THE WILL OF THE CHILD . . .
Prayer is the act by which the will of the Father and the will of the child are brought into correspondence with each other. (Bible Dictionary pp. 752-53)
As much as one would like to put it off, it came time to think about retirement. The Church had what looked on the surface to be quite an attractive retirement option at age 62, but doing the math over an expected lifetime, it didn’t hold up so well. Nevertheless, we felt under the gun to make the age 62 plan our choice. The vast majority of our colleagues were choosing it; our human resources person recommended it in a retirement seminar, hinting that anyone who didn’t choose it had mush for brains; it was the opinion of many that it was our unwritten duty to step away then, to make way for younger men, not past their prime like us, who could do a better job at far less cost to the Church. Chris and I made it a matter of prayer: the quiet but undeniable impression came to keep doing our homework and the answer would come.
We decided to do just that over Spring Break. Our first stop was Little Rock, Arkansas, where the Springdale High School girls’ basketball team, composed mostly of my former Swoosh players, now juniors and seniors, were in the state championship tournament. They made the Final Four. Players, their parents, and their coaches were genuinely surprised and acted thrilled to see us, flattered that they still mattered to us. Surely it was meant to be that we would live out our lives in the beautiful surroundings of the Ozarks, among those gracious people with whom we had shared so much.
We also went to stake conference in Arkansas (it happened to be that week-end), where we were welcomed by hundreds of our Church brothers and sisters with whom we had lived and served. We learned about some affordable lake-side property being developed by a Church member, seemingly a dream come true, a beautiful beyond description, serene, potential gathering place for friends and family alike. We had lunch with a group of our basketball parent friends, learning of the economic boom going on there as we spoke, a seemingly ideal place to live, invest, and watch our bottom line grow. Surely the Lord would approve if we made the decision to settle there.
But then it was on to Oklahoma, where we had spent the majority of our adult lives, where most of our children had been born and all of them raised. We stayed with dear friends and visited with many others. We were received as beloved family by friends and former students alike. We realized we knew three generations there: our peers, their parents, and their children (in Arkansas we just knew peers and some children – many of the children had left home by then, as most of ours had). I had gone, not long before our visit that week, to the Oklahoma City temple; out of about 40 in the session, I knew 15, plus most of the workers. Word got out that I was there, and the temple president himself stepped out of his office to personally greet me. We investigated real estate; we were offered by a builder friend, the former stake president under whom I had served as bishop, a lot of our choice at his cost, plus he would build a home for us and take no profit. Surely we were home, weren’t we?
Back at work after the break, I was sitting at my desk talking to the Lord in my mind:
“Lord, it’s been ten days since we’ve supposedly completed our homework, and still no answer – what’s with that?”
“Make the phone call; then you’ll know.” (I knew which one He was referring to.)
Along with that impression came a recollection. I had been on my way to the Houston temple the previous winter, deeply pondering whether to retire at 62. An assurance had come, as clearly as if it had been spoken: “Bob, I would welcome your decision to stay on the job awhile longer.”
So I made the phone call. “Kelly [my Area Director], has that position as your assistant been filled, the one we talked about last fall?”
“It hasn’t been; why do you ask?”
“Well, we’ve been thinking. We’d be willing for my name to be placed back on the list of those being considered.”
It happened so fast it made my head swim. Within minutes Salt Lake called, and before that conversation was over we were headed to the Dallas area, to serve as Kelly’s assistant for at least the next four years.
The will of the Father and that of the child were once again aligned.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Saturday, January 22, 2011
MY DAUGHTER THE RUNNER
MY DAUGHTER THE RUNNER
I was doing about a 10 minute mile at the time, during my early-morning 5k jogs around the neighborhood lake four times a week or so. Our daughter Debbie was in 8th grade; she approached me during Christmas break.
“Dad, can I go running with you tomorrow? I’m going out for track in the Spring.”
That first morning I slowed down so she could keep up, but she petered out about half-way around.
The next day she surprisingly made it all the way at my regular pace.
The third day she was holding back to stay with me!
On the fourth morning about half-way through the run, she turned back to me over her shoulder.
“I’ll meet you at home, Dad. I’m going to go a little faster.”
To this day my jaw drops in amazement every time I think about it.
Debbie went on to become all-state in cross-country, and her distance relay team broke the state record, holding it for several years.
I’m a plodder. I consider it an honor to have briefly shared the road with a genuine runner.
I was doing about a 10 minute mile at the time, during my early-morning 5k jogs around the neighborhood lake four times a week or so. Our daughter Debbie was in 8th grade; she approached me during Christmas break.
“Dad, can I go running with you tomorrow? I’m going out for track in the Spring.”
That first morning I slowed down so she could keep up, but she petered out about half-way around.
The next day she surprisingly made it all the way at my regular pace.
The third day she was holding back to stay with me!
On the fourth morning about half-way through the run, she turned back to me over her shoulder.
“I’ll meet you at home, Dad. I’m going to go a little faster.”
To this day my jaw drops in amazement every time I think about it.
Debbie went on to become all-state in cross-country, and her distance relay team broke the state record, holding it for several years.
I’m a plodder. I consider it an honor to have briefly shared the road with a genuine runner.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
THAT WHICH IS GREAT
THAT WHICH IS GREAT
Wherefore, be not weary in well-doing, for ye are laying the foundation of a
great work. And out of small things proceedeth forth that which is great.
D&C 64:33, see also Gal. 6:9
Karen, 17, and Sean, 19, were newlyweds that fall, he beginning his second year of college and she working to support him. I was assigned as their home teacher. They always acted happy to see me, and willingly sat through my chit-chat and lesson. Just as I was leaving, Karen would without fail say something like: “I can’t join Sean’s church. I was raised [insert prominent Protestant denomination], and I made a promise to my parents that if I married him, I would remain true to the church I was raised in.” (Of course Karen being baptized was in the back of my mind, but I hadn’t yet gotten to the point with them that I thought it would be appropriate to even mention.) She kept saying it, month after month, as if she didn’t remember that she had said it previously.
We left that summer to do some work on a graduate degree, and when we returned in the fall, my new home teaching assignment didn’t include Sean and Karen.
Fifteen years later I was called as bishop. Right there in the ward membership records I found a Sean and Karen Oliver. Could it be? It was. They had a 10 year old son, Erik. Sean had begun his career right there in the university town, in the manufacturing industry. He had been promoted a number of times, but not transferred. I assigned Stillwater’s best as their home teachers, and monitored their progress quite closely. I was disappointed that the best home teachers available were only seeing the Olivers every other month or so. I remember despairing momentarily: if this is all the best are going to do, what does that say about the motivation of the rest of the home teachers of this ward! Woe is me.
When I was released, I asked the high priests group leader if I might be assigned to the Olivers as their home teacher. He was happy to oblige. I called them and gave them two choices of times to visit. We settled on one of them. When I arrived they weren’t there. I tried again. They couldn’t do it on either of the nights I was free. The month was over.
I started earlier the next month. Same thing: set an appointment only to be stood up. Being a persistent rascal, I tried again. This time they were there. But that was the pattern – over two years I saw them about 10 times, even though I tried an average of three times each month to set an appointment. I gained new empathy for Stillwater’s best, realizing I had been mistaken in my assessment of their level of commitment. On our last successful visit the Olivers announced that they had accepted new employment out of state.
Well, that’s that, I thought. Gave it a good shot.
A couple of years later I returned exhausted from an all-day high council assignment. The phone rang just as I was settling in for what I thought was a well-deserved evening of relaxation. I let it ring, hoping someone else would pick it up. They didn’t.
“Bro. Boyce, this is Karen Oliver. Remember me?”
I did.
“You’re talking to the newest member of the Church, and it’s all your fault! I was baptized about half an hour ago.”
“Karen! You could knock me over with a feather! Tell me about it.”
“You know all those times when you came to visit us when we were first married? Well, I felt something special every time. I guess I knew deep down inside that what you were saying was the truth. I didn’t know what that feeling was at the time, but I knew enough that if I acted on what I was feeling, I would have to change some things about my lifestyle. And I wasn’t ready to do that then. All that nonsense about not joining Sean’s church because of a promise I made to my parents? It was just that: nonsense. I said that to throw you off, so you wouldn’t realize what I was feeling and pressure me to follow through. I appreciate that you kept coming, even though it probably didn’t seem to you like you were making any progress.
“And then, when you came back just a few years ago, same thing. I felt those exact same feelings. I believed and felt every word you said, just like before. I’m embarrassed to say it, but I had a Word of Wisdom problem at the time, and every time I thought your nose could tell, I would make sure that we weren’t home when you said you were coming. I’m sorry for being so rude, but I’m amazed and at the same time grateful that you kept trying.
“I’ve had some rather serious problems since we moved here. I don’t want to get into those details right now, other than to let you know that they led me to say to myself, ‘Girl, you need to do what you’ve known you should have done twenty years ago when Bro. Boyce was visiting you.’ So I did, I called the missionaries and told them I wanted to be taught and baptized. They say they fell right off their kitchen stools they were so surprised. As they taught us Sean’s testimony was rekindled, and he got his life back in order so he could baptize me. So that’s my story. I just wanted you to know how happy I am. Thought you might be interested.”
About a year and a half later another phone call came. “Bro. Boyce, Sean and I are going to be sealed in the Dallas temple this week-end. We’d love for you and your wife to join us.” We couldn’t – we were in the process of moving to Arkansas. We were overjoyed to be invited though, but sad we couldn’t make it.
The beat goes on: about five years after that, I was with our Arkansas high priests group as a brother was reporting on his General Conference experiences in the just-opened Conference Center. He concluded by saying, “I just happened to be sitting by this branch president from Mississippi. We got to talking, and when he found out where I was from, he asked if I happened to know a Robert Boyce, who now lives in Arkansas but who they knew in Oklahoma. So Bob, President Sean Oliver says hi.”
We had moved again. I was telling my Sean and Karen story in the Institute class I was teaching in Flower Mound, Texas, to illustrate “be not weary in well-doing.” I was using real names, because I had no idea that someone so far removed in time and distance would be known by any of my young students. Suddenly Kyle Taylor, a recently returned missionary from Vancouver and one of the students, lit up like a Christmas tree. He had just got through serving with them in the mission office and had grown to love them. They had retired and were serving a couple mission! He put me back in touch, and this is what I have learned:
In addition to serving as branch president, Sean has served as elders’ quorum president, in the Young Men, as ward clerk, ward mission leader, and counselor in a bishopric. Karen has been a counselor in a stake Young Women presidency, Primary president, Young Women president, and Relief Society president twice. Their son Erik joined the Church two years ago and is currently serving as ward mission leader. Oh the joy!
Wherefore, be not weary in well-doing, for ye are laying the foundation of a
great work. And out of small things proceedeth forth that which is great.
D&C 64:33, see also Gal. 6:9
Karen, 17, and Sean, 19, were newlyweds that fall, he beginning his second year of college and she working to support him. I was assigned as their home teacher. They always acted happy to see me, and willingly sat through my chit-chat and lesson. Just as I was leaving, Karen would without fail say something like: “I can’t join Sean’s church. I was raised [insert prominent Protestant denomination], and I made a promise to my parents that if I married him, I would remain true to the church I was raised in.” (Of course Karen being baptized was in the back of my mind, but I hadn’t yet gotten to the point with them that I thought it would be appropriate to even mention.) She kept saying it, month after month, as if she didn’t remember that she had said it previously.
We left that summer to do some work on a graduate degree, and when we returned in the fall, my new home teaching assignment didn’t include Sean and Karen.
Fifteen years later I was called as bishop. Right there in the ward membership records I found a Sean and Karen Oliver. Could it be? It was. They had a 10 year old son, Erik. Sean had begun his career right there in the university town, in the manufacturing industry. He had been promoted a number of times, but not transferred. I assigned Stillwater’s best as their home teachers, and monitored their progress quite closely. I was disappointed that the best home teachers available were only seeing the Olivers every other month or so. I remember despairing momentarily: if this is all the best are going to do, what does that say about the motivation of the rest of the home teachers of this ward! Woe is me.
When I was released, I asked the high priests group leader if I might be assigned to the Olivers as their home teacher. He was happy to oblige. I called them and gave them two choices of times to visit. We settled on one of them. When I arrived they weren’t there. I tried again. They couldn’t do it on either of the nights I was free. The month was over.
I started earlier the next month. Same thing: set an appointment only to be stood up. Being a persistent rascal, I tried again. This time they were there. But that was the pattern – over two years I saw them about 10 times, even though I tried an average of three times each month to set an appointment. I gained new empathy for Stillwater’s best, realizing I had been mistaken in my assessment of their level of commitment. On our last successful visit the Olivers announced that they had accepted new employment out of state.
Well, that’s that, I thought. Gave it a good shot.
A couple of years later I returned exhausted from an all-day high council assignment. The phone rang just as I was settling in for what I thought was a well-deserved evening of relaxation. I let it ring, hoping someone else would pick it up. They didn’t.
“Bro. Boyce, this is Karen Oliver. Remember me?”
I did.
“You’re talking to the newest member of the Church, and it’s all your fault! I was baptized about half an hour ago.”
“Karen! You could knock me over with a feather! Tell me about it.”
“You know all those times when you came to visit us when we were first married? Well, I felt something special every time. I guess I knew deep down inside that what you were saying was the truth. I didn’t know what that feeling was at the time, but I knew enough that if I acted on what I was feeling, I would have to change some things about my lifestyle. And I wasn’t ready to do that then. All that nonsense about not joining Sean’s church because of a promise I made to my parents? It was just that: nonsense. I said that to throw you off, so you wouldn’t realize what I was feeling and pressure me to follow through. I appreciate that you kept coming, even though it probably didn’t seem to you like you were making any progress.
“And then, when you came back just a few years ago, same thing. I felt those exact same feelings. I believed and felt every word you said, just like before. I’m embarrassed to say it, but I had a Word of Wisdom problem at the time, and every time I thought your nose could tell, I would make sure that we weren’t home when you said you were coming. I’m sorry for being so rude, but I’m amazed and at the same time grateful that you kept trying.
“I’ve had some rather serious problems since we moved here. I don’t want to get into those details right now, other than to let you know that they led me to say to myself, ‘Girl, you need to do what you’ve known you should have done twenty years ago when Bro. Boyce was visiting you.’ So I did, I called the missionaries and told them I wanted to be taught and baptized. They say they fell right off their kitchen stools they were so surprised. As they taught us Sean’s testimony was rekindled, and he got his life back in order so he could baptize me. So that’s my story. I just wanted you to know how happy I am. Thought you might be interested.”
About a year and a half later another phone call came. “Bro. Boyce, Sean and I are going to be sealed in the Dallas temple this week-end. We’d love for you and your wife to join us.” We couldn’t – we were in the process of moving to Arkansas. We were overjoyed to be invited though, but sad we couldn’t make it.
The beat goes on: about five years after that, I was with our Arkansas high priests group as a brother was reporting on his General Conference experiences in the just-opened Conference Center. He concluded by saying, “I just happened to be sitting by this branch president from Mississippi. We got to talking, and when he found out where I was from, he asked if I happened to know a Robert Boyce, who now lives in Arkansas but who they knew in Oklahoma. So Bob, President Sean Oliver says hi.”
We had moved again. I was telling my Sean and Karen story in the Institute class I was teaching in Flower Mound, Texas, to illustrate “be not weary in well-doing.” I was using real names, because I had no idea that someone so far removed in time and distance would be known by any of my young students. Suddenly Kyle Taylor, a recently returned missionary from Vancouver and one of the students, lit up like a Christmas tree. He had just got through serving with them in the mission office and had grown to love them. They had retired and were serving a couple mission! He put me back in touch, and this is what I have learned:
In addition to serving as branch president, Sean has served as elders’ quorum president, in the Young Men, as ward clerk, ward mission leader, and counselor in a bishopric. Karen has been a counselor in a stake Young Women presidency, Primary president, Young Women president, and Relief Society president twice. Their son Erik joined the Church two years ago and is currently serving as ward mission leader. Oh the joy!
Thursday, January 6, 2011
STEPPINGSTONE TO ETERNITY
PUPPY LOVE: STEPPINGSTONE TO ETERNITY
Callie entered their lives when she was 14. It began as a huge crush on their son Josh, then 16. He enjoyed the friendship but was oblivious to the romantic overtones. She even made friends with Jen, just younger than Josh, all the better to be around him more. Josh finished high school, then was off to college, and left on his mission a year later. Callie graduated from high school that same year and accepted a college scholarship out of town. The relationship had not changed a bit – she being head over heels and hoping, he thinking they were merely good friends. She wrote; he, seeing a golden opportunity to expand the scope of his missionary efforts, wrote back, teaching and bearing witness. That fueled the flicker of her long-lingering hope. He came home; she was right there on the doorstep – still no change on either of their parts. He went back to school; she, disappointed once again, returned to her out of town studies.
Then there she was, during the middle of her junior year, framed by the entrance to Josh’s father’s office. She had transferred back home to the local university. After picking his lower jaw off the floor, they got down to business. She had gone out of state to see her real father for Christmas break. He had not responded to her knock when she arrived, so she had opened the door and found his crumpled remains at the bottom of the stairs, just inside the front door, dead from what turned out to be alcohol poisoning. She was looking for answers, and had come to see Bro. Henderson, Josh’s father, to follow up on the only sweet feelings she had experienced in a long time, those coming from Josh’s missionary letters. She asked Bro. Henderson to sit in with her as she took the missionary discussions. He soon found out one reason why: she had a Reese Witherspoon in Legally Blonde-type personality, was even better looking than the movie’s star, and one of the missionaries, not yet blessed with eternal perspective, came very close to hitting on her, even in Bro. Henderson’s presence. Despite the imperfections of the primary deliverer of the message, the Spirit kept touching them. As Callie’s circle of fraternity/sorority friends learned about her new interest, opposition kept raising its ugly head. She soon realized she would not be able to continue to be an integral part of her then current social circle if she continued her association with “those Mormons.” She brought the doubts planted by her alleged friends to the discussions. She would voice a concern, and someone there would be blessed with the ability, beyond his natural limits, to help her resolve her concerns; this happened time and again.
Then it happened, at the beginning of a discussion. “You’ll never believe what went on over the week-end,” she began. “We had our sorority girls from the entire state and all of our brother fraternity guys here for a free-for-all at the lake. It lasted all week-end. My roommate and I had ten out of town girls staying with us, sleeping on the floor of our apartment. I got up to go to church, and all I did was trip over these passed-out, drunken bodies as I tried to get ready. Right then it came to me, ‘I’m worried about not being accepted by people like this?! Is this what I think I would miss so much?! C’mon girl – get a grip! I’m leaving this trash dump of a life forever! No more waving in the wind: I’m going to do it [become a baptized member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints].’ This Saturday would be fine, just like you all have been trying to get me to decide to do.”
From then on she attended Institute twice a week; she attended church without fail, and Family Home Evening, and everything else. However, a couple of months later she was back in Bro. Henderson’s office, still not as happy as she had anticipated. It took her awhile, but eventually it came out that her concerns were three-fold: 1) she couldn’t keep her parents from getting a divorce those years ago; 2) she couldn’t keep her father from drinking himself to death; and 3) try as she might for 7 years now, she couldn’t get Bro. Henderson’s son to fall in love with her.
They talked about agency, that it was the operative principle in her case, that if we have done our best to deliver the message, then if the recipient chooses not to respond, we can be at peace (see Ezekiel 3:18-22). Then, concerning Josh, Bro. Henderson said, “Callie, pretty soon you’ll meet a guy, handsome and funny and righteous and worthy to take you to the temple. You’ll get to know him, and before you know it he’ll say, ‘Callie, you are the most beautiful ditz I have ever met! You are crazy! But you’re also the most fun person I have ever known, and smart, and you’re good to the bone. You have a way of making people comfortable around you, like you’re their best friend from the moment they meet you. Am I your friend too? I want to be, forever. I want my children to have you for their mother. Look at those temple spires. Will you go there with me, and become my wife and my forever best friend?”
That embarrassed her; but she liked it, and it rekindled hope in her. She was learning to stop looking back and begin facing forward. She left the minute the semester was over.
Almost to the day, a year after the “forever best friend” conversation, the phone rang in Bro. Henderson’s office around mid-day, startling him from a session of “deep pondering.”
“Bro. Henderson, is that you?”
Cobwebs. He turned his desk name plate around just to make sure. “Uh, yes, who’s this?”
“Callie! Who’d you expect, Mother Nature?”
That got him wide awake. “No, Betty Crocker! Got any coupons on your box top?”
“I have some news! I’ve met him! Oh, Bro. Henderson, I’ve met him! His name is Daren, and we met at the institute here, and he’s 6’7”, and he’s a basketball NUT! I know more about the Lakers now than I ever thought there was to know! He’s going to be a dentist, and guess WHAT! He said EXACTLY what you said he would say, not in the exact words, but the exact same ideas in the exact order! Is that a sign or what! Oh, Bro. Henderson, I’m so happy! It’ll be in the San Diego temple August 17. Those spires – they were part of the proposal just like you said they would be! Since my Dad won’t be able to make it, could you be one of the witnesses in place of my father?”
The sealing room was packed. The ceremony was beautiful. The newlyweds were mobbed, right there in the temple, as soon as it was over. Bro. Henderson sat there in the witness chair for the longest time, looking at her greeting all her well-wishers and thinking, “See, Callie, see what I’ve been trying to tell you? See what the Lord has had in store for you all the time? Do you get it now, can you feel it?” She must have sensed something of what he was feeling and trying to communicate. She looked at him over the shoulder of whoever she was hugging at the moment. Their eyes met, and she mouthed the words, “Thank you.”
Callie entered their lives when she was 14. It began as a huge crush on their son Josh, then 16. He enjoyed the friendship but was oblivious to the romantic overtones. She even made friends with Jen, just younger than Josh, all the better to be around him more. Josh finished high school, then was off to college, and left on his mission a year later. Callie graduated from high school that same year and accepted a college scholarship out of town. The relationship had not changed a bit – she being head over heels and hoping, he thinking they were merely good friends. She wrote; he, seeing a golden opportunity to expand the scope of his missionary efforts, wrote back, teaching and bearing witness. That fueled the flicker of her long-lingering hope. He came home; she was right there on the doorstep – still no change on either of their parts. He went back to school; she, disappointed once again, returned to her out of town studies.
Then there she was, during the middle of her junior year, framed by the entrance to Josh’s father’s office. She had transferred back home to the local university. After picking his lower jaw off the floor, they got down to business. She had gone out of state to see her real father for Christmas break. He had not responded to her knock when she arrived, so she had opened the door and found his crumpled remains at the bottom of the stairs, just inside the front door, dead from what turned out to be alcohol poisoning. She was looking for answers, and had come to see Bro. Henderson, Josh’s father, to follow up on the only sweet feelings she had experienced in a long time, those coming from Josh’s missionary letters. She asked Bro. Henderson to sit in with her as she took the missionary discussions. He soon found out one reason why: she had a Reese Witherspoon in Legally Blonde-type personality, was even better looking than the movie’s star, and one of the missionaries, not yet blessed with eternal perspective, came very close to hitting on her, even in Bro. Henderson’s presence. Despite the imperfections of the primary deliverer of the message, the Spirit kept touching them. As Callie’s circle of fraternity/sorority friends learned about her new interest, opposition kept raising its ugly head. She soon realized she would not be able to continue to be an integral part of her then current social circle if she continued her association with “those Mormons.” She brought the doubts planted by her alleged friends to the discussions. She would voice a concern, and someone there would be blessed with the ability, beyond his natural limits, to help her resolve her concerns; this happened time and again.
Then it happened, at the beginning of a discussion. “You’ll never believe what went on over the week-end,” she began. “We had our sorority girls from the entire state and all of our brother fraternity guys here for a free-for-all at the lake. It lasted all week-end. My roommate and I had ten out of town girls staying with us, sleeping on the floor of our apartment. I got up to go to church, and all I did was trip over these passed-out, drunken bodies as I tried to get ready. Right then it came to me, ‘I’m worried about not being accepted by people like this?! Is this what I think I would miss so much?! C’mon girl – get a grip! I’m leaving this trash dump of a life forever! No more waving in the wind: I’m going to do it [become a baptized member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints].’ This Saturday would be fine, just like you all have been trying to get me to decide to do.”
From then on she attended Institute twice a week; she attended church without fail, and Family Home Evening, and everything else. However, a couple of months later she was back in Bro. Henderson’s office, still not as happy as she had anticipated. It took her awhile, but eventually it came out that her concerns were three-fold: 1) she couldn’t keep her parents from getting a divorce those years ago; 2) she couldn’t keep her father from drinking himself to death; and 3) try as she might for 7 years now, she couldn’t get Bro. Henderson’s son to fall in love with her.
They talked about agency, that it was the operative principle in her case, that if we have done our best to deliver the message, then if the recipient chooses not to respond, we can be at peace (see Ezekiel 3:18-22). Then, concerning Josh, Bro. Henderson said, “Callie, pretty soon you’ll meet a guy, handsome and funny and righteous and worthy to take you to the temple. You’ll get to know him, and before you know it he’ll say, ‘Callie, you are the most beautiful ditz I have ever met! You are crazy! But you’re also the most fun person I have ever known, and smart, and you’re good to the bone. You have a way of making people comfortable around you, like you’re their best friend from the moment they meet you. Am I your friend too? I want to be, forever. I want my children to have you for their mother. Look at those temple spires. Will you go there with me, and become my wife and my forever best friend?”
That embarrassed her; but she liked it, and it rekindled hope in her. She was learning to stop looking back and begin facing forward. She left the minute the semester was over.
Almost to the day, a year after the “forever best friend” conversation, the phone rang in Bro. Henderson’s office around mid-day, startling him from a session of “deep pondering.”
“Bro. Henderson, is that you?”
Cobwebs. He turned his desk name plate around just to make sure. “Uh, yes, who’s this?”
“Callie! Who’d you expect, Mother Nature?”
That got him wide awake. “No, Betty Crocker! Got any coupons on your box top?”
“I have some news! I’ve met him! Oh, Bro. Henderson, I’ve met him! His name is Daren, and we met at the institute here, and he’s 6’7”, and he’s a basketball NUT! I know more about the Lakers now than I ever thought there was to know! He’s going to be a dentist, and guess WHAT! He said EXACTLY what you said he would say, not in the exact words, but the exact same ideas in the exact order! Is that a sign or what! Oh, Bro. Henderson, I’m so happy! It’ll be in the San Diego temple August 17. Those spires – they were part of the proposal just like you said they would be! Since my Dad won’t be able to make it, could you be one of the witnesses in place of my father?”
The sealing room was packed. The ceremony was beautiful. The newlyweds were mobbed, right there in the temple, as soon as it was over. Bro. Henderson sat there in the witness chair for the longest time, looking at her greeting all her well-wishers and thinking, “See, Callie, see what I’ve been trying to tell you? See what the Lord has had in store for you all the time? Do you get it now, can you feel it?” She must have sensed something of what he was feeling and trying to communicate. She looked at him over the shoulder of whoever she was hugging at the moment. Their eyes met, and she mouthed the words, “Thank you.”
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