Priesthood vs. pills

Brian Joseph Rogers

Cedar City, Utah

12/2010

For the weeks preceding finals, I was under heavy stress. Worried about passing classes, mounting homework, work becoming more difficult, and no rest for the weary as a father of two children.

My days consisted of waking at 6:30 if not earlier, quickly readying myself for the day and hopefully into work before 7:15. I would put in a few hours before my classes began, have an hour break in between them for some small homework to be done or if I had time and remembered food to eat. I would usually just have a soda with caffeine to keep me awake.

After classes were done, I would work for an additional few hours before going home.

Upon coming home, I would be greeted by two exuberant little girls who wanted nothing more than to play. My afternoon was spent giving my wife a break from the children to do tasks she could not complete while tending to our children. Then my wife and I would get dinner made, bathe the children, and then begin the task of putting them to bed. On those nights when mercy was ours, it took little effort. Most nights, however, it took an effort to calm them down. We would read them stories, cradle them, rock them, sing to them, and put them in bed. Then we gave ourselves a little time to relax. By this time we still needed to clean the apartment, do the dishes, and I still had homework to do. Some nights I would not get to sleep until very late.

As finals drew near, my diet began to be nothing for breakfast or lunch, my sleep was less restful, and my stress increased. The day of my last final, I decided to work for a few hours before heading home. After I got home, I became very ill and had a fever. I was vomiting anything I ate, felt horrible and cold yet my temperature was 103. This persisted through until Monday when I was able to see a doctor. He told me I had Pneumonia, prescribed antibiotics and a cough syrup with Codeine. I began taking them immediately as we could not reach our home teachers for a blessing. There was little to no relief, I continued to be sick and prayed for help.

Finally, the next day my neighbours were available and agreed to come over to give me a blessing that I desired. When they arrived, I told them I wanted to limit contact with them knowing they have small children at home. The blessing felt very general, did not overwhelm me or provide any supernatural feelings. About 20 minutes after they left, as I lay in bed, I realized all my nausea had subsided, my aches had dulled, my headache gone, and no fever gripped me.

Powerful medicines that were given to me with the promise of help did nothing, two men with oil and a sacred power relieved more in far less time than any other in this world could.

Letting go...

by Brian Rogers  10/2010
West Bountiful, Utah

In 1961, my paternal grandfather was dying. I was barely eight years old and I have only two memories of him but I do vividly recall what my father said of his passing. He was sixty five years old and had lung cancer. He worked as much as he could during the last year of his life at the local high school, where he was the principal. After the school year ended, he knew his time was measured in days, not weeks.

The pain was becoming unbearable, I suppose, because he asked my father to give him a priesthood blessing, releasing him from mortality. To the best of my knowledge, the Church does not have a position on this type of request. I imagine some may consider it an inappropriate use of the priesthood.  Nevertheless, my father, along with Keith Miller, a member of the Stake High Council, gave my grandfather the blessing and he died a few days later.

Now, spring forward with me to March of 2008. My father was dying of lung cancer. I was blessed enough to be home with him during his final months. He was staying with my sister a few miles away and I was seeing him almost daily. We talked a lot, as you can imagine, of our relationship, of God, the Church, the family, what he was happy about, what disappointed him. We talked, again, of the time his father died and how he had given his father the blessing, to help him let go. I asked him if he wanted the same. I know he was considering it but all he said was that he would think about it.
The days passed as I watched him grow weaker and weaker. We talked about the blessing  again and he said that when he was ready, he would let me know. I remember one of my sons coming to visit him, with his wife. We sit at my father’s bedside and talked about it. I told him I was ready, that I was comfortable pronouncing it, asking for the blessing. My faith was strong and as his only son holding priesthood, it was my honor to do so.

Then one day as I walked into his room, he looked at me and said he was ready. So my brother-in-law, Tom anointed his head and I blessed him, setting him free.

He fell asleep for about two hours then suddenly he woke. He was struggling to breathe. I bent over, looking straight into his eyes. Then I knew. I simply knew.

I do not know when our spirit enters our bodies, if it is at conception or during our mother’s gestation period or at the moment of birth. I do not know. But since my father died, I have wondered when our spirit leaves our body. It is at our last breath or before? The reason is this: My father’s eyes were milky, cloudy and fading; there was no light in them. But when I looked at him, his eyes suddenly came to life. He looked at me but was unable to speak or even smile but I know he saw me, knew me. Those eyes! They were alive, clear and focused where just a moment before they were not. Then, after about ten to fifteen seconds, his eyes clouded over again. There was no life there, yet he continued to breathe. I wonder if he was gone then, but his body lingered on. He remained in this state for another day or two, but he never woke up again. I looked at his eyes a few times, but they were never changed.

I had promised him (and myself) that I would be there when he died. I remember the next day, around early evening, my sister, who was a very experienced nurse, said she expected him to pass soon, that night or the next day. Alone, I sat next to him and listened. I thought of Peter, struggling to stay awake while his Master suffered in the garden. I thought of my promise to my father and to myself, and wondered if I could stay awake all night or would I doze off, just for a moment, and not be there as I promised.

I placed my hand on my father’s chest, feeling it heave up and down, slowly, about four or five short, shallow breaths a minute. I opened a book and read, distracting myself. An hour or two later, for some reason, I looked up, my hand still on his chest, and I noticed he was no longer breathing. I quickly called to my sister who came into the room. She placed her hand on his neck, feeling for a pulse. “Not yet,” she said. I placed my fingers on his neck and indeed felt his pulse. Once, twice…then it stopped. I heard his ‘death rattle’ and he was finally gone. It was one of the most wonderful experiences of my life, and it confirmed, yet again, the power of the priesthood. And I know that any of my sons, one day, if I ask, will lay their hands on my head, maybe all three of them together, to release me from this life, so I may go to my fathers.

I don’t really miss my father, not in the normal sense of the word, I suppose. I remember him almost daily, when I do, I smile. I kept my promise to him and to myself. His passing was wonderful to behold and extremely faith promoting. I thank God he was my earthly father and I look forward to serving at his side as we, together, serve our Father in Heaven throughout the eternities.

The Story of Jack Harris

by Tyler Hoggan Rogers
1993

I can’t remember how or where I first met Jack Harris and his wife Cora. I will however, never forget the effect he had on my life. What I know of Jack came after he had joined the Church. What I tell here are the things I remember.

As best I can remember, his real name was not Jack Harris. I never recalled any other name that he used, real or otherwise. Jack left his home when he was at a young age, joining the Army. As I recall, Jack said he was 14 he joined the U.S. Army. When his correct age was discovered, he was sent home. He then went to Canada and joined there, from there he came to the United States. It was when he was in the Canadian Military that he took the name of Jack Harris. What he did while in the service I do not know, but he often talked about State Department affairs.

When I came to know Jack, he was working on the railroads at Geneva Steel in Orem, Utah. I often rode with him on the railroad as his engine would bring the various materials to be used in the open hearth furnaces. I am not sure what his job was. I know he was not the engineer. He could have been a switchman or brakeman.

After the war was over, he wandered across the country and ended up near or in Ogden, Utah. This is where he met and married Cora. I cannot remember Cora’s maiden name. Jack was a devout Catholic, while Cora was a devout Latter-day Saint. Their marriage was a happy one, in spite of the religious differences. They were too old for children and became totally devoted to each other. It was this devotion that led Jack to converting to the LDS Church. Cora was patient with Jack as he was with her. They developed a mutual respect for each other’s faith. Cora’s ways regarding the Church were such that it prompted Jack to ask questions.

As time passed, strange things began to happen to them. Perhaps the strangest was that they quite often would have the same dreams. Most of the dreams were spiritual in nature. These experiences were troublesome for Jack and he would question Cora at length about the dreams. Cora would answer his questions with a gospel answer, at which point Jack would often get perturbed at her. Yet these answers were logical to him. One dream he had that particularly troubled both of them was never fully answered and may have had its meaning at a later date in their lives, with the death of Cora. The dream that always confused Jack and Cora was where he was hurrying to catch a boat leaving the dock. He was dressed in good clothes and carrying a suitcase. The people were cheering him on, to get on board before it was too late. At the time, there was a large billboard on State Street in Provo, now in the Riverside Plaza. The sign was one for Farmers Insurance, depicting a large boat full of happy people who had retired and going on vacation. The wording indicated that one was suppose to have a savings plan that would one day allow ample financial freedom. As I recall, the main wording was “hurry before it is too late.” Jack often thought it was this sign that prompted his dream though later he thought it was a urging for him to join the Church and that he and Cora should be sealed in the temple. As it turned out, Cora didn’t have live much more than a year after he joined the Church.

The one dream that led to Jack’s conversion occurred when a special event happened. They had been to Ogden to visit Cora’s sister. Upon returning, there was a package in the mailbox from Jack’s mother, with whom he had not been in communication with for years. The package contained the family Bible, with a family history recorded in it. Jack could never understand how the package got to him, with his mother not knowing his address. The dream that finally awakened Jack came shortly after the family history arrived. The dream was essentially one of a long sloping valley, very beautiful and peaceful. There was a trail that led down each side of the valley to a common joining at the bottom of the mouth of the valley. There was a woman standing at the joining of the paths, beckoning him. Both Jack and Cora had this same dream on several occasions. Jack would ask Cora what he meaning was and she could not give an answer. Jack asked Cora who the woman was and Cora could not discern who it was. Then one night, the personage came out of the valley scene and stood by the bed or rather at the foot of the bed. At this point Jack recalls, he asked her what she wanted. The woman would only smile. Jack and Cora awakened. Jack asked Cora who the woman was. Cora stated it was her mother. Jack’s immediate question was ‘what does she want?” It was decided that if the dream occurred again, they would ask her what the difference was between the Catholic and LDS Church was. The dream did occur again and again, the woman beckoned to them. Immediately Jack asked what the difference was between the two churches. The woman in the dream held up her hand and with the thumb and forefinger almost touching, indicating a small but large difference, said the word “beatific.”

Jack and Cora both immediately awakened. Jack asked Cora what the word was. Cora repeated it, ‘beatific’. They both searched the dictionary and all known sources but could not find the word, until they were looking through the old family Bible, the one that had been sent to Jack by his mother. In the old family Bible, they found that word referenced to the word revelation. By this, Jack decided to look more closely at the LDS doctrine. Not long after this, Jack was baptized.

At Jack’s confirmation, he was told he would have the gift of healing. Upon joining the Church, Jack became a different man. Soon he was giving his all to the Church, in any capacity. Eventually, his conversion story became known and likewise, his talent to tell of his conversion. One such time he was speaking at a sacrament meeting and afterwards he was asked to go to a home of a small child, sick with rheumatic fever and bed ridden. After the blessing was given, Jack and Cora chatted for a little while with the little girl. It was learned that the little child was desirous of a kitten. Cora had cats by the dozen so she offered to bring her one. It was also learned that the little girl was not likely to ever walk again, and if ever, not very well.

On the way home, Cora questioned Jack as to whether he knew what he had promised the child when he was giving her a blessing. Jack replied that he did not know but whatever he had said would come to pass. He had blessed her with full recovery from her illness. A few weeks later, they took a pretty little kitten to the home. Upon ringing the doorbell, who should answer but the little girl? She was on roller skates! Instances like this occurred often in Jack’s life.

Jack had been a member about a year when our young son developed problems that gave us great concern. Brian was a beautiful baby, easy to care for. About nine months after he was born, he contracted pneumonia and had a ten day stay in the American Fork hospital. It was a bad winter. The hospital was over crowded. There was no room and he had to stay in a small bed placed in the hallway. His temperature stayed around 105 for several days. It was the fever that became the prime factor in the problems he had the next winter. We had gone on a vacation or something and left Brian with a neighbor. Upon our return, the neighbor commented that while Brian was easy to care for, it seemed that he wasn’t developing very fast. He wasn’t trying to crawl or walk or do things an eighteen month old child should be doing. We agreed and took him to our pediatrician. It took but a few minutes and gently he (the doctor) suggested we take Brian to the Salt Lake City. He was suspicious of either past brain damage or a tumor. So we took our son to Salt Lake City.

The hospital was on 21^st South and State in Salt Lake. It was the same hospital that Cora was in prior to her death. The hospital was known as the county hospital. When Cora was a patient there, she would often ask Jack for a blessing. Many times, one of the attending doctors, who was Jewish, would witness the blessing and the near immediate relief of pain would astonish him. Much discussion about this was had at Cora’s bedside.

The day we were to admit Brian to the hospital for test that would hopefully tell what the problem was, we asked Jack to give Brian a blessing. The blessing proceeded as in the normal and correct way. Then, as the blessing continued, it seemed as though Jack directed the message to his mother. He assured her that all would be well. That there was indeed a problem, that indeed there was brain damage. Jack said that Brian would grow to be a normal fine man, pleasing in the sight of the Lord.

The next morning, as we prepared to have the tests performed, the doctor told us that the tests would be quite painful but all would go well. [I recall my father telling me that it included a spinal tap. BYR] Later that day, we had part of the results made known to us. When the results of the test were returned, there was indeed of brain damage. There was no tumor and the damage was quite likely a result of the fever a year earlier.

The next day, the doctor talked to us, giving us a dim outlook. He indicated the boy would either grow to be above average, brilliant young man or become a vegetable so far as mental capacity was concerned. The doctor told us to take the boy home and live with what would come. We went home and clung to the blessing Jack had given.

About this time, Cora contracted a fast growing cancer. I believe the dream that Jack had relating to missing the boat, was trying to tell him of the need to join the Church soon. If he had not, and if Cora’s illness had not come earlier, he probably would never join and never had come to know the life that became his [and I might be a vegetable rather than using that same gift of healing in my life, BYR]. Cora lived but a year longer. Jack was at her bedside the entire time. His ability to bless her was of great comfort because the cancer caused so much pain.

After Cora died, Jack became a lost and lonely man for a long time. He was eventually called on a mission and in time married again. I have never heard of Jack since he returned from his mission. I am sure that his life has been one of giving, as that was what he did best. I know what he did for us and will always be grateful to Jack Harris and the Lord.

Kinzirella

by Brian Rogers   9/2010
West Bountiful, Utah

In summer of 1989, we had been living in Texas for about nine months. Another family moved into our ward in the spring of that year. With both families being somewhat new to the area, we became close friends, often spending a couple nights a week together. Rob and Deycie were pregnant with a little girl that was due in August. When Kinzi was born, the ventricular wall of her heart was broken. The wall had not developed properly, leaving a hole that allowed the blood to flow where it shouldn’t. Additionally, the arteries, and veins that enter, or exit at the top of the heart had grown together. To top it all off, she was underweight.

Kinzi’s outlook was not good. In fact, for Rob and Deycie, it was horribly inconceivable. Kinzi was admitted to Children’s Hospital in Dallas, where a newborn heart surgeon, Dr. W. Steves Ring, pronounced there was much that could be done. But (isn’t there always a caveat?), Kinzi needed to gain weight or she would not survive the operation. A few days later, maybe a week or so, Kinzi was not gaining weight. In fact, she was losing weight, more than most newborns do. The situation was critical. The surgery was her only hope.

At the time, as I recall and I may be conflating the sequence of events, I was traveling near Houston for my work. Rob called me and asked that I return and give Kinzi a blessing. He felt that he was too close to the problem and fearing the death of his daughter, he might ask amiss, thus going against God’s will.

It was nighttime. I checked out of the hotel, jumped in the truck and rushed to Dallas. I think it was early in the morning when I arrived. I remember it was light but the sun was not yet up. I found the pediatric intensive care unit and joined Rob and Deycie in Kinzi’s room. They looked dreadful, the stress sapping every emotional, mental and physical strength they had. Kinzi looked worse. Rob asked me once again to bless his daughter. He anointed her with consecrated oil and then I laid my hands on her tiny head.

Then it came.

Before that day, I had given many blessings. You know, the normal kind, nothing special, relieving some minor discomfort or such. The previous blessings were almost perfunctory. After I stated Kinzi’s name I paused for some reason. I had never paused like that before at the beginning of a blessing.

Instantaneously there was such an infusion of spirit that I was overwhelmed. I mean exactly that. I had never felt such a thing yet I knew its source. It sensation was as much physical as it was spiritual. It was similar to (yet not) when we say our leg has fallen asleep. However, this was much stronger, very much stronger. At the same time, I knew what this was and I could not, nor ever would, deny what was happening. To this day, whenever I give a blessing, I always a pause for a moment after stating the person’s name. The same feeling always comes. When it does, I know I am connected.

In the heartbeat, I knew everything I needed to know about Kinzi. It wasn’t so much as her life passed before me like the proverbial pre-death newsreel, although I have used that expression to describe what happened, as it was pure knowledge. I knew that Kinzi would live. I knew that she would become a mother. I knew this as surely as I knew anything in my life. There was no equivocation; no doubt, faith was no longer a factor. It was knowledge. It was truth.

I do not recall the actual words I spoke. I imagine it was brief. When I removed my hands from Kinzi, I was calm, assured, and confident. I told Rob and Deycie to not worry, that all was well. Kinzi would live.

The surgery took place I believe either that day or the next. I remember going in to see Kinzi with Rob in the recovery room. She was splayed out on the bed like an ether saturated frog in a high school biology class. Tubes running everywhere, to and from places you don’t want to know. It had to be done but it was and is painful to witness and remember.

As she recovered over the next few days, I spoke with Rob or Deycie, to see how things were going. I visited them as I could. On one such visit, I remember Rob telling me of a young couple in the hospital whose child was born with too many complications to survive. Heart, lung, kidney’s, all were beyond healing. The couple was given their child and shown were the chapel was. They took their child inside…and waited.

Can you imagine the pain that couple experienced? To hold their child, just a day or so old, and wait for death to relieve it from its pain while introducing a new kind of pain that no parent should have to suffer? Can you then imagine Rob and Deycie, knowing of this other couple, must have feared for Kinzi as she lay in a bed across the room? Yet I knew different.

Five or six days after the surgery, I went to the hospital. The recovery was expected to take a couple of weeks at least. Rob and Deycie were exhausted. To prevent congestion, they had been instructed to take turns walking Kinzi back and forth, roughly pounding on her back as they did. I thought the pounding was excessively hard when I watched them but I was assured it was necessary. This was required every twenty minutes or so, around the clock, twenty on, twenty off. I recall looking at them, sensing they needed relief themselves. So I told them to go home, go to bed, and hold each other. I insisted on it. I would not take no for an answer.

Reluctantly they left. I picked up Kinzi and strolled around the hospital for the next 10 hours or so, pounding on Kinzi’s small back, alternating every 20 minutes. We went everywhere. I told her stories, whatever came into my mind, mostly to keep myself awake. She slept through most of it, I imagine due to the heavy medication she was on. My arms and back ached terribly but I recalled being determined to do this. Rob and Deycie needed some time alone. Kinzi needed this. I needed it.

The next morning, shortly after Rob and Deycie returned, Dr. Ring paid a visit to the room. I remember being there. I can see it, relive it, as I am typing this. Dr. Ring looked at Kinzi, examining her color and whatever indicators he was so well trained to see. He sighed and stated that he did not see any reason for her to remain in the hospital. Go home, get out of here. Five days. Not the expected two weeks. Five days. Do you believe in miracles? Do you believe God answers prayers?

A few years later, Lyn and I had moved to East Texas. I was a counselor in the Bishopic two month later when Rob called. He told me he as being called as the Bishop and asked me to be there, to support him. Of course, I went. But our families drifted apart. It happens. Life does that. A few years later, we returned to Utah and lost all contact with Rob, Deycie, and Kinzi.

Somewhere along the road, I learned that Rob and Deycie divorced, with Rob leaving the Church. It hurt. But this sometimes happens to the best of us. I do not know the reasons why, for the divorce or for leaving the Church. It is not my business.

Then, about four years ago, my youngest daughter was married to a wonderful young man, whose family was in the same ward near Dallas that both Rob and Deycie’s family as well as mine lived. At the reception that night, Deycie came from down from Idaho with some of her children. You must know by now, that Kinzi holds a sacred spot in my heart. It is impossible for me to even so much as look at her and keep my eyes dry. I cannot contain my emotions. When I realized Deycie was there, I looked for and found Kinzi. I had to leave the room. It was too much. I went to the restroom and tried to compose myself. I wasn’t very successful.

You see, Kinzi is a major foundation stone in my testimony. Not the cornerstone as that belongs to my Master. But she secures my foundation. There are parts of my testimony that are based solely on faith. The power of the priesthood, the healing gift God has given me is not one of those. This is knowledge. I have that gift and I know it.

We haven’t stayed in touch, Kinzi and I, as she matured. She is living her life, I mine. Then, just the other day, Kinzi emailed me. It seems that Kinzi has caught her a man. I have been tacitly watching Kinzi and Steve via Facebook over the last few months and I suspected, felt, the time was near. I was hoping and praying to be home so that I could attend the reception, if not the sealing.

Steve and Kinzi  2010
I have seen your life, little one.
 Live very long and prosper.

However, Kinzi asked me something unexpected, something special, something sacred. She asked me to be a witness to her sealing. You can imagine how I felt. This little girl, who is so important to me, who is part of the foundation of my testimony, has given me such an honor. I love her dearly.

With tears, this morning I thanked the Lord for such a privilege. I will be there.