Ode to Bruce and Sara

I would like to dedicate this post to my brother Bruce and his wife Sara. They are awesome, and I want the world (the teeny tiny world of those who read my blog) to realize that I am so grateful to have the brother I have. And I am grateful for his wife Sara.

Just a few weeks ago, Bruce and Sara hosted a gathering sponsored by my daughter Kelli. She and Allen are driving big rigs and so were not home at Christmas time, so they wanted to have a post-Christmas party to see whoever they could. I did not take pictures of that, but my cousin Mary did.

Allen, Kelli holding Ben, Zoe, Louise with Rachel in front, me, Gordon, Miriam, Andrew, Nancy holding Alexander, Josie, Sara, Bruce and Don. (Mary is taking the picture.)

This was on January 12. Sara prepared a delicious meal, supported by some potluck provided by all of the rest of us, and then she did the clean-up, for the most part. I really appreciate that Bruce and Sara will be the hosts for things that we all benefit from. Thank you so much.

Then, this weekend in Idaho, Bruce and Sara rented an AirBnB. They got the message out that Sara was going to prepare dinner for those of us in our Arnold and Pearl Conrad group who were attending Burt's funeral, and to top it off, Sara asked Nancy and I where we were staying, and when we truthfully replied that we didn't know yet, she said, "Well come and stay with us in our BnB." They had rented a little single wide trailer on a little farm in Ucon. There was an extra bedroom where Nancy and baby Alexander stayed, and I slept on the couch. It was perfect.

Sara made a delicious meal of pork chops plus more, supported by poke cake made by Elizabeth and family, and applesauce made by Wally. Here we all are, satisfied and happy with full tummies. (Alexander looks like he is so ready for bed, doesn't he?)

Back: Bruce on the left, Wally on the right. Middle, me on the left, Colleen in the middle, Bridget on the right. Front: Sara, Elizabeth, Judy, Nancy and Alexander.

Same, except LeRon in Wally's place, and Bridget has moved to Judy's lap.

I put on events in the library, and my brother supports me whenever he can. Tonight, he came to Hymn Sing, and then walked all over creation with Josie and I to track down my coat that I misplaced earlier in the day.

Nancy blogged about math, and remembered Bruce tutoring her during high school, and I think also when she was taking her UVSC math class. He is a very kind, thoughtful, and helpful brother. He is someone who can be depended on, and who is considerate. Bruce is also kind to Judy, his former wife, and her husband Wally. Like, he brought home from Idaho the things that Judy forgot. I can think of some former spouses who would not be so gracious about doing things like that. The way he treats Judy with such respect is a great blessing to their children, and a very good example of civility and forgiveness. This is something that I appreciate about all four of them (Bruce, Sara, Judy, Wally.)

I am glad that Bruce and Sara found each other. I appreciate the service that Sara gives, so willingly. Like, getting me breakfast at the BnB. Sharing what she has, her food, her space, her love. They are both wonderful, Bruce and Sara, and how thankful I am for them!

Here is a picture of my brother Bruce with his friend Phil. They were 3 Musketeers in Taber, the two of them and Burt. See how they are smiling? Colleen took this picture of them, and even though they were so very sad about losing Burt, they are still smiling. Through red-rimmed eyes.

This made me think of a song. Music by Charlie Chaplin.
Smile though your heart is aching
Smile even though it's breaking
When there are clouds in the sky, you'll get by
If you smile through your fear and sorrow
Smile and maybe tomorrow
You'll see the sun come shining through for you--

Light up your face with gladness
Hide every trace of sadness
Although a tear may be ever so near
That's the time you must keep on trying
Smile, what's the use of crying?
You'll find that life is still worthwhile
If you just smile

I appreciate my brother summoning a smile despite his sadness. All in all, my big brother is a good example to me, and I love him.

Pictures and stories

Our mother took pictures whenever she could. She taught us well to document our lives! Unfortunately, I am not a great picture-taker. Some people just have an eye for how to frame a shot. I am not one of those people. However, I decided to jump up and take some pictures at the luncheon after Burt's funeral, because nobody else was doing it! My mother was poking me from heaven, saying, "You need to take some pictures." Because after all--when we took pictures at Karen's memorial service only two months ago, weren't we glad we did? Burt was in those pictures. Who knows who would not be there to be in the next set of pictures? Make hay while the sun shines--or take pictures while there are people to take pictures of.

So I am just going to share some pictures and some stories, in no particular order. I am going to number the pictures so that if anyone who reads this wants to comment about a picture, there will be a picture number to refer to. And if anyone who reads this wants to tell me who the people are who I can't name, that would be great too, for proper documentation.

I will start with this picture, Picture 1:

This is a picture of the plaque displayed in the chapel at Ucon, Idaho, where Burt and Kathi attend church--their missionary plaque. Their really awesome Bishop (Bishop Pugmire) offered to open the cabinet so there would be no glare, and I joked that he was the man with the power. He said, "Oh, I don't know about that...I am not even sure that they trust me with the key to this cabinet." And in fact, though he tried all the keys of the approximate size, none of them would open the cabinet. So, we are left with glare.

Burt and Kathi loved their stay-at-home mission! When we were able to visit with them at their home in May, they were full of stories about experiences they were having. We in fact were timing our visit around their responsibilities as missionaries. They were so happy to be a missionary couple!

We only found their missionary plaque because Nancy had to move all her things out into the foyer to sort through after Alexander decided a waterfall was needed at the table. Nancy happened to be spread out on the floor right under the missionary cabinet. Hence, we saw the plaque!

Kathi was being an excellent hostess, going around and visiting with the people at every table. Working the room, is what I call it--that is what I do at viola events--and Kathi was being so sweet to make every person who attended Burt's after-party feel like they were important to her. I mean, because everyone is important to Kathi--but instead of giving in to the tiredness that grief can bring, she was, characteristically, thinking of others and not of herself. This is her stop at our table.

Picture 2:

Uncle Wally, Bridget, Aunt Judy, Kathi and Elizabeth

I missed what they were talking about because I was getting out my camera in answer to my mom's nudge to use it--but I love the faces. Bridget, Judy and Kathi are all leaning in to hear something with nearly identical expressions. I think my brother Bruce is saying something--and they don't want to miss it!

Behind our table, you can see the Peterson table. Phil, DeeAnn and some of their progeny, in Picture 3, although the actual subjects of this picture are Bruce and Sara.

Kathi, (Elizabeth is there but not visible), Bruce and Sara

And on the other side of our table, Picture 4:

Nancy and Alexander, Auntie Colleen and Uncle LeRon

It was such a bonus, having Colleen and LeRon there! Glad they were able to come.

Behind them, you can see the table of Harding cousins. The lady directly behind Colleen is Alene's daughter, with her husband. He is native American, and reminded Elizabeth of my dad, but Judy could not see that. Right behind Nancy is the man who helped keep Alexander entertained during the funeral service. He would take Alexander's doll and wrap it in the blanket and hand it back and forth to Alexander without tiring of it. His wife is Fay (Harding) Gibson's daughter. And on the other side of the table, you can see David Walton. We grew up playing with the Walton children when they would come to Taber. Many a Sunday afternoon, Arlene and I, with Margaret and Marie and Bryce and Jimmy Walton (and Diane! I forgot about Diane!) would run quite wild in a very non-Sundayish kind of way, doing things that our parents probably would not have quite approved up. (Having the dogs dig up mice nests, throwing cats in the pond, and otherwise raising havoc.) David was the oldest Walton, so not in my league. They also had a sister, Janet, who was about the same age as my cousin Ruth.

My Auntie Beulah came from a very large family of Hardings. She was among the oldest, and her mother died young. Auntie Beulah had been away from home teaching school, and moved back to Taber to help her dad with all the young ones. Hence, she felt very motherly toward her many siblings. Growing up in Taber, and being close to Auntie Beulah, meant that I also knew some of her siblings very well, and knew ABOUT the others. I called her sister, Burt's mom, Aunt Ethis for reasons I have already explained, but I also called her sister Madge, Auntie Madge. Marie and I played with Tina, Madge's adopted daughter, and I grew up feeling close to Madge. Three of Auntie Beulah's brothers (Leonard, Don and Jesse) were very familiar to me and I was friends with their daughters.  My mom was friends with Alice, Leonard's wife, from her phone operator days. Auntie Beulah's sister Naida was the mom of the Waltons. My cousin Harold lived with the Waltons while attending the University of Calgary, and we visited him in their home. So the Hardings were not my relatives, but certainly were a  big part of my young life.

I wanted to get to that table to take a proper picture of them, but I missed that table and a few others because A) people started to leave and B) Alexander decided to create the afore-mentioned waterfall by successfully reaching and up-ending a pretty much full pitcher of water all over himself, his mother, the table, several chairs, the floor and the diaper bag.

After photographing our table from all sides, I moved on to the table filled with Burt and Kathi's grandchildren, for Picture 5:

A bit of James' daughter, Kate (Annie's daughter), Annie, then two of Becky's daughters, and I need names! IDK the name of the younger sister-- I think Lauren; the older one is Cailyn (which is the correct spelling--I looked it up.)

Story about Kate: Kate went missing the summer of 2017, when she climbed a tree and then fell, rolling down a hill into a ravine, and got disoriented. To hear the story properly, you need to have Kathi tell it to you, or Nancy, who has a better grasp on the details than I have. You can also read the newspaper article, but it is also lacking in detail. Or you could ask Kate herself and get the best details of all, because I guess she knows them better than anyone else! Or ask Annie, if you want her take on how it feels to be the mom of a 13 year old who goes missing in the forest in Oregon!

The other side of the table is Picture 6:

Lorenzo Conrad (son of Jon), a Mollinedo boy (son of Annie), Josephine Conrad (daughter of Jon), the High School Junior daughter of Becky (Sara?), a daughter of James, and a son of Annie. 

I know that Annie's sons are named Paulo and Giancarlo, but I don't know who's who. I am sorry that I don't remember the two girls' names. They told me. I forgot. ARRGH.

When Annie got married, Josie and I went to her wedding. It was a very small wedding, without a lot of fuss. Annie is not one for fuss. After the wedding, we went to that Chinese restaurant that I should know the name of because Patrick and Garion worked there for YEARS. Their boss, Sylvia, was friends with Burt and Kathi because they had gone to that restaurant a lot. That is where they held Annie's wedding dinner, which was all the celebration she chose to have. Josie and I sat with Jon and Lorelei and their children. I think that Lorenzo was the baby on that occasion--I know that Josephine was not born yet. Madison was the only girl in their family at the time.

Some time before Annie got married, when she went on her mission, Madison sang at her farewell. She was just a little girl, but what a voice! Double dose of music genes, with her two grandfathers being Burton Conrad and Randy Bachman.

In the background of this picture (6), you can see both of Burt's sons with their Uncle Steve. This was the only picture that I got of Jonathan. Who I used to babysit when he was an adorably cute little tyke during his father's last year at BYU.

Picture 7:

Becky and her husband, John Bosworth, but I don't know who else

Becky is the mother of four daughters. When there were only two daughters, Becky and her family lived in Michigan. They would fly out to visit her parents. Upon one occasion, Burt and Kathi wanted some one-on-one time with their daughter without the grandchildren. They asked Nancy if she would babysit Becky's two girls. Nancy was a lifeguard for the City of Orem, and her shift that day overlapped with the time that she was needed to tend Becky's daughters. But that was fine, because we could just have the little girls over to our house to play with Josie, who would have been about 8 or 9 years old.  Becky's little girls were about 2 and 3 years old.

Picture 8:

Cailyn and Emily behind Nancy and Alexander

The girls were playing. Bruce had put a Disney movie on as well. He asked me what the girls' names were. I had been told their names, but you know--in one ear, out the other. Or just me using my great talent for forgetting--I am pretty amazing at doing that! I could not remember their names. So I asked the most verbal child, the oldest one, "What is your name?" "Snow White," she replied solemnly. "Snow White?" I asked in consternation. (I was pretty sure that was NOT the name I was forgetting...Snow White is kind of memorable.) I pointed at her sister, "What is her name?" "Emily," Snow White said. "Your sister is named Emily, but your name is Snow White?" I asked. She nodded. I tried another tack--"What do your parents call you?" "Snow White," she said.

So we just went with that! All night long, she was Snow White.  I went and picked Nancy up at the rec center, and she took over tending the girls, but she, too, could not get Snow White to budge from that name. I am sure it was a fantasy fulfilled for her! She got to spend the whole night being Snow White! I know her name now, of course, but she will always be Snow White to me!

Picture 9:

DeeAnn and Phil Peterson, Colleen and LeRon Torrie

Picture 9 features the Petersons and the Torries. Phil was, of course, a good friend of both Burt and Bruce my brother while growing up in Taber. Phil came into their lives at about age 11 or 12. Funny story about Phil--he dated Renee Harris from Taber, and then after breaking up with her, and while at BYU, he dated a girl named Peggy Swenson. After he broke up with Peggy, he dated and married DeeAnn. Renee married Neil Nordquist, and they moved to the tiny town of Grassy Lake where Neil was at least a teacher, but I think the principal, at Chamberlain School in GL. Where, of course, Colleen and LeRon live, the Torries having farmed there for generations now. Peggy, who is (I think) a Utah girl, but certainly an American girl, after dating a Taber boy, began to date a Grassy Lake boy--LeRon's cousin Will Redd. She married him and moved to Grassy Lake. What are the odds that these two girls who both dated Phil Peterson would move to the tiny town of Grassy Lake, Alberta, and serve in a Relief Society presidency with Colleen Conrad, Phil's good friend Bruce's little sister? I am told that sometimes Phil DID come up in conversations among those women!

Picture 10:

Doug Conrad, Burt's brother, his son Chad, some people I don't know Judy (Conrad) Craig and Darcy Craig, Randy, Robert and Laura Baker.

Isn't Doug a very handsome man? He was a handsome young man, I remember that, and he has aged very well. He is also at present very teary-eyed about losing his wife, Wendy, who died in September 2017. And then his sister Jeanette in November 2018. And now Burt. Too many. His son Chad is beside him.

The Bakers are three of the children of Jeanette Conrad Baker Cannady. When I was a young girl and would tell my cousin Marie that I was going to Raymond to visit my cousins, she would always say "I have cousins there, too! The Bakers." I got to know the Bakers when we lived in Raymond for four years, from 1983-1987. Jeannie and her daughter Tawna were in "Finian's Rainbow" for which I was the stage manager. Jeannie and I were friends forever after that. We hit it off. Jeannie's husband Rex was the janitor at the school. When he died suddenly of a heart attack in January of 1987, we attended his funeral with my parents. I remember that very cold and snowy gravesite. That would have been the first time my daughter Abra saw her future husband, Billy, though it is doubtful they noticed each other. He was a teenage pall bearer; she was just a young girl of 8 years, going on nine. While the marriage of Abra and Billy did not last, their children, our grandchildren, are a part of the Baker family. So I feel a connection to Jeannie's children because of that, as well as because I loved their mom.

Picture 11:

Phil Peterson, Steve Ohngren, Chad and Doug Conrad

In the other picture I didn't say much about Chad, one of Doug and Wendy's two sons. I am just getting to know him! He is a nice guy, which is not a surprise, given his family! Steve is Kathi's only brother. I first met him years ago when we were BYU students. Actually, Kathi wanted to set me up with him, but I did not go along with that plan. (I did not like to go along with the plans of other people!) Steve is a very nice man, and I am so glad that Kathi has such a great brother.

Picture 12:

Bruce Conrad and James Conrad

Here in picture 12 is my brother Bruce with Burt's son James. James is such a nice, kind-hearted guy. I feel like I have seen him quite often, over the years, at the home of his parents. But I don't have any stories to tell about him. Except that I have trouble remembering the names of his daughters, except for the oldest, Lilly. His second daughter told me her name, but can I remember it? I submit that I cannot.

Last of all, here is the program from Burt's service:

The Renlunds

Elder Dale G. Renlund and his wife Ruth were our Stake Conference speakers.

Sister Renlund told us about moving to Maryland--her first time away from home in Utah. She was delighted to be invited to a crab feast of Maryland blue crabs which turn red when they are steamed.  She was told how the crabs are caught--they take a long string or fishing wire and tie it to a chicken neck. Out on the Chesapeake, where the water is very clear, they let the wire down until the chicken neck is sitting on the sand, and then wait. Soon a crab will scuttle along and glom onto the chicken neck. Then the fisher can just gently, slowly, pull it up and the crab clings to the chicken neck. Only as the surface nears does the crab realize it is in peril, but by then, the fisher has a net in place. The crab finally lets go of the chicken neck and falls into the net.

She said that 2nd Nephi 28 identifies chicken necks for people: anger, passivity, flattery--these things can be like chicken necks to us, and we cling to them--to our peril. We need to let go of these things sooner rather than later, and instead feast on the love and words and the atonement of Christ.

Elder Renlund mentioned that President Nelson's second oldest daughter had died this week, yet he had still done all that his job requires. He talked about how, though the Savior raised the daughter of Jairus from the dead, for most of us, lives are not spared. We pass through the sorrow of losing loved ones. He spoke about going down four flights of steps in the temple with President Nelson, who always (at 94) takes the stairs instead of the elevator (like a normal person would do.) At first the steps were granite, and Elder Renlund (a physician) thought "If he falls here, we are looking at a neurological problem!" and when the steps changed to carpet, he thought "Well, now if he falls, it will only be an orthopedic problem."

The Renlunds attended a sacrament meeting in Laramie, Wyoming. There were two youth speakers. The first one got up and gave a long talk from the New Era. The second one got up and said, "Well, I did not prepare a long talk like --- did. My topic is following the prophet, and I'm going to go with Nike on this and say, "Just do it." And that was the end of the talk. (His mother was probably mortified--but maybe she would feel okay knowing that that short talk has been repeated, and that Elder Renlund thought it was a great talk!)

Elder Renlund's paternal grandmother buried seven of ten children and her husband who all passed away from consumption (tuberculosis.) Her favorite hymn was "Redeemer of Israel," especially the 5th verse, which we don't usually sing. He had chosen this for our opening hymn.
Restore, my dear Savior,
The light of thy face;
Thy soul-cheering comfort impart;
And let the sweet longing
For thy holy place
Bring hope to my desolate heart.

The choir had sung "Praise to the Lord, the Almighty" as a prelude.  Coincidentally, the author of this hymn text, Joachim Neander, died of consumption at age 30. He wrote this very hopeful hymn at a time that he knew he was dying. 

The Lord knows us and our circumstances. The Savior said, "I have graven thee on the palms of my hands."

Once, he had a heart patient whose only hope was a transplant. He had one transplant, and it failed. They were going to make the decision to take him off the pump and let nature take its course, when a second heart became available--but only because nobody else had wanted this heart. It was not a great heart, but it was a heart. The man had nothing to lose, so opted to have a second try at a transplant with this inferior heart. But it worked--and actually, the man would go on to live for another 18 years, and die of a completely unrelated thing. However, a week or so after the successful transplant, he went into the man's hospital room, and he was sitting on his bed looking upset. When asked what was wrong, he said, "Well, the milk is warm and the oatmeal is cold."

He had lost sight of where he had been (almost dead)--when we face cold oatmeal in our lives, we can forget the big picture of where we've been and where we are going. We consented to this life, BUT--we probably didn't know how hard it would be. While realizing the purpose of this life does not change the ice cold oatmeal, it can help us to feel different about it.

My Cousin Burt

In our extended Conrad family, we are close beyond first cousins. My dad and his first cousins were like brothers, especially Uncle Lou and Uncle Wayne, who I always called Uncle even though they were actually my dad's cousins. But also his close friends and near-brothers.

My brother Bruce and my cousin Burton were the same age and went to school together, and Burt was one of my brother's best friends. For a long time, I thought Burt was my cousin exactly the same way as my cousins John, Harold and Perry, who were also Bruce's friends--though none of them were Bruce's exact age like Burt was. Then my cousin Marie set me straight--Uncle Lou was NOT REALLY our uncle--well, he was really HER UNCLE but only because he married HER AUNT. But Aunt Ethis really was HER aunt, but not mine. Uncle Lou was our dads' cousin, while Aunt Ethis was Auntie Beulah's sister. I did not care. To me, Burt was my cousin.

When we moved to Utah, we got to live just a few blocks from Burt and Kathi. We got to have them in our home, and we also were in their home. Sometimes we tended their grandchildren; sometimes we tended their cat. Burt helped us with yard work, like chopping down trees. He was a good cousin. It was really fun to go on walks and stop and chat with Burt and Kathi.  Nancy got to be in the same ward as Burt for two years, when she and Andrew and the kids lived with the Heisses in North Orem.

Sometimes, since Burt and Kathi moved to Idaho, we have stopped at their house. Not often enough, apparently, given that we had less time with Burt than we thought! Here he is in May, I think May 7, 2018, with Alexander. The two of them liked each other quite well.



I was happy to see Burt and Kathi again on November 17, when they came to Utah for Karen Heiss's funeral. Burt was, I don't know how to explain it, pretty anxious to have good visits with both my brother Bruce and with me, and I just felt his love for me so much on that visit. We were kind of planning to go to Canada at Christmas time, so we were planning a stop at their house, but we ended up not going. But now that Burt is gone, how I treasure that hour or so at the church in Spanish Fork, our last cousin time together.

Burt, me, Kathi, Nancy and Alexander, a friend from their old ward in Orem

So, I was kind of distraught when this message popped up on Facebook today, from Phil Peterson, who was a great friend of Burt's and also Bruce's in high school. (I have some pictures of early days at BYU, with Burt and Kathi, Phil and his wife, Perry and his then wife, and Burt's son Jonathan, with Arlene and I, up in the canyon having some fun. I will have to find them.)

Anyways, Phil wrote: It is with sadness that I inform friends and family of the passing of one of my best friends Burton Conrad, who passed away this morning in Ucon, Idaho. My love and sincere condolences are extended to Burt's family. He was a lifelong precious friend and will be missed.

I was sooooooooo sad. I knew it was true because Phil would not say that if it wasn't true. I tried to call Kathi, and to text her. Then I remembered that I had Kathi's brother Steve's phone number in my phone, because once when we stayed at Kathi's house, they actually were not home, and Steve met us and led us to their new house, because GPS was wrong for their house--still is, actually. So I called Steve.

He was at the funeral home with Kathi, but he went into the hall to tell me what happened, and we were both crying, so it was a pretty messy-sounding phone call. I told him to give Kathi a great big hug for me, and he said he would definitely do that. I am pretty sure he is hugging her over and over again today--they are each other's only sibling.

So last night, Burt was out shoveling snow. When he came in from that, he felt really tired. They had scriptures and prayer and were going to bed, but Burt said he didn't feel so good. He thought it was acid reflux. He got up and went across the hall to their office room. Kathi stayed in bed and went to sleep. About 3:30 or 4:00 ish this morning, Kathi heard sounds like gurgling weird sounds and that woke her up. She went into the office and found Burt lying facedown on the floor of the office.

She called 911, and they told her how to roll him over, and she gave him mouth-to-mouth, and the paramedics came, and they did all the things they do and gave him epinephrine, but he already felt cold, and his heart did not respond to anything they tried.

Kathi hopes to have the funeral this weekend, but that will depend on the kids. Becky has already left and will arrive tonight, Annie is hoping to find a flight when her kids get home from school today, James is driving, Steve thinks, and he doesn't know about Jonathan yet.

Telephone Calls

The question for the day is: Before you make a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why?

Yes, or course. The phone is a necessary evil, so I need to be prepared! Sometimes:
1. I even write down a bunch of questions. I have done this recently when calling people to interview for an article. And then I type their answers while they are talking. If I didn't write it down, I would, in the moment, forget the whole plan, and be stumped about what to say.
2. At minimum, I plan what I will say in my mind, especially because I am just as likely to get a machine as a person, so I plan, "Thank you for calling about........I don't know why the database is acting that way, but I have reported the problem to so and so." Etc.

Why do I do this? Because talking on the phone is very likely to leave me unable to think. So I think ahead.

Historic Sunday

Today will be the historic Sunday of the beginning of the two hour block--which has already happened in places like Australia and New Zealand, but will not happen for me for a couple of hours.

I know I already blogged about "Changes at Church." But since I have been thinking about it a lot--kind of unavoidable, since I am involved because of Primary--I find I still have more to say about it.

Something that happened when the switch to the three hour block was made in March 1980 was an unforeseen problem with break-ins and vandalism. I do not think this was a noticeable problem in Utah, which is where I was in 1980. I was living in Salt Lake with my cousin Mary and her family so that I could date my fiance, Bruce, whom I married on March 27, 1980. We only stayed in Utah until July, when we moved to El Cajon, California. And that was when the problem became a problem that I noticed.

We initially lived in a small 12 unit apartment building on Bradley Avenue in El Cajon, and we had no trouble with Sunday break-ins or vandalism at that location. We all looked out for each other, pretty much. In our building we had Mormons (us) and Catholics (4 families) and Jews (1 family) and others who did not go to church. So on Sundays, people were coming and going at different times, and we never felt like being away from home for three hours was a problem.

But for the people who lived in houses, it was indeed a problem. Our ward, and I think Arlene's ward did this too--I am pretty sure that our whole stake did this--organized several teams of men who, instead of attending Sunday School and Priesthood meeting, would drive around a certain assigned area and check up on all the houses. The men would take turns doing this--they would be assigned on a rotating schedule.

When we moved to the house on Anza Street, renting from George and Eudora Quick, we actually did get vandalized. We came home from church one week to find that everything moveable had been thrown into the pool. The pool was gross at the time, because the filter system had broken down. And also, it happened during the winter, and our pool was not heated. So Bruce donned his wet suit, mask and all, to dive into the deep end (because of course the vandals threw things in the deep end) to get everything out of there.

This event contributed to my feelings of unease, living in Southern California. I know I have written before--like, probably sometime in 2015--about how Kelli, Abbi and I cried for HOURS as we drove away from SoCal, and how we probably should have just turned around and gone back, but my pride got in the way. Well, we moved to Raymond, Alberta, which is about as different from El Cajon, California as you can get. 

Raymond = small. El Cajon = large. Raymond = cold. El Cajon = hot. Raymond = an entire stake of Mormons. El Cajon = 4 wards. I could go on about the differences, but a similarity was that break-ins and vandalism were a problem during the three hour block! By this time, it was 1983, so the three hour block was three years old. But--same problems in little Raymond as in big El Cajon. There, as well, our men were organized to patrol our wards, except they only used one team of protectors at a time, because there was less ground to cover.

Correct me if I am wrong, but I do believe that this was also a problem in High River when we lived there from 1995-2000. Am I imagining this, or did the men do a bit of patrolling on Sundays there, too? I believe they did. I know that it was not a problem in BC, in Burnaby or Port Coquitlam. Like, there were so few Mormons there, that nobody noticed or cared when you went to church.

This seems not to be a problem at all in Utah, so I don't think it was on their radar at all when they made the decision to do the three hour block. And I don't know if this was a problem everywhere, or if I just happened to live in a few places where it was? Hmmm.

Would you like to be famous?

Would I like to be famous--when I was young, yes, I did want to be famous. I was the girl who would get out her special skirt to dance with the dancers on Don Messer's Jubilee; I sang along to all the records and all the songs on the radio. I participated in the Kiwanis Music Festival every year, starting at age 5, doing both singing and solo speech. I wanted to be a triple threat before I knew what a triple threat was.

I didn't pay much attention to my early desire to be a librarian, back when I was putting small pieces of MASKING TAPE on the spines of books to help order them properly, which drove my mother insane because MASKING TAPE! (Patrick, too, would be cringing over such a travesty.)

I just wanted to sing and act and dance. My first chance to do all three at once was when our voice teacher, Mrs. Legge, directed her voice studio in the operetta Hansel and Gretel. Arlene, Marie and I were all cast as gingerbread children. I wished I could BE Susan Semchuk, who played the lead of Gretel. But...while I might have been very good at singing, acting and dancing (I thought I was; I do not know what anyone else thought) I was pretty terrible at following directions. I was a tiny child diva.

At school, our music teacher was Mrs. Helen Jensen, and though we didn't do solo parts, I was always given the alto part because I could read music, and I could harmonize. I LOVED singing in the Dr. Hamman School Choir.

Junior High was terrible in many ways, but there were drama classes and music classes, so life had the potential to be good. When we put on a three-act play, I was cast as the bridesmaid, completely astounding the popular kids who thought they were shoe-ins for the role. But I was better.

I was only on the make-up crew when Myers put on Oliver! when I was in Grade Ten. But I did fabulous make-up. I was given the character makeup to do, and I was very good at it.

I was so looking forward to the musical for Grade Eleven--Calamity Jane. I had learned by then that I liked character acting rather than beautiful leading lady roles, so this was my opportunity. Despite my tonsillectomy and all the attendant misery that year, and despite that I was still relearning to talk and did not sound very good, I still auditioned. And of course did not get the part. (Turns out not being able to talk is an obstacle to lead roles..) Again, I was happy to do makeup and be in the chorus.

I graduated early, so did not audition for Fiddler on the Roof, although I did dance with the chorus until I left in January. And I went back to do the character makeup--all the beards and wrinkles.

At BYU I auditioned once for the folk dance team and once for Young Ambassadors. I was just not that good. I should have tried again, but I just gave up. Although I still sang with Marie...we took a class on how to run a show choir from Randy Boothe, but we dropped it before the drop deadline, kept the textbook, and did our own shows for our own small audiences.

When I got married and moved to San Diego, I wrote a few shows for our ward, and got to be a director and rehearse people. That was fun. I had a pretty nice sized piano studio, and could have grown it if we had not moved, because lots of teachers were sending their overflow to me.

Somewhere along the line, I fizzled. I taught a neighborhood folk dance class in our basement in BC, mostly because I wanted my kids to have the opportunity to learn. That was David and Nancy's youth--and they both grew up to be dancers!

Now I am happy to be known as a good librarian. I like to read better than I like being on a stage and performing. I would not want to be famous--I think that it must be hard to have people always disturbing you. A little bit famous is okay--like, my friend Sam ran into Gustavo Dudamel. Or the time Josie spoke Welsh with John Rhys Davies in the bookstore. They are not SO FAMOUS that the whole whole knows who they are. And if YOU do, well, that can be a little bit flattering. But John Lennon famous? Or Julia Roberts famous? No thank you.

It would be hard to live my life with a constant spotlight. I hope that I am famous enough that my grandchildren remember me a little bit. That is good enough for me. Or the children I have taught in Primary.

I honestly think, for those who are inclined to want fame in the same way that I once wanted fame--I would say, be a teacher! When I think of how happy people were, at my 40 year high school reunion, to see Mrs. West, our drama teacher, and Mr. Edwards, our music teacher--and we honestly looked up to them for who they were, and the experiences they had given us--that is the kind of fame that is most worthwhile, I think.

How this mother learned to eat

Answering question #1 naturally led me to thinking about eating dinner. One of my favorite picture books is "How my parents learned to eat" by Ina R. Friedman.


The child voice in the story explains how her parents met in Japan after WWII. Her dad was a US serviceman, while her mom was native Japanese. When they began to date, eating became a problem for them. She was rice and noodles, seafood and vegetables. He was roast beef and mashed potatoes. She was chopsticks. He was knife and fork. So each of them takes on the task of learning to eat in each other's way, and then surprise each other with what they have been learning.

This book delighted my children--and it delighted me--because whoever thinks about their parents learning to eat? Children can't remember learning to eat themselves--by the time they are old enough to enjoy this book, they are very good at using utensils, and no longer remember what might have been a steep learning curve for them.

I found this book in the library--probably the Maple Ridge Library, since I worked there--and was so happy to find it when I did, because we had just had a Japanese exchange student, Akiko Kudo, staying at our house. One of the things Akiko had done at our house was to teach the children how to eat with chopsticks. I think they all became quite proficient at it. Nancy was especially good at it, and ever after that summer of 1992 (if the labels in my photo album are correct) she always ate noodles, at least, with chopsticks rather than a fork.

Kelli, Akiko and Patrick in July 1992

So it was that when Josie (who was born in 1994) was old enough to start eating stringy things, that Nancy taught her to eat with chopsticks, just as if it is the most natural thing to do. Josie is, therefore, the only one of my children who has no memory of learning to eat with  a fork OR chopsticks. To use either tool has always been just a part of what she does. Which is all thanks to Akiko for teaching Nancy how to eat (with chopsticks), who in turn taught Josie!

This must have been on our little foray into Washington, into the mountains. Akiko, David, Patrick and Nancy, with Bruce behind. Akiko shared this picture with me! I am so happy to have reconnected with her!

I have never learned to eat with chopsticks. I am not naturally coordinated, anyway, and it just seems a skill that is beyond my grasp, though I suppose if I tried harder and longer, I could master it. But this is not actually a story about chopsticks, even though you might suppose it is!

I was in Grade Eleven, or just before Grade Eleven, when my doctor decided I needed to have my tonsils out.  This was Dr. Wolfe, from a clinic in Lethbridge, near Woolco. I don't remember why or when we switched from the clinic in Taber to a clinic in Lethbridge. When I was young, my doctor was Dr. Campbell, my friend Bernice's father. (He was the doctor who would do house calls--I remember him coming to see me when I had the measles. He worked at the clinic in Vauxhall as well as the one in Taber, and he could see no reason for my mother to drive me into Taber when he was going to be heading to Vauxhall, and we lived literally right on the way.)

I had septic tonsils, and the white spots were terribly smelly. They had been persistent for a couple of years, and I seemed unable to control the smelly breath with gum or mints, and was all teenage angsty about my breath. I am sure that I must have had other symptoms, too, but not that I remember so well. I can hardly imagine my parents deciding that surgery would be okay for only bad breath!

Well, long story short, I had the surgery. And by so doing, lost the ability to eat properly. My tonsils were much larger than anticipated. They were huge and off-balance in my mouth--one side significantly larger than the other. And also, Dr. Wolfe was not a good surgeon. (A couple of years later, he would lose his license to practice surgery in the Province of Alberta. He moved to the US. I often wonder who he butchered after he left Lethbridge--I know of a few others in Alberta besides myself.) He kind of botched my mouth up big time. To this day, if I open wide, you will see that my uvula does not hang down in the center of my mouth as it should. It is very short, constricted, and off to the side. My soft palate is quite immobile and does not close my throat off as palates should be able to do.

Of course, it was even worse right after the surgery. And I quickly learned, while still in the hospital that I could not swallow anything. Water, saliva, food--it would all end up going up into my nose. Which is a terrible feeling.

I also could not talk. We use our uvula and our soft palate in speech. And mine could not function properly.

So that was a fun start to Grade 11 for me! I was already skinny, but I lost about 20 pounds in a short time because I could not eat. I can't say that I had to relearn--it was more, I had to unlearn my old way of eating and figure out how to swallow properly without ending up with a nose full of egg salad or whatever very soft thing I was attempting to get to my stomach somehow.

I went to school, but I stopped taking lunch because they only gave us an hour to eat. It would take me about an hour to eat a half a sandwich, being so careful with how I chewed, how I held my head to swallow, etc.  It was much easier not to eat than to have to eat in front of other people in the painstaking way that I had to eat.

And I was so sleepy. So tired.  I would go home and sleep. Wake up to agonize over eating. Eating was intensely difficult work. Then sleep some more.

I could not drink from a water fountain. Water would go in my mouth, up into my nose, and then out my nostrils. That was a cool trick.  I learned to drink in the new way. That has led to all of my children drinking incorrectly! They all watched me, and I have watched them all do it in the unnatural way that I have to do. I have to tip my head back to get water in my mouth, then holding the water in, position my head differently in order to swallow.

Maybe my grandchildren all do weird water drinking, too. Who knows?

Gradually my new ways of eating and drinking became normal, easy, and no longer painful. I occasionally get water up my nose still, but have not gotten food up there for decades, so I think I can say that I finally learned to eat.

36 Questions

In one week from today, it will be three years since I read the New York Times article titled "To Fall in Love with Anyone, Do This." It was a fascinating read about an experiment that Mandy Len Catron did, based on some actual research done by actual psychologists, to see if the 36 questions would work for her and her date. You can read the essay for yourself, about how they stared into each other's eyes for four minutes, and then began to ask the questions and hear each other's answers. For Mandy, much to her surprise, it worked--she and her date did fall in love with each other, and after some time passed, they did end up marrying each other.

I actually think it is a cool concept--because I think that asking questions that require some deep thinking and deep answers can really help people to get to know each other more intimately--the kind of intimacy that means deep understanding.

I am reading a really fun book right now, called "The Sun is also a Star" by Nicola Yoon--I have not read anything by her before. In this book, a character named Daniel referenced the 36 questions, and so they came to mind. And I thought--well, I don't need to fall in love with anyone, but wouldn't it be interesting to answer those questions? Maybe thinking about and answering the questions will help me to know myself better, and to love myself a little more deeply. Because I think that I am not alone in maybe not loving myself as deeply as I should--being too quick to notice my own shortcomings and beat myself up for them.

Loving ourselves should not include any arrogance, no trace of "I am better than you," but a humility that includes the idea that I am lovable, worthy of love.

So here goes. Question #1: Given the choice of anyone in the world, who would you want as a dinner guest?

Wow. This is a hard one. First of all just the words "dinner guest" kind of make me cringe. Because I have no confidence in my own ability to make dinner! Like, I do it, but wow, I kind of hate doing it. However...I don't have to interpret the question that way--so let's say, I do not have to prepare the dinner. I can just invite this person to go to dinner with me. Anyone in the world. I am going to assume that the question is asking me to think of someone not in my family, because I eat dinner with them routinely, both dinners that I cook and, thankfully, dinners that someone else cooks.

This is still scary. Because when you eat dinner, you are supposed to also talk with your guest. So, all kinds of things to worry about--you are chewing when you are asked a question; your silly Conrad throat gets a teeny tiny spice caught in it and you start coughing until your eyes are watering; you genuinely start choking on a piece of food large enough to cause an actual problem because you were trying to empty your mouth in order to answer a question.

Yikes. I am getting super stressed just thinking about this question. The WORST part about academic job interviews, for me, have been the lunches and dinners. I learned that you are not actually there to eat, so don't stress it if you don't finish your meal. You are there to handle the situation with aplomb and show that you can socialize decently.

So, let's pretend that I have eating down pat (which--I don't really, do I? The choking thing...) and it isn't a stressful activity. If eating dinner were not stressful, and if I could invite anyone in the world out to dinner (not including my family) I think that I would like to have dinner with Queen Elizabeth. I have always admired her. I used to have pretend tea parties with her when I was small--she probably does not realize this--and while eating pretend biscuits and drinking pretend tea with my little pinkie finger extended so elegantly, I never once choked. And we had a lovely conversation.

That, I think, is the dinner guest I would have. 

Talk a little

When I was a young woman, my cousin Harold was in the Sunday School presidency in our Taber Third Ward. This was, of course, before the change to the 3 hour block in 1980, so we had Sunday School in the morning at about 10 o'clock, while sacrament meeting was held in the evening at about 6 o'clock. On a Sunday, inevitably Harold would call me and ask me to either give a talk, the, sacrament gem, or the opening prayer that he needed to fill, because often times people who had been assigned would call him Sunday morning to say they were unable to fill their assignments, so Harold would call me to jump into doing whatever he needed.

Here is an interesting article about the history of Sunday School in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, if you are interested. Let me briefly explain talks and the sacrament gem: During Sunday School opening exercises, there were 2 two-and-a-half minute talks. That is what they called it: "Will you give a two-and-a-half minute talk on Sunday?" Short and sweet. The sacrament gem was a short thought, published in a church publication that was called The Instructor, which was published until 1970. I don't remember where we got the sacrament gem between 1970 and 1980--maybe it was published in The Ensign? It was a short saying, like a quote, much shorter than a talk, that was intended to help people have something inspirational to think about during the sacrament. Sometimes it would be a scripture, or a quote from a General Authority.

This is all to say that prior to 1980, which is the year I got married, I had spoken in church a lot. Not so much in sacrament meeting, but very frequently during Sunday School. When Bruce and I lived in San Diego, the first three years that we were married, I gave plenty of Sacrament Meeting talks, probably at least one per year. When we next lived in Raymond for three years, the same. The one year we lived in Provo, the same, or maybe even two talks in that one year. Then British Columbia--we were in two wards, and it was pretty much the same--about once a year, I would speak in church. Then we were in Calgary for a year, and I am pretty sure that I spoke once there. We were in High River for five years, and I am not sure that I spoke every year, but at least two or three times in the five years.

And then we moved to Orem. When we were new in the ward, they did not have us speak. However, when David went on his mission, we did speak. It was soon after David leaving on his mission--within the next year or two--that they stopped having the family of the missionary who was leaving do the whole program for the sacrament meeting of their leaving and returning, which had been the custom for my whole life before that. So when David returned from his mission, we did not speak. It was NINE YEARS later before I was asked to speak again.

Then we moved to this ward. This ward has a lot of movement in and out, because we have apartment buildings in our boundaries. They frequently have newcomers speak in church. But not us. So we had been in this ward five and a half years before last Sunday, the 23rd, when I was going around delivering little Christmas goodies to the people I visit teach minister to, and to my companion Audrey, when Audrey's husband first texted me and then asked me in person at her house to speak in sacrament meeting on Dec. 30.

All this is to say that I got to speak on the last Sunday of the year, on the last Sunday of the 3 hour block. I asked Brother Harvey the topic, and he said, "Well, I don't want it to be about New Year's Resolutions, but I want it to be about something like that." I said, "Do you mean something like 'Press forward, saints, with steadfast faith in Christ'?" And he said that was exactly what he meant.

And then, I guess, the literary analysis side of my brain took over, and so this became my talk. Which people seemed to like. It was good for me to think about and prepare the talk, at least. Although it had not been quite nine years since I gave my last talk--only about seven almost eight--so maybe the opportunity will come again a little faster. I am always looking for patterns, so maybe that will be the new pattern. I was starting to think it would be a nine year pattern, but nope. That got broken.

Here is the talk:

Hello. I am happy to be here today. By way of introduction, I am Myrna Layton, and I have been in this ward with my husband Bruce for five and a half years. But I spend most of my time in Primary, which is the perfect place for me—I love Primary, I love Primary music, and I love Primary children. However, being in Primary means that I do not have the opportunity to get to know many of the adults in the congregation. So a bit about me--I am Canadian born, from the province of Alberta. Bruce and I have six children, half born in the United States, and half born in Canada. Our children are sort of globe trotters and have lived many places in the world. Currently, two live in Canada, one in Greece and three in the US.

In Primary, I am the music leader. At work, I am the Performing Arts Librarian at BYU, responsible for collecting music, among other duties. I am a very music-oriented person. Therefore, when Brother Harvey asked me to speak and explained the topic, what came into my mind immediately was a hymn:
Press forward, Saints, with steadfast faith in Christ, With hope's bright flame alight in heart and mind, With love of God and love of all mankind. Then “Alleluia!” repeated three times.

What a joyful hymn this is! It is a hymn about the future, and the future it helps us to see is bright. But not easy.

Like all the hymns in our 1985 hymnal, this one (Hymn 81) has a scripture associated with it. In this case, it even states that the lyrics are “based on” 2 Nephi 31:20, which reads: “Ye must press forward with a steadfastness in Christ, having a perfect brightness of hope, and a love of God and of all men.”

The words of the hymn are so similar to those in the scripture: Instead of “ye must press forward” in the hymn we have “press forward, saints.” Instead of “with a steadfastness in Christ”—“with steadfast faith in Christ.” Instead of “having a perfect brightness of hope”—“with hope’s bright flame alight in heart and mind.” Instead of “and a love of God and of all men”—“with love of God and love of all mankind.” Each phrase is carefully represented in more poetic language, retaining the core idea of the scripture.

This was no accident. The hymn text was written in 1984 by Brother Marvin K. Gardner, who is a friend of mine and who is currently serving a senior mission to the Mexico City temple with his wife Mary. At the time, Brother Gardner was serving on the committee tasked with compiling the 1985 hymnal. He noticed that few hymns the committee were considering had been based on texts from the Book of Mormon, and he hoped that he might be able to come up with a hymn text that was. While at Stake Conference in 1984, a speaker quoted 2 Nephi 31:20, and Brother Gardner realized how much this scripture resonated with his testimony--he jotted the words “Press forward, Saints,” beside this verse in his Book of Mormon—and then through pondering and prayer, inspiration and concerted effort, he wrote the memorable words we sing in Hymn 81.

Let’s take a closer look at each line to see what we can learn from this hymn—and by extension the scripture upon which it is based: The very first words of the hymn indicate the need for effort—press forward. Not go forward, but press forward.

Elder Neal L. Andersen explains it this way: “Press forward implies something more than simply going forward. Press implies something is preventing your advancement, and you must push through it. To go forward in this life, you must press temptations aside, press through obstacles, press the doubt and the fear under your feet, and embrace the divine qualities of faith, hope, and love.”

How do you press forward? The apostle Paul in Philippians 3 describes it as “reaching forth” and pressing “toward the mark,” which is to follow the example of Jesus Christ—he is the mark. Pressing forward does not mean coasting along, but engaging in this life—swimming against the rapids, forging our way upstream. If we would be Saints, which even the name of our church suggests that we should be, then our responsibility is to try. To try and to keep trying. “Onward, ever onward. Forward, pressing forward,” as we sing in another hymn “Called to Serve,” hymn 249.

Though the verse in 2 Nephi says “steadfastness in Christ,” Brother Gardner used the words, “with steadfast faith in Christ” for the next part of this phrase. This reminds me of the fourth article of faith—the first principle of the gospel is faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, but that faith needs to be steadfast. How do we make our faith steadfast?

To quote Elder Neal L. Andersen again, “Pressing forward with steadfastness in Christ means … making Him the central focus of your thoughts and actions. When it is He you are following, pressing forward is the ultimate adventure… Pressing forward with steadfast faith means pushing away the “temptations and cares” of the world and keeping the commandments with exactness. “If ye love me,” Jesus said, “keep my commandments.” (That is John 14:15).

So: “Press forward, Saints, with steadfast faith in Christ”—means push on through all the trials and obstacles that are a part of this human experience called life, and do it with solid faith in Jesus Christ demonstrated by keeping his commandments.

As we press forward with steadfastness in Christ, we need to have “a perfect brightness of hope,” the scripture says—or “with hope’s bright flame alight” in the more poetic wording of the hymn.

Hope is so important. I went through a period of time where I felt very hopeless. Our family passed through terrible health and financial and employment issues and it seemed endless. I was confused—I felt like I had faith in Christ. I had a testimony of his life and atonement and of the resurrection—but that didn’t seem to help me to deal with the relentless problems of life.

It was the words of another song that helped me toward understanding—I learn best through music! I was singing in a Relief Society Chorus in Raymond, Alberta, Canada. The song was about the mission of Relief Society, and it began, “Faith in God, hope in tomorrow, charity for those in need. Lifting hearts of those who sorrow.” As I sang these words over and over again, I began to see—our FAITH is placed steadfastly in God, and in his son Jesus Christ, who is the author and finisher of our faith, as we are told in Hebrews 12 verse 2. Our HOPE is in tomorrow—in the future—in the things we hope for but cannot see; in the desires of our hearts which are good and true, which we have not received today, but hope to at some future date. This understanding of the connection between faith and hope—and how they are different—helped me to understand Alma 32 verse 21 which says, “And now as I said concerning faith—faith is not to have a perfect knowledge of things; therefore if ye have faith ye hope for things which are not seen, which are true.”

The connection between faith and hope is absolute, in my opinion, because without a steadfast faith in Christ, how can we possibly maintain hope in a world that is increasingly full of unkindness, discontent, hatred and turmoil? But as we press forward through hard things, hanging on steadfastly to our faith in Christ, He will make weak things become strong unto us as promised in Ether 12:6. Then we can have “hope’s bright flame alight in heart and mind.” Our faith in Christ helps us to both feel in our hearts and believe in our minds that future happiness is possible—or as author Corrie Ten Boom has expressed it, “Never be afraid to trust an unknown future to a known God.”

Our known God is Jesus Christ. His promises are sure—yes, we will pass through difficulties, some of them soul-devouring and earth-shaking, but his promises are still there, still absolute. This reminds me of another hymn text—the third verse of “We thank thee oh God for a prophet”: When dark clouds of trouble hang o’er us/ And threaten our peace to destroy / There is hope smiling brightly before us / And we know that deliverance is nigh.

Let me return to quoting Elder Neal L. Andersen: When “hope smiles brightly before us, we find peace even in difficulties. Discipleship [that is, our steadfast faith in Christ] allows us to see our true purposes on the earth.”

The last concept the hymn addresses is love. “With love of God, and love of all mankind” is the way Brother Gardner put it. Isn’t it interesting that this hymn and the scripture it is based on are actually about faith, hope and charity? Because when we think about “pressing forward,” when we think about giving a tremendous effort to hard things in our lives, I am not sure we are thinking about faith, hope and charity.

Neither this hymn nor 2 Nephi 31:20 give them in a list, like they are in Alma 7:24 which says “And see that ye have faith, hope and charity” or 1 Corinthians 13:13 which says, “And now abideth faith, hope and charity.” We may not notice this trinity of virtues in the hymn because the word love is used, rather than the word charity. But what is charity? Moroni 7:47 teaches us that “charity is the pure love of Christ, and it endureth forever.”

So how does love, or charity, help us to press forward with steadfast faith in Christ into a hopeful future? What does love have to do with it? Well – we are not alone in this earthly experience. We are surrounded by others, all of whom are also children of the same Heavenly Father. How does Heavenly Father feel about his children? He loves them all.

Jesus makes this clear in his teachings. In Matthew 5:44 he teaches: “Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you;”--so basically he is giving examples of people we may not love, or even like, and telling us—no, you need to love these people. And serve them: he lists actions we can take—bless them, do good to them, pray for them. 

Love, or charity, is the last ingredient to help us to be able to press forward with steadfast faith in Christ, and with hope burning brightly in our hearts and minds. This is how we can endure. This is how we can make each day, each week, each month, each year better—by lifting each other. Life is hard. It is hard for everyone. Elder L. Whitney Clayton of the Seventy has said, “Life presses all kinds of burdens on each of us, some light but others relentless and heavy. People struggle every day under burdens that tax their souls. Many of us struggle under such burdens. They can be emotionally or physically ponderous. They can be worrisome, oppressive, and exhausting. And they can continue for years.” Our Father in Heaven asks that we help each other to bear these burdens—to do so is the most important way we can demonstrate our love for him. Matthew 25:40 reminds us: “When ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”

Last of all, the hymn Press Forwards Saints ends with the word Alleluia repeated three times. Alleluia means “praise the Lord.” This is a fitting end to a hymn about faith, hope and charity. Praise the Lord who has helped us to grow and maintain our faith, to encourage us toward hope, to love Him and ourselves and our fellow humans. That we may press forward, developing all three –faith, hope and charity—in our lives is my prayer, in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.