Though He Giveth or He Taketh

“Not bad. 30 seconds, then back to the line!” Elizabeth grimaced, but felt good inside. Her times were consistent and she knew coach was pleased. She shook out her legs and felt something strange in her ankle. Her spikes must be a little too tight. She ignored the feeling and finished her workout, receiving a tight smile from coach. Elizabeth didn’t think any more about it until the next morning when her ankle gave out under her. Standing by her bed, she paused, regaining her balance.

Not now, She thought to herself. It was the beginning of the track season and it was supposed to be one of her best years. She was coming back after placing 2^nd at state in the 800m, to a lot of high expectations. I can’t get injured. She stretched her ankle a little more, trying to tell if it was really hurt. It felt a little better after she began moving it around and she only slightly limped downstairs for morning prayer and Mom’s warm breakfast.

That day at practice, she couldn’t sprint. She could run, but every time she started to go into a sprint, her ankle would give out. Through her homework and dinner, she couldn’t stop thinking about her ankle. Was it something that would just get better on its own? Should she go see the trainer? Should she take a break from working out? If she did, would she ever be in good enough shape to place at the meets? She stopped her homework early and pulled out her scriptures. She read from the Book of Mormon, then placed it on the dresser and kneeled down on the blue carpet next to her bed, “Heavenly Father, I’ve always tried to do thy will. This is something I really care about. Canst thou please bless me?”

She felt a soft peace fill her room and went to sleep. The next days weren’t much better at track practice. She tried massaging her ankle, stretching the calf muscles, using the herbal ointments her mother gave her, and taping up her ankle. None of it really worked. She didn’t want to complain about something that wasn’t a big deal, so she didn’t say much to coach. She ran more long runs, and dreaded the speed workouts.

Every once in a while someone would ask her if she was hurt—either they saw her limping in the hallway, or they noticed something different about her stride. But more often than not, she just saw the shrug of disappointment from her teammates—“I guess she’s not that fast anymore,” or a look of disappointment from her coach—“I thought you were tougher than that.”

Soon the Region meet was only a week and a half a way. After a particularly miserable practice, Elizabeth asked her father for a blessing. Late at night in the living room, next to the piano, with the spring breeze blowing outside, her father laid his hands on her head. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed with all of her faith. “Please heal my foot. Please help me run fast.”

Her father’s firm voice spoke the words she desperately wanted to hear: “Elizabeth, Heavenly Father knows you. He has given you the ability to run, and to run fast for a specific reason. In time your foot will heal and you will be able to run for the best of your ability.” Her shoulders relaxed and she felt her mind stop churning.

The region meet came, and in the drizzling April rain, Elizabeth rounded the track twice and came in 2^nd with her best time of the season. She was going to state! She celebrated with her team and tried not to worry about if she would be able to do it again.

Once more Elizabeth found herself stretching out, lacing up her spikes for the big race. She looked around at the competition and felt ready. She had raced these girls last year. She was in her comfort zone. In a little over two minutes it will all be over. This is what I’ve worked for. She saw her mom and little sister in the stands as she walked with the other runners to the starting line. Two laps. I can do two laps. Heavenly Father, please bless me. The runners took their mark and the gun fired. She was off, feeling the wind on her face as she rounded the first corner. She ran with light steps, with the lead runners, with speed in her stride. As she rounded the first lap, her mind told her to go faster—Now’s your chance. Pick up the speed. Pass those girls. But her body didn’t respond. She felt her ankle giving out under her. Not now. This can’t happen. I won’t let it. Struggling she rounded the last corner, pushing herself to give more—seeing girls passing her on her right and left. After she had finished and left the track, she hid behind the blue tent, and let the tears loose.

The ride home was quiet. Mom had already said all the nice things she could think of. The team had lost—after two years of winning the state championship. Elizabeth tried not to think about it—staring out the window. She felt blank inside.

The next morning Mom, the ward choir director, woke her up to go to choir practice. Elizabeth pulled herself out of bed, purposely keeping her mind distracted. She didn’t kneel down and pray. She didn’t want to think about yesterday.

She sat quietly in the choir seats. Everyone else went about their business—Mom was busy putting together the musical number, her brother busy preparing for the sacrament, her other siblings joking around. People walked to and fro—no one knowing or caring what was going on inside her mind. She told herself that she didn’t care, but as she sat there she began to question. “How could Heavenly Father have let that happen? Didn’t I pray? Didn’t Dad give me a blessing?" She thought about yesterday and how she had cried behind the tent.

Now the loss wasn’t as sharp, but the questions deeper. Did she not have faith? Did she do something wrong? Did she not live righteously enough to ask God for a miracle? She sat still, picking at the flower on her skirt, letting the thoughts run through her mind.

Then like a small, piercing ray of sun, came the words of a hymn. It was one she had sung often with the family: Children of Our Heavenly Father. She felt more than heard the words, “Though he giveth or he taketh, God His children ne’er forsaketh.” The quiet melody seemed to play through her mind, breaking up the darkness.

She put her head down, so no one would notice the tears. God knew her. She was his daughter. He had given her the ability to run fast, and He had taken that away, but he would never, never forsake her. She knew with all of her heart that he was still there. She wiped her eyes and smiled at Mom.