Every
once in a while an event occurs in our lives that teaches us something about
the true meaning of life and offers us a glimpse into the eternities. For my
wife and me, one of those events occurred earlier this year when, after more
than three years of trying unsuccessfully to have children on our own, we were
able to adopt our sweet baby girl. More than anything else, becoming a father
has helped me gain a better understanding of the nature of our relationship
with God. So, while I certainly realize that I am only at the beginning of this
great adventure called parenthood (and have a LOT more to learn), here are just
three of the lessons I have found most meaningful during my short time as a
father.
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
4 Surprising Mistakes LDS Parents Make
October 14, 2014
Good parenting, as James E. Faust said, “Is the greatest challenge in the world.”[I] Because we know that families are eternal and central to God’s plan for us, we understand the great importance of doing our best to be good parents. It can be daunting as we try to raise righteous children in a world where evil is all around us. With all the hustle and bustle in our lives today, it can be very easy to get distracted and lose focus on our most important priority, which is the family. Here are four parenting mistakes to avoid as you strive to protect and strengthen your family.
7 Mormon Messages videos your kids will love
March 11, 2014
Mormon Messages are short videos from the LDS Church
featuring the words of Prophets and Apostles about values and principles
important to society. LDS.org has many more of Mormon Messages videos about
many different topics, including family, friends, happiness and Jesus Christ.
1. The Shiny Bicycle
2. Moments That Matter Most
3. Earthly Father, Heavenly Father
4. The Coat: A Story of Charity
5. I Am a Child of God
6. Good Things to Come
7. Lessons I Learned As a Boy
Pin it here:
Baptizing Daddy's Little Girl
February 19, 2014
Eight years ago last month, a little girl came into this
world. The third child (and third daughter) born into our family, Courtney was
the perfect child. Fortunately for me, she wouldn’t let anyone else hold her if
I was around. She has been my perfect little girl and I have been her favorite
dad. She is always smiling and ready to give hugs to whoever is lucky enough to
receive one.
As she has grown up, I’ve come to know her better than
anyone else in this world except maybe her mother. I know what will happen when
her older sister teases her and how she will respond to various situations. I
also know what she loves to do, how to calm her fears, and what a gentle heart
she has.
Over the last few months, I’ve thought a lot about what her
turning 8 years old means. I used to wonder why we baptize children at age eight in
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. After having three of my
children reach that age, however, I can see that it’s around that age that they
begin to gain a good understanding of what is right and wrong.
I must admit that it has been a little hard for me to see
her reach this point, as I know that my time as my little girl’s favorite dad
is quickly disappearing. One day she won’t reach for my hand as I walk her to
school, or even look back to make sure I’m there. I’ve experienced that with my
older two already, although there are moments when I am lucky enough to catch a
glimpse of their younger selves and I know they still care that I come to see
how they are doing when I return home from work.
I had the opportunity to baptize and confirm Courtney, as I
did my older children, and the opportunity was an incredible experience. As I
stood next to that pure and innocent girl in the water, I remembered the charge
of the Savior to become as a little child (Matthew 18:3-5).
I was also reminded of a prophet’s counsel that “no other success can compensate
for failure in the home.”
Prior to Courtney’s baptism, my wife and I spent some time
making sure that she understood the promises she would make with Heavenly
Father and Jesus Christ at baptism. I also spent time reflecting on how well I have kept those same covenants. I have
been far from perfect in many ways, but what gives me hope is that despite my
many flaws, Courtney is somehow able to focus on the good in me. I believe it’s
much the same as our Savior sees us, and that thought gives me a great deal of
hope. I strongly believe that’s one of the reasons that Heavenly Father puts
every one of his children in a family. A family relationship is uniquely able
to help us feel the love of our Heavenly Father. “By divine design, fathers are
to preside over their family in love and righteousness and are responsible to
provide the necessities of life and protection for their families.” (Proclamation to the World
on the Family) The experience of Courtney’s baptism will mean more because
of the bond that we share.
How grateful I am for the knowledge that through the ordinances and promises of the gospel of Jesus Christ, there is nothing that can separate me from my family, not even death. I will always be Courtney’s father and that is everything I could ever hope to be. That beautiful brown-eyed girl, along with her mother and siblings, are the joys of my life. Heaven would not be heaven without them, which is why salvation is a family affair.
– Joel Andrus
How grateful I am for the knowledge that through the ordinances and promises of the gospel of Jesus Christ, there is nothing that can separate me from my family, not even death. I will always be Courtney’s father and that is everything I could ever hope to be. That beautiful brown-eyed girl, along with her mother and siblings, are the joys of my life. Heaven would not be heaven without them, which is why salvation is a family affair.
– Joel Andrus
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Lessons on Love - 5 Reasons My Husband is Perfect... for Me.
February 12, 2014
No one is perfect and no marriage is perfect, but I have a husband who is absolutely perfect for me. Here are five traits that make him one of the greatest husbands of all time, and the lessons I’ve learned from him.
1. Be your spouse’s
greatest cheerleader
My husband is a dreamer. He has goals, dreams, ambitions and
the initiative to get out and get them. The awesome part about him though, is
that he realizes that I have my own dreams and aspirations, and he does his
best to support me. I reach my goals because he is my greatest cheerleader. I
trained and ran a marathon and I owe my success to him. He coached me, ran many
of my training routes alongside me, and carted our kids along the marathon
course so he could be at different milestones to cheer me on.
2. Make your spouse
your No. 1 priority
Before we got married, we decided that outside of Heavenly
Father and the Savior, our spouse would be the most important person in our
lives. Our children, parents, siblings, etc. would be secondary or tertiary in
importance. At times it has been a struggle for me to maintain; Richard simply
doesn’t come screaming to me for attention or throw temper tantrums, as do our
3 kids. I am always first to my husband though. We’ve also decided together
that we don’t speak negatively about one another to our family members or
friends. We can trust each other to be loyal. Consequently, our children will
grow up expecting no less from their spouses.
3. Dating your spouse
keeps the excitement and interest alive
As poor college students, we had a lot of fun dating and we
still do. Marriage is fun and should stay that way. It takes time to prepare
and think of things that are different from the norm (i.e., movie on the couch
with popcorn…although we love those too). Three of our favorite stay at home
dates have been setting up dollar store army men and knocking over each other’s
guys with rubber bands; roasting marshmallows on the grill and watching the
stars; and making desserts with odd ingredients and playing board games. Get creative
and do something different!
4. Be thoughtful and
find fresh ways to surprise your spouse.
Richard is extremely thoughtful. After a rough day,
sometimes he will escort me into the bathroom where he’s drawn me a bath and
give me a book so I can just relax or make a dinner (which usually entails a
breakfast food). I can tell he thinks about me and is always willing to find a
way to surprise me or lighten my load. When he does things for me, I find
myself more willing and excited to do the same for him.
5. Treat your spouse
with kindness and respect
My husband has never once raised his voice or intentionally
said anything to me that is demeaning or unkind. I have never met a gentler,
kinder person, with the exception of his mother; which is important. Because
his parents treated one another with kindness, my husband does the same for me.
I know my children will grow up having had the example from their father that
husbands are to treat their wives and children with kindness and respect.
There is room to improve in every marriage. My husband, as
good as he is, still needs to learn to appreciate chick flicks, especially Jane
Austen. Here’s hoping that with enough time and brownies as bait and reward,
maybe he can be won over.
– Natassia Scoresby
Discovering the Dash: Why I Love Family History
January 15, 2014
“In all of us there is a hunger, marrow-deep, to know our
heritage—to know who we are and where we have come from. Without this enriching
knowledge, there is a hollow yearning.”
Alex Haley
![]() |
| Henry Bigler, Stephen Courtright's great-great grandfather |
It was usually after we crossed the Wyoming border when my
father—who each summer packed our family of seven into a mini-van to drive
1,400 miles from Wisconsin to Idaho to visit family—would begin telling his
travel-weary children stories of their “western heritage.” There were stories
told of ancestors like my great-great grandfather Charley Courtright, a young
backwoods blacksmith in California who stole the heart of a beautiful, proper
English woman in a love story which rivals that of any other in the Old West.
Dad also told of ancestors like Henry Bigler, who after joining The Church of
Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (LDS Church) traversed nearly the entire
western U.S. landscape as a member of the Mormon Battalion, an outfit in the
Mexican-American War credited with undertaking the longest domestic military march
in U.S. history.
At times, my father must have felt that such stories were
falling on deaf, uninterested ears. Yet, year after year, on those long treks
across the western wilderness, the storytelling persisted. Why would Dad
continue telling us of our heritage, even while being uncertain that his
children would actually appreciate the stories? Now as a young father myself, I
can see why.
We live in a world where it is increasingly difficult for
family members to create strong, lasting bonds. Moreover, youth and adults
alike are increasingly being given mixed messages about their worth and where
that worth comes from, resulting in less resilience to life’s challenges and
undermined faith in Jesus Christ. Parents and others like myself are thus
asking themselves, “How can we strengthen bonds in our family?”, “How can we
help our children to be more self-confident and resilient?” and “How can we
develop greater individual and collective faith in Jesus Christ?”
This is why I love family history—because, perhaps
surprisingly, it helps families and individuals to address each of these
questions. In particular, let me highlight two blessings that can come from
discovering and sharing about our family heritage.
1. Discovering and sharing about our heritage strengthens
family bonds and helps individuals to be more resilient to life’s challenges.
Recently, I was intrigued by a study discussed in the New
York Times and conducted by a group of Emory University psychologists who
showed that the single best predictor of children’s emotional well-being and
happiness was the extent to which children knew about their family history.
Moreover, the researchers found that the more children knew the history of
their families, the more successfully they believed their families functioned.
Finally, families who told family history narratives which emphasized both the
“ups” and “downs” of life had the most resilient children. All of these
findings were attributed to family members forming a strong “intergenerational
self”, or a sense that they belonged to something greater than themselves.
The implications of this study are profound. They show that
family history is more than just an activity for “old” people, or a ploy to
keep children quiet in a crowded mini-van (as I used to think on those long
treks from Wisconsin to Idaho). Moreover, it is not just a process of
collecting birth and death dates, such as finding out that Charley Courtright
lived from 1853-1921. Instead, family history is about discovering the dash
that lies between those dates—the life stories of these ancestors. And it is in
“discovering the dash” and weaving family stories into a narrative that the
blessings of strong family bonds and greater resiliency become more attainable.
For that and other reasons, across the global LDS Church and
well as in our College Station congregation, there has been an ongoing emphasis
on helping members to discover their heritage. In turn, I have witnessed how
“discovering the dash” has helped our members, particularly our youth, to build
stronger family bonds and become more resilient.
For instance, during a recent activity on a Wednesday
evening, the youth in our congregation each used laptops and other devices to
look at their family tree and to input stories and pictures of their ancestors
on the familysearch.org website, which is sponsored by the LDS Church. While
standing in the background and observing the youth, I noticed that one youth,
who was reading a story of a grandfather whom she had never met, began to weep.
Just as I was about to ask her if everything was okay, a friend sitting nearby
asked her that same question. In response, I overheard the youth tell her
friend: “Sometimes, when I’m reading about my grandparents, I am just overwhelmed
by how grateful I am for them. It’s amazing to see that they faced similar
challenges as me, and I know I can be helped through my trials just like they
were.”
2. Discovering our heritage can draw us nearer to the Savior
Jesus Christ.
Yet, beyond even those blessings, I have found in my own
life that discovering my heritage has drawn me closer to the Savior. I learned
this lesson as a young LDS missionary in Chile.
Though my trials were not unique to what many young and
inexperienced missionaries face, I struggled at first with learning a new
language, the effects of food poisoning, and pangs of homesickness. I was
admittedly doubtful as to how I could complete a two-year mission when the
challenges I faced at the time seemed insurmountable. However, in the midst of
those challenges, I remembered the stories about Henry Bigler that my father
had shared all those years ago in our crowded mini-van.
Shortly after his service in the Mormon Battalion, Henry was
part of the first group of LDS missionaries in Hawaii. Like me, Henry struggled
with learning a new language and experienced bouts of homesickness and
difficult adjustments to the new culture. However, unlike what I went through,
Henry spent the nearly three years on his mission without a single pair of
shoes, and he faced persecution and sicknesses to a degree that I could
scarcely imagine.
Nevertheless, while I did not face nearly as dire of
circumstances, I felt the presence of Henry Bigler encouraging me on in my
missionary service. Indeed, thanks to the narratives shared by my father, I
remembered how the Savior, through His grace, had strengthened Henry in his
afflictions and how he had come to know the Lord through the sacrifices he made
on his mission. I came to know that the Lord could do the same for me if, like
Henry, I pressed on in His service.
In the end, my mission to Chile turned out to be the
greatest adventure I could have ever experienced as a 19-21 year old young man.
Though some will surely argue with me on this point, I believe that no young
man was affected or changed more by an LDS mission than I was. I came to know
the Savior and His mercy, a process that was aided by an ancestor who had died
100 years earlier but with whom I found a kinship as real as any earthly
kinship. I continue to feel Henry Bigler’s presence in my life and feel nearer
to Jesus Christ as a result.
And that is why I love family history.
“In all of us there is a hunger, marrow-deep, to know our
heritage.” I invite all who read this post to respond to this hunger and
“discover the dash” as it relates to their own heritage. In doing so, I pray
that you will be able to strengthen family bonds, be more resilient to life’s
challenges, and draw nearer to Jesus Christ, who I testify is the Savior and
Redeemer of the world.
***For more information on doing family history, visit
familysearch.org or, if you live in the B/CS area, visit our church’s Family
History Center at 2500 Barak Lane in Bryan.***
Stephen Courtright is an assistant professor in the Mays
Business School at Texas A&M University and currently serves as second
counselor of the College Station 3rd Ward bishopric of The Church of Jesus
Christ of Latter-day Saints. He grew up in Sun Prairie, Wisconsin and Kuna,
Idaho and served a full-time mission for the Church in Concepcion, Chile from
2002-2004. He later graduated from Brigham Young University-Idaho and the
University of Iowa. He and his wife, Nicole, met when they were six years old
and grew up together as close friends. They married in 2004 and are the proud
parents of three children.
Labels:
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The faces of Christmas
December 24, 2013
Americans mailed over 1.5 billion (billion!) Christmas cards in 2010, about 45 percent of all greeting cards sent in the U.S. throughout the entire year. For me personally, there are few Christmas traditions I enjoy more than sending and receiving Christmas cards. But why? What is it about Christmas cards that makes them such an enduring part of celebrating Christmas?
I think the first Christmas when cards really stood out to me was Christmas of 2004. I was in graduate school in Austin, and my wife and I were 1,300 long miles away from home. It was the second Christmas since our wedding in 2003, but our first Christmas with a baby. And our first Christmas alone. Just the three of us. Our eight-month old daughter was too young to take on a trip back home to see family, so my wife and I put up a small, artificial Christmas tree (discounted at Walmart) in the only small space we could find in our two-bedroom apartment and tried to make our apartment look and feel something like our memories of the Christmases we had enjoyed with family and friends in the past. I wondered if Christmas could possibly be the same on our own.
To be honest, I was pretty sure it couldn't. Our daughter was still too young to realize there was anything to celebrate, our lives were busy with work and school, and there was something a little unexciting about the thought of the three of us opening presents by ourselves on Christmas morning. We couldn't really afford to buy much for each other anyway. And to top it all off, I was pretty sure it would be the first Christmas in my 27 years of life that there would be no snow anywhere to be seen. Dreaming of a white Christmas, indeed.
Into that setting of our first Christmas on our own, a Christmas card or two arrived in the mail in early December. Then it seemed like a steady flow of one or two additional cards would arrive most days. Some from friends in Texas, some from family and friends spread out around the country, but most of all they were cards from home. Almost without our noticing it, something about the cards brought a little more of Christmas into our apartment that year. We began taping the cards to the back of our apartment front door, and before we knew it, our apartment felt a little more like home.
The cards didn't fill every void we felt that Christmas, far away from home. It was still the quietest, smallest Christmas celebration of our married life. But at one point, it dawned on us that the first Christmas was celebrated by a pretty small family too. I like that part of our memory. And the cards on our door helped us to feel the love of family and friends out of sight--but definitely not out of mind.
Every Christmas since that year (most of which we've spent in Texas, separated from our extended family), the essence of the Christmas spirit is the joy and laughter and love we see in the faces of the people in the beautiful cards that arrive and brighten our celebration of Christ's birth. The faces of Christmas. Our eight-month old baby is almost ten years old now. She and her siblings enjoy seeing the cards as much as we do. Whether we are close to home or far away, Christmas cards will always be one of our favorite parts of celebrating the Christmas season. Looking at a few of our cards from this year, I think you'll see why.
Nate Sharp is an associate professor in the Mays Business School at Texas A&M University and currently serves as bishop of the College Station 3rd ward of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He grew up in Holladay, Utah, served a full-time mission for the Church in the Korea Seoul West mission from 1996-1998, and later graduated from Brigham Young University and the University of Texas at Austin. He married Holly Carroll in 2003, and they are the proud parents of five beautiful children.
In the Spirit of Thanksgiving
November 27, 2013
Psalms 100 : 3-4
Know ye that the Lord he is God: it is he that hath made us, and not we ourselves; we are his people and the sheep of his pasture. Enter into his gates with thanksgiving, and into his courts with praise: be thankful unto him, and bless his name.
Happy Thanksgiving!
It's a short flight.
November 5, 2013
This post was originally published here by Jessica Garlick Dyer, a graduate of A&M Consolidated High School in 2008. We post this with her permission.
That day Travis had a midterm he needed to be back in time to take, and the fact that he hadn't been able to study all night in the below freezing airport didn't even phase us. All we were worried about was getting him in his classroom to take the test. Not to mention that the purpose of all the crazy back-to-back traveling across the country was for intense interviews for PhD programs. Our future was completely uncertain. And just 5 weeks earlier, I had given birth to our little girl, after being pregnant for just over 34 weeks. Travis held my hand while I endured labor, delivery, and then the worst drive of our lives---the one when we drove home from the hospital with an empty carseat installed behind us. And then for a couple weeks after that, Travis held my hand again as I felt the terrible pain---both the physical and emotional pain---that comes with tons of breast milk coming in, but not being able to let it out at all, but especially not having a little baby to feed the milk to.
Sitting in the airport that early morning I really wondered if life could get any worse. It just seemed like one thing after another. Not to mention the week before we ended up in the ER for Travis' leg and I could go on and on about little things that in the moment scared me out of my mind. Because after our traumatic experience with our baby girl, I then felt vulnerable. And to top it off, all I could think about was how in order to get a baby here to raise it would take at least 9 more months of agonizing fear, doubts, and worries {the list goes on and on}, where each day feels like a year, in order to bring a baby home with us. And then the realization came that it will always be hard for us to have a baby---pregnancy is now one of the greatest ways that our faith is tested from now on. And that is overwhelming at times.
This scripture from Isaiah has come to my mind often: “For, behold, I have refined thee, I have chosen thee in the furnace of affliction” (Isaiah 48:10).
Yet, while the refiner’s fire is the path by which we must go to obtain joy, it is just that—a fire—hot, uncomfortable, and dangerous. We do, though, have the ability to come out refined from the experience---not damaged.
Thankfully the woman at the customer service desk was in a semi-good mood. We ended up getting on the plane. We lined up to board, trying not to fall asleep standing up.
And that’s when I saw an older couple with a teenage girl who had disabilities try to get tickets on the same flight, it appeared that they had slept in the airport that night too; my heart hurt for them. I said a silent prayer they would get on the flight.
Once on the plane, I noticed the couple and daughter got seats, just in the row across from us. Right as they sat down, the cycle began: crying, silence, questioning—repeat. This was the process that the tall teenage girl, with blonde hair and glasses, with some sort of mental handicap repeated to her father. She talked very loud and used childlike phrases. Some people stared and acted annoyed.
She was scared. She had no choice but to be on that plane to make the connection in Salt Lake to eventually get to her destination. When we first boarded, the plane was neat to her. She stared out the window watching the crew de-ice the plane. But then, as soon as the plane left the solid concrete ground for the air, she panicked.
She sat in the window seat and talked the entire flight, repeating over and over, practically yelling, “It’s a short flight, right dad?” She repeated this all the way from Denver, Colorado, to Salt Lake City, Utah. She stammered these words through tears and then the next second through confidence, then back through tears. Sometimes she would start to cry hysterically and then her dad would calm her down and she would go on to repeat all these emotions in the same cycle.
I sat in awe the whole flight---watching, listening. This girl's father, ever so patient and calm, reassured his daughter every few minutes by answering her question with, “yes, it’s a short flight,” over and over again. Though, there was no doubt in my mind that it had to be what felt like the longest flight ever to him. He let his wife sleep the whole flight, while he took care of his daughter, constantly calming and reassuring her. How tiring it must have been.
My mind was racing. This man and his wife are taking care of their daughter for what I assume would be 24/7 for the rest of her life. He never gets a break. But oh how patient he was. He was noticeably exhausted, yet he never once raised his voice, got upset, or ignored his daughter. I felt humbled and ashamed to have ever felt tired or sorry for myself, or having ever talked impatiently. This man was handling his own furnace of affliction in that moment so well, ultimately as Christ would have responded.
I was reminded that morning what it must be like for our Heavenly Father to watch us panic in a time of trial, only to console us with perfect patience and compassion. And I was also reminded how everyone has trials as I watched in awe a father so patiently and lovingly be in control of a very stressful, trying situation. I watched him care for her realizing that he and his wife would have this responsibility for the entirety of their time on earth. How hard it must be.
"It’s a short flight, right dad? Yes, it’s a short flight.” Over and over again, crying.
When I felt the plane skid on the runway in SLC I was relieved. Not for me, but for this girl and her dad. The flight was over. And then, as soon as we landed, in a voice I can still hear in my mind, the girl exclaimed to her dad with so much excitement: “It was a great flight! It was short flight, huh dad?”
And her father agreed, “yes, it was a great, short flight.”
I have a feeling that's how we'll all respond when our individual flights on this earth are over. It’s hard not to know what hard things are around the next turn. But this Travis and I do know, that because of the atonement of Jesus Christ, we are enabled to do what we need to do in this life to become more like Him. That knowledge brings power, no matter how smooth or bumpy our flight gets.
And in the grand scheme of eternity, it really is just a great, short flight.
It was a cold, bitter day back in early March of 2013. My contacts had been in for way too long. My hair was up in a high tangled bun and we were still in our clothes from 24 hours before.
We'd been sleeping {more like waiting} in the Denver airport all night. At 6 a.m. on the dot I got in line at the customer service desk of United Airlines to attempt to get added onto the next flight home. Our flight the night before had been cancelled a few hours after our connection landed in Denver. It would be a miracle if we got seats on that flight, and it was a miracle that we were capable of functioning physically, emotionally, and mentally at that moment.That day Travis had a midterm he needed to be back in time to take, and the fact that he hadn't been able to study all night in the below freezing airport didn't even phase us. All we were worried about was getting him in his classroom to take the test. Not to mention that the purpose of all the crazy back-to-back traveling across the country was for intense interviews for PhD programs. Our future was completely uncertain. And just 5 weeks earlier, I had given birth to our little girl, after being pregnant for just over 34 weeks. Travis held my hand while I endured labor, delivery, and then the worst drive of our lives---the one when we drove home from the hospital with an empty carseat installed behind us. And then for a couple weeks after that, Travis held my hand again as I felt the terrible pain---both the physical and emotional pain---that comes with tons of breast milk coming in, but not being able to let it out at all, but especially not having a little baby to feed the milk to.
Sitting in the airport that early morning I really wondered if life could get any worse. It just seemed like one thing after another. Not to mention the week before we ended up in the ER for Travis' leg and I could go on and on about little things that in the moment scared me out of my mind. Because after our traumatic experience with our baby girl, I then felt vulnerable. And to top it off, all I could think about was how in order to get a baby here to raise it would take at least 9 more months of agonizing fear, doubts, and worries {the list goes on and on}, where each day feels like a year, in order to bring a baby home with us. And then the realization came that it will always be hard for us to have a baby---pregnancy is now one of the greatest ways that our faith is tested from now on. And that is overwhelming at times.
This scripture from Isaiah has come to my mind often: “For, behold, I have refined thee, I have chosen thee in the furnace of affliction” (Isaiah 48:10).
Yet, while the refiner’s fire is the path by which we must go to obtain joy, it is just that—a fire—hot, uncomfortable, and dangerous. We do, though, have the ability to come out refined from the experience---not damaged.
Thankfully the woman at the customer service desk was in a semi-good mood. We ended up getting on the plane. We lined up to board, trying not to fall asleep standing up.
And that’s when I saw an older couple with a teenage girl who had disabilities try to get tickets on the same flight, it appeared that they had slept in the airport that night too; my heart hurt for them. I said a silent prayer they would get on the flight.
Once on the plane, I noticed the couple and daughter got seats, just in the row across from us. Right as they sat down, the cycle began: crying, silence, questioning—repeat. This was the process that the tall teenage girl, with blonde hair and glasses, with some sort of mental handicap repeated to her father. She talked very loud and used childlike phrases. Some people stared and acted annoyed.
She was scared. She had no choice but to be on that plane to make the connection in Salt Lake to eventually get to her destination. When we first boarded, the plane was neat to her. She stared out the window watching the crew de-ice the plane. But then, as soon as the plane left the solid concrete ground for the air, she panicked.
She sat in the window seat and talked the entire flight, repeating over and over, practically yelling, “It’s a short flight, right dad?” She repeated this all the way from Denver, Colorado, to Salt Lake City, Utah. She stammered these words through tears and then the next second through confidence, then back through tears. Sometimes she would start to cry hysterically and then her dad would calm her down and she would go on to repeat all these emotions in the same cycle.
I sat in awe the whole flight---watching, listening. This girl's father, ever so patient and calm, reassured his daughter every few minutes by answering her question with, “yes, it’s a short flight,” over and over again. Though, there was no doubt in my mind that it had to be what felt like the longest flight ever to him. He let his wife sleep the whole flight, while he took care of his daughter, constantly calming and reassuring her. How tiring it must have been.
My mind was racing. This man and his wife are taking care of their daughter for what I assume would be 24/7 for the rest of her life. He never gets a break. But oh how patient he was. He was noticeably exhausted, yet he never once raised his voice, got upset, or ignored his daughter. I felt humbled and ashamed to have ever felt tired or sorry for myself, or having ever talked impatiently. This man was handling his own furnace of affliction in that moment so well, ultimately as Christ would have responded.
I was reminded that morning what it must be like for our Heavenly Father to watch us panic in a time of trial, only to console us with perfect patience and compassion. And I was also reminded how everyone has trials as I watched in awe a father so patiently and lovingly be in control of a very stressful, trying situation. I watched him care for her realizing that he and his wife would have this responsibility for the entirety of their time on earth. How hard it must be.
"It’s a short flight, right dad? Yes, it’s a short flight.” Over and over again, crying.
When I felt the plane skid on the runway in SLC I was relieved. Not for me, but for this girl and her dad. The flight was over. And then, as soon as we landed, in a voice I can still hear in my mind, the girl exclaimed to her dad with so much excitement: “It was a great flight! It was short flight, huh dad?”
And her father agreed, “yes, it was a great, short flight.”
I have a feeling that's how we'll all respond when our individual flights on this earth are over. It’s hard not to know what hard things are around the next turn. But this Travis and I do know, that because of the atonement of Jesus Christ, we are enabled to do what we need to do in this life to become more like Him. That knowledge brings power, no matter how smooth or bumpy our flight gets.
And in the grand scheme of eternity, it really is just a great, short flight.
"How can you go two years without seeing your son?"
October 30, 2013
That moment you wait for forever. A moment of forever. A moment of peace, power, bliss and the
essence of what this life is all about: love.
A few weeks ago, I had the privilege of witnessing such a
moment when a local young man returned home honorably from his mission. After
two years of service, his family eagerly waited in the terminal of the airport
here in College Station. I can count on just one hand the moments where I have
literally felt the anticipation of the moment coursing through my soul and I can
honestly say this was one of those moments.
The Hinckley family stood around the terminal doors as the
passengers started filing past. Everyone we could see walking up the passageway
was too short or casually dressed to be an LDS missionary. The anticipation
was building… where was he? It had been two years and those final 60 seconds
were excruciating for the family.
Finally, they spotted him walking up from behind. Elder Hinckley made his way from the terminal door to the lobby grinning from ear to ear. And without missing a beat, he went straight to his mother and swept her up in the biggest hug possible.
Finally, they spotted him walking up from behind. Elder Hinckley made his way from the terminal door to the lobby grinning from ear to ear. And without missing a beat, he went straight to his mother and swept her up in the biggest hug possible.
He caught me off guard. I wasn't prepared to explain why
missionaries leave for two years because I honestly didn't know. I missed the missionary opportunity and mumbled in agreement: I don't know, I know, it would be so hard!
But I've reflected on that question for the last few weeks.
Why? Why would someone go on a mission for two years? Why
would someone leave their family, the comforts of home, put off an education,
career, and relationships? I think there are many answers on the surface:
Because of duty. Because it was expected of them by their family. Because that’s
what 19-year-old's in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints
do.
I listened closely the following Sunday when Elder Hinckley spoke in church and reported on his mission. I suddenly had my answer. There is really only one reason to stay out in the
mission field for two years without any real contact with your family, and that reason is love.
Elder Hinckley loves the Lord, more than his family, more than his friends, more than his education, career, home cooked meals, and yes, even A&M football games.
Elder Hinckley loves the Lord, more than his family, more than his friends, more than his education, career, home cooked meals, and yes, even A&M football games.
Elder Hinckley may have gone out on his mission because of
duty, but he stayed out in California for two years because of love. He went
and taught, often without success, but many times with it. He knows that this
Church is true. He knows that Jesus Christ died for his sins. He knows that
because of Christ, he can return to live with his Father in Heaven and be with
his family forever.
And because of love, Elder Hinckley went door-to-door for
two years to preach the gospel to the people in southern California because he
wanted them to know of God’s love too. He wants them to be able to be with
their families forever, too.
Missions aren't always easy. You don't always know why you're out there. You don't always meet the nicest people. It can be discouraging. But it can also be joyful. You can have the Spirit to guide you. You are not with your parents, but you know they love you and are out there waiting with anticipation until you return home to them again.
I think the same applies to us. Life is hard. We don't always know why we are here on this earth. It can be discouraging. It can be sad. But it can also be joyful. And our Heavenly Father loves us. He is watching and waiting with anticipation of when He can see His children again, and that moment will be more incredible than we can possibly imagine.
Life is too short and death is inevitable. Death comes for many too early and it is devastating. But it is not the end — it is only temporary. There is hope because of the restored gospel of
Jesus Christ. There is hope because we have the knowledge that because of Jesus Christ, we can be with our families for all
eternity.
On that Tuesday night in October, the Hinckley family felt a small part of the pure joy, of what it will be like to
be reunited with our families for all of eternity. That’s what I witnessed a few weeks ago: a small moment of forever.
If you would like to know more about how you can be with your family forever, please visit us this Sunday at 11 a.m. at 2815 Welsh Ave, College Station, TX 77845
*All photos Copyright Tracie Snowder 2013
Tracie Snowder is a professional writer, editor, mother to two sweet girls and wife to an awesome, handsome and hard-working A&M grad student. She graduated from Brigham Young University with a degree in broadcast journalism. She loves to bake treats, run, swim, and has a passion for photography. She is a sometimes-blogger at Snowders.com. You can follow her on Twitter here.
*All photos Copyright Tracie Snowder 2013
Tracie Snowder is a professional writer, editor, mother to two sweet girls and wife to an awesome, handsome and hard-working A&M grad student. She graduated from Brigham Young University with a degree in broadcast journalism. She loves to bake treats, run, swim, and has a passion for photography. She is a sometimes-blogger at Snowders.com. You can follow her on Twitter here.
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