"Rather than simply passing through trials, we must allow trials to pass through us in ways that sanctify us." - Neal A. Maxwell

Have you ever just...felt? This week I've felt a lot and haven't really been able to express very much. Not that I'm about to burst or anything...I've just been doing a lot of feeling and thinking, but I haven't been able to put much of it into words, or even wanted to.

I went to Emily Reeves's funeral on Thursday. That was a very emotional experience for me. What's odd about that is that I didn't even know Emily--the last time I saw her, she was probably 11 or 12 (she died at 17 in a car accident)--but I was friends with her older brother Jon in high school and college. That seems like ages ago, since we've both gotten married and I haven't seen him in a few years. But he's the kind of person who you always consider yourself friends with; I mean I would still count him my friend if I never saw him again for the rest of my life.

His family is the same way. Before the funeral started I waited in line for an hour with hundreds of other people who feel connected with Emily or with the family in some way. Although I have never liked caskets and haven't brought myself to look inside one since I saw my grandpa in one when I was 8, I literally felt compelled to stay in line so that I could talk with somebody, anybody in the family and share in their grief. Once I saw my sister Hannah there, who had been crying, I was afraid I was going to cry, so the whole time in line I just breathed deeply and tried to concentrate. I guess I was successful; when her parents hugged me and told me I was kind for coming, telling me how much they loved my family, comforting me as they were comforting everyone else in the line, I didn't cry (barely). When I saw more tear-streaked faces in the crowded room, I still didn't cry.

Then, of course, as soon as I sat down for the funeral and Emily's brother Greg got up to say the opening prayer, I lost my stoic edge and, well, you know. Good thing I brought Kleenex with me.

But it wasn't just sadness. It was more--I don't know--poignancy. I just felt. How could somebody I didn't even know provoke this in me? I guess the answer is that I wasn't just feeling for her, but for her good, kind family; for an old friend I hadn't seen in a long time; for my love and need for my own family; for the fragility that her death represents, I guess exposing my own (everybody's) vulnerability.

The bishop commented in his remarks what I had noticed earlier--that while we were all there to try to comfort the family, they were comforting everybody else. Eleven of Emily's brothers and sisters shared excerpts from Emily's journal, along with their memories of Emily, that revealed her as a compassionate, tender, earnest girl from the time she was very small. She actually wrote in her journal at age 11 that she was inspired by all the kind people in her ward and that it was her goal to be kind to everyone. Each of them expressed the knowledge that they would see their sister again.

The girls in the family, including Julie's oldest daughter and Mike's oldest daughter, sang "Where Can I Turn for Peace?" The little girls were near the microphone and I could pick out their voices. It was definitely poignant to hear those little voices sing, "He answers privately, reaches my reaching / In my Gethsemane, Savior and Friend. / Gentle the peace he finds for my beseeching. / Constant he is and kind, Love without end."

Finally, Emily's 18-year-old sister Jessica spoke, and described helping revive Emily after the accident and then holding her as she died. I couldn't believe the peace I felt, that Jessica obviously had with her. I thought about how life-shaping an experience like that must be--holding your sister as she dies. But although that should have made me cry even more, it didn't. I just stopped and felt. And thought.

I thought also about how Emily's example, intensified by her early death, affected hundreds of people's lives even just for that day. I'd be surprised if everyone in the room didn't feel a new resolve to be compassionate, tender, and earnest.

Although I thought I had come to show support for the family, I realized that I had come to try to get that same peace that Jessica exhibited. And I think I left with it.