When you come to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on. - Franklin D. Roosevelt

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Irony: The Crust on the Bread of Adversity

by Neal A. Maxwell

Adversity will surface in some form in every life. How we prepare for it, how we meet it, makes the difference. We can be broken by adversity, or we can become stronger. The final result is up to the individual. Henry Fielding said: “Adversity is the trial of principle. Without it, a man hardly knows whether he is honest or not.” (In The New Dictionary of Thoughts, ed. Ralph Emerson Browns, n.p.: Standard Book Co., 1957, p. 6.)


What I now read is a most wintry verse indeed: “Nevertheless the Lord seeth fit to chasten his people; yea, he trieth their patience and their faith.” (Mosiah 23:21.)


This very sobering declaration of divine purpose ought to keep us on spiritual alert as to life’s adversities.


Irony is the hard crust on the bread of adversity. Irony can try both our faith and our patience. Irony can be a particularly bitter form of such chastening because it involves disturbing incongruity. It involves outcomes in violation of our expectations. We see the best laid plans laid waste.


An individual is visibly and patiently prepared for an important role amid widespread expectation of his impending promotion or election. What follows, however, lasts only a very narrow moment in time. A political victory seems so near, recedes, and finally vanishes altogether.


Without meekness, such ironical circumstances are very difficult to manage.


In a marriage, a careless declaration hardens into a position, which position then becomes more important than communication or reconciliation. An intellectual stand is proudly and stubbornly defended even in the face of tutoring truth or correcting counsel. Yet occasionally, as we all know, backing off is really going forward. Sometimes it takes irony to induce that painful but progressive posture.


With its inverting of our anticipated consequences, irony becomes the frequent cause of an individual’s being offended. The larger and the more untamed one’s ego, the greater the likelihood of his being offended, especially when tasting his portion of vinegar and gall.


Words then issue, such as Why me? Why this? Why now? Of course, these words may give way to subsequent spiritual composure. Sometimes, however, such words precede bitter inconsolability, and then it is a surprisingly short distance between disappointment and bitterness.


Amid life’s varied ironies, you and I may begin to wonder, Did not God notice this torturous turn of events? And if He noticed, why did He permit it? Am I not valued?


Our planning itself often assumes that our destiny is largely in our own hands. Then come intruding events, first elbowing aside, then evicting what was anticipated and even earned. Hence, we can be offended by events as well as by people.


Irony may involve not only unexpected suffering but also undeserved suffering. We feel we deserved better, and yet we fared worse. We had other plans, even commendable plans. Did they not count? A physician, laboriously trained to help the sick, now, because of his own illness, cannot do so. For a period, a diligent prophet of the Lord was an “idle witness.” (Morm. 3:16.) Frustrating conditions keep more than a few of us from making our appointed rounds.


Customized challenges are thus added to that affliction and temptation which Paul described as “common to man.” (1 Cor. 10:13.)


In coping with irony, as in all things, we have an Exemplary Teacher in Jesus. Dramatic irony assaulted Jesus’ divinity almost constantly.


For Jesus, in fact, irony began at His birth. Truly, He suffered the will of the Father “in all things from the beginning.” (3 Ne. 11:11.) This whole earth became Jesus’ footstool (see Acts 7:49), but at Bethlehem there was “no room … in the inn” (Luke 2:7) and “no crib for his bed” (Hymns, 1985, no. 206.)


At the end, meek and lowly Jesus partook of the most bitter cup without becoming the least bitter. (See 3 Ne. 11:11; D&C 19:18–19.) The Most Innocent suffered the most. Yet the King of Kings did not break, even when some of His subjects did unto Him “as they listed.” (D&C 49:6.) Christ’s capacity to endure such irony was truly remarkable.


You and I are so much more brittle. For instance, we forget that, by their very nature, tests are unfair.


In heaven, Christ’s lofty name was determined to be the only name on earth offering salvation to all mankind. (See Acts 4:12; 2 Ne. 25:20; see also Abr. 3:27.) Yet the Mortal Messiah willingly lived so modestly, even, wrote Paul, as a person “of no reputation.” (Philip. 2:7.)


What a contrast to our maneuverings over relative recognition and comparative status. How different, too, from the ways in which some among us mistakenly see the size and response of their audiences as the sole verification of their worth. Yet those fickle galleries we sometimes play to have a way of being constantly emptied. They will surely be empty at the Judgment Day, when everyone will be somewhere else, on their knees.


As the Creator, Christ constructed the universe, yet in little Galilee He was known merely as “the carpenter’s son.” (Matt. 13:55.) In fact, the Lord of the universe was without honor even in His own Nazarene countryside. Though astonished at His teachings, his neighbors “were offended at him.” (Mark 6:3.) Even meek Jesus “marvelled because of their unbelief.” (Mark 6:6.)


As Jehovah, Jesus issued the original commandment to keep the Sabbath day holy, but during His mortal Messiahship, He was accused of violating the Sabbath, because on that day He gave healing rest to the afflicted. (See John 5:8–16.)


Can we absorb the irony of being hurt while trying to help? Having done good, when we are misrepresented, can we watch the feathers of false witness scatter on the winds?


Christ, long, long ago as Creator, provided habitable conditions for us on this earth, generously providing all the essential atmospheric conditions for life, including essential water. (See Moses 1:33; D&C 76:24.) Yet on the cross, when he was aflame with thirst, “they gave him vinegar to drink mingled with gall: and when he had tasted thereof, he would not drink.” (Matt. 27:34; see also Ps. 69:21.) Even so, there was no railing but a forgiving Christ. (See Luke 23:34.)


Christ was keenly aware of the constant irony: “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head.” (Luke 9:58.) He asked a treacherous Judas, “Betrayest thou the Son of man with a kiss?” (Luke 22:48.) And then there was the soulful lament, “O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, … how often would I have gathered thy children together, even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, and ye would not!” (Matt. 23:37.) Yet the repeated ritual of rejection was happening to Jesus all over again.


We all know what it is like not to be listened to, but how about disdain or even contempt? Furthermore, there is a difference between noticing rejection, as Jesus did, and railing against rejection, as He did not.


As the Creator, Christ fashioned “worlds without number” (Moses 1:33), yet with His fingers He fashioned a little clay from spittle, restoring sight to one blind man. (See John 9:6.) The Greatest meekly ministered “unto one of the least of these.” (Matt. 25:40.)


Do you and I understand that the significance of our service does not depend upon its scale?


Within hours Christ would rescue all mankind, yet he heard the manipulated crowd cry, “Barabbas,” thereby rescuing a life-taking murderer instead of life-giving Jesus. (See Mark 15:7–15.)


Can we remain true amid false justice? Will we do our duty against the roar of the crowd?


As the Master Teacher, Christ tailored His tutoring, depending upon the spiritual readiness of His pupils. We see instructive irony even in some of these episodes.


To the healed leper returning with gratitude, Jesus’ searching but simple query was, “Where are the [other] nine?” (Luke 17:17.) To a more knowledgeable mother of Apostles, desiring that her two sons sit on Jesus’ right and left hands, Jesus reprovingly but lovingly said, “Ye know not what you ask. … [This] is not mine to give.” (Matt. 20:22–23.) To a grieving but rapidly maturing Peter, still burning with the memory of a rooster’s crowing, thrice came the directive, “Feed my sheep,” but also a signifying of “by what death” the great Apostle would later be martyred. (John 18:25–27; John 21:15–19.) How much more demanding of Peter than of the leper!


If a sudden, stabbing light exposes the gap between what we are and what we think we are, can we, like Peter, let that light be a healing laser? Do we have the patience to endure when one of our comparative strengths is called into question? A painful crisis may actually be the means of stripping corrosive pride off of that virtue.


To the humbly devout woman of Samaria who expected the Messiah, Jesus quietly disclosed, “I that speak unto thee am he.” (John 4:26.) Yet an anxious Pilate “saith unto Jesus, Whence art thou? But Jesus gave him no answer.” (John 19:9.)


Can we remain silent when silence is eloquence—but may be used against us? Or will we murmur, just to let God know we notice the ironies?


Yet, even with all the ironies, sad ironies, there is the grand and glad irony of Christ’s great mission. He Himself noted that precisely because He was “lifted up upon” the cross, He was able to “draw all men unto [him],” and being “lifted up by men,” even so should “men be lifted up by the Father.” (3 Ne. 27:14.)


But how can we fortify ourselves against the irony in our lives and cope better when it comes?


By being more like Jesus, such as by loving more. “And the world, because of their iniquity, shall judge him to be a thing of naught; wherefore they scourge him, and he suffereth it; and they smite him, and he suffereth it. Yea, they spit upon him, and he suffereth it, [Why?] because of his loving kindness and his long-suffering towards the children of men.” (1 Ne. 19:9.)


There are other significant keys for coping. “And he said to them all, If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me.” (Luke 9:23.) Wise self-denial shrinks our sense of entitlement.


Another cardinal key is to “live in thanksgiving daily, for the many mercies and blessings which [God] doth bestow upon you.” (Alma 34:38.)


Life’s comparatively few ironies are much more than offset by heaven’s many mercies! We cannot count all our blessings every day, but we can carry over the reassuring bottom line from the last counting.


Another vital way of coping was exemplified by Jesus. Though He suffered all manner of temptations (see Alma 7:11), yet He “gave no heed unto them” (D&C 20:22). Unlike some of us, He did not fantasize, reconsider, or replay temptations. How is it that you and I do not see that while initially we are stronger and the temptations weaker, dalliance turns things upside down?


Jesus’ marvelous meekness prevented any “root of bitterness” from “springing up” in Him. (Heb. 12:15.) Ponder the Savior’s precious words about the Atonement after He passed through it. There is no mention of the vinegar. No mention of the scourging. No mention of having been struck. No mention of having been spat upon. He does declare that He “suffer[ed] both body and spirit” in an exquisiteness which we simply cannot comprehend. (D&C 19:18; see also D&C 19:15.)


We come now to the last and most terrible irony of Jesus: His feeling forsaken at the apogee of His agony on Calvary. The apparent withdrawal of the Father’s spirit then evoked the greatest soul cry in human history. (See James E. Talmage, Jesus the Christ, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1916, p. 613.) This deprivation had never happened to Christ before—never. Yet, thereby, Jesus became a fully comprehending Christ and was enabled to be a fully succoring Savior. (See Alma 7:11–12.) Moreover, even in that darkest hour, while feeling forsaken, Jesus submitted Himself to the Father.


No wonder the Savior tells us that the combined anguish in Gethsemane and on Calvary was so awful that He would have shrunk. “Nevertheless,” He finished His “preparations.” (See D&C 19:18–19; 3 Ne. 11:11.) The word nevertheless reflects deep, divine determination.


Furthermore, even after treading the winepress alone (see D&C 76:107), which ended in His stunning, personal triumph and in the greatest victory ever—majestic Jesus meekly declared, “Glory be to the Father”! (D&C 19:19.) This should not surprise us. In the premortal world, Jesus meekly volunteered to be our Savior, saying, “Father, thy will be done, and the glory be thine forever.” (Moses 4:2.) Jesus was true to His word.


Now, in closing, I humbly declare, “Glory be to the Father”—first, for rearing such an Incomparable Son. Second, “Glory be to the Father” for allowing His special Son to suffer and to be sacrificed for all of us. On Judgment Day, brothers and sisters, will any of us want to rush forward to tell our Father how we, as parents, suffered when we watched our children suffer?


Glory be to the Father, in the name of Him who can succor us amid all our ironies and adversities (see Alma 7:11–12), even Jesus Christ, amen.

Times of great calamity and confusion 

have ever been productive of the greatest minds. 

The purest ore is produced from the hottest furnace, 

and the brightest thunderbolt 

is elicited from the darkest storm.

- Charles Caleb Colton

the trouble with always trying to preserve the health of the body is that it is so difficult to do without destroying the health of the mind. - g.k. chesterton

so i've never felt as much as i do with this pregnancy . . . pregnancy is SCARY. i am glad to say however, that we have been blessed to have healthy babies and pretty healthy pregnancies, but when the slightest thing goes wrong, all you can do is worry. worry worry worry and then worry some more. you have this little life wiggling inside of you and it is completely up to you to keep your body in close to perfect health to keep things going right. 

i've had little complications along the way with my two other babies. with my first i was under constant stress because i was going through a divorce with my first husband, nearly the entire pregnancy. on top of that, because of the way i had been living my life prior to getting pregnant with him, on one ill-fated night, i was raped. 


{you're probably thinking that it's not my fault that i was raped,
 but in fact, in this situation, 
it was my fault for doing what i was doing and putting myself
 in the place i was in that night.
i'm at peace with it now and very seldom do i think of it.} 


the men were african american and because of the time that it happened, we did not know if my son was my husbands or the rapists. that was a pregnancy that was extremely bittersweet. i went into preterm labor with him at 34 weeks, but they were able to stop the contractions with intravenous terbutaline. i was induced at 38 weeks, labored for 25 hours, pushed for 2 and a half and after failure to progress, he was taken by emergency c-section. 

with my next baby, things were a bit smoother. she was a honeymoon baby (ha!) and although we had stress from my husband losing his job shortly after we were married, i was happy. i started spotting in the second trimester. we spent many nights taking trips to labor and delivery and was put on bedrest on and off throughout the pregnancy. i was scheduled for a c-section at 39 weeks and ended up going into labor with her at 37. when we got to the hospital, i was sure they would send me home, but in fact, i was dilated to about 7 cm and didn't even know it! i was uncomfortable, but had NO CLUE i was in labor! by the time they got me back for the c-section, i was at a full 10 cm! 

often, i've wished that i would have fought the c-section tooth and nail and demanded a VBAC, regardless of whether the doctor approved it or not. HOWEVER, if i wouldn't have gotten the c-section, they wouldn't have discovered what a chop job my first OB had done on my body. my scarring was terrible. part of it had adhered to my bladder, there were spots on my bowel that were messed up and the primary incision was not in the right place. also, if i had ended up having her VBAC, there was a good chance (because of how overly well my body scars) i would have had a uterine rupture and put both my precious baby girl and my life in danger.

now for the really scary part. it didn't come until AFTER i had Chloe. i was released from the hospital earlier than normal because i was doing so well recovering. i was up and about, walking fine and taking good care of the baby, so they let me go. i went about a week, had the staples removed and then started having a lot of pain in the incision area. then the chills and hot flashes set in. one night i was running a fever of 104 degrees. i called and spoke to the doctor on call who happened to be the OBGYN i had seen through the duration of the pregnancy (she was not, however, the doctor who performed the surgery). i should have known not to listen to her when she was more busy playing with her cats and telling me about them rather than listening to what was going on with me. she told me in the calmest of voices that i most likely had the swine flu and to avoid going to the hospital because i might make other people sick. she told me this long story about how one of her patients had just had a c-section and had been busy throwing up and was miserable, all because she had the swine flu. i asked her what i was supposed to do if it wasn't the flu and she said to just stay at home and intermittently take the highest dose of ibuprofen and highest of acetaminophen and they should work to bring down my fever. she would rather me not go in if i didn't have it so that i wouldn't get the swine flu from someone who did have it. as the night progressed, the fever and hot/cold flashes got worse and worse. my husband was in the other room taking care of our children when i had this EXTREME pain set in around the left side of my lower abdomen and back. i inched my way to the bathroom and tried to make myself throw up. i was sure that i had overdosed on the motrin and tylenol (thanks to my foolish doctor). after a few successful attempts i sat on the toilet. there was no relief from throwing up. i was still in excruciating pain. then the scariest part. i started SPRAYING blood out from my back end. i screamed for my husband. eventually he heard me and called 911. when they arrived at our apartment, my fever was gone, but i was having extreme chills. i told them about the maximum doses my doctor told me to take and they started to act weird. they started asking me strange questions, along the lines of they thought i was trying to off myself. then worst of all . . . THEY MADE ME WALK DOWN A FLIGHT OF STAIRS. they made me climb onto the gurney with barely any assistance, then wheeled me hard over the bumps and cracks in the sidewalk and road to the ambulance. when we got to the hospital, i was up to 106 degree fever and began losing consciousness. i was put into a quarantine room and was pretty much on my death bed. no one could come in the room unless they were wearing masks. no one knew what was wrong with me. 

after a blood transfusion and loads of MRI's and CT's, it was determined that i had an abscess under the left side of my incision. at this point they weren't sure what it was full of, but after spotting the abscess they saw it had ruptured and that my body was in sepsis. i started losing kidney function and couldn't control my bowels and was throwing up what looked like tar. they inserted a port in my neck and from that was put on hemodialysis. 

they layed me on a MRI bed and made me lay on my stomach (which was probably one of the worst things ever) and inserted a needle that went from my rear end into my abdomen to suck the fluid from the abscess out for testing. all of which i felt the entire time because the numbing medication didn't work on me. the fluid tested positive for MRSA. here is the Wikipedia definition of it, in case you are not familiar :

Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus (MRSA) is a bacterium responsible for several difficult-to-treat infections in humans. It may also be called multidrug-resistant Staphylococcus aureus or oxacillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus (ORSA).

MRSA is, by definition, any strain of Staphylococcus aureus that has developed resistance to beta-lactam antibiotics which include the penicillins (methicillin, dicloxacillin, nafcillin, oxacillin, etc.) and the cephalosporins.

MRSA is especially troublesome in hospitals and nursing homes where patients with open wounds, invasive devices and weakened immune systems are at greater risk of infection than the general public.

not exactly the funnest thing to have, right? they tried all sorts of antibiotics and finally inserted a drainage tube below my belly button to remove the fluid from the abscess. i was put into ICU during this time and ended up having a tube inserted through my nose that went into my stomach because i couldn't control my vomiting. i was awake the entire time and had to assist in getting it in, by means of sucking water through a straw and swallowing as they shoved the tube down my nose into my throat and beyond. it was awful.

 i still continued to vomit and during one of the bouts, my husband happened to be out of the room and the stress of the vomiting basically killed me for a short time. i flat lined. nurses rushed in. i don't remember much more about that. 

i was in the hospital for about a month, but it felt more like a decade. i missed a chunk of my little girl's newborn life and i still feel jipped as far as that goes. i'll never get that time back with her. 

on the other hand, i'm very lucky to be alive. the doctor who had originally performed the c-section worked hard to save my life. there wasn't anything he could do medically because at this point it was out of his hands, but he came in whenever he had down time to make sure the other doctors and staff were doing everything they could to keep me alive. he even came in on his days off.

luckily, lightning usually doesn't strike twice, so hopefully i will never have MRSA again, but to tell you the truth, this entire thing has made me a bit of a hypochondriac. i am terrified of all the 'what ifs'. one thing i forgot to mention in my story above is that we went to the ER once before i was taken in and after a few blood tests and scans i was told that it was just a simple pleural effusion ( a buildup of fluid between the layers of tissue that line the lungs and chest cavity) and that i just needed to use my expectant spirometer more frequently. lovely, right?

so to be completely honest, i do not trust doctors. i'm terrified of going in and being sent home because you NEVER know what is going on inside of your body and most of the time, NEITHER DO THEY. you can go with your gut and go in and be checked, but you have a 50/50 chance (if even that) of them truly finding out what is wrong. after all, they are only human and humans make mistakes. 

to make matters worse, my faithful and wonderful OBGYN retired from practice to be the head of one of the government funded health plans here in Phoenix, which is great for him, but a HUGE bummer for me. when people haven't been in a situation as traumatic as what i went through, they just don't understand your fears and concerns. i do however, think i picked a good doc, i just hope he doesn't look at me as a money sign. that sounds terrible . . .

so i guess the truth is that pregnancy isn't the only thing that scares me. it's the outcome. life is so precious and you really never know when the sand will run out.


for more information on MRSA, please visit:
StopMRSAnow!