My Father's Child

I remember how the words stung. I was in my early 20s when a friend called my Grandmother a bigot. Stung like a smack in the face! At first I was offended! I wanted to defend her…but as I thought about it, I realized the word fit. "Prejudiced" was a kinder word which I, myself had used when referring to my Grandmother. But in the eyes of those who did not know and love her as I did, she could be seen as a bigot. I knew the reasons for her prejudice, though, yet I believed what I knew was true about her, that she was a good person.

Let me explain just a bit. Grandmother was orphaned at a very young age, subjected to the cruelties of life as an orphan in the early 1900’s. She endured a hard life that shaped her opinions and her self image. Later, as a young woman, she worked as a studio page at MGM Studios. She began building a new life- the kind many young women dream of even today. She shared an apartment in the Los Angeles area with a roommate, a Jewish woman whom she had met at work. Grandmother’s Hollywood heyday life might have looked glamorous, but working so close to the Hollywood scene opened her eyes to all kinds of seamy things. She witnessed well known stars, also Jews, who preyed on young women or young men in their dressing rooms. She witnessed studio moguls, again Jews, care more for their money making than the people with whom they worked. One day, she returned home from work to find that her roommate had moved out, taking EVERYTHING in the apartment with her, including the furniture that had been purchased by my grandmother. She was devastated, to say the least. For whatever reason, she could no longer distinguish between wrong actions and race. And so, her prejudice began. It was fueled, I’m sure, by the actions of many others. Yet, when I was with her, I only witnessed her kindness towards others. She was generous and thoughtful. Whatever she might have said about race or color, I saw her ACT a different way. My actions towards others were first influenced by an earthly Grandmother, but my understanding of infinite love and kindness and how to love others was deepened by my belief in my Heavenly Father. I came to understand that before anything else, I am my Father’s Child.

Strong and wise—captivating eyes, Magnificent being.

Spirit bright, emanating light Now hid from our seeing.

You forget who you are You, who outshone the stars.

Amazing smile

You are your Father’s child.

I know (as do you) that the wrong actions of one Jewish person does not make all Jewish people bad (pssst, I think Grandma understood that, too). There are many, many more good, honest and delightful Jewish people, some of whom I am blessed to count as dear friends, who are just as repulsed by wrong actions as you or I might be.

Fast forward several years, to when I announced that I was expecting my third child. Grandmother was alarmed, “Why would you bring more children into this awful world?”  she demanded. However rudely stated, I understood that grandma shared her opinion because she loved me, it didn’t make me mad at all. My response was evidence of that understanding, “Well, Grandma, I knew that you would still be here to love my children, so everything will be ok.” And there it was, the truth…we loved each other. She loved my children. That love bridged all the gaps in our beliefs.

I believe, then and now, that we are all children of Divine origin, Children of a Heavenly Father, and each has a spark of goodness inside us. I believe our Heavenly Father loves us all equally. Because I love Him, I want to be like him, to follow Him. I try so very hard to love others equally as He does. Now loving others does not mean I need to agree with their actions. In fact, the opposite can be true. My love for my two year old son does not mean that I let him run free, into the busy street to be squished by cars. I love him and because I do, I must say what I believe is right. His protests for freedom don’t change my love or my resolve to keep him safe. I believe running in the street isn’t good for you. You might disagree. I disagreed with Grandma’s assessment of having more children, but it didn’t make me love her less. Nor did my desire to have more children cause her to love me less (to the contrary, she loved all of my children immensely).

So now we are in a world where right and wrong are sometimes mixed up. Where good people understand things differently than other good people. Just as my grandmother understood her world differently than I did. The truth is, we are all good people! Whatever you believe doesn’t change my love and concern for you. Just because I disagree with you about something and say so doesn’t mean I don’t love and care about you. Hopefully I have learned to express my opinion more lovingly than my grandmother did, but if not remember that I still love you. That spark of goodness in each of us can still shine through. My grandmother shared her sometimes prejudiced opinions with me because she loved me. I still let her. On the occasions when I did not agree, I still knew that she loved me. Just as I will ALWAYS love you. Friends included!

I love the words of Thomas S. Monson, “Never let a problem to be solved become more important than a person to be loved.” You, my dear family and friends, are much more important to me than the earthly policies and politics that surround us. We are bound by loving ties. Your actions will not change my love for you, you must know that. We must never let our ideas cause us to hate each other for if we become haters, if we become true bigots, we will not be able to see the real Truth before us. As has been so beautifully and perfectly modeled by the wonderful people in South Carolina, we must continue to love each other, even those who seek to hurt us, and continue to remember who really are, our Father’s Children.

Now there were none before or after like Him 

He was God with us and is God still

In life and death His love for us defined Him 

And to do His Father’s will

And so He came to save

Because you are your Father’s child.

(Your Father’s Child by Kenneth Cope)

O My Father

(If you think I wrote something similar a while back, I did here. This just shows that sometimes the feelings return and I have to talk myself through them again.)

Father's Day is coming. My widowed friend mentioned this was a hard day for her to attend church. Not that she wouldn't go, because partaking of the Lord's Sacrament and renewing sacred covenants is, after all, the reason we go to Church and is far too important to pass up. But that it's just hard, being widowed- the father of her children is not present on a day set aside to revere fathers. We discussed the difficulty our children might have on Father's Day as well. How many people feel lost on these occasions? It hurt to think that celebrating something wonderful and God-given, as fathers are, would be difficult for some of us.

I thought about the first Father's Day after my dad had passed away. There was much in my life to be happy about, yet the sadness was still there. My Dad was gone from this life and I missed knowing he was there, even while I heard others speak of their fathers and the things they had planned to do together. A few weeks later, I was invited to sing at a funeral. The man was much older than my father had been when he passed away. He'd had more opportunity than my own father or even my late husband to have a fatherly impact in this life. There were not only grandchildren in attendance, but great-grandchildren. He had been beloved by all, even those who disagreed with his faith. One grand-daughter said, "He was like another dad to me. If I was mad at my dad, I couldn't be mad at Grandpa."  I wondered, who are my second fathers? Surely I had them...but who were they? 

The words of the song were poignant:

"O My Father, thou that dwellest in the high and glorious place,

When shall I regain thy presence and again behold thy face?"

(Hymns, O My Father, 292, Eliza R. Snow)

On the surface, the words sound like a hymn for the fatherless, but they are not. The poet is referring to our Heavenly Father. One who is Father to all of us. 

"Our Father, by whose name all fatherhood is known,

Who dost in love proclaim each family thine own."

 (Hymns, Our Father By Whose Name, 296, F. Bland Tucker)

I thought about the many people in our lives who act as second fathers, even when we have good fathers present and active in our lives. I thought about my sons, how they love their children, but how they love their nieces and nephews also and how they can be like second fathers to them. All around me are good men who teach their sons to be good men. I can be thankful for that. 

I thought of my Heavenly Father, of the many blessings HE showers down on me. Regardless of our situation- whether we have living fathers or not, or if our fathers have been involved in our lives or not, or any other of myriad father situations, we all have a Father who loves us and is there for us. Just like earthly fathers, we can deny His existence, we can exclude Him from our lives or we can turn to him for everything. But unlike earthly fathers, He will never leave us, even when we turn from him. He is always there. 

I know there's the whole line of thinking that we should honor our fathers and mothers every day, so why make a fuss on one day? And there's good reason in that thought, but we DO make a fuss on one day. And we rob ourselves of a lot of happiness and good memories if we let our bitterness or grief over our earthly situation sideline us from such celebrations. Maybe it's my 'party girl' instinct, but on this Father's Day, I choose to jump in. I choose to celebrate good fathers of all kinds. I will celebrate my sons who are wonderful fathers and uncles. I choose to appreciate and thank good men everywhere who do father-like things for others. And, most of all, I can praise and worship my Heavenly Father, who made a glorious earth and placed His beautiful children on it. He made a Plan of Happiness where we can learn and grow and gain eternal blessings! And He loves and blesses me and my family every day. On this Father's Day, I choose to gather with good people at church where we raise our voices in praise to Him. 

"And now we'll sing great praise and rev'rently recall

The Holy One who gave his Son,

The Father of us all."

(Children's Songbook, Fathers, p.209, Dawn Hughes Ballantyne and Joyce Mills Jensen)

Time to Love (or why I became a college dropout after age 50)

I post this with a caveat to my children and grandchildren: I am not in any way suggesting that you drop out of school or if you are thinking of going back to school, I am not suggesting that you shouldn’t. Each of us have individual decisions to make related to our lives and fulfilling our potential. My hope and prayer is that you prayerfully and honestly examine the priorities you have set in your life. Sometimes sacrifice now is necessary to achieve greater potential in the future, sometimes the sacrifice now is too great. This is MY decision and why I made it.

I love to learn new things. I think most of us do. Although I dropped out of college when I got married, I continued to learn. I devoured my husband’s textbooks and most other books I could find. As personal computers came of age, I learned all I could about them. I recognized their potential to do great things and eventually (in the 1990s) taught myself HTML markup language and created a personal website (yeah, I know, HTML is now almost obsolete, but only almost). More than once I considered going back to college and getting the degree I started out to get. Then I realized that my dreams and hopes and plans had changed and perhaps I wanted a different degree. Oh, and there was the cost. At a time when my own children were starting college, it seemed there wasn’t quite enough time OR money to support my own degree seeking. Still, I continued to learn about things, many things.

Finally, an opportunity arose to attend college and it seemed I had the time to do so. Thanks to BYU-Idaho’s Pathway program, the tuition was quite affordable. And what better place to obtain a degree? BYU! (Go Blue! Rah!) So, I embarked on a college journey while simultaneously wading through the waters of grief after the passing of my husband. Sometimes I felt I was in deep water, perhaps even over my head water, but the impending homework deadline was screaming from my laptop, so I would push those thoughts aside and stride right back into the collegiate ocean. 

Then came the Math semester. My struggles with math (documented in this post) meant that it took more and more of my time to complete the assigned work. I mean, talk about DEEP water! I had learned to approach my learning with prayer, and that did help, but only after many, many hours of study and work was I able to complete that semester. I was amazed, but I escaped that class with a B! Wow! I breathed a sigh of relief- the college degree seemed attainable after all. I still wasn’t sure what kind of degree I would seek, but I plunged back in.

Well I’m not sure I’m wiser

But some things are clearer

And it’s getting clear that I’m not here for long

So what am I to do with my few minutes here in this place?

That is, until I was visiting with some of my (step-) children. I was on a college break, between semesters, and was enjoying time with family. I commented that I wished I had time to see them more, and my step-daughter said, “But you always have homework!”. Ouch. I drove home that night pondering…what was I sacrificing? Who is most important? I do not have small children at home. But my children and grandchildren are no less important. And there are so many! Even if I text or call them all in a week…well, there aren’t enough days in a week. And so began a season of pondering. What is God’s plan for me right now? Is college really part of that plan? A wise person said to me once, “These earth-life days and hours are sacred hours. We will not get them again.” Well, duh. Was I making the most of my earth hours?

And we hear the world sigh with its aches and its pains

We see the grass wither and watch flowers fade

What my heart told me was not what my brave, educated mind wanted to hear. But as soon as I knew it, I knew it was right. I do not want to spend these sacred earth-life days worrying about homework deadlines and test scores. I want to spend time loving and serving. I want to have the time to sink deep into sacred scripture and not worry about if I’m writing an appropriate discussion board entry. I want time to to make a journey to see grandchildren (ok, and their parents) without worrying about getting the homework done before or after or during that journey. I want time to do His work without hurrying home to complete an online test.

But oh, there’s a day that is coming

When everything will be new

And oh, God will dry every tear

And everything sad will be made untrue

And oh, it’s gonna be a celebration

All of creation longs for

And while we’re waiting for that day to come

We’ve got a little more time to love.

Now, if you’re thinking that maybe I’m not using my time wisely, remember that my singular lifestyle means that I do EVERYTHING myself or I pay someone else to do it. I choose to pay someone to take care of my pool, so that I have time to enjoy using it. We all make trade-offs. I no longer want to trade sitting in front of my laptop doing homework for sitting with grandchildren on my lap reading books together. I no longer want to trade slipping out after a meeting so I can complete homework by the deadline for slipping a homemade treat onto someone’s front step. This is the time I have, and there is only so much of it (and me) to go around. I have been ultimately blessed and I want to share it. For me, at least, doing His work does not mean doing homework. 

There are little ones hungry for love of a family

So many hungry for bread

On the left and the right surrounded by the last and the least

And just down the street and just across the table

Hungry hearts are waiting to be fed

‘Cause deep in our soul we’re all longing to be at The Feast

But until we sit down where there’s more than enough

Let us give as we’ve been given and love as we’ve been loved.

(A Little More Time to Love by Stephen Curtis Chapman)

Thomas S. Monson has said, ""We cannot call back time that is past, we cannot stop time that now is, and we cannot experience the future in our present state. Time is a gift, a treasure not to be put aside for the future but to be used wisely in the present.”

In my present, I want a little more time to love.

Stolen Memories

Precious memories, how they linger,

How they ever flood my soul.

The police officer looked me with a straight face, "Who do you know who wants to take all your stuff?" I stared back at her. Names and faces ran through my mind, but I quickly sent them away. Who indeed? Who would take things that have great meaning for me personally?  Who would want the silver rings and pins made by my grandparents? Who would gain enjoyment from wearing jewelry my mother wore? Who would want a box full of well worn and loved pocketknives belonging to Robert, set aside to give to our grandsons?

But someone did want, and so they entered my home while I was away and took them. They stole my memories. They took precious gifts from my husband, things saved for later, things beloved by my mother and grandmother. They dumped drawers on floors, emptied closet shelves and looked through boxes and cases, scattering the contents about, leaving only a portion of what was there before. Now part of me was missing. Gone.

I remember the next morning, December 23rd, weeping again, as I realized just how much my things were a part of me. As I dressed for work, the ring once belonging to my grandmother- gone. The necklace, given to me by Robert- gone. I looked around. No silent reminders of family or love or anything. It felt as if Robert had left again, I missed him. Intensely. I try not to be a 'thing' oriented person, so I was surprised by this. But his things were gone. "Robert's love is eternal," I reminded myself. I didn't feel frightened. In fact, I felt complete comfort. I felt enveloped in peace and during that day, even though the confusion of loss remained, I knew and recognized the Divine Signatures of the Lord as the day unfolded. "They are only things," I reminded myself. Although the stolen things could never be replaced, I was thankful that at least that I was ok. My family was ok. My little dog was ok. Still, I ordered an alarm system.

And then, as if taking a few things wasn't enough and before the alarm system arrived, the robbers returned a week later and took even more. I stared at the dining room floor where silver knives lay, the silverware drawer empty, handmade Irish lace linens tossed aside (at least they didn't take those!). My grandmother's silverware gone. Who does this? And I cried. Too much of me was missing now. Not just when I dressed for the day, but now the things I used and loved in daily life.

Then the next wave of unwanted feelings arrived: I trusted no one. I began to feel afraid. Everyone was suspect. "This is not me," I think as I close every blind in the house, shutting out the sunlit back yard view and the purple Ruella blossoms. As I prepared to leave for work, I did more than a routine check. Locks that weren't usually locked were checked and locked. I took special note of where and how I left things. Who will try to steal my life while I am gone? And as the fears began to race through my mind, I prayed that God would help me lose the fear. 

And He did. He changed my heart. Now I felt concern. Not for me. Concern for a thief. I wondered what kind of person would have such a need that they could violate someone else's space in such a way? "They [thieves] don't think like you and me." the police officer had said. I knew that was true! (C'mon, you know I have to laugh, right?)  I knew I wanted to forgive that person. What if I met them? How would I feel? What would I say? We think of people like this as poor in Spirit, as needful, and we assume they feel remorse. It's easy to forgive remorse. What if there is no remorse? What if they cruelly melted my grandmother's sterling jewelry without a thought for the care and love she poured into it? Then how would I feel? I know what I WANT to feel. I want to feel charity. I want to forgive as I have been forgiven. I don't want fear, alone-ness or mis-trust to invade my life, and for that reason, I needed to forgive. 

How do I forgive someone who has taken parts of me away? It's easy to find comfort in THINGS, isn't it? I miss Robert, but I still have his wedding ring. Wait! It's gone! What will remind me now? Again, the distinct Divine Signatures of the Lord arrived. As I juggled demands of work, holidays, insurance adjusters, and life in general, things slipped into place in amazing ways. There were moments that worked out miraculously and as they did, I felt the impression from the Spirit, "I am aware of you! I know what your TRUE needs are, and I will give them to you as you need them! You need only to remember Me!" 

"Always remember Him" is the sacred promise I renew each week. When I do that, I feel charity toward those who have stolen from me. When I remember Him, no one can take His love away. No one can take Robert's love away. I need not fear, for I am always in His care. No one will steal my peace or my joy, for they are given by One who knows and loves all. And that's enough.

" Fear not, little children, for you are mine, 

and I have overcome the world, and you are of them that my Father hath given me;

And none of them that my Father hath given me shall be lost....

Wherefore, I am in your midst, and I am the good shepherd, and the stone of Israel. 

He that buildeth upon this rock shall never fall.

And the day cometh that you shall hear my voice and see me, and know that I am.

Watch, therefore, that ye may be ready."

(Doctrine and Covenants 50: 41-46)

A Baby Brings So Much Hope

Years ago, my friend Sally and her family found themselves in a hard situation. Their joint business venture with another family had failed, they lost their large lovely home and as they tried to repay creditors and investors, they became financially strapped. They moved to a much older and much smaller home. But before they could begin this process, Sally gave birth to another beautiful baby. I asked her if she felt as if the baby added to the stress of the situation. “Oh no!” she replied, “It was the perfect message from Heavenly Father, a reminder that even when we had lost so much, we still had what was most important, each other. A baby brings so much hope!"

“Come, Lord Jesus, to the Manger;

May we see thy tender face?

Great Creator, here a stranger,

Infant in this humble place."

Many of us find ourselves beset with sadness at this Christmas season. For a variety of reasons and in a variety of ways, we sometimes find it difficult to reconcile the happiness of the season with the sadness that surrounds us. Not so long ago, I found myself wondering the same thing. I wondered if I would ever feel the deep joy that comes when my heart is full of purpose. In my head I knew the answer; I knew what things were most important, but my heart just wasn’t feeling it.

I decided a purposeful study of Scripture was needed. What better way to feel the answers I needed than by reading the words of the prophets? I knew myself and my hectic schedule needed a little prodding, so I signed up for a class. I knew the requirement to daily ‘dig deeper’ would force me to take time to ponder, not just to read, but to read long enough to feel. 

Darkness scatter, Morning swell;

Come, dear Lord, Immanuel;

As part of the class, we were to choose an attribute, something we wanted to develop. And so the adventure began, as I studied and planned and, eventually, I noticed some progress in my feelings. I re-learned that faith is an action word, that to daily feel of God’s love I needed to also act. I prayed for, looked for and found ways to serve, often anonymously, that I might act on the faith I needed and felt. Sometimes the acts were small. And often, so was my progress.

October flew past, November began, I recognized that gratitude was also essential to warming my heart. As I recognized the many blessings in my life, my eyes were opened to more and my heart once again began to feel a deeper joy. And then, as if to test my resolve, a grandson arrived six weeks early. While his mother and father stayed in the hospital with him, two sweet siblings stayed with me. As the two kiddles and I snuggled together on the sofa one evening, we read a Christmas story. I remembered my friend’s words, “A baby brings so much hope!”. There it was…even while one baby struggled for life, we all had hope. Then I was reminded of A BABY who came to ensure that all would go well for all of us forever!

A few days later, a newly widowed friend said to me, “I just can’t be happy at Christmas. I have lost so much, I will never be happy again.” As I wrapped my arms around her in a hug, I knew the answer: A baby. A Holy Baby, the Savior of the World. Together we wept, but these words brought us peace, “…And he shall go forth, suffering pains and afflictionsand temptations of every kind; and this that the word might be fulfilled which saith he will take upon him the pains and the sicknesses of his people.

And he will take upon him death, that he may loose the bands of death which bind his people; and he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities.” (Alma 7: 11-12) 

Come in glory to the earth,

Come to us to rule and reign,

Ready us to kneel and greet thee,

Come, Lord Jesus, Come! 

I will always celebrate Christmas! This season is the season of Joy! Even the saddest, most heart wrenching things can become a path to know of God’s love for us in a greater, deeper way. I know of pain and heartache. I know of loss. I know there is One who heals all wounds, binds up our broken hearts and fills them with joy. He gives us peace, love and purpose! How can we turn away from celebrating Christ, who gave us everything? The baby who brought so much hope to the world! 

"Without Christ, there would be no Christmas. Without Christ, there can be no fulness of joy. Without His birth and His Atonement, we would have no Intercessor, no Advocate with the Father, and no Mediator who makes it possible for us to return to the presence of our loving Heavenly Father and live together as eternal families.” Bishop Gary M. Stevenson, Liahona, December 2014, The Reality of Christmas.

Each Word Chosen Carefully

But behold, I shall take these plates, which contain these prophesyings and revelations, and put them with the remainder of my record, for they are choice unto me; and I know they will be choice unto my brethren. (Words of Mormon 1:6)

Grandma Zehrbach always told the best bedtime stories. On warm summer nights when I couldn’t quite settle into sleep, Grandma would lay beside me in the twin bed that used to be my mothers, and tell me stories about little girls quite like myself. The crickets outside the window sang and garden scents floated into the room, as the princesses in my dreams climbed trees just like I did and had grand adventures just like mine. The little girls in Grandma's stories were always smart and wise and kind, just like me. Oh how I loved her bedtime stories! 

My Dad told stories too. His were true- about his childhood. I laughed so hard I cried when Dad told about chasing a greased pig as a boy, slipping and sliding around the pasture (Ew!). And the time Grandma put a pot roast on to cook while everyone went to church. Everyone, that is, except for Uncle Bill, who was working on the railroad. He arrived home shortly before everyone else returned and finding a delicious pot roast on the stove, sat down and ate the entire thing! I never met Uncle Bill, but I think his appetite was carried on to my sons. 

I love scripture stories, too. I always have. I am filled with courage when I read of Daniel in the lion’s den, courage to do what was right even if it is scary. When I read of the young boy Jesus teaching in the temple, I recognized that sometimes children go to church when their parents don’t. And so I did. Soon enough my parents joined me, but those first years of church attendance were fueled by an understanding based on scripture. 

I am a child of the modern age,

I am a son of the present hour.

What can these words from so long ago

Mean to me now?

The Scriptures exist today because someone (actually, several someones) bothered to write them down. How beautiful are their words! Their voices speak peace to my heart and mind, and because of sacred words, we are all instructed in the ways of the Lord. 

We are the prophets, years gone by.

We spent our days, we gave our lives

For a record which was written not for us,

But for you. And every word is true.

Thankfully, someone wrote my Dad’s stories down (most likely Mom), as well as the stories of many other ancestors. Dad’s stories provided a foundation of love and acceptance for others that has continued in my heart ever since.  The longer I live, the more precious their words become to me. Yet, there is a small thing missing- the stories of their struggles and trials. My grandmother was widowed at a young age…how I wish she had recorded her thoughts and feelings. I have only her living example witnessed through youthful eyes to help me understand how to go on. Those stories, written and un-written have inspired me as I continue writing memories and testimonies of my own- for my children and grandchildren.

Ancient prophets like Isaiah, Paul and Mormon wrote not just to make a record, but to specifically make a record of their testimonies for future generations. Isaiah looked into our time and made a record of his warnings. My faith is stronger because of their words. I am lifted to a place of understanding as I read and, like Mormon, the words are choice unto me!

Each word chosen prayerfully,

Laid down carefully in its place.

For here, from so far away,

We have seen your day

And we pray;

Hear what we have to say!

(What Can They Have to Say? - Steven Kapp Perry)

Endure to the End

The nice looking business man in the airplane seat next to me said, “Yes, I was saved a few years ago when I became a Christian. I’m always learning new things about what that means, and how to have faith.” We talked about faith as something that grows as we use it, but sometimes using faith is hard. Later I thought about his comment about being ‘Saved’. 

So often people believe that being saved is a single act; words spoken as the Spirit moves our hearts, and that’s all that is needed. But being saved involves so much more than just saying so. We know that His Grace is sufficient for everyone. But truly being saved involves acting on our faith daily. It involves remaining to committed to His gospel through thick and thin, and by following His example. 

"And I heard a voice from the Father, saying: Yea, the words of my Beloved are true and faithful. He that endureth to the end, the same shall be saved.

And now, my beloved brethren, I know by this that unless a man shall endure to the end, in following the example of the Son of the living God, he cannot be saved."
(2 Nephi 31:15 -16)

One of my dear friends was stricken with Multiple Sclerosis while in her 30’s. From the very beginning, she has displayed such a cheerful attitude and has been faithful in enduring. She enjoyed a short reprieve from the effects of her disease for a time, during which she had two beautiful children. But soon, she began to lose strength and agility in her legs. Before long she was walking with the aid of crutches. Yet she remained positive and cheerful. She is known by many as one with a delightful sense of humor. One day I bumped into her in the grocery store, she was using a motorized scooter. But the light in her eyes was unmistakeable. She was not only enduring, she was improving spiritually. Several months later she called to let me know that her family was going to be sealed in the temple. I was thrilled for her, but I was also greatly impressed with her joyful determination to endure to the end. She is an example to me of someone who could easily say, “I’ve been saved, and my life is hard, so I’ll just sit right here and do nothing more.” but she has instead continued to serve others, serve her family and love and serve the Lord. And she does so joyfully. To me, she is a happy example of Enduring to the End.

The very word ‘endure’ implies some kind of hardship, or resistance. Even so, I don’t believe our enduring has to be mournful or sad. What is the point of enduring if we cannot feel joy at knowing the source of our endurance, the Savior’s Atonement? I love the simple reminder in Nephi’s words, 

"Wherefore, ye must press forward with a steadfastness in Christ, having a perfect brightness of hope, and a love of God and of all men. Wherefore, if ye shall press forward, feasting upon the word of Christ, and endure to the end, behold, thus saith the Father: Ye shall have eternal life."
(2 Nephi 31:20)