Why We Have Christmas

A couple weeks ago, we adopted two little kittens: Tsunami and Noemi ("No-Amy"; it's Hungarian). We were heading out of town, so on Wednesday we dropped them off with their supplies at a friends house. Just as the second group of us were heading out, the friend called us saying that Noemi was looking sick, and that we should come pick her up.
I thought that it might just be the motherly instincts of the friend seeing things that weren't there, but when I went in to pick up the little kitten, she was laying stretched out on her towel while her sister climbed around her. The friend told us Noemi had diarrhea, and needed to stay hydrated.
For the two-hour drive I cradled the prone little body in my hands, feeding her water through a baby dropper one drop at a time. I watched for each sign of improvement: She blinked! She kicked her leg! She rolled over!
While I chose to take these as good signs, I also knew that they may also be signs of her final struggle.
Finally, we made it to Andover where we'd be spending the weekend. I handed off the little kitty to her owner, my nine-year-old sister. At first they took the cats (we'd brought both) to the barn, but then in order to give Noemi more water more often, our friends let us bring them into an outer room in their house.
Despite almost constant care, little Noemi died that night while I was holding her.
As she started leaving, I burst out crying. I'd worked for hours to keep this little kitten alive. Why couldn't she stay?
Comforting me, my mom said, "At least we were able to give her love and a home before she died."

Another woman told of her experience. She was finally fulfilling her dream to go see Mother Theresa. When she landed in India, she went off in search of the famous nun. The woman was directed to a hospital. When she entered it, she found herself in a long hall. Along one wall were 10 or so rocking chairs, and on the other side were dozens of babies lying on the ground.
The door at the other end opened and Mother Theresa walked in followed by some nurses. As she slowly advanced towards the woman, Mother Theresa would point at a baby and then point at a nurse, saying "That one. You. ... That one. You. ..." Obediently, the nurse would pick up the child and rock it in a rocking chair.
At last, Mother Theresa was standing in front of the woman. But as the woman opened her mouth to say something, Mother Theresa pointed at a baby. "That one. You."
Without another word, she left the hospital, leaving the woman who'd come so far to meet her.
Stunned, the woman stood there for a moment. Then she angrily began to leave. "Wait!" a nurse called. "You have to help."
"I'm not a nurse, I don't know what to do." The woman protested.
Quietly, the nurse explained. "There isn't enough care and medicine to save all of these babies. Mother Theresa knows which of these babies are going to die today. Our job is to rock them, and make sure they feel human love before they leave this world."
The woman looked back at the little baby that Mother Theresa had assigned her to love. Then she went over, picked it up, and then rocked it until it slept.
By that time, she needed to rush to catch her plane home, and she never saw Mother Theresa again. But she said that it wasn't a wasted trip. She learned what she needed to learn.

Mosiah 16: 7 And if Christ had not risen from the dead, or have 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.
8 But there is a resurrection, therefore the grave hath no victory, and the sting of death is swallowed up in Christ.
9 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.