Jennie knows the tormenting pain of personal tragedy. Three deaths left her wondering each time how she would ever survive—her father, who took his own life when she was young; her 15-year-old brother-in-law, who laughed and played with the family on Saturday night, then committed suicide the next day; and her husband, who died exactly seven years later in military combat in the Middle East.

When she received news of her husband’s death, she wondered how she would raise her seven children. It was grief beyond belief. The darkness of the night enveloped everything. “Tell me this nightmare will end,” she thought.

During these times of great grief, three words kept coming to her mind: “Sunday will come.” They were words from a general conference talk she’d heard years earlier. She knew it was not just any Sunday, but Easter Sunday—the Sunday of the Resurrection, the Sunday of hope.

She came to feel that the rising sun each morning was a reminder of the Savior’s love. “As the Light of the World, He carried us,” she said. Easter was proof that God could accomplish anything.

In her grief, she came to understand her father’s struggle with mental illness. She suffered with the Savior’s loved ones, who were desperate with grief.

Easter is still a time of candy and cousins for her children, but it is also so much more. To Jennie, Easter is the holiday of hope.

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