An
old, dear friend called. His sister was being baptized. He and his
wife are serving a mission elsewhere, and they couldn’t be
there. The place was up by the temple, about a forty-five minute
drive. We had never met his sister. Would we go in their stead?
Of
course we would.
Chris
had joined the Church in high school, and he is now retired (twice).
We’ve known him for about thirty years. He’s been a
bishop, Young Men president, scoutmaster, legendary leader of
fifty-mile hikes, community emergency response leader, and memorable
character.
He’s
the kind of person that becomes well known beyond his own ward. The
gospel has formed the patterns of his life, in service, values, and
devotion, but none of the rest of his family had ever joined the
Church. Until now, about fifty years later.
Every
convert’s story is tender, or thrilling, or miraculous, or all
of the above. A baptism is a spiritual event, and it’s always
a blessing to attend. She shared her story briefly as part of the
program, telling how it came to be the right time, a testimony that
lifted every heart.
The
room was nearly filled; clearly there were many people who had taken
her into their hearts and lives, and she will be well cared for in
her new journey.
One
of the things that touched me was the opening prayer. The person who
offered it was direct and pure in her humble approach to the Father,
and her love for a sister who was now entering into a cherished
blessing, the first ordinance that would bring her into the kingdom
of God.
Her
English was fluent but it was clear that English was not her first
language, and the sense of care she took in finding the words she
desired pulled our attention to them more particularly.
She
asked that R. would remember this day always, that she would remember
this day when she had troubles, and that she would feel the Spirit.
She
prayed that the Spirit would send strength to Bishop S. that his
hands would be strong, that R. would feel his priesthood through
them, in safety, as he held her up and then laid her down into the
water and brought her up again, even as our Savior laid down his life
and took it up again for us. Those were her words.
Bless
his hands. It made me think of the many moments of connection in our
lives as we serve and gather as Saints. The strength to recognize
both love and power in the hands that bear us up, as this bishop did
in performing this sacred ordinance. The embrace as we meet and stop
for a friend at our meetings on Sunday. Hands placed upon our heads
to feel the power of true gifts through a priesthood blessing that
might set us apart for a calling, or calm our turmoil during a trying
time, or answer our request for physical healing.
I
thought of the sacrament and its promises, taken and received every
Sunday that we meet together. As we let it, that quiet sacred time
recharges and purifies us in our renewal of covenants.
There
are so many moments of blessing, that can seem common enough because
they are simple and frequent — but they are never ordinary, not
if we see truly. Truth doesn’t require drama.
Those
moments are less ordinary and more meaningful to me as I get older.
It’s not that their nature has changed, but that mine has. I
have gained experience over the years, being brought through traumas
both physical and emotional. We all encounter them, somewhere along
the way.
Life
is quieter than it used to be, so it’s easier to attend on
prayer and pondering. My trust is deeper now when there are no
immediate answers to very immediate problems, and I’m better at
understanding the long view. The eternal view, in fact — which
doesn’t seem so remote as it once might have.
Alma,
in Mosiah 18, asked those who had followed him out into the
wilderness if they were willing to bear one another’s burdens,
mourn with those that mourn, and comfort those who were in need of
comfort, as well as stand as witnesses of God and be called his
people. He promised that God would pour out his spirit more
abundantly upon them, and they cried out in joy, “This is the
desire of our hearts.”
Not
just willing, but yearning to receive that promise and walk that road
with all of the faithful. That resonates with the power of love,
connection, and radiance that all of us once knew with our Heavenly
Parents. Priesthood power is God’s power and God’s love,
and all that operates through it brings us to find joy.
Ordinances,
fellowship, connections — earthly and divine, the differences
aren’t so distinct. The strength that finds us isn’t
only from this side of the veil.
I
think that when we return home, we will see how many instances of
help, how many times we felt love walking with us that brought peace,
had in fact come from those who love us beyond the veil. They do not
cease to pray and watch just because we cannot see them, and faith is
always power — the more so when it is undistorted by the fallen
conditions of this world.
May
we feel the hands that bring us strength. May we be the hands that
offer it, and so live that eternal moments, connecting moments, sink
deep and blossom in our souls.
Marian J. Stoddard was born in Washington, D.C., and grew up in its Maryland suburbs. Her
father grew up in Carson City, Nevada, and her mother in Salt Lake City, so she was always
partly a Westerner at heart, and she ended up raising her family in Washington State. Her family
took road trips all over the United States and Canada, so there were lots of adventures.
The adventures of music, literature, and art were also valued and pursued. Playing tourist always
included the local museums as well as historical sites and places of natural beauty. Discussions
at home, around the dinner table or working in the kitchen, could cover politics, philosophy, or
poetry, with the perspective of the gospel underlying all. Words and ideas, and testimony and
service, were the family currency.
Marian graduated from Winston Churchill High School in Potomac, Maryland, and attended the
University of Utah as the recipient of the Ralph Hardy Memorial Scholarship, where she was
graduated with honors, receiving a B.A. in English. She also met the love of her life, a law
student, three weeks after her arrival; she jokes that she had to marry him because her mother
always wanted a tenor in the family. (She sings second soprano.) They were married two years
later and have six children and six grandchildren (so far). She treasures her family, her friends,
and her opportunities to serve.
Visit Marian at her blog, greaterthansparrows. You can contact her at
bloggermarian@gmail.com.
Marian and her husband live in Tacoma, Washington. Together they teach those who are
preparing to go to the temple for the first time, and she also teaches a Stake Relief Society
Institute class.