AS I HAVE LOVED YOU

AS I HAVE LOVED YOU . . .

A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another. John 13:34

Frank, a large animal veterinary professor, brought his family to church. His wife Debbie and their five children came with their husband and father, every week. They were as active as anyone, participating in everything -- Primary, Young Women, Relief Society, socials, service activities, firesides, everything but temple. But Frank was the only baptized member.

Soon after their oldest daughter Lara accepted an Ivy League college scholarship, disaster struck. The price of crude oil plummeted, which resulted in massive lay-offs. Right then, when home values were at their lowest, Frank’s teaching contract at the university was not renewed. He did find employment half-way across the country, but alas, their home was no longer worth even as much as they owed on it. The decision was made for Debbie and the children to remain behind, upgrade the home so they could sell it for what they owed, then join Frank when that was accomplished.

They had land, they had horses. They soon discovered, however, that what they didn’t have were remodeling experience or skills. With so much else to do (Debbie home-schooled the kids), from day one the upgrading of the home was a disaster in process.

This was the scenario I inherited as their new home teacher. On that very first visit and on every one thereafter I was mobbed – the children were so hungry for a father figure. I observed up close and personal the vulnerability of adolescent girls without a father in their lives. I felt the emptiness of young boys who need their father as mentor and role model. I determined to visit them every week, not just once a month. I didn’t quite make it, but I did average three visits a month. We would essentially hold a Family Home Evening when I came. I would often bring a son or daughter about the same age as one of the children, and we would visit and laugh and kid for the first few minutes. Then I would announce, “Ok, it’s lesson time. What should we sing?” A child would choose, usually a Primary song, and I would play it. They would inevitably ask for another, and another. Soon one of the girls said shyly, “Can I play one?” That’s how I learned that they were taking piano lessons.

She couldn’t quite get through it, so I said, “Can you have it ready for next time?” She did. We kept it up, assigning a specific song to one or the other of the girls to have ready for the next week. Soon they had quite a repertoire.

After the singing we would have an opening prayer, and then I would ask them about their studies, inviting them to share something they had learned in home school. Then came a lesson from the Book of Mormon. I learned to ask them to read five chapters together by the next time we met. They did so with enthusiasm.

Debbie pulled me aside one evening to thank me for my efforts. She also said that the Book of Mormon makes so much sense; she wished she could see the plates from which it is purported to have been translated, and to have the translation authenticated by scholars. I responded by indicating that my testimony had nothing to do with anything like that; my assurance of the truth of the book was based on confirmation through the Holy Ghost. She seemed impressed, and allowed her children to continue being taught in this way (she was right there with us on every lesson, and she had always read the assigned chapters).

A few months later I invited her to stop by my office. I felt impressed to share D&C 1:30 (“. . . the only true and living church on the face of the whole earth, with which I, the Lord, am well pleased . . .”), and asked her how she felt about it.

Her answer: “I was raised a Presbyterian, I consider myself a Presbyterian, and I intend to die a Presbyterian. My mother is the finest human being I have ever known, and it bothers me that you all feel that Presbyterianism isn’t good enough for her, or for me. But on the other hand, let me tell you, that trying to raise the kids by myself and upgrade the house on top of that! It has been the most difficult thing, bar none, that I have ever faced. And just when I am about to lose it, to explode! – to run away from it all, to abandon Frank and the kids, just at that very moment when all Hades is about to break loose, who shows up but your Mormon missionaries, saying, ‘It’s our P-day, and we’re looking for service, and you came to mind. What can we do to help?’ What’s more, they ‘just happen’ to know about framing, or dry-wall, or whatever we’re trying to do that we don’t know how to do and have just made a mess of. Or your Elders’ Quorum president will call and say, ‘Can a bunch of us come out this Saturday? What can we do to help?’ I tell ya, Bob, they have literally saved my sanity, and our family, and our marriage, besides the actual work they have done that I’m finding that I cannot do. Have the Presbyterians been out even once? Do they even know we’re in crisis? My best friend is Mennonite; we do everything together – home school our kids, show our horses, you name it. She knows my challenges and frustrations, and says the right things, all concerned and consoling. Her church is close-knit just like the Mormons, but have they ever showed up and offered to help? She’s talked about it, but has it ever actually happened? Not once. But you guys, you’re right there, every time. I’m beginning to think that maybe . . .” Her voice trailed off as she struggled to maintain composure, “Maybe there’s something to that scripture we just read.”

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I had been visiting Frank’s family for over a year. About Halloween time, after the chit-chat, song, and opening prayer, Katrina, 15, spoke up. “Bro. Boyce, what does a person need to do to be baptized?”

“Katrina, are you trying to tell me something?”

“Well, my Mom said that if I promise to keep up in my studies, I could be baptized.”

I looked at Debbie. She responded, “She’s had a problem with that, but all this year she has kept up her end of the bargain. So it’s a go.”

“Katrina! Congratulations. I can’t tell you how happy I am. I’ll send the missionaries out.”

“Bro. Boyce, I have heard the discussions so many times I have them almost memorized. Every set for the past 5 years has given them to us, trying to convert my mom. Can’t I just get baptized?”

“Well, Elder Tolliver is new and needs the practice. Would you be willing to sit through them one more time for his sake?”

“I guess so.”

“Do you want your Dad to baptize you when he’s home on Christmas break?”

“I don’t want to wait that long . . . Wait a minute – I never thought of that. It’s going to take almost that long to hear the discussions, isn’t it. Yeah, that’d be cool.”

I took my daughter Bekkah, then 13, with me the week Frank got home. As we arrived, some lively music was playing on the stereo. Bekkah got caught up in the moment and grabbed Frank and began to dance with him. The rest of us followed suit. It was a spontaneous, glorious moment.

I invited Frank to lunch. “Isn’t it great that Katrina is going to be baptized?”

“I’ve been praying for this since before she was born.”

“How about Lara, home from college? Looks like she’s ready too.”

“She’s been taking Institute, all on her own. No one in the family thought to mention it to her. She’s something.”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you ask her?”

“Ask her? You know, our family has just got to get back together. Like when your daughter danced with me, I was as surprised and happy as I have ever been. Know what? I’ve never even danced once with any of my daughters. I don’t think they even think of me that way, as someone fun. They hardly know me; I hardly know them! I’m missing all that – and I’m just now beginning to realize how heartbreaking that is.”

“I can imagine. I’m telling you, Frank, Lara is ready to be baptized too. Ask her, ok? Baptizing her would be at least as good as dancing with her.”

“I’ll do that. I haven’t had a heart to heart conversation with her since . . . I don’t know if I’ve ever done that!”

“She’d love it, Frank. Go for it.”

It happened – the week between Christmas and New Year’s, for both Katrina and Lara. The baptisms were sweet. During the confirmations, the Spirit rested down upon Frank in a marvelous way: the blessings were patriarchal in both content and scope.

Afterwards in the dressing room, Frank was drained. He looked up from the bench he was sprawled on and remarked, “What they say about priesthood power is real, isn’t it.”