Cleaning the Temple Sink...

Camera Meyer
Orem, Utah
2/2011

I was at the temple. It was our regular monthly temple trip. I always change into my whites and then stopped at the ladies room before going to the chapel. I came out of the stall and saw a Hispanic woman washing her hands at the sink. I walked up and started washing my hands next to her.  I watched as she finished and grabbed a few towels. She dried her hands and then proceeded to wipe down the sink and surrounding area before walking out. I smirked...must be a janitor or something and she's so used to it she doesn't even notice she's doing it. Wait. I stopped mid soap. Did I really just think that? Wow. Thats awful. I grabbed a couple towels. This woman was providing her service to the temple and patrons and I degraded her service by thinking such thoughts. I dried my hands and wiped down the sink and surrounding areas. I never saw that woman again. I don't really even remember what she looked like. Now I try my best to wipe down the sink after I wash my hands at the temple. Sometimes at church too. I've even done it at the movie theater. Every time I do, I think of that woman and lesson she taught me about service.

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.

Twelve Days of Christmas

by Cathie Wood Owens
Salt Lake City, Utah
12/2010

12 Days of Christmas

The year was 1995 and my husband was dying of kidney failure.  He had been on the dialysis machine for 20 years and his health was failing fast.  He withdrew from dialysis after a major health problem.  His health was so, that he was going to go to a care center and it was all arranged.  Then he asked me “can I just come home to die?”  So, he came home for his last 10 days on this earth. 

As we waited for the appointed time for him to return to our Heavenly Father, there were many angels that Christmas.  First of all the Spencer 4^th ward in Magna where we lived was filled with lots of angels.  They brought in yummy food every day, for my little family.  My son was 13 and my daughter was 7. 

The Christmas shopping had not been done, so Santa would probably not arrive that year.  However, two of my best friends Vickie & Barbara, from Beehive Clothing came to visit.  They asked if there was anything they could do.  I told them that the shopping had not been done, but that I had some money.  So, they enjoyed buying gifts for my two kids.  They brought all the gifts wrapped and put them under the tree.  What a relief to not go shopping and have things ready for Christmas.

I had lots of family support and they would come and take care of my husband while I ran to the store or return dishes to the ward members, and just got out of the house for a break.  I did not want to be away from my husband for very long so I would hurry as fast as I could.  This was the time that his mother could spend time with him also.  I slept on a mattress in his room so that all his needs could be met. 

Usually when someone takes themselves off of dialysis it is only a matter of a few days until they pass away.  But in my husband’s case, it took 10 days.  He always wanted to read the scriptures together.  In his last hour I remembered that we had not read together that morning so, his scriptures were there on the night stand.  As I read to him there was an immediate calm come over him and I knew he could hear my voice and was enjoying the time together.  You see, he had had some seizures in those final ten days that left him unable to talk. 

My sister in law Sherry is an RN and she came to our home after her work shift and was there to watch and give instructions that last day.  She would tell me some of the signs of a loved one passing and always knew what Steve needed. 

So much love and support was given, the phone was always ringing, the door bell with wonderful friends and family.  It was a hard time for me, but also a wonderful time of love and support.  The Comforter was so strong with me that there were many people that would say “I came to comfort you and you have comforted me.”  I am so grateful for the Comforter that Heavenly Father sends to us and the peace that is there.

While all of these events were happening on in the lives, our ward family was certainly filled with angels.  We started to receive a gift every night for the 12 days of Christmas.  We received pictures of the Savor framed, books, goodies to eat and a whole lot more, it was a wonderful diversion.  My children looked forward to the gift every night with much excitement.   The kids looked out the window to see who was coming to bring the next day of Christmas surprise.  But they never caught a one of them.  They were always so excited when the gift arrived and it was a wonderful time. 

My husband passed away December 19, 1995 at 12:00 noon.  It was hard to watch him pass, but he is now free from the pains of this earth and his earthly body.  Now I had to plan a funeral and get ready for Christmas.  Thankfully, my family was there to help, and one of my brothers and his family stayed for the whole Christmas time.  It was nice to have their company and support. 

All five of my brothers and their families, both sets of parents, and my husband’s brother’s family were there to give lots of love and support along with the Spencer 4^th ward members and friends from work.  I was so grateful to have so much love and support and all the angels that surrounded me, it was a very spiritual time in my life.   

The Lord lives and answers our prayers through others.  We are there to lift the burdens of those around us.  There is a time to give and a time to receive and we need to stay in tune with our Heavenly Father so we can be receptive to the needs of others and lift their burdens.  I am truly grateful for all the angels in my life and for their love and support.  Most of all I am grateful for the love of my Savior and His guiding hand in my life.  

Chicken Pot Pie

Audrey Call O’Brien

Provo, Utah

12/2010

Last night I re-learned priceless lessons through the kind service of an anonymous person in my life, and was reminded how immensely blessed I am that a wise Heavenly Father is aware of my needs, and prepares for them far in advance. Emotions mounted quickly as the reality of what currently was on my weeks plate became more then I could bear. The day had been "just one of those days"! Family interactions had blown up into a bit of drama and feelings were hurt, relationships were challenged, and frankly because I am just an emotional person I was emotional about the people I care about. I was feeling overwhelmed with the extra tasks the Christmas season demands, and lurking in the back of my mind some serious anxiety about an anticipated trip to Primary Children’s Hospital with my daughter. Before I proceed let me just say I am not a cook! I am not bad at it per say, I just don’t like it. It’s a challenge for me to get dinner planned and prepared and on the table every night. Our family life is so demanding that we usually only have the blessing of eating together on the weekends during wrestling season, but its super important that there is something of sustenance on the table when the girls eat and when the boys eat. I had been pretty on top of this in the previous weeks and days but as the day wore on I just didn’t have the energy to give. Just as my mind turned to what I could whip up and then as it lowered my weakened heart with that ever so ‘I don’t know that I have that to give tonight feeling’, a knock came to my door. and on the door was a freshly made chicken pot pie and a note that read ...

"Dear O’Brien’s, I realize that we may not have gotten this to you in time for dinner tonight, but we hope that this chicken pot pie might help make your week a bit easier. You can refrigerate it for a couple of days, or freeze for a couple of weeks but its better fresh. Bake at 425 for 35 min." 

With tears streaming down my face I walked over the oven and pushed bake and then the numbers 425. Then I walked down the hall and knelt down for a long emotional prayer. My Heavenly Father knew this was what I needed. And someone cared enough about me to follow the inspiration they received without any reasons behind it, not knowing what was going on in my life. I re-learned that I need to amp up my attitude of gratitude, I re-learned that I am not always the tool in HIS hands, that sometimes I am the recipient and that feels so good. I re-learned that I wasn’t relying enough on the Lord in my time of need. I re-learned that I need to get on my knees more

Nate, Audrey, Storie, Stockton and Saylor

often. And a new lesson,  I am making way here in this new home, new place, and that it’s not so bad, it still has its purpose.

A chicken pot pie made all the difference for me last night.

(You can read about Audrey and her remarkable family on her blog: http://hollandrocks.blogspot.com/

If you are curious about why 'hollandrocks' for the name of her blog, go to her blog and click on the link in the upper right corner. You will be blessed, I promise.)

Coincidence?

Brian & Lyn Rogers
West Bountiful, Utah
11/2010

Friday night I was leaving the Salt Lake City airport when I ran into a co-worker that I do not see very often due to my traveling. Occasionally I have seen Dennis on the train when I have taken it from work, but this evening, as my wife was picking me up I was not taking the train. I invited Dennis to ride with us as far as we were going. It would shave about thirty minutes from his commute. We walked out to where my wife was waiting and we took him to the Woods Cross train station, just a few miles from our residence, where Dennis would catch the next train to his stop.

After saying goodbye, as Lyn and I were leaving the station, an older gentleman, I would say about sixty five to seventy years old, flagged us down. He stated that he had been there only about two minutes and was stranded. He wondered if we were going south, into the city, by any chance. We talked briefly and discovered the fellow actually needed a ride to Saratoga Springs near Lehi, Utah. My wife said she had not plans for the evening, so we invited the fellow to get in the car.

As we were about to get on the freeway, I realized that I would be missing my evening meal so I asked the man if he was hungry and indicated to Lyn to stop at Burger King before we got on the freeway. We introduced ourselves him and he told us his name was simply Jerry and that he hadn’t eaten all day. We purchased our food and began our drive south.

In our chit-chat as we drove, he queried me about my job, to which he had many questions. The ride was pleasant and enjoyable; the conversation wonderful, including discovering Jerry was a member of the church. During the ride, Jerry offered to pay us for the food we purchased and for our trouble in taking him home. I simply asked him to pay it forward. Nearly an hour later, we arrived at his residence in Lehi. He thanked us for our hospitality and got out.

As my wife drove me to our house, we discussed the evening’s peculiarity. We found it odd, if you will, that as I was leaving the airport and purely by happenstance (?), I met Dennis as he was also leaving work. I see Dennis maybe twice a year, if that often. If either of us, Dennis or myself, had left work just ten seconds differently, we would not have met and I would not have offered him a ride and hence, my wife and I would not have been at the train station where a fellow was stranded, in the dark, in the cold, and hungry.

 As we were leaving Jerry’s house, a scripture came to my wife’s mind, which she shared with me:

 Then shall they also answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, or athirst, or a stranger, or naked, or sick, or in prison, and did not minister unto thee?  Then shall he answer them, saying, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these, ye did it not to me.

Coincidence? I think not.

THE Whistle

by Dan Whitaker
Salt Lake City, Utah
11/2010

I was a small boy when my dad decided to take me and my brothers to a Scottish Festival. I didn't know what that meant, but soon learned. I've always been in love with the drone and wail of bagpipes and I could hear them before I saw them as we parked the car. The sound raised goose bumps.

It was a cool, misty morning and there was a very large crowd milling about, visiting booths that sold items. There were bands marching to and fro, playing the wonderful music, drums beating and people were so happy. I saw huge men walking around in brightly colored kilts, complete with animal skins across their shoulders, tall fur hats and large knives in their socks of all places. I loved it.

But the crowds were pushing this way and that. At first I didn't notice that I was separated from my father. I was enjoying myself and the sights and sounds. But I was soon bumped and pushed and began to worry. I realized I couldn't see my father anywhere and I was lost, even in the crowd. I feared that maybe he had left me or that someone else might try to take me with them.

Tear arose in my eyes and I moved to a chain link fence. I held tight to the steel with my eyes closed, worried sick about what was going to happen. That's when I heard it.... My dad always had a very distinct whistle; one all his kids knew. It meant "get to work!" or "come here right now!" or "quiet down this instant!" We knew exactly what it meant every time we heard it. He never abused its power.

But there it was, the whistle; his whistle for sure, heard above all the din and noise. My head whipped around toward the sound. All I could see were legs and people and movement. But I knew his call and I let go of the fence and started in that direction. Within several paces I began to fear again. But, as clear as a bell, there it was again; his whistle, off to my right, and I knew what this version meant. It meant: "Where are you, my son? Come to me!"

I turned and pushed through the crowd toward the beckoning call. As before, I still couldn't see him, but I had heard him call and I knew he sought me too. For the third time, the whistle sounded, this time very close. Within four steps I saw him, looking frantically for me. I rushed to him and hugged his legs as tight as I could. I was safe and his love folded down upon me and the world was right.

My dad's gone now, but I still hear that whistle, much like the call my Heavenly Father sends out to me. Two fathers who want me to come to them, away from the throng. That whistle means safety and love, warmth and joy. I hear it, I walk toward it. I will join them.

My Second Chance

by Camera Meyer
Orem, Utah

11/2010

At the tender and impressionable age of sixteen, I began dating a young man. He was everything I thought I wanted. He was charming and kind, thoughtful and fun.  He was LDS. But it was all an act. Ever so slowly, he manipulated me. Five years later, I found myself unhappy, inactive in the church, distant from my family and with very low self-esteem.

I was born and raised in the church and always believed. When Sam and I were engaged I tried to encourage him to come to church. I would get dressed for church and drive to his apartment and wake him. Usually he wouldn't go. He would often convince me not to go either. Once I got him to go with me and he picked a fight about something stupid and we ended up going home. I told myself that my faith didn't depend on my attendance in church. I thought I was strong enough. I still believed. But I noticed the loss. It wasn't exactly darkness, but lack of light. Something was missing.

Then everything changed. His Grandmother died, and we rented her house from his aunt. We lived down the street from his parents and were in the same ward. He had to show face. We started going to church and he had to act happy about it to his parents. I knew he didn't like it but I finally got to go back. I cried my eyes out the first week. It was wonderful. I gained strength. I flourished in the light. My self-esteem grew. Sam found excuses to stop going but I didn't care. I went without him. I grew closer to the Lord and further from Sam. We spent less time together. He started going out after work and spending time with friends. Then it turned to avoiding me. I would walk into a room and he would walk out. I would sit next to him and he would move. I confronted him and he told me he wanted a divorce. I moved in with my parents. My family and I had drifted apart due to my choices in life, but I knew they loved me and would always help me. I went through the grieving process and came out better. I was at peace with myself. I could choose for myself. Now I knew what I wanted in life and what would get me there. I was no longer timid and unsure. Most of all I had my faith. I was living in harmony with my beliefs and found true happiness.

Then came Kai. We had been in the same primary class. We ran into each other and he got up the courage to ask me out in his own backward way. We were joined at the hip from the start, and contrary to my mother's belief I'm sure, much of our time together was spent studying the scriptures. He was fresh off his mission and I was thirsting for knowledge. He was so respectful of me, I thought for a time that he wasn't interested in anything more than friendship. He called me his girlfriend before he had even touched me. Our relationship began with our mutual respect and similar goals in life. We were married quickly, but this time I knew it was right. There was no question in my mind.

Now I enjoy life to the fullest. I live in a home where love is spoken. I am blessed enough to stay at home and care for my children while my husband works and attends school. I play with the sweetest children all day long and kiss those chubby cheeks hundreds of time a day. My husband and I are one person living in two separate bodies. We grow together. We point out each others faults, even though its painful, and work together on being better people. We study and pray together. We teach our children together. This is what marriage is supposed to be.

Be Thou an Example

By Evelyn Jepkemei

Nairobi, Kenya.

10/2010

Early 2004 marked the beginning of a new life for me. In February, a family friend and colleague of my husband invited my family to celebrate her son’s birthday party. My kids and I attended the party and as usual in parties met many people and made friends but there was a gentleman who had just moved from the United States and was keen to know more about Kenya, its politics, culture and economics. I invited him for dinner several days later, and he came with his son. When we offered coffee after dinner, they declined citing religious reasons. I was curious but did not want to pry, but I knew about Adventists who did not take tea. I later learnt from his staff that my guest at dinner was a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints otherwise known as Mormons. Up until then, all I knew about the Mormon church was too little and negative. I vaguely remembered a preacher who had talked negatively about Mormon and I had taken his statement as fact.

However I couldn’t reconcile how such a ‘smart’ lawyer could fall for a ‘false religion.’ Still, we continued to communicate with him regularly. I met members of his family when they visited Kenya and I found them completely devoted to the church and were very warm people. The conflict between my perception of the church and the character of these people caused me a lot of disquiet because I knew as a Christian that the Bible stated that  we could ‘know them by their fruits.’  These people were warm and wonderful and had an inner glow that to me, could not be consistent with a false religion. My friend spoke to me about the principles of the gospel and I could see he lived it. Although some doctrines differed from mine, it didn’t sound outrageous as I had feared.  In his work as a civic educator he held several anti corruption campaigns which I was privileged to attend whenever my schedule permitted and  I noted that he quoted scriptures often in the course of his work, and that was amazing for me.

Having trained as an educator and curriculum specialist, my assignments include evaluation of curriculum materials for our national curriculum. I specialize in Religious Studies (in Kenya it is part of the national curriculum) and we had interesting discussions with my Mormon friend. Still I did not dare read the Book of Mormon because I feared it might contain controversies that would destroy our good friendship. Interestingly, I enjoyed listening to him teach from the Book of Mormon.

One Monday morning in July 2004, I had an assignment to evaluate a certain version of the Bible and recommend if it would be useful for schools. As I read commentaries on various verses I found some interpretations that I personally felt were off the intended meaning, and so I called up my Mormon friend just to share my thoughts about the commentary with him. After a lengthy discussion, I was prompted to ask him how his theology and mine agreed when I wasn’t Mormon like him.   He told me ‘Evelyn you are a Mormon, because I know you seek after the truth …you just don’t realize it. Mormonism is about seeking truth’

As soon as he said that I felt a warmth in my chest, I could not breath and I did not understand what I was experiencing. He explained to me that it was the Holy Ghost bearing witness of the truth to me. It was the most wonderful feeling I did not want it to end. After that ‘incident’ I knew with absolute certainty that the Book of Mormon is true. I knew that Joseph Smith (whom my friend talked about frequently) is God's prophet and I know beyond doubt that the church is true. Weeks later the missionaries taught me and I went into waters of baptism on 4^th September 2004.

I wanted to experience what my friend and his family had. As they lived the gospel, they had an inner glow that made anyone who knew them want to know what they had. They became a wonderful example to me and really without trying to convert me, led me to the true gospel. After baptism I had to relinquish positions in the church where I had served. I lost all my friends because of the negativity with which the church is viewed by many and that really hurt. My husband and my parents do not approve of the church.

My comfort however was that my children obtained a testimony and are active in church though they need their father’s consent to receive baptism according to Church Policy.  The callings I received in the church helped me learn more about the church and even though I did not know much then, I learned a lot from sisters in Relief Society and the entire church program. The church has become a vital part of my life, has answered important questions regarding my life. It has healed scars that I had in my life before. I now know I why I’m here and that fuels my determination to do my best and live the gospel ‘Though the world may deride” (Hymn 77) My work means more to me now than just a means to earn a living I do it to please my Heavenly Father, the gospel has affected the way I relate to others for the better.

In 2008,  I was able to visit the Temple at Mt. Timpanogos Utah, and received my endowments. Though I have had and still have persecution, I have joy that never leaves me and the love I receive from my stake and branch leaders is more than riches, for they have loved with the love of the Savior. My membership in the church means I am on my path to my eternal home and without it I’m nothing. It has blessed my family especially my children and for that I’m grateful. I try to be an example to others just like a friend from Utah was to me. I have served in several callings in the stake, and currently serve as the Young Women President in my branch, and serve as Media Specialist in the National Public Affairs council.  I am grateful that my younger brother who had been wayward, came to know of the gospel and is now serving a mission in South Africa Johannesburg. My parents have since become friendly to the church and are supportive.

We all can shine the light of Christ by the way we live, even before we speak. By our fruits they will know we are followers of Jesus Christ.

A Speaking Assignment...

by Jake Jacobsen

Lind, Washington
10/2010

I don’t know if everyone is destined to marry a particular person or not.  I don’t think so.  But I believe that some couples have made pre-mortal covenants, or at least, for reasons easily apparent only to God, that certain people are brought together by divine appointment.   The choice of a companion certainly has far reaching ramifications, considering the potential of marriage to create generations and relationships that extend eternally.  

God works in mysterious ways.  He sends incompetent, intellectually and spiritually illiterate teenagers on missions as His voice to the world.  He leaves the future in the hands of hormonally driven, wisdom deficient young people.   In both situations, missions and marriage, He is close at hand - prompting, nudging, and inspiring.  Some people need more help than others.  I am one of those. 

In the LDS Church, members generally attend the ward or branch in which they reside.  The same is true at BYU.  Student housing, on and off campus, is sectioned into wards and stakes, and students are expected to attend the unit of their residence.  Like many other students, I looked to my ward for social opportunity.   Unfortunately, the demographic disparity of my ward was discouraging.  Half the ward members were marriage-minded returned missionaries like myself.  Twenty-three years old and ready to improve my station in life.   The other half was giggling girls, fresh from high school, who just wanted to have fun. 

I was grumbling to a friend, Brent, about the paucity of serious minded sisters in my social circle.  He suggested – or rather insisted – that I attend his ward, a veritable cornucopia of ready and willing women.  He also extended an irresistible invitation to Sunday afternoon dinner prepared by his wife Cheryl.  

I was shy by nature and socially inept, so my failure to meet any girls on my first visit to Brent’s ward was not surprising.  They were there, just as he has said, and that was encouraging.  I was warmly welcomed by Ward leaders who where sympathetic to my situation and willing to annex my apartment.  They assigned me to a singe adult “family” home evening (FHE) group.

The following evening, it being Monday, I went to FHE.  A girl answered my knock.  Since no other visitors were apparent, I asked if I had come to the right place for FHE.  She turned, leaving the door to the apartment open, and said “yes” as she walked away. 

I stepped into the living room and helped myself to a seat.  More people came, and girls appeared from other parts of the apartment.    They conversed among themselves but no one spoke to me.  When I said “hello” and attempted to introduce myself, I was ignored.  Thus unable to gracefully enter any of the conversations around me, I decided to remain silent.  There were eventually twelve people in attendance.  None of them knew who I was, or cared.  During the course of the lesson, the teacher, a scholarly appearing young lady, asked each person a question in the order in which they were seated, but skipped me.  No one (except the girl answering the door) said a single word to me the entire evening.  I was invisible.   I determined that I would not return to Brent’s unfriendly ward. 

Brent thought I should give it one more try, and unfairly enticed me with another Sunday dinner invitation.  The next Saturday afternoon, after closing my store (I owned a pet store in Provo at the time), I was working on some projects, when I received a most surprising and distinct impression – that I would be giving a talk in Brent’s ward the very next day.   I immediately dismissed the thought as foolish.  No one had asked me to speak.  Speakers were chosen weeks before.  I was not even a member of the Ward.  I had attended once.  I tried to go about my work but the feeling persisted and insisted.   I started to prepare a talk.

Some people are blessed with the ability to stand and give wonderful talks extemporaneously or from notes.   Some people can speak from the promptings of the Holy Spirit.  I am not one of those people.  When I stand in front of a congregation my mind goes blank and the Spirit is silent.  If inspiration comes at all, it better come during preparation, because I write out every word and do not deviate from the text.   Heavenly Father understands this.  It was the reason for the warning.

I wrote into the wee hours of the morning and before Church the next morning.   Priesthood meeting was first on the schedule, then Sunday School and finally Sacrament Meeting.    During Priesthood, I took out my talk and put it away again several times as I debated the authenticity of my “inspiration”. 

By Sunday School, I had convinced myself that the promptings were just my imagination.  I was doodling when the First Counselor appeared at the classroom door and motioned for me to come out.   He said the main speaker for Sacrament Meeting had suddenly become ill and wondered if I would be willing to fill in.   “Of course”, I replied, “I have been working on a talk since yesterday evening.” 

The talk went well.   I kept what I wrote that day, and some of it can be found here: http://www.stormandsong.com/the-song-of-redeeming-love.html .  Additional parts are incorporated into other chapters at the same website.  After the closing prayer, a number of girls pressed toward the stand and were heading in my direction.  Horribly embarrassed by the sudden attention, I slipped out a rear exit.

That evening I went to Ward fireside.  Before I had even entered the room, attentive ladies surrounded me.  Some handed me slips of paper on which their name and phone number were written.  At FHE the following day, most of the questions were directed toward me.  Everyone was suddenly friendly.  I had achieved visibility. 

Because I remained in the ward, I continued enjoying Sunday dinner with Brent and Cheryl.  It was there that I met Helen, Brent’s sister.  Helen became my social secretary and planned my schedule each Sunday afternoon.  Sometime later in the semester, Helen introduced me to a friend – a recently baptized young lady who had transferred to BYU from Oral Roberts University.   She was incredible, with long hair down to her waist and a beautiful testimony.  I had seen her in a vision, two days before I entered the mission home in Salt Lake City.   We were married six months later. 

Perhaps, had I not given my talk and not remained in the Brent’s ward, we would have found each other anyway.   I don’t know.  I only know what happened, and because it happened, I am eternally grateful. 

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 Cookie Tin...

by Jane Peterson Banks  10/2010
Las Vegas, Nevada

The Christmas season is stressful when you are out of work. We had been out of work for nine months by then. We were surviving but we were behind on our bills. We had been trying to be very faithful in attending our meetings, paying our tithes and offerings. We were hopeful that after the first of the year my husband would find work. We had not told a lot of people of our situation because lots of folks were in the same boat. I love the spirit that the Christmas season brings with it. We had, had several neighbors come over and we exchanged our goodie plates and cheerful wishes. One evening we had a knock at the door. We went to answer it expecting to see another of our neighbors but instead all we found was a cookie tin. We checked around but no one was there. We saw tail lights from a car heading up our street that was all. We yelled out into the night, Merry Christmas and thanks. We took the cookie tin in and decided to enjoy a cookie from within but to our surprise it was a tin with money in it. We were dumbfounded. We looked at each other and I started to cry. It couldn't have come at a better time. There was enough to pay our house payment with a little left. We felt so blessed by the generousity of someone. The Lord knows what you need. We did not ask for money directly but for work, so, that we could take care of our obligations. I know Heavenly Father loves us and blessed us through someone else that Christmas. I know that the Lord hears and answers prayers. I pray I can live close enough to the Spirit that when it whispers, I can be His helping hands here on earth.

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.

Firewood

by Deb Robinson
Mountain Home, Utah
9/2010

In the spring of 1990, at the age of forty, my husband Gary was told he would never work again due to injuries he received while serving his country in the Vietnam War. After seventeen years of U.S Federal Government employment, the Federal Government no longer had a job that he could do; and Gary was subsequently fired, retired and then placed on Workers Compensation. This was a process that took over six years to complete.

I had been a stay-at-home-mom (a decision I still do not regret to this very day) and really didn't have many skills that would hep supplement our family's very meager income. We were to live on less than $400 a month. We had a daughter entering college, one in high school and one in elementary school. We made the decision to return to the Uintah Basin where we knew we would be accepted even if we didn't have much. Shortly after our return to the Basin, Gary underwent a second back surgery and had a stimulator implanted to help manage his pain.

A great lesson was taught to me that following winter. We were renting a small home, paying rent only when and if we could afford it. Our children were on the free lunch program. We ate game meat that the boys shot while their Dad watched and taught the skill. The week before Thanksgiving, our Bishop brought us Thanksgiving dinner (because we were the family in the ward who needed it the most) donated by someone in the ward. We didn't use it for Thanksgiving, but it was used thankfully throughout the next few months. The boys gathered wood so that we could heat our home with the small wood burning store that was in the home. We were slowly getting enough wood for the coming winter.

One day, one of the neighbors arrived at our home with her son and a large truckload of split firewood, enough firewood to heat the small home for a good portion of the winter. I told this young man's mother that they didn't need to bring our family wood, we could gather our own. We had healthy, strong boys; we could and would do it. We didn't need the wood; we would be fine, surely there was someone in the area who needed it worse than we did.

The mother lovingly took me aside and in a Christ-like manner taught me a lesson. She said,  "Please allow my son the opportunity to provide service. It is important for him to be allowed this opportunity to serve."

Yes, we are always taught: "When ye are in the service of your fellow beings, ye are only in the service of you God." Mosiah 2:17. This load of firewood taught me one of the greatest lessons in life. The lesson I learned is not only do we need to give service, but also if we are the recipients of service, we need to be thankful for it and graciously accept it. If we do not allow service to be rendered, we are denying those who serve the opportunity to be in the service of their God.

I see this young man, now a grown man, some twenty years later and know he probably doesn't remember the load of wood he brought us. But I do remember and am grateful for the lesson his load of firewood taught me.