AWFUL CHAINS

AWFUL CHAINS

For thus [the devil] whispereth in their ears, until he grasps them with his awful chains ... 2 Nephi 28:22

LDS transplants from the Mountain West typically send their children to BYU for college. Not so native Oklahomans; their children are generally educated in-state. Carrie (not her real name) was raised by wonderful convert parents on a farm outside a small southern Oklahoma town that was big enough for a small but virtually youth-barren branch. She lived at home and attended a local junior college her first two years. Enthusiastic, optimistic, and gregarious, she was elected student body president her sophomore year.

Bishop Rick Henderson experienced a surge of enthusiasm when he learned that Carrie would be coming to the University on scholarship the next school year. Since he would be in the vicinity soon on a job-related trip, he called, introduced himself, and made arrangements to meet her at her home.

She was warm, open, and instantly comfortable to be around. She was anxious to get started on this new phase of her life, to be with an LDS peer group for the first time, and to have an LDS room-mate. The Bishop responded to the prompting to call her to be the LDS Student Association president for the upcoming school year. She graciously accepted, her eyes sparkling.

Carrie loved Institute, she loved her calling. She loved the camaraderie with other LDS students. Alas, she didn’t love her room-mate. They could pretty well avoid each other during the week but it got so bad that each would go home on alternate week-ends, so they wouldn’t have to be in each others' presence over the long week-ends.

Early Spring semester the good bishop picked up something from a passing conversation, just a little ripple, nothing even close to a wave of concern. He called her in. His slight suspicion was confirmed; she had begun to make exceptions to the For the Strength of Youth counsel concerning her circle of friends. He again responded to a prompting, this time to call her on a mission, reasoning that by so doing she would leave forever behind that tendency to not be as careful as advised with regard to choosing her friends.

There was a long pause. “Well,” she began, “If that is going to happen there is something I need to take care of. You know about my roommate’s and my challenges, don’t you?”

He did.

“Well, last fall, on one of those week-ends when I was here by myself, things got really bad, I mean REALLY bad. I was screaming in my mind, “Will somebody – anybody – PLEASE acknowledge that I’m alive!” I called a friend from my junior college days, who is up here too. He came over. We got to talking, and then to dancing. Then things got out of hand. We didn’t do “everything,” but more than we should have.”

“Carrie! I’m so sorry. You could have called your bishop, you know.”

I thought about it. But you’re so busy! I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Not that busy. Not when someone is in crisis. How about your home or visiting teachers – could you have called one of them?”

“I’m not even sure I know who they are, Bishop. No one has ever visited me since I got here.”

Carrie and the bishop visited weekly for the remainder of the semester. Tiny miracles began happening, and continued until she personally experienced the Atonement of the Savior working on her behalf.

Her mission call to Sweden came during the summer.

It was Bishop Henderson’s practice to write monthly to the missionaries serving from his ward. Carrie, like most, would respond, not every time, but regularly. Sweden was known for not being very productive, but Carrie, to the bishop’s surprise and delight, seemed to be talking regularly about people coming into the waters of baptism.

She filled an honorable mission, and came back to the University to finish her degree. Bishop Henderson had been released and was serving elsewhere. He no longer enjoyed regular, close contact with her. Oh, they greeted each other and chatted when their paths crossed, but he was no longer aware of what was going on in her daily life.

However, not long after her mission a multi-stake conference was held in the capital city, featuring Elder M. Russell Ballard, newly called to the Quorum of the Twelve at the time. The theme was missionary work. He had recently toured Europe, interviewing missionaries along the way. He was evidently impressed when he interviewed Carrie: during his address he called her up to the podium. As he introduced her he indicated that more people had responded to her invitation to come to Christ than any other missionary in all of Europe during the previous year. He asked her what the key had been. She bore a beautiful testimony, in the process indicating that the members had responded to her pleas to do their part as member missionaries. Bro. Henderson’s feelings were thus confirmed, that she had enjoyed an unusually successful mission.

And that is precisely why, when he got her wedding announcement a year or so after she had graduated and moved on, he felt profound sadness instead of elation. She was marrying a guy not of her faith – her junior college friend whom she had called that long-ago lonely night.

Last he heard, Carrie was living and working in the eastern part of the State, struggling to maintain her Church activity, but facing increasing resistance on the home front.

THROUGH ANOTHER HUMAN BEING

THROUGH ANOTHER HUMAN BEING

The Lord most assuredly answers prayers, but it is often through another human being that He does so. – President Spencer W. Kimball

“Nicole! You’re back!”

She stood there, framed by the doorway of Bishop Henderson’s office, considerably thinner than she was when she left two years before, although she was not hefty then.

“You remember me? And my name! After so long – I’m impressed.”

“What can I say? Some people just make a lasting impression.” Nicole had joined the Church during her freshman year, largely as a result of the efforts of her older sister, a convert herself. She had not returned for her sophomore year, mainly because of finances.

“So what have you been up to since I’ve seen you last?”

“Working full-time and taking a class or two at the local community college. That’s about it.”

“I’m glad you’re back. How do things look financially for you at this point in time?”

“A lot better. I hope to find a part-time job, but it looks like I’ll be able to stay this time around. Oh, and I took a vacation to the Caribbean last fall. I couldn’t believe the bargain price, so I said why not? Spent too much on the “optional” stuff, though.”

“Don’t we all? Did you gain the requisite pound a day like most of us do when there is so much delicious food around?”

“That’s just it, Bishop. I don’t eat hardly anything. Can’t seem to get myself to. I’ve lost too much weight, but I keep stressing about how fat I am. I’m making myself sick. I can’t sleep, I feel tired all the time – I’m a wreck.”

Anorexia, thought the bishop. That explains the sunken, lifeless eyes.

“Nicole! I’m sorry! How can I help?”

“I’m doing everything I know how. I pray my knees raw pleading for the discipline – or something – to break my downward spiral. I know I haven’t been going to church as I should – maybe that’s why the Lord doesn’t hear my prayers. I guess I’m not good enough any more for Him to pay any attention. Maybe I never was.” She reached for a tissue.

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

“What do you mean?” She looked startled.

“You’ve been praying for Divine guidance. President Kimball said something like, “We plead for answers to our prayers. The Lord does so, but it often is through another human being that those answers come. Just like you – you’re praying for help, and you find yourself sitting across the desk of one of the Lord’s authorized servants on this earth. Why else would you be here if you weren’t prompted by Heaven to come? I can’t help but feel that you having the courage to walk through that office door is the beginning of the Lord’s answer to your prayers.”

“Hm-m. I never thought of it that way.” She looked up. There was a flicker of light in her eyes.

The bishop rolled up his sleeves as he spoke. “This is the Church and Kingdom of God on the Earth today, Nicole. There are resources available to help with this and many other knee-buckling challenges that people are called upon to face. Are we ready to go to work?”

It was a COLD February day. She had long sleeves on too. She took off her coat, unbuttoned her sleeve cuffs, and mimicked the Bishop as she exclaimed, “You bet.”

WALK WITH ME

WALK WITH ME

… My Spirit is upon you… and thou shalt abide in me,
and I in you; therefore walk with me.
Moses 6:34 (emphasis added)


“Oh, Rick, I can’t do that!” Richard Henderson had been bishop for a good 48 hours, and a main result of the first meeting with his counselors was the confirmation to call Charlotte Johansen, dentist’s wife and mother of six, including 3 teen-agers, as the Relief Society president.

She continued, “As you well know, there are sisters in our ward who I don’t seem to be able to get along with. Why, I can’t even organize a successful birthday party for my kids, let alone those extravaganzas that those sisters seem to expect. Besides, do I look like a Relief Society president? Look at me! I’m frumpy, and there’s a reason for that. Our twin teen-age sons are driving us bonkers. But they’re not half the challenge that their older sister is right now. It’s all I can do to keep things from completely collapsing around here, let alone have time for me. I’m working down at the office to help with finances, and I still have a pre-schooler! Are you serious?! There is no way – it would be a disaster.”

Her husband was glowering. His body language said it all, but he spoke anyway. “I’m in a pretty dark place these days, you might as well know. It’s even hard to get myself to church. I cannot honestly say that you could count on my support if she’s called. Sorry, but that’s the way it is, I’m afraid.”

Rick sensed that his good friend had been expecting to be called as the bishop, and when it didn’t happen he was devastated. Now embarrassment for feeling that way had set in. This was not the time to directly call it to his attention.

“Believe me, I’ve been to similar places. Pretty scary. Tell you what, let’s get together for lunch first chance we have, and we’ll talk it through.” Sister Johansen’s husband visibly softened.

“Char (calling her by the formal ‘Sister Johansen’ would not have been appropriate right then), I realize that everything you have said is absolutely true.” She looked startled – she hadn’t expected that response – but at least the bishop had her complete attention. “But that is only half the equation. You have tremendous strengths to go along with your inadequacies. As you know, many of our brothers and sisters are really struggling right now. Since the bottom fell out of the crude oil prices, we’re dealing with a wave of unemployment. Families have to move to find work, but they can’t sell their homes even for what they owe on them. You’re feeling it, too, aren’t you: people are postponing dental work, and aren’t able to pay if they have had some done. And you, Charlotte Johansen, understand as no one else the plight of our struggling sisters. You do so with such sweet compassion and concern. They need that, they respond to it, they appreciate it so much when someone understands, and cares. You can love them – you do love them – and give them hope, Char, better than anyone I know. You can call counselors who have strengths in the areas where you struggle, so that the presidency, not the individual, is the total package. Your counselors can run the program, and you can be free to play to your strengths, to love the down and out. If indeed this is the will of the Lord that you serve in this capacity, I promise that you will be blessed to see beyond the façade of the fashion police, sense their inner self-esteem struggles, their challenges to find lasting happiness, and come to love them also. You will be able to deal with your own family matters with an extra helping of charity, the pure love of Christ. That will make a welcome difference, both to you and to them. Will you and that great husband of yours take this to the Lord, and find out from Him if this is His will?”

“Well, Bishop Henderson – it’ll take awhile for me to get used to calling you that – since you put it that way, we’ll see what happens when we ask the Lord about it.”

“How about you, Gordon – will you join your wife in her efforts to find out?”

“Well, I haven’t quit praying yet. I suppose I can stick that into a prayer or two.”

*********************************************

“Have you gotten an answer yet?” It was two days later. Bishop Henderson was calling from work. The question came after the obligatory chit-chat.

“Well, I can love those sisters, if that’s what you mean. I already do. But I still can’t organize, or please the fashion police.”

“So, who’s going to help you with those things? I’ll need their names before Sunday.”

She already had them in mind.

TAKING ONE FOR THE LORD

TAKING ONE FOR THE LORD

I don’t know why I took the family station wagon that night. I usually drove the much more fuel-efficient “Perdiddle” on out-of-town trips. Maybe it was because I was tired of its “skate-board-with-a-motor” feel.

I was on a high council assignment to visit the youth program of the Kingfisher Branch, about 2 hours away. I entered town from the east, passing the city limit sign. Just beyond the first intersection I was shaken to the core by an ear-splitting THWACK! The rear-view mirror revealed that the back driver’s side window had been suddenly transformed into a wall-to-wall spider web, emanating from a surprisingly symmetrical chip almost in the middle.

I somehow made it to the rented IOOF hall where the branch met near the western city limits. The evening went well – I felt welcome and appreciated. After the meeting the branch president walked out to the car with me.

“Holy Guacamole! What happened to YOU?”

I told him.

“That’s a bullet, my friend.” He was a rancher and quite familiar with guns. I am not. The tightness in my stomach returned full force. “Holy Toledo. You need to go by the police station before you leave town. I’m serious – this is nothing to just let go. Here, I’ll draw you a map.”

The police chief himself was on duty that night. The branch president must have called, because I was met outside as I pulled up.

“Holy [bleep]!” He exclaimed when he saw the window. “Where were you exactly when that happened?”

“Just coming into town on [Highway] 33.”

“From the east or west?”

“From I-35.”

“East. What time?”

“Let’s see. Oh yes, I did glance at the clock on the dash. 6:34.”

“The 911 call came at 6:37, from a neighbor, according to the police report.”

“Police report?!”

“Come here, let me show you something.”

We walked down some outside stairs and into the basement where the jail cells were located.

“See that piece of [bleep] in the far corner over there?”

All I saw at first was a pile of dirty rags. As my eyes adjusted a human form, obviously sleeping one off, gradually emerged amongst what turned out to be torn clothing.

“This [bleep’s] wife was between him and the front window, which faced the highway. He emptied his revolver at her. She was hit four times. She’s dead. He missed twice. There are two bullet holes in the window.

The knot in my stomach tightened into nausea.

“You’re one lucky s.o.b., you know that? Half second earlier, coulda been the front window and your head. C’mon, let’s go add your story to the report.”

I didn’t have any trouble with drowsiness on the way home that night, let me tell you.

STEWARD OF GOD

STEWARD OF GOD

For a bishop must be blameless, as the steward of God . . . Titus1:7



“Brother Boyce, how are you and Chris doing?”

There I was in the stake president’s office, surrounded by his counselors.

“Uh, fine? Why? Is there something I’m not aware of?”

“No, no. We were just asking. It’s nice to know there are a few couples out there who don’t struggle.”

“We have our moments occasionally, but we make up quickly.”

“Glad to hear it. How are your finances? Are you carrying any debt?”

“Home mortgage, car payment. That’s about it.”

“Credit card?”

“$400 at the moment. But we’ll pay it off next paycheck. We pay the whole balance each month.”

“I wish more people would do that. How are things at work? Are there any challenges in that regard?”

“I’m spread pretty thin at times, but I’m learning to pace myself, to strike a balance. It seems to be working, at least most of the time.”

“We want to thank you for your service as Bishop Gray’s counselor. He’s grateful for all you do, as we all are. How is that going for you?”

“I enjoy it. It’s inspiring to see Bill rise to the occasion, truly becoming Bishop Gray, representative of the Lord.”

“Well, Bob, thank you for your time this evening. It’s good working with you.”

“Uh, that’s it?”

“Counselors, do you have anything to add? No? That’s it, then. You’re free to go.”

Chris was anxiously awaiting my arrival home. “How did it go? What happened?”

“Not a thing. They asked me about my job, our finances, our marriage, and my calling. Then they sent me on my way.”

“That’s it?”

“Yup – that was all.”

“Weird!”


“So, what’s new? Enjoying your bishopric experience?”

I was traveling on assignment with my friend and colleague, who happened to be the president of a neighboring stake.

“Good. But you know, I had the craziest interview with the stake president and both his counselors. It was about a month ago. They called me in, asked me about our marriage, my job, my finances, and my calling. That was all. We said a prayer, and they sent me home. Spooky.

“Oh, I know what was going on,” responded my colleague, mystery in his voice.

Try as I might, I could not get another word out of him. “I’ve said too much already,” was the only other thing I was able to pry from his sealed lips.


A special bishopric meeting was called as soon as I returned. The stake president met us in our clerk’s office. We had heard rumors: a clerk had received a letter from Salt Lake City that identified us as Stillwater 2nd Ward, rather than just Stillwater. That had produced a buzz.

Sure enough, a new ward had been approved. The president showed us the boundaries. Bishop Gray “just couldn’t part” with his Relief Society president; the wife of a member of the stake presidency had made a formal request to remain in the established ward. The boundaries were therefore rather ridiculously gerrymandered to leave those two families in the established ward. The president assured us that he had that prerogative.

With that taken care of I was invited to go through the chapel to the stake wing.

“Well, Bishop Boyce, I’m sure you’ve got it figured out by now, on account of that seemingly pointless interview of a few weeks ago.”

I hadn’t. Clueless I think they call it.

“You’re the new bishop of the Stillwater 2nd Ward, which will be created this Sunday. Can you have your counselor recommendations to me no later than tomorrow afternoon? Oh, that’s right. Your wife is supposed to be present for the call. Could you phone her and get her over here, and we’ll start all over again?”

I was not sure I could, I was so light-headed. I managed somehow.

“Do I have to put on a dress?” That was her initial response.

SOME OTHER WAY

SOME OTHER WAY

… doth he receive [confirmation]by the Spirit of truth
Or by some other way?
If it be some other way it is not of God.
Doctrine and Covenants 50:19-20



My room-mate and I were walking into the setting sun, toward the Wilkinson Center.

“A little bit warmer than northern California,” I ventured.

“A lot warmer. Hey, look at that. Our day is about to get even hotter.”

She was just a silhouette at first, surrounded by a halo of light, emerging from the depths of the sunset. As we drew closer she gradually took on an alluring human form, the fulfillment of a recently returned missionary’s dreams.

My room-mate knew her. They chatted. I fidgeted.

“Who’s your friend?” she finally asked.

“Oh, sorry – Bob, this is Janelle; Janelle, Bob.”

“Oh, sweet mystery of life at last I found you …” Thank you, Heavenly Father, I prayed silently, for allowing me to meet my future wife just now.

My room-mate had her phone number.

I wore a hole in the carpet pacing back and forth by the phone, planning exactly what to say, anticipating how she would respond, and scripting my exact replies to all the possible scenarios I could conjure up.

“Hello, Janelle? This is Bob, you know, the guy who was with Dennis the other day outside the Wilkinson Center?”

“Oh, hi. Didn’t you say you just got back from a mission? Remind me again where you served.”

“Peru.”

“That’s right. Did you know a guy named Jack Golightly down there? Went to high school with him.”

“Elder Golightly … Golightly. No, the name doesn’t ring a bell. Where did you go to high school?”

“Springville, right here in the valley, how about you?”

“California. Pacific Grove, to be exact.”

“Hm-m. I’m afraid that’s a new one on me. Is that by L.A.?”

“North coast.”

“Anywhere close to Oakland? That’s where my boyfriend’s from.”

Silence …

“Bob, you still there?”

“Uh … oh, yeah! 100 miles south.”

“I probably haven’t been there then. I’ve been to Palo Alto, though, and to Berkeley. How about you?”

“Did a Model United Nations at Berkeley, and marched with our band at a Stanford football game. Nice places.”

It went on like that for a few more minutes. I just wanted it to be over.

> < >

“Why didn’t you tell me she had a boyfriend?!” I was quite “enthusiastic” as I asked my room-mate that question.

“Oh Nathan? It’s not working out. She’s trying to find the courage to dump him. She talks to me all the time. Thought maybe you’d be the one to give her the incentive to follow through.”

“No wonder she was so nice when I called her. But why did she have to go and mention him?”

“You called her? And you didn’t ask her out?”

“She said she had a boyfriend!”

“She was just testing your resolve. Call her back.”

“Janelle? This is Bob, Dennis’ friend, again. Say, ‘Ben Hur’ is playing at the Wilkinson Center this week-end. Wanna go this Friday?”

“Oh Bob, I’d love to, but I have plans this weekend. Thanks for thinking of me, though. Call again sometime, ok?”

“She’s interested! She told me to call back!”

“Darn right she’s interested. Keep calling.”

I did. She had plans then too.

On the fourth try, she was free for a Sunday night fireside. We went, then discussed what we had learned. I was in heaven.

But she “had plans” the next week-end. And the next.

Heavenly Father, thank you for bringing Janelle into my life. It’s just the Law of Opposition at work, isn’t it, that makes it so hard. Please bless me with the fortitude to not give in to the opposition.

Christmas Break was just around the corner. Our returned missionaries’ club was having its annual Holiday festivities, dinner and formal dance. I asked Janelle, but I had a “Plan B” all worked out, just in case. To my surprise and delight, she accepted! On the last number of the evening, it was “slow dancing, swaying to the music …”

Thank you, Lord, finally!

> < >

I couldn’t wait for Christmas Break to be over. I called her as soon as I got back in town.

“Sorry, Bob, but Nathan and I are back together. It happened over the break. You’re a good friend. I’ll always remember you.”

Lord, what is going on?! It’s not going to work out long-term between Janelle and Nathan, is it. Just bless me with patience and I’ll be fine.

“You’ll never guess. You’ll like it though.” Dennis was bouncing a little, he was so excited.

“Oh, no! I’m not falling for that again. You’ve gotten me once too often. You’re gonna say something like, “I saw the first robin of Spring today,” and then you’re gonna start laughing.”

“No, no, for real this time. Nathan dropped out of school and has gone home to Oakland. It’s over between them.”

My heart skipped a beat. “What! Dennis, I swear, if you’re trying to pull one on me …”

“I’d do that about robins, but not Janelles – call her!”

I sent up a prayer of gratitude, patted myself on the back for my unusual patience and perseverance in the face of opposition, and dialed.

“Hey, Janelle, it’s been awhile …”

She met me for lunch at the Cougareat. Subdued, no trace of bubbly. We stuck to the weather, safe things like that. No “slow dancing,” but hey, that would return, right?

I didn’t dare ask her out more than once a week, at least yet. After all, she was dealing with a broken heart, right? She needed time. She always said yes when I did ask her, even though she was zombie-like at times.

And then, over ice cream after a movie, “You know, Bob, I must have dated 201 different guys by now, and broken 200 hearts. They always fall for me. And then, when I finally really fall for someone, I get my heart broken. Why does it have to be that way?!”

She’s confiding in me. She’s trusting me. She must like me – more than just as a friend. It must be time. It’s time, right? But, I’ll go to the temple just to make sure.

I didn’t have any money, but what I did have was my dad’s credit card. He’d understand this one time of exceeding my budget. I drove by myself to Manti, thinking about nothing else but eternity with a girl named not Maria, but Janelle. If the deceased was dependent on me to understand the ceremony, he was out of luck; my thoughts were anywhere but on the proceedings. In the celestial room I was sure I received confirmation.

I went to a pay phone and called her collect. Her dad answered.

“Who?”

“I’m the friend of Janelle’s with the red coupe.”

“Oh, that one. Yes, operator, I’ll accept the charges. But make it quick, young man. We’re not exactly made of money around here, you know.”

“Hey Janelle, Bob. I’m in Manti. I’ll be there between 10 and 10:30.”

“Tonight? You’re coming to my house tonight?”

“Sure am. I’ll explain when I get there. Can’t talk too long – Daddy’s orders.”

She met me at the door. Daddy was in his easy chair. He meant to stay right there until I left. I don’t remember how we convinced him to retire for the night. He did, though, with the admonition, “Make it quick, honey, it’s a long day tomorrow.” It was meant more for me than for her.

I told her of my feelings, and of my celestial room confirmation. I suggested that we seriously consider getting married. I had imagined that she would melt in my arms with love and gratitude.

“Bob, you’ve been a good friend. I’ll always be grateful for that. But I got done with finals today, and I’m leaving early tomorrow morning for Oakland. I’ll be there at least for the summer. Nathan and I are planning on doing just that – getting married. If things don’t work out, I’ll see you in the fall, but I’m afraid it would not be wise to hold your breath. I don’t know what to say about your confirmation. I just don’t feel that way right now.”

It was easy to comply with her dad’s admonition to make it quick.

SHALL WE NOT GO ON IN SO GREAT A CAUSE

IN SO GREAT A CAUSE

Brethren, shall we not go on in so great a cause! …Let your hearts rejoice, and be exceeding glad … for the prisoners shall go free. Doctrine and Covenants 128:22



No! Not that! Not then!

I had “made the mistake” of showing my wife my itinerary for my week-long Utah trip. She noticed all too readily my discretionary time on Thursday afternoon. She wanted me to do some genealogy research for her. It seems that a 19th century Kansas ancestor had one more child, Sarah, mentioned in a letter somewhere but not accounted for on any official record. My wife wanted me to go to the 4th floor of the BYU library and look in the 1870 census record for Sarah Hutchinson (this was before all those things were online).

“But Ana Maria Matute will be in town.”

“Ana Maria Ma-WHO-te?”(My wife can be quite spontaneously clever at times.)

“She wrote Primeras Memorias, my favorite Spanish novel. It’s through the eyes and vocabulary of a 6 year old, but who has the wisdom of a mature, grounded adult. And the author is still alive! She’ll be lecturing at BYU that afternoon. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for an old Spanish major like me!”

“Suit yourself. You’ll just be leaving the children’s third great grandmother waiting even longer for her work to be done.”

“Sarah Hutchinson is a direct ancestor? AHhhhhh!”

. . .

Harmony on the home front eventually trumped giving Ana Maria Matute the opportunity of meeting me in person. I successfully located the 1870 census – Kansas, appropriate county. I found the correct Hutchinson family, but no Sarah. Good! Now I can go to the lecture with a clear conscience.

But wait! Look in the adjoining counties? Now why would I want to do a thing like that?! Just do it? All right, if you insist, but I’ll miss my favorite author.

There she was – an indentured servant, 15 years old, listed with a farm family in a neighboring county. Gradually the pieces of her story, one that I had heard bit by bit over the years, began to come together in my mind. Her father was a ne’er-do-well who had trouble providing for his family. When the Civil War broke out, he left to enlist, promising to send his wages home. He was never heard from again – Civil War records do not show him as an enlistee. A single mother with 5 children in the 1860’s – standing there in the aisle on the fourth floor of the Harold B. Lee library, I felt the agony of Sarah’s mother as she made the decision to send her precious child away to be a domestic, so the youngster would at least have enough to eat.

I handed the copy of the new-found documentation to my wife upon returning home. With misty eyes, I recounted the experience, concluding, “You know I would not have chosen to do this on my own. Poor Sarah, what a miserable childhood she must have had. Thanks for giving me the opportunity to do a little bit to make her eternal life more pleasant.”

. . .

Some time later, our second daughter’s husband had just been in a roll-over accident, had broken his neck, and had been rendered a quadriplegic. We were still reeling with agony, when our bishop asked us to be the presiding authorities on a youth temple trip, 6 hours away in Dallas. We DIDN’T want to do that, given our circumstances. But, trying to be true to our covenants, we girded up our loins and accepted the assignment.

Our fourth daughter Rebekah was about 14 at the time. This was her first temple baptism experience. Her mother had sent some family names with her. Rebekah let it be known that she wanted her dad to baptize her. For some reason unexplainable to me now, I had not planned to do any baptisms that day, but to do other, less strenuous priesthood tasks. We shuffled assignments, and I entered the font with my beloved daughter. Imagine my elation when I read the first name on the screen: Sarah Elizabeth Hutchinson.

. . .

Back at the Dallas temple a few years later, my wife talked me into doing sealings rather than a customary endowment. Kneeling at the altar with the love of my life, my ears perked up when I heard that she was right then acting as proxy for Sarah Elizabeth Hutchinson., and myself for Sarah’s husband.