No Coincidences

Tag: family history

  • The Hearts of the Fathers

    The Hearts of the Fathers

    I always thought about the mission of Elijah (turn the hearts of the fathers to the children and children to the fathers) from my perspective, as one of the “children.” I hadn’t thought about it from the other perspective.

    What happened when Christ preached to those who had died? He talked of His gospel and returning to heaven which was predicated on their baptism. This likely caused a stir amongst the dead. You can see the shudder through the countless number, “Baptism? But how can we be baptized without bodies?” Then Christ explained temple work, vicarious baptisms for the dead, and that they could be saved by their progenitors, their families. Imagine the excitement this caused.

    Those who Christ preached to had been dead for hundreds, some for thousands of years. When was the last time they’d thought about mortality? Did they think about mortality? Had they moved on? Like someone who has a vacation in Mexico but returns to their home, had they settled back into “life” amongst the dead and slowly stopped thinking about mortality? 

    If they had settled back into death, this news from Jesus Christ surely made them re-focus their attention on the living. 

    What then transpired? Did they begin ministering to their living loved ones? Were they sent out to influence the living? Were they ushered out to beg spiritually for help to be saved? 

    I’d always thought about how our hearts here on earth were turned to our dead loved ones when Elijah came and instituted the keys of the sealing power. 

    I hadn’t thought about how the hearts of the dead turned back to us and what that looked like. 

    Love. 

    Love and sacrifice and covenants bind us. 

    We, without them, cannot be made perfect. They, without us, cannot be made perfect. 

    Our ancestors laid the entire foundation for all that we have. Whether we want to give them credit, blame them, or forget them, we can’t deny that we are where we are and we are who we are because of them. 

    It’s amazing to see the modern-day genealogical work being done in the world and particularly amongst the saints. 

    We are creating a bonding link, a welded connection back to Adam. I don’t know exactly how, but this keeps the world from being smitten with a curse. 

    I believe it has to do with love. It has to do with connection. It has everything to do with why we’re here and what we’re meant to learn. 

  • Little Red Mark

    Little Red Mark

    I have a white church shirt with a little red permanent mark on the left cuff.

    A few years ago, in the Young Single Adult (YSA) Ward of my church, there was a young girl that started coming every so often. She had a family ward she more often went to, but every once in a while, would visit the YSA. She had a young son. He was a toddler, probably two years old.

    I was drawn to this girl. I could imagine how difficult it was for her to bring her young son with her to the YSA ward, a place full of single people with entirely different life situations. I could imagine how she felt judged and out of place. I could relate to how she felt. I’d been her a short year or two before. 

    At the time, I was the Sunday School President. That meant that once a month myself and my counselors led a teacher’s council with all the teachers in our ward to discuss how we could be better teachers, and how we could teach in the Savior’s way. 

    Whenever this young girl came to our ward, I would try to get her to stay for second hour and go to Sunday School. That was my job as Sunday School President, after all. More than that, it was my job as a disciple of Jesus Christ. 

    One Sunday I was inviting this girl to go to one of our Sunday School classes. The difference this week was I wouldn’t be going with her. I had my Teacher’s Council. I could tell that she was going to leave if I wasn’t going to attend the class with her. She was clearly worried about how her young child might be a distraction in class. So, I invited her to my teacher’s council. It took some explaining, letting her know it was open to anyone and she was completely welcome. She came to our council that day.

    I don’t remember anything we taught. I don’t remember an enlightening teaching moment or momentous thing learned on how to be a more Christ-like teacher, though I’m sure some of that occurred. I don’t remember it.

    What I do remember is spending time with that girl’s young son. My counselors were leading most of the discussion so I could spend time with him at the white board with markers, letting him play and keeping him occupied. When I did need to get up front and talk for a bit, I brought him with me. I look back at this moment fondly as a parent now with two daughters I’m constantly bringing to the front with me.

    I didn’t care if he was a distraction to the class. Some things are more important.

    That’s the point, right?

    At one point while watching him, he accidentally marked my white shirt with a red marker. I’ve thought about throwing that shirt out. It’s not a huge or extremely noticeable mark, but it’s there, and it is noticeable. I’ve kept that shirt. I wear it often. I use it as a reminder that some things are more important than a marked shirt.

    I sometimes wonder if someone might see that mark on my shirt and think, “how tacky, throw that shirt out, it has a red mark on it.”  Then I think about that young boy, his mother, and what’s more important, and decide it’s worth wearing that marked shirt.

    Reminder to everyone that we all have little red marks on our shirts. Sometimes they’re self-inflicted and sometimes they’re not. It doesn’t matter. The point is to not judge and to love without bounds.

    I recently got to see a young man that young girl was dating enter the waters of baptism. I hadn’t seen her little son in a few years. It’s crazy how quickly a two-year-old becomes an active, thinking, 5-year-old. I said hi to the now five-year-old boy. He, of course, didn’t remember me. But I showed him that mark on my shirt. It’s probably my imagination, but I saw recognition in those eyes. Like, whether or not he actually remembered making that mark (probably not), somehow, he recognized the significance. I felt like his eyes said, “I made that mark, and you kept it?” I told him I kept the shirt to remember him. He smiled.

    That young girl watched a man she had been dating get baptized. They were civilly married and as soon as they were able to, got sealed in God’s temple. They will be sealed in a temple for time and all eternity. That young boy will be sealed to them. Forever. That’s what it’s really all about, right?

  • The Journal Entry of Beth’s Conversion Story

    The Journal Entry of Beth’s Conversion Story

    This is my wife, Beth’s testimony exactly as written.  Names have been changed.

    In a future post I will give some of my thoughts about this, but for now, the power of her testimony should stand on its own, unencumbered by any comments I could hope to make.

    Here it is.

    The Journal Entry of Beth’s Conversion Story

    April 20, 2016

                   I just read my patriarchal blessing for the second time since I got it. It confirmed promptings I’ve been having lately that I should do some journaling for myself and posterity so, even though it is past midnight I felt it better to do this than mindlessly fall asleep to some Netflix show. The past few years have had so much I don’t know how to fit everything I should write to remember. So, because of my failings as a journal writer, it will have to be a highlight reel of life. I just feel some changes that have occurred are too important to neglect to include.

                   I am in my third year at ASU. I love it, I love learning, but my diagnosis with clinical depression in October 2015 has really been a roadblock in my ability to work hard. Luckily, after dropping out for a semester, I’m slowly starting to feel like myself again. I’m not taking medication anymore but I’ve been hiking often and the feeling I get from pushing myself and being physically fit really serves as a great anti-depressant. So I’m back in school with just 9 credit hours, but hard classes. (1920’s senior thesis, history of college sports, and existentialism) I will probably graduate in about a year and do some sort of graduate school program. I previously had been dead set on going to law school. However, I’ve had to rethink my career path after being diagnosed with the depression episode. I don’t really trust myself to be able to go through law school. I always had 100% confidence in my academic capabilities. Now, I’ve taken a real hit to that confidence. My patriarchal blessing does mention that through my righteousness I will have many different career options. That has been comforting.

                   Life has been full of changes the past year. I think the biggest one that I will write on is about the ending of my very serious relationship with John for 2 ½ years and my decision to come back to church. I dated him from senior year of high school all the way up to just short of my 21st birthday. I really thought I loved him. He and I had plans to even get married one day. We were HS sweethearts and he was what I considered my first real love. I feel a real sense of anger at the situation but I also can’t help but think I will always love who he used to be and what we used to have.

    Initially, since about sophomore year of high school, I was set on not being LDS. I didn’t have a testimony of the Book of Mormon, I didn’t believe what the prophets spoke about. I wanted to live contrary to many of the commandments. I never cared to enter the temple. I was prepared to live that life with John too. We were definitely not living by LDS standards and that is exactly what I wanted. I was perfectly happy breaking the word of wisdom and living contrary to the law of chastity, among other things. Our relationship was never perfect. We fought often. He drank. I remember one day he drank so much he wound up in the hospital knocked out. For approximately 5 hours I sat there watching him, angry, upset, feeling betrayed, but wanting to show compassion. He cheated on me many times. I would often find messages on his phone texting other girls. He was perfectly fine with going out and getting drunk with other girls when I wasn’t around. Dramatic scenarios like these were often. I didn’t like who I was when I was with him. But I lost touch with who I used to be or who I could be. And when there were good times, I felt some amazing love. I just started to realize I had a better potential and I deserved better.

                   The changes came slowly at first. I remember when Clark was on his mission, I had one night where I felt so very, extremely alone. Not just physically but much deeper than that. It was dark. I was overcome by hopelessness. It was a feeling I almost lack the ability to explain. I now think it was a result of separating myself so far from the spirit that the light from Christ dimmed. I was prideful. I hadn’t prayed in years. But I did. I prayed in that moment. Desperately. I pleaded with God, please take this feeling from me even though I know I don’t deserve it. Immediately, my fear dissipated and calm overwhelmed me. That was the first time I understood how real prayer was. I wish I could convey that feeling to others. It was painful, scary, optimistic, and inspiring all at once. That was a start.

                   Any institute classes at ASU helped too. I didn’t mind studying the gospel from an intellectual standpoint so I liked going. I read scriptures. I discussed the gospel. I often was so eager to share what I learned with John. Sometimes he’d listen, other times he’d pretend to. It was awkward. I wanted to share what I found profound and he was resistant. But again, there were slow changes creeping in. I was realizing what the words of the gospel could mean. And he was realizing that he wanted nothing to do with it.

                   The real changes began around the start of 2015. I had quit or was about to quit partaking in most of the big sins I had been living in for years. I had already quit drinking and I was ready to cut-off the intimate aspect of my relationship with John. I had an institute class on the Teachings of the Latter-Day Prophets at this time. For some scheduling reason, I missed that class often. To make up absences we had to write papers on general conference talks. (Which I had never listened to previously in my life) So I did it. And that was a blessing in disguise. Again, I took it as an intellectual opportunity, like listening to Gospel TED Talks. At first I learned a lot. But then I began to feel a lot. I studied the atonement. And the friendship and companionship of Christ. I studied talks on being genuine and being compassionate. I began to slowly feel a change of heart, a softening of a heart that had been proud for many years. And even though I thought I was happy before, I started to feel joy. Real joy. And I started to feel love for others. Real Christ-like love. And I started to understand my divine purpose. The real potential I could live up to. Then came the dreams that gave the final push.

                   I’ve had vivid and detailed dreams for a few years now. Often they are silly. But often they are profound. Sometimes they even come true. I know that for many of us, the spirit speaks to us in dreams. For context, it is important to know I never wanted to get married in the temple before in my life and I never had been the kind of girl to dream excessively of my wedding day either. However, I had about four dreams where I was walking out of the temple in a white dress looking happier than I’d ever been lovingly holding the hand of a man. These dreams always ended right before I saw the face of the man I married. One night, I had the fifth identical dream but this time the man was John.

                   In addition, I had another dream that my friend Mike was home from his mission, in white, crying and saying how proud he was while hugging another person dressed in white. As he turned around it became clear it was John on his baptism day! So with these dreams I thought I knew what it meant! John and I would change our ways, repent, convert, and live happily ever after.

                   But of course that isn’t what happened. As a side note, I now have a different interpretation of those dreams. I think God was showing me what could be. What I should want to be. And as I saw that possibility play out in my dreams but realized that it could not be a reality in real life I had to consider what I truly wanted and expected for myself. After I broke up with John I had the wedding dream only once more. It was once again identical to the dreams before. But I saw the man I was going to marry. It isn’t like I could list a particular physical look I had for him but it’s as if I knew who he was anyway. As if the trust and love I had for him made me know him. And it made me desire so much to strive to one day be endowed so that I will get to marry that man and walk out of the temple with him one day. That was the first time I wanted to go through the temple. I now hope to be endowed and sealed one day.

    So after these dreams I tried to appeal to John, first by asking him to quit drinking. I wanted so badly to have the life I thought I knew we could have. But we were sent here with free will and someone needs to want to change in order to truly change. He did not want to change. The last few months were devastating. I thought I loved John, I was otherwise so happy, but my relationship was suffering. I was starting to open up to the gospel, to build a relationship with Christ. I was doing well in school, I was making many friends. But we had diverged. Thankfully I was blessed to be given so many obvious signs of what was right that I knew without any doubt there was no turning back from the Gospel at this point. I either go forward with this change next to John or I go forward without him. But I had to go forward And so June came, he sat on my front doorstep. We talked kindly but distanced. And that was it. I was sad. The man I thought I loved was gone. But inexplicably I felt so at peace. It felt okay. I felt optimistic. I sensed a hard path ahead but I knew it was going to be worth it.

                   So here I am with that journey under my belt. It has left me at times feeling damaged. I’m generally a confident person but I took a real hit to my self worth after this. The depression has made me feel like I’m not as smart or capable as I thought I was. My failed relationship made me feel I’m not worth someone’s loyalty or commitment That no matter how pretty or smart or funny or confident they think I am that a life with me wasn’t worth giving up something as trivial as alcohol. That my friends weren’t wiling to stick around when I chose to give up sin and follow Christ. But the gospel keeps me going.

                   I can’t wait to love someone that chooses to love me fully back. I hope one day I can trust myself to do that. I hope one day I can give 100% of my love and feel it back. I want to trust that I’m worth someone’s loyalty. I want to trust I’m worth a righteous man. I pray to become better through this trial so I can be worth it one day.

    And in the end of this trial I realize I’m grateful for it. I look to those times where I was given a sign and a testimony loud and clear when I’m beginning to doubt. And I’ve doubted. I was proud enough to think blessings would rain down on me immediately after this big step. They didn’t, at least not in the form I had expected. I’ve dated in the YSA ward but there hasn’t been anyone I’m seriously in to. In fact I almost find myself incapable of emotionally attaching to anyone. I’ve dealt with crippling depression. I lost friends. People decided they would choose John over me. They decided it was better to have the partying John than the sober Beth. I lost direction in my career path. But among all these trials I now understand what is temporary and what is eternal. It was the most alone I had ever felt. But I finally knew I wasn’t really ever alone.

                   I had to go through my own repentance process with the bishop. (Farnsworth then Thurston) It was scary. But I now love and feel the atonement for real. Every time I pray, I thank Heavenly Father for Christ’s atonement. I needed the atonement then, and I need it now. My testimony in the atonement holds me over when my testimony in other aspects is less stable. My testimony of the eternal nature of being is so strong. My testimony of Christ’s personal relationship to us through prayer is tangible.

                   I love Christ. I feel him there because he knows my pain. He’s been my friend when all hope was gone. I’m not completely myself again but I find joy in reaching out to those who I sense also feel alone, damaged, or scared. My trial has given me an ability to reach out to those in pain just as Christ does. And I feel real, Christ-like love that I’ve never felt before. I look at people with a new light now because of it.  I try to understand the principle of forgiveness because I need it. I long to maintain an eternal perspective because I knew what challenges there were to face on Earth yet I boldly said I was ready to do it. And I will continue to do so.

                   I look forward to the day I can look back and understand the ‘why’ of my experiences and trials. But for now I will press on with hope and gratitude. I know my Savior lives. I hope I never doubt it! I hope I never forget. I am so grateful for the hard times. I’m grateful for humility and for this clarity. I’m so grateful for my story.

    Elisabeth Brooke Cannon