Faith of Our Fathers

A few weeks ago I accompanied the Youth of our Stake on a week-long trip to historical sites of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. It was a wonderful week spent soaking up the vibrant energy of the teens we were with punctuated by several powerful faith building experiences as we walked the paths of the early Saints.

Among the locations we visited were Nauvoo and Carthage Illinois. These sites are significant to members of my faith because of events that transpired there in the 1840’s.

The early church experienced significant growth in a short period time after being organized by the prophet Joseph Smith. These early converts gathered together in Kirtland Ohio and Jackson county Missouri. Soon these settlements grew to be some of the largest cities in their respective states.

Especially in Missouri the swelling ranks of the Mormons incurred the wrath of the neighbors. Their ideas about religion and the fact that they tended to vote in a united block threatened the interests of those who supported slavery at that time. Soon armed mobs were terrorizing the Saints. Homes and crops were burned, people severely beaten and killed, women raped, and leadership arrested on accusations of treason. This all culminated with an extermination order issued by the governor of Missouri which made it legal to drive the Mormons from the state and murder them if they would not go.

All this because a group of people wanted to practice their religion in the way they saw fit.

The members were driven out of their homes in a brutally cold winter with barely the clothes on their backs. The suffering endured is difficult to imagine. After a period of time they settled on the banks of the Mississippi River in a swamp that no one else would possibly want.

They then toiled and built the city of Navuoo, which means beautiful in Hebrew. It truly was a beautiful city with the gleaming white temple at the center.

Then in 1845 Joseph Smith and his brother Hyrum were martyred by an angry mob in Carthage which was located a few miles from Navuoo. The prophet was there under the promised protection of the governor of the state. History records that he was left to the designs of those who openly vowed to kill him in hopes of destroying the Church.

To their great surprise his death did not level the religion he had led. Once again the Saints were forced to leave their homes under threat of violence to cross the frozen prairie and move far enough west to a place they could finally live in peace.

The more you know about their situation questions begin to form. Why didn’t these people just give up, disavow the church, and go back to a life where persecution wasn’t raging around them? As I visited these sites the spirit of those pioneers seemed to imbue the landscape. There is a tangible feeling of faith and hope that penetrates your soul. These are sacred places.

It became clear to me that these people didn't just believe but knew that Gospel of Jesus Christ was a restoration of truth upon the earth. That Joseph Smith was exactly what he purported to be, just a man and a prophet called of God. They knew that God was at the head of this Church. They knew these things so deeply that they were willing to give their lives for the Kingdom. It led them from Jackson County to Navuoo and from there into the Salt Lake Valley and the thousands of graves that lie along the trail are testaments to their belief.

So what to do with this knowledge? How does their sacrifice apply to us today?

Elder Dallin H. Oaks

 “Many of our challenges are different from those faced by former pioneers but perhaps just as dangerous and surely as significant to our own salvation and the salvation of those who follow us.  For example, as for life-threatening obstacles, the wolves that prowled around pioneer settlements were no more dangerous to their children than the drug dealers or pornographers who threaten our children. Similarly, the early pioneers’ physical hunger posed no greater threat to their well-being than the spiritual hunger experienced by many in our day. The children of earlier pioneers were required to do incredibly hard physical work to survive their environment. That was no greater challenge than many of our young people now face from the absence of hard work, which results in spiritually corrosive challenges to discipline, responsibility, and self-worth. Jesus taught: “And fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul: but rather fear him which is able to destroy both soul and body in hell” (Matt. 10:28).

In the latest Ensign Magazine President Thomas S. Monson, the current President of the Church and prophet wrote

“A dictionary defines a pioneer as ‘one who goes before to prepare or open up the way for others to follow.’ Can we somehow muster the courage and steadfastness of purpose that characterized the pioneers of a former generation? Can you and I, in actual fact, be pioneers?

I know we can be. 

Oh, how the world needs pioneers today!”

Studying and understanding what the early Saints went through will inevitably lead one to the question “why did they do it?” Finding that answer for ourselves will allow us to follow in their footsteps and do the work God asks of us today. We can draw strength from their example and unite in heart with those wonderful people of the past. We too can sing with full purpose of heart that "all is well" even as the storms of life swirl around us. God was with them and He is with us as well.

I invite you find out for yourself what those Saints and I know. There is nothing more important. It will change your life.

Cheers,

Brenda

To find out more or request missionaries to visit with you please visit mormon.org.

A Teacher of Girls

Here is a story of true love for your Valentine's Day. 

At fifteen I was a wannabe rabble rouser. An insecure, rebellious, plaid flannel wearing, grunge rock listening teen that shunned make-up and anything “girly”. The main interests of my life were the all consuming quest to date a drummer in a garage band and to be the most sarcastic kid alive. I went to the Young Women activities on Wednesday night only because my friends were there. I had no use whatsoever for the floral dress wearing leaders that wanted to teach us how to quilt and do crafts.

Sunday’s were much the same with me attending church mainly by force of my sweet mother. I did my best to be a pain in the you-know-what to the teachers and rarely paid attention to the lessons. It was on one of these Sundays that a new YW President was deposited in our midst. I immediately didn’t like her, mainly because she intimidated me.

Sister J was a stately looking woman with perfectly coiffed silver and black hair. She was immaculately dressed and wore flawlessly executed make-up. When she walked into the room all chatter stopped. She was a powerful presence.

She introduced herself in a business-like manner and class went on. I could tell immediately that she was going to put the kibosh on all of my mouthy shenanigans, and I was not happy about it.

Time passed and true to my prediction the new President did bring me into line, but not in the way I had imagined. She firmly but patiently included me in any discussion that was being had. Then she really listened to what I had to say. She let me know that she expected me to treat her with respect and she returned the favor. She treated me like an adult.

Over the course of the next year the woman I had thought was going to ruin all of my fun turned out to be an unexpected role model and friend. As Laurels, our class met at her home every Wednesday night for activities and we loved it. My three best friends and I soon became more than just girls in her class, we became "her girls". We could be found there other nights besides Wednesday, watching movies, hanging out, and having Gospel discussions.

She was a trusted confidant when it came to boy trouble, friend issues, and questions about the meaning of life, love, and happiness. She didn’t give pat answers but helped us really understand and learn about God’s love and plan for His children. She helped us gain perspective and rise above the heartbreak and drama of our High School world.

She had a fabulous sense of humor. When we visited and the hour grew late she would say to us in a deadpan voice “I love you girls, but get out”. Then she would smile and hug us as we went out the door.

She took us to Salt Lake City to see the Mormon Tabernacle Choir sing Handel's Messiah at Christmas in the Tabernacle. Something she assured us everyone must do once in their life even if it meant enduring an eight hour journey in a camper with a malfunctioning toilet. Many a Renuzit air freshener was utilized on that trip.

During the summer she held water balloon volleyball tournaments in her back yard much to the watery and sun burnt delight of those involved.

In the middle of a snowy January Sister J finally bought the car she had been dreaming of all of her life, a white convertible. She immediately picked us up and we went for a drive in the 13 degree air with the top down. As that frigid wind blew through our hair she smiled bigger than I had ever seen.

More time passed and graduation from high school neared. As we prepared ourselves to enter the real world Sister J was right there. Directly after the ceremony the four of us met up at her house for a last hurrah. She encouraged us to cherish the friendships we had made and helped us to understand that things were changing. She was convinced big things were ahead for all of us.

It was sometime near this time of our beginnings that we learned that Sister J was approaching an ending. She had a rare form of adult onset leukemia. Not to worry; it was a slow moving disease and even though it would eventually take her life there would be many years before that would happen.

College, marriages, missions, babies, and work took the four of us far from one another, but any chance one of us returned home, a visit to Sister J’s was on the agenda. Wit, wisdom, and love would always be dispensed as she related the lessons learned from the difficulties she experienced in the course of treatment for her cancer, and the pain she so bravely endured.

Then ten short years from her diagnosis she was gone. Once again “her girls” gathered together to remember her, and laugh, and cry. She was buried on a hilltop overlooking a valley. She would have loved the wind that blows through your hair in that place. As we stood at her graveside trying to hang on a little longer you could almost hear her say. “I love you girls, but get out.”

Sister J was a teacher of girls, a teacher whose love and wisdom shaped the lives of those who came under her care. She was a person who followed in the path of the Savior.

Thomas S. Monson said “Each of us can be a leader. We need to remember that the mantle of leadership is not the cloak of comfort, but the robe of responsibility. Perhaps our service is to youth. If so, I caution: “Youth needs fewer critics and more models.” One hundred years from now it will not matter what kind of a car we drove, what kind of a house we lived in, how much we had in the bank account, nor what our clothes looked like. But the world may be a little better because we were important in the life of a boy or a girl.”

Sister J was a model and not a critic, and in being who she was changed the world for at least one rebellious teenager she was called to serve. I know there were many others as well.

Now as one of "her girls" I find myself in the position to pass on her legacy to the next generation, it is something I hope I can live up to, it's important.

Thanks Sister J and Happy Valentine's Day.

Cheers, 

Brenda

Tales of a Teenage Twit

In conversation with my two adolescent sons the other night they asked me a pivotal boy question. “Mom, are all girls crazy?”

Let’s be specific here, we were talking about teenage girls in particular and the fact that they tend to be “stalkers”. Now the term stalker is serious and should rightly be treated with the levity it deserves. What we were referencing was normal teenage girl attention and twitterpation towards individuals of the opposite sex. So for my purposes I’m going to call them Twits.

These are regular Twits and not the Twits on Twitter, although it is possible to be both. I was a Twit before it was cool. I can only image what I would have been like if social networking had been available back then. (Head on desk.)

My personal journey on the road to Twitdom began in the 8^th grade with a poor boy named Beau who I called and hung up on 4,758 times in 2 month period. I just wanted to hear his voice and never had the nerve to actually speak to him. This was just before caller id, *69, and cell phones came into being and ruined that activity for girls everywhere. I still remember the phone number… his poor family. 

With the kibosh put on the ring-and-hang-up, my friends and I moved on to covert operations. This included stealing corrected papers out of the school boxes of some of these guys, as well as carefully documenting their daily movements through school, work, church, and athletics so that we could just happen to run into them as often as possible. “Wow, I can’t believe I’ve seen you, like, 12 times today. What a coincidence.”

At the end of every day we would spend hours either in person or on the phone going over every detail of what had happened in regards to our targets that day. “He asked me to hold his sunglasses at band practice, he must like me!!!”  

The weekly church dances were another opportunity for contact. We would move in flocks back and forth from the gym to the bathroom to either revel in the joy of being asked to dance by the flavor of the month or cry on a sympathetic shoulder when snubbed. The bathroom was also our hideout when one of us was experiencing the same kind of attention we were dishing out.

Later on as driver’s licenses began being obtained the twitting included driving past the homes of the boys we liked at regular intervals. Every Friday & Saturday night after we had concluded the goings-ons for the evening we would drive past the home of someone that one of us was currently obsessed with, just in case he might be getting in at that exact moment.  

My dear friend Shauna had a particularly long-lasting crush on a boy and we made a habit of buzzing his house 2 or 3 times before going home. One night on our way back from seeing a movie with some other friends we realized that Shauna had fallen asleep in the passenger seat. Like clockwork we drove to the house and pulled to a stop, I leaned over and pulled the door open and several of us shoved Shauna out onto this boy's front lawn. We then quickly pulled the door shut and roared off into the night, laughing hysterically.

Don’t worry, after a quick turn around the block we went back and picked her up. I’m not sure I’ve ever been completely forgiven for that but she was a terrific sport about the whole episode.

Luckily the rotating roster of boys that we followed around never seemed to be too interested in us. I can’t imagine why. Age and maturity eventually set in and we finally adopted a philosophy that was summed up in a song Shauna’s mom taught us.

Here’s to the boys the we love

Here’s to the boys that love us

But the Boys that we love

Aren’t the boys that love us

So to heck with the boys here’s to us!

So the answer to your question my sons is yes, teenage girls are crazy. And what a fun and exciting time of life it is.

Cheers,

Brenda

Do you have any tales of your own?