Elder Michael A. Dunn, a General Authority Seventy, began with one of the Savior’s myriad nearly incomprehensible blessings: his promise to simply carry our burdens. But what does that look like in practical terms and especially when we’re weighed down and seemingly without hope? He came to understand it better in 1998, when in a very weak moment, my running partner Ted somehow talked me into entering a 100mile ultramarathon race. He was not only out of my league, but possibly out of my mind. He’d run marathons, but not four of them back to back.
Everything seemed impossible except one thing: Ted believed he could do it. That mattered, because Ted had completed the race many times and knew every twist of the trail. He promised that if Elder Dunn put in the training, he would run with him through the second half, when fatigue, blisters, and especially self-doubt would become my worst enemies.
Race day began before dawn, and he quickly realized it was much bigger than me. Somehow he kept moving through the withering afternoon heat, one slogging, suffering step at a time. With more than half the race left and daylight and my hopes fading, Ted showed up. With Ted’s patience and persistence, and Elder Dunn’s unceasing silent prayers, they trudged to mile 90 as morning dawned.
With just 10 miles left, he was completely sapped, running on empty. Collapsing in the shade of a tree, he said quietly but firmly, “I give up.” What followed, he joked, was the world’s first ever TED Talk. Ted gently reminded him of months of preparation and early-morning runs, then knelt, looked him in the eye, and said, “I know you can do this, Mike, and I’m going to get you there.” The simple words sparked something. He got up, walked, hobbled, and eventually found a pretty solid shuffle, and together they conquered the last 10 miles. “The impossible now looked possible.” A hundred yards from the finish, Ted grabbed his hand (“Congrats, man,” he said. “You did it!”) and peeled away. When Elder Dunn begged him to finish together, Ted smiled: “This is your race to finish.”
A week later a photograph arrived capturing the moment they parted, and it revealed a startling secret. Ted wasn’t only carrying his own water. He was carrying two of Elder Dunn’s bottles and his pack, which he dutifully toted every step of those last 10 grueling miles. At the side of the trail, when Elder Dunn was in deep despair, Ted quietly lightened my load, strapping my hydration pack to his own waist. And without fanfare or fuss, he simply shouldered my heaviest burden.
Marveling, his thoughts turned to an infinitely more amazing loadbearing friend, our Savior Jesus Christ, who, Isaiah assured, has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows (Isaiah 53:4). He had assumed that meant our trails would become easier. But he has learned that the Savior simultaneously lifts and uplifts, sometimes unseen, multiplying and magnifying even our most minuscule efforts. “In other words, the Redeemer rescues not by shortening our course but by helping us lengthen our stride. Anytime we turn to Christ, we turn a corner.” Because God knows our needs before we ask (Matthew 6:8), blessings may come the moment we pray. His grace, a divine means of help or strength, can free us from freight we would otherwise carry, and even when we don’t perceive Him, he enlists the Teds both of this world and sometimes even the Teds beyond, with His promise of angels round about to bear us up (D&C 84:88).
We can trust Jesus for the same reason Elder Dunn trusted Ted: he marked the path and led the way. There is no part of our journey He has not walked. “He not only knows the road; He knows you and what you, as noble offspring of the divine, are capable of.” To those nearing their mile 90, he promised that as you spend even your last drop of energy to ask, his helping hand will ultimately give you that much needed leg up. “And even when the outcome or the timing is not what you plead for, take solace knowing that feeling broken does not mean you’ve been abandoned by God.” He quoted President Uchtdorf: “Often the deep valleys of our present will be understood only by looking back on them from the mountains of our future experience.” Don’t confuse the perceived invisibility of the Lord’s hand with the inveterate nature of the Lord’s heart. Peace will come even when hopeful outcomes do not.
Years later, looking at that photo and thinking of the metaphorical last 10 miles he still faces, he is reminded that the God who makes the impossible possible can part seas and move mountains. Other times, he simply sends us a Ted. Most often, He tops off our courage, capacity, and confidence by empowering us to lay aside every weight so we can run with patience the race that is set before us (Hebrews 12:1).
