Of all Sad Words of Tongue and Pen...

...The saddest are these: "It might have been."

~John Greenleaf Whittier

Wasted potential is one of my pet sorrows. I'm really good at looking at a situation on occasion and opening an entire can of emotions that I'd done a really good job, up until that point, of keeping pretty well bottled. Maybe it's unfortunate, but it helps to remind me that I can feel something other than normal on occasion, and that's a good thing.

Anyway, back to the wasted potential thing. Death is usually the catalyst that causes these thoughts. Whenever someone that I know dies relatively young, my first thoughts always go to the things that they could have done while in this life. Things that I look forward to a lot. Things like marriage, children, a house, making it a home, and grandchildren. I know that, through the gospel, they'll have the ability to have all of these things, and just because they've lost the chance to do them in mortality for the moment, doesn't mean that they'll be permanently cut off.

One of the most emotional verses in the scriptures for me comes from Mormon 6: 16-22

16 And my soul was rent with anguish, because of the slain of my people, and I cried:
17 O^• ye fair ones, how could ye have departed from the ways of the Lord! O ye fair ones, how could ye have rejected that Jesus, who stood with open arms to receive you!
18 Behold, if ye had not done this, ye would not have fallen. But behold, ye are fallen, and I mourn your loss.
19 O ye fair sons and daughters, ye fathers and mothers, ye husbands and wives, ye fair ones, how is it that ye could have fallen!
20 But behold, ye are gone, and my sorrows cannot bring your return.
21 And the day soon cometh that your mortal must put on immortality, and these bodies which are now moldering in corruption must soon become incorruptible bodies; and then ye must stand before the judgment-seat of Christ, to be judged according to your works; and if it so be that ye are righteous, then are ye blessed with your fathers who have gone before you.
22 O that ye had repented before this great destruction had come upon you. But behold, ye are gone, and the Father, yea, the Eternal Father of heaven, knoweth your state; and he doeth with you according to his justice and mercy.

Can you feel the sorrow in Mormon? The heart-wrenching pain that he has for his people, who've rejected the things that could have saved them? At this point he's worked to help them in all he can--going into battle with them, telling them to repent, and doing all he can, all to what seems to be no avail. I imagine our Heavenly Father looks at us (meaning all the world) with the same sorrow on occasion.

It's like in Gone with the Wind, where Rhett Butler, the notoriously realistic about the Civil War throws his bets in and joins to help out the cause, even though it's obviously lost. "This whole thing is a waste" he says in anger, and then proceeds to go in and fight with all he has anyway. While I have no desire to be anything like Mr. Butler in any other respect, he and I share the same view of the benefit of fighting for seemingly lost causes sometimes.

Sure, I can't do anything to fix the world's sorrow, I can't uplift every downtrodden person, and direct every lost soul. Sometimes, I don't even do a very good job of watching myself. I can keep fighting though. Every day, in everything I work to accomplish, I can fight to help others, and to bring some measure of kindness to the mean streets (yeah...Sure, this IS Provo, but we're talking more globally here), I can lend a hand to the downtrodden, and I can help to uplift the sorrowing. Sure, in the end, when everything is tallied, my work in and of itself will likely mean very little to any but myself. The passion with which I fight serves to aide my own quest for peace, kindness, joy, and fulfillment. And perhaps, as I work to serve others, I can help to bring some measure of joy to my Heavenly Father. It certainly seems like the very least I can do.