On the sweetness of Mormon life.
A grandfather leaned on his son all the way to the stand for a baby blessing. The other men walked slow to keep pace with him. He could not stand for the blessing–Bishop and a son got tangled trying to get him a chair–so the men leaned to make him part of the circle. Dark slanted suits and a white baby dress.
Ward Conference meant the choir sat on the stand. My four-year old kept smiling and nodding up at me. When the priests blessed the sacrament, she peeked to see if I would give her the gimlet eye like I do in the pew. I did. She folded arms and bowed head quick.
We sustained President Monson. We sustained everyone else on down. Our Stake President told us that decades ago President Monson had come to a stake conference and his wife had got a testimony that he would be a prophet of God someday.
I sang a solo. My throat got tight in front of all those people. I sounded better when I sang it alone. My testimony sounds better before I share it too. But the Spirit said the testimony I sing or say is no testimony at all without Saints to hear it.
Bishop said he’d been worrying. The scriptures promise angels but he hadn’t seen any that he knew. He went to a leadership broadcast with a question, “Jeff Holland answered it, and the Spirit told me he was one of my angels.”
Our Stake President challenged us to read the Book of Mormon. He said he’d thought to call for a sustaining vote on the matter but we’d made it unnecessary by voting to sustain him.
At home I told my sick wife everything that happened. She told me about the talk she saw on BYU-TV about a missionary’s trip back to abandoned Nauvoo to rebury his dead daughter. She remembered a stake president we’d had who got up one morning, heard the voice, and drove 150 miles to visit us and our sick daughter in a hospital room.
We sustain and are sustained, upwards, downwards, sideways, and in circles.