn't stop crying. I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to bother my parents at their friends' house, so I tried everything I could on my own. I held him. I sang to him. I rocked him in the rocking chair. Nothing seemed to help, not even his beloved pacifier. My heart was breaking for him I was so full of compassion. I was crying too. I tried calling my parents, but nobody answered. So I prayed. I prayed hard. I sat on my little brother's bed and wept. I kept praying. Finally, when I was just about ready to go out and search for my parents, he stopped crying and fell asleep. He slept all night long. During the night, his fever broke and he was totally, shockingly fine in the morning. I felt like my prayers were heard and answered.
I know it doesn't always work that way. Sometimes, the results of our prayers take much longer to see. Sometimes, the answer isn't what we'd prefer. As I've grown older, I have learned to trust. I know Heavenly Father loves me and that He loves those I love--even though they are hurting.
Without that trust, I would truly despair. With it, I know everything is going to be okay.