John Lennon was right: 'The best is yet to be.'
Easter is as much about the future, as it is about the past. Rather than some theological abstraction, for our family this holiday is about glimpsing a future of pushing our daughters on the swings.
Illustration by our wonderful neighbor, Jerika Anderson
I’m sympathetic to those who hear talk of eternity or resurrection or atonement … and start to feel like they’re dealing with abstractions — something far removed from the daily realities of life.
I used to feel more that way too, until the agony of life finally found me — the despair, the darkness and especially the death.
All of a sudden, life after death became as concrete as the little girl I was no longer holding in my arms. And resurrection, rather than centering mostly around ancient, miraculous stories, also became about dreamed-of future days with our Emma — pushing her on the swings one day, right next to her sister Olivia.
Both healthy, happy, seeing, laughing and free of pain and seizures (a future where wrongs are made right, and as Joseph Smith told a grieving mother in 1854: “You will have the joy, the pleasure and satisfaction of nurturing this child, after its resurrection, until it reaches the full stature of its spirit” — with other mothers who had lost children likewise reporting “he told us that we should receive those children in the morning of the resurrection just as we laid them down, in purity and innocence, and we should nourish and care for them as their mothers.”)
This means a lot to us, because unless we’re given an unforgettable miracle, our daughter Olivia is not expected to live long. But our hope isn’t resting in any particular outcome — just as it isn’t dependent on brighter days we believe are coming in the future.
Christmas Day, 2025
A future to smile about
Don’t get me wrong: that future really does mean so much to us. It’s something we glimpse in the sweet moments that come and go in our own home (“Heaven is Christmas that doesn’t end”).
As a boy, I remember getting choked up watching that scene from “Field of Dreams” when Ray met his father as a young man. Now, though, it’s what happens next that I love even more.
When grown-up Ray asks his young-again-dad in “perfect form” (like all our loved ones will one day be): “Is there a heaven?”
“Oh yeah — it’s the place dreams come true.”
And then they throw a baseball together. When I see my brother Sam again — at that incredible family party of all parties — I’m totally planning to ask him to shoot some hoops with my boys.
No matter what hard things hit our family and our country in the days ahead, this bright future is a big part of why I’m hopeful, peaceful and happy. The “best really is yet to be!”
The source of my smile
But that future is not the only reason I feel hope. Because, once again, my faith rests on something more than an outcome — whether that’s how Olivia is doing now or in some glorious future.
My hope rests on the being of a person who rose from the grave a few years shy of 2,000 years ago — Someone I have felt personally thousands of times in my life: through staggering peace. Sweet joy. And incredible love… the kind that cannot be explained away as somehow coming from my own head and heart.
“If Christ had not come into the world … there could have been no redemption,” Abinadi taught in ancient America. “And if Christ had not risen from the dead, or (had) broken the bands of death that the grave should have no victory, and that death should have no sting, there could have been no resurrection” (here, he cites the prophet Hosea who lived 500 years earlier).
But then this man in chains before a wicked king shared what’s on my heart this morning too: “But there is a resurrection, therefore the grave hath no victory, and the sting of death is swallowed up in Christ.”
“He is the light and the life of the world; yea, a light that is endless, that can never be darkened; yea, and also a life which is endless, that there can be no more death.”
This echoes what Christ said about himself when he came into the world — reassuring Martha as she grieved her brother’s death: “I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.”
“Believest thou this?” Jesus then asks.
I do! Some wonderful people in my life don’t. But I do.
That’s where my hope is anchored. That’s why I relish the beautiful song that goes, “He lives to silence all my fears, He lives to wipe away my tears, He lives to calm my troubled heart…”
And till the day I die, I’ll also sing, “I believe in Christ; he stands supreme! From him I’ll gain my fondest dream; And while I strive through grief and pain, His voice is heard: ‘Ye shall obtain.’ I believe in Christ; so come what may, With him I’ll stand in that great day.”
No song better captures my excitement about that future day of resurrection than “I Will Rise,” by Evangelical artist Chris Tomlin (notice the swelling chorus of angels near the end, joining the celebration).
One day, those unforgettable reunions will happen — finally together at Christmas and every other day.
For now, Emma gets to celebrate Easter with Sam and Mary, Mom and all my cherished grandparents. I’m certain they are not far — not at all (“Angels all around us”).
We’ve felt the sweet spirit of Emma very close lately, as Olivia continues to face so much.
But that’s the thing: we’re fine. We’re good. We have a peace that goes beyond anything that makes sense.
And you can have that too. Dismiss the loud and angry voices, and those dripping with grievance or total cynicism. And listen to the quieter, sweeter, truer voice(s) — especially that “still voice of perfect mildness” that will tell you what’s really true and good and beautiful.
Don’t trust anyone else to tell you the truth about reality!
That way, you’ll be able to smile, no matter what. And when things get uglier and sadder in America (or your own life and home), you can close your eyes and remember what’s coming.
It’s going to be good — so good. And we don’t have to wait till that future comes to relish it! As the angel told King Benjamin, if we receive the message prophets have shared from the beginning, and continue to today, we can “rejoice with exceedingly great joy, even as though (Christ) had already come among them.”
As we remember all our loved ones who have gone before us, we can say like Juba says in Gladiator about his friend Maximus: “I will see you again…but not yet!”