Judgment Day

Sometimes life's lessons come in very unexpected - and even unwelcome - ways. 

I am with three of the kids at an out-of-town soccer tournament for one of the girls.  As we arrived this morning, we did our usual routine of emptying the trunk and divvying up water bottles, chairs, balls and umbrella parts.  We were a little early, so we made our way to a shady spot and half-heartedly watched one of the games in progress.  It was an exciting game, but our attention was quickly drawn to one of the moms on the sideline.  I started wondering if I looked like she did when I'm cheering for my kids.  Whenever her child's team would near the goal, her arms would fly into the air and stay there until the goal was scored (or not).  She would lean back in her chair to the point of nearly falling, and let out a scream that would either express her joy at the point or her frustration at the miss.  It was obvious that she was pretty immersed in the action on the field.

Soon, my youngest discovered the snack stand, and our focus was taken from the game and the excited mom.  I had left my money in the car, so I made a deal with the two non soccer playing kids...if they would run to the car and get the cash, I would let them buy a treat.  So, off they ran, only to return a few minutes later with shock on their faces and panic in their voices.  'Mom!', my daughter exclaimed, 'some truck hit our car and there is glass everywhere and our car is crooked!'   In disbelief, I followed them back to the parking lot, where I was met with a scene that immediately brought anger into my heart.  I had parked my small car neatly in a parking stall when I arrived.  Now, in the stall where my car had been, there was a mid-sized Toyota truck.  It appeared to have backed into the stall and right into the bumper of my car, pushing the car nearly all the way out of its original stall and crookedly into the one in front.  The only part of the car that was still in the stall where it started was the rear end that was wedged underneath the bumper of the truck.The impact was such that the red plastic from the tail light had flown through the air and come to a rest at near the driver's side door.  I could not fathom that someone could go through a collision like this and then just get out of the car and go watch a soccer game like nothing happened.  Had they been drinking?  How could he or she be so irresponsible?

By this time, the rest of my daughter's team was arriving in the parking lot.  The crash became the center of activity.  Parents sent their children with the coach to begin warming up for the game, and a few moms stayed behind to lend me some moral support.  They were nearly as angry as I was at the nerve of someone causing so much damage and just walking away.  They encouraged me to call the police, which I did after having an inner dialogue that went something like this:  I hate to call the police and cause trouble for someone.  I'm sure it was just an accident.  But even if it WAS an accident, this guy had to have been off his rocker to just walk away like that.  What if he's in an altered state of mind and is a danger to society?

Minutes later the police officer on his motorcycle arrived.  I explained that my car had once been where the truck now was.  I showed him the broken plastic near the driver's side door.  I used my children as witnesses to emphasize that this was in fact where we had parked.  As we were talking, the owner of the truck and his family walked up and asked, incredulously, what had happened to their truck.  I couldn't believe the audacity that this man had to be able to pretend he didn't know what happened.  My level of disgust was rising exponentially with each word that came out of his mouth.  He said that he was positive that he had parked there, and that my silver car was nowhere around when he did.  The police officer was thoroughly confused.  In all of his years investigating accidents, he told us, this one had him stumped.  Both of our stories seemed plausible, and he could not decide who was at fault. 

It seemed that the mess would go unsolved, and that my anger would remain.  And then, walking towards us, there she was.  The mom from the sidelines at the game we had been watching earlier.  The one that we couldn't help but notice.  And also, the wife of the man whose truck was wedged onto my car.  In that instant, the realization that the accident could not be their fault flooded over me.  They could not have backed into my car because they had arrived before me.  I brought this to the attention of the investigating officer, and suddenly, the direction of the investigation changed course.  With no skid marks from my tires, it soon became apparent that my car was the one that had been in motion.  But what happened?  The officer looked over the body of my car to see if an impact from another vehicle had pushed my car into the truck.  Nothing.  The officer asked if he could look inside my car, and I obliged.  It only took seconds for this mystery to be solved.  The emergency brake was off.  The car was in neutral.  The parking stall that I was positive that I had parked in was an entire row away from where I had actually parked.  This disaster was 100% completely and utterly MY fault.

The owner of the truck graciously told me that my car didn't do any damage that wasn't already there, and that he wasn't upset at all.  He didn't feel it necessary to complete a police report, and he wished me well.  He was an incredibly nice man.  So nice, in fact, that I felt it necessary to stop him before he left the parking lot.  'I'm so SO sorry for the anger I felt towards you.'  I explained that I spent more than a few minutes actually hating him.  'No worries', he said.  'It wouldn't be the first time someone hated me.' 

Turns out, I learned more than one lesson from the debacle this morning.  First, I learned that I might need to tone down the sideline antics during my kids' sporting events, lest I should draw some unwanted attention.  Next, I learned that people are good.  What was already a mess could have turned into a disaster of Herculean proportion had the owner of the truck not been so understanding.  And the final, and most important, lesson was that I should never EVER judge without knowing all the facts.  This probably wasn't the first time that I've passed blame that belonged to me onto someone else.

Long after the tail light has been replaced and the dents repaired, I will carry the lessons of this day close to my heart.  What a blessing it turned out to be.

The Talk

My little guy, a deacon of only two weeks, gave his first Sacrament Meeting talk on Sunday.  I think I was more nervous than he was!  He barely looked up from the page as he was speaking, but he did a great job.  As we were practicing on Saturday, he stopped and said, "I think I should pause here, because people are going to laugh."  And he was right.  His comedic timing couldn't have been better.  I sure love this kid.  Anyway, I thought I'd share his talk.  Maybe somebody out there in cyber-land can benefit from it. 

Brother Wiser asked me to speak on repentance.  I’m not sure why, since the only thing I’ve ever done wrong in the last 12 years is say yes to giving this talk.  We all have to pay the consequences for our mistakes, but for this mistake, you guys will suffer much more than me!

Seriously, though, I’m glad to be able to give this talk today.  I’m going to change the subject just a tiny bit.  I wanted to talk about the Atonement, which is actually what makes repentance possible.

Yesterday, I watched a video with my family, and I thought the story would go really well with my talk.  I’m sure most of you have heard the story of Dick and Ricky Hoyt, but in case some of you haven’t, I’d like to tell it.

Ricky Hoyt was born almost fifty years ago.  The umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck, which caused some brain damage.  The doctors told his parents that they should just give him to a home for children with special needs because he would never walk or talk or do any of the things that other children would be able to do.  The Hoyts decided right away that they could never give up on their son.  They loved him and treated him as normally as possible.  His brothers would even push his wheel chair around with a hockey stick attached so that he could play street hockey with the neighborhood kids.  His mom and dad would take him swimming and to the park.  When he was about ten years old, he was given a machine as part of an experiment that would help him to talk.  He would use his head to put pressure on a metal bar to spell out the words that he wanted to say.  When he got very good at using it, he told his dad that he wanted to run in a race that his town was having to raise money for a boy who had become paralyzed.  He said that he wanted people to see that nothing could hold him back.  So, his dad pushed his old wheelchair in the race.  They came in last.  After they got home, Ricky told his dad that when he was being pushed in the race, it was the first time that he didn’t feel handicapped.  So, Ricky’s dad, Dick, decided that they would become runners.  He began training right away.  In the past thirty years, they have run over one thousand races, including 25 Boston Marathons and six Iron Man triathalons.

In the video that I watched, I saw Dick Hoyt pulling his son on a raft through the water during their last Iron Man.  For 2 and a half miles, with a rope around his waist, he swam.  Then he lifted his 44 year old son from the raft and ran to the transition area where he lifted him into the seat on the front of his specially made bicycle.  He biked for 112 miles, with Ricky on the front of the bike smiling and waving his arms.  Then, he put Ricky into the special running stroller and ran 26.2 miles.  He pushed Ricky up hills and down hills, sometimes barely able to run.  As they crossed the Iron Man finish line, both men had tears running down their faces.  (And so did my mom, by the way).  It was amazing to me to see this kind of love.  The things that Dick Hoyt put himself through for his son, Ricky.  He went through a lot of sweat and pain.  He was 66 years old when they finished this last Iron Man.

After my family watched the video, we talked about how we’re kind of the same as Ricky Hoyt.  Most of us are not handicapped like Ricky, but we all have special needs.  We all need someone to push us through our own race, to help us get to the finish line.  

That person is our Savior, Jesus Christ.  He suffered so much for us.  His pain, his agony, his sweat is what has made it possible for me to finish my own race and make it back to my Father in Heaven.  When I can’t swim, he pulls me.  When I can’t run, he pushes me. 

I know that Jesus Christ is my Savior.  I am grateful for the sacrifice that he made for me.  I am grateful for the Atonement.

In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

Here's the video that we watched as a family: 

The End. (Or is it the Beginning?)

©Darrell Wyatt

My heart is full this morning, as I have just finished the journey that I began a little over six months ago. Words cannot describe the blessings that I have received in recording my thoughts as I have read the Book of Mormon, another testament of Jesus Christ.  I have grown to know and love each of the authors and prophets.  I have felt of their pain and their joys, of their trials and their triumphs.  But most of all, I have felt the overwhelming love that each of them had for our Savior, even Jesus Christ.  Most of these men did not live to see Him, of whom they had spent many years testifying and prophesying.  They were shunned and tortured and even killed because of their belief in a Messiah who had not yet come.  I have been abundantly blessed to be a benefactor of their sacrifices.

Moroni spoke, in this last chapter, of the many gifts of God.  He explained that while the gifts may be different for each person, they all come from the same God.  Some will have the gift of wisdom, some knowledge.  Others will have the gift of faith or healing or the ability to work miracles.  Still others may be bestowed with the gift to prophesy or to have the gift of tongues, and some may be able to see angels.  Each and every one of these gifts comes by the power of the Holy Ghost. 

And again, I exhort you, my brethren, that ye deny not the gifts of God, for they are many; and they come from the same God.  And there are different ways that these gifts are administered; but it is the same God who worketh all in all; and they are given by the manifestations of the Spirit of God unto men, to profit them. (Moroni 10:8)

I believe that we have all been given at least one of these gifts, even if we do not realize it.  I know that my gift from God is the gift spoken of in verse 11:  exceedingly great faith.  And what an amazing blessing this has been.  I have never, ever had to struggle with my faith.  I know, beyond any doubt, that the church I belong to is Christ's church, restored to this earth with the same structure and keys as were on the earth during His mortal life.  I know, with every part of me, that the Book of Mormon is the word of God.  It is another testament of Jesus Christ.  I have been blessed to always know this.  I know that it does not come this easily for everyone, which is why I know that my faith is a gift from God.  For this I am eternally grateful. 

I suppose I decided to keep this record of my thoughts for kind of selfish reasons.  I wanted to be able to look back and to see how it has transformed my life, one day at a time, and it really has done that.  Although I have finished reading and writing, I am not done.  The lessons I have learned have given me the knowledge and perspective to start today as a changed and better person.  It's just the beginning.

Because I chose to use such a public forum in which to write, I know that there others who have been reading along with me.  My hope is that I have adequately conveyed the truthfulness of this book to them.  I have such a strong testimony of Jesus Christ, and of his visit to this continent after his crucifixion.  His teachings are real.  His love his pure.  I am grateful for the sacrifice that He made for me.  I love Him more than I could ever, ever put into words. 

I join with Moroni, in extending a challenge to all who may read this.  No matter what preconceived notions you have about this book, please read it for yourself.  I can say with much confidence that in doing so, with a prayer in your heart, your life will forever be changed.

And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost.  (Moroni 10:4)

I know this promise to be true.  "And now I bid unto all, farewell." (Moroni 10:34)

Click here to read what I read today: Moroni 10

I'll Sure Try

"In today's chapter, Moroni was reading a letter sent from his father, in which Mormon detailed the wickedness of all of the people around him - both Lamanite and Nephite.  In parting, he tells his son to "be faithful in Christ" (Moroni 9:25).  This reminded me of an encounter I had with my little girls, just two days ago.

©Darrell Wyatt

Bye, mom!", yelled one of my daughters as she ran out the door for school. "Bye, honey!  Be good!  Choose the right!", I yelled from the other room.  Her response made me giggle. "Well, duh.  What else would I do? "  A few minutes later, her younger sister headed out the door.  "Bye, honey!  Be good!  Choose the right!", I called to her.  She let out a long sigh, followed by, "I'll sure try." 

The difference in responses gave me pause for a moment.  I had said the exact same words, with the exact same emotion to both girls, and got two completely opposite reactions.  Perhaps it's because of their distinct personalities.  The older daughter is fun-loving and loud and a little impulsive, while her little sister is quiet and thoughtful and a little scatter-brained.  Two different personalities, two different responses.  I loved the confidence in the first answer,  "What else would I do?", but I had the feeling that she wasn't really paying much attention.  While I sort of just threw the words "Choose the right" at them, with not a lot of thought, my younger daughter actually stopped to take them to heart.  In her deep sigh, I could feel the inner struggle she was having.  "I'll sure try." 

When the girls returned home from school, we entered into our usual routine of chores and homework and chaos.  Somewhere in the middle of it, my youngest daughter, as she most always does, began to tell me of some drama or other that unfolded at school that day.  This little girl is quite a detailed storyteller.  She includes everything - right down to what the people involved are wearing, and unfortunately I sometimes tune her out. I listened, but I was distracted by all of the other things happening around us.  I just sort of nodded and threw in an "uh huh" here and there so she would feel like I was listening.  Because of this, I don't remember much about the story.  What I do remember, though, is how it ended.  "And then, I remembered that you told me to choose the right, so I just turned around and walked away."

Wow.  I sometimes take for granted the influence that I have on my children.  I must remember to give them righteous advice, much like Mormon's parting words to Moroni to "be faithful in Christ".  Moroni knew the importance of being faithful, and my children know the importance of choosing the right.  As a mom, though, it's my job to make sure that it's always on their little minds.  We all need a little reinforcement from time to time.  Were it not so, we wouldn't need things like the scriptures.  They are our Father in Heaven's way of sending us on our way with a reminder to "be good" and "choose the right".  If we can just say to Him, in the words of my littlest girl, "I'll sure try", I know that He will be pleased. 

Click here to read what I read today: Moroni 9

Special Preparation

I have been abundantly blessed in being the mother of a special needs child.  I have learned much of patience and long-suffering, of meekness and humility.  I have also gained a greater appreciation for and understanding of the solemnity of the covenants that we, as members of Jesus Christ's church, make throughout our lives.

When our son turned eight, my husband and I really struggled with whether or not he should be baptized, as most children born into the gospel are.  We knew that the age was right, but neither of us felt that the time was right.  He did not have the understanding that we felt was necessary to participate in this important ordinance.  After expressing our concerns to the Bishop, he read to us from the handbook the section pertaining to baptizing those with special needs.  We all came to the conclusion that there was no concrete answer.  It was up to us as his parents to decide what we thought was right, and so we decided to hold off.

For behold that all little children are alive in Christ, and also all they that are without the law.  For the power of redemption cometh on all them that have no law; wherefore, he that is not condemned, or he that is under no condemnation, cannot repent; and unto such baptism availeth nothing - (Moroni 8:22)

Young children, and most especially special needs children, do not yet have an understanding of sin and repentance.  Because of this, baptism is reserved for an age at which they may be held more fully accountable for the choices that they make.  In my son's case, he still didn't have that understanding at the age of eight.  It wasn't until he was closer to thirteen years old that we felt that he possessed the level of awareness that we were comfortable with and decided that it was time.

It was a truly a blessed day, filled with family and friends.  I believe that because we waited until he was ready, our son will always be able to remember the feelings that he had on this, the most important of days.

I'm grateful for many things that my son brings to my life.  I'm grateful for his smile and his innocence.  I'm grateful for his sense of humor.  But most of all, I'm grateful for the important reminder that the ordinances performed within the boundaries of the gospel are not just rituals.  They aren't just something we do because we're members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.  These ordinances are of deep importance and full of meaning, and it is up to each of us to make sure that we are prepared to make and keep the covenants that accompany each one.  

Click here to read what I read today: Moroni 8 

Charity Sometimes Faileth

A few years ago, not long after we moved into our current neighborhood, one of the women in our ward was diagnosed with cancer.  It was her second bout with this dreadful disease, and this time it was a tumor in her brain.  She went downhill very quickly, needing a surgery that ended up taking her hearing in one ear and severing the nerves on one side of her face.  Cancer is devastating, no matter who it attacks, but it was particularly tough in my friend's case.  She is the mother of seven children, the youngest of whom was five years old at the time of this latest diagnosis.  She was the perfect picture of a stay-at-home mom.  She gave her family only the healthiest of foods.  Everything she made was completely from scratch, and she was proud to say that they never ate store-bought bread.

It may sound strange to those who do not know her, but when I spoke to her at the beginning stages of her illness, this was one of her greatest concerns - "What are my kids going to eat?"  Well, this happened to be one area in which I could be of service.  I could not take her disease away.  I could not even make her physically feel better.  But I could bake wheat bread.  That very Sunday, I brought over four loaves of hot, whole-wheat bread.  She called me the next day, and with much gratitude in her voice, she told me that my bread was the closest to tasting like her own that she had ever had.  And so it began.  For the next year, I brought their family an average of four loaves of bread a week.  Sometimes it was more, depending on my schedule, and sometimes it was less.  No matter how many though, they were always appreciative.

I do not tell this story to brag about my service.  Quite the opposite, in fact.  You see, my friend is still very sick, more than three years after all of this started.  And for about a year and a half, I have literally done nothing for her.  I stopped making bread.  I stopped taking turns with the other women in the neighborhood driving her to chemotherapy appointments.  I have even stopped dropping by to check on her or just to chat.  Because I feel guilty about my lack of service, I even began avoiding her in the halls.  It was subconscious at first, but in the last few weeks, I have been kind of overwhelmed by guilt.  If she talks to me, I don't ignore her.  I am pleasant and friendly, but I keep the conversation short, hoping that it won't reach a point where I feel it necessary to apologize for my behavior.

©Darrell Wyatt

It's not just my friend that I stopped serving.  I have stopped doing just about anything for anybody.  I don't even volunteer at the school unless I get roped into it by a friend.  I'm not sure what happened to cause me to go from one extreme to another.  Perhaps I grew tired.  Maybe it was my depressed state.  Whatever it was, it was wrong, and I need to get back on the charity wagon.  But how?

But charity is the pure love of Christ...Wherefore, my beloved brethren, pray unto the Father with all the energy of heart, that ye may be filled with this love....(Moroni 7:47,48)

Pray!  How is it that I can forget something so simple and so very important?  Of course Heavenly Father will help me be more charitable if I but ask him.  Of course!  And I do want to serve others, and I do know how to.  What I need Heavenly Father's help with is the motivation to get started and to keep going.  I know that if I ask Him, He will give me the boost that I need.  I will be charitable again, and I will be able to receive all the blessings that I've been promised will come with that service...namely that I "shall be like him" and that I "may be purified even as he is pure" (Moroni 7:48).  Talk about motivation!

Click here to read what I read today: Moroni 7

Remember and Nourish Them

©Darrell Wyatt

We had the opportunity yesterday to attend Sacrament Meeting in a ward we attended six years ago.  One of my husband's former deacons was giving his missionary farewell talk, and he had asked us to come.  He did such a fantastic job.  He spoke eloquently and from the heart, and it was incredible to see this young man, whom we had known as a thirteen year old boy, have such a strong testimony of the gospel.  He was taller and his voice was a little deeper, but he still had that mischievous, playful look in his eyes that we remembered. 

Every time we go to a missionary's farewell or homecoming, I am in awe of the maturity and dedication that these young men and women have toward spreading the gospel.  I look at my own kids, and other kids in the neighborhood, who are not much younger than these missionaries.  Many of them struggle with their testimonies, as I'm sure nearly every teenager does.  Some of them bounce back and forth between inactivity and activity, while some relish every opportunity to attend a church function.  I sometimes wonder if we, as adult members of the church, are doing everything we can to ensure that the youth feel welcome and loved as members of our ward families.

And after they had been received unto baptism, and were wrought upon and cleansed by the power of the Holy Ghost, they were numbered among the people of the church of Christ; and their names were taken, that they might be remembered and nourished by the good word of God, to keep them in the right way, to keep them continually watchful unto prayer, relying alone upon the merits of Christ, who was the author and the finisher of their faith. (Moroni 6:4)

We focus so much, in the church, on retaining new converts.  We strive to make them feel welcome.  We try to remember them and make sure that they are comfortable and involved.  When I read this verse, I didn't think of new converts - even though I'm sure that's what Moroni was speaking of.  I thought of my almost seventeen year old daughter and some of her friends, who are trying to figure out who they are and where they belong.  I think that sometimes I am so focused on people outside of my home that I forget to look inside.  I forget that my kids' testimonies need to also be "nourished by the good word of God".  They need my help to stay "in the right way", as do all of our youth.

There is a period of time, right around sixteen or seventeen, where I've noticed that kids really have a tough time knowing what their place is within the gospel.  I'm not a child psychologist by any means, but I have been that age myself, and I've been around enough kids to be able to see a little bit of wavering.  I think that these kids are just going through so very much.  They'll soon be done with school, out of the Mutual program, and there is kind of a feeling of being in "limbo".  They're not quite ready, in most cases, to assume all the responsibilities of being an adult, but when it comes to attending church, they move from their youth classes into the adult ones literally overnight.

I wrote of my experience with Relief Society, and I am so grateful that the women back then took me under their wings and made it good experience.  I know that it doesn't always happen that way.  Unfortunately, I must admit that I have probably not done my part as well as I could have when it comes to making young women feel welcome when they first move up into this inspired organization.

It is tragic to see any member of the church fall away into inactivity, but that tragedy is magnified when the loss could have been avoided.  If the other youth are anything like my daughter, and I'm convinced that they are, a simple hug or compliment can make all the difference in the decision to want to attend their church activities.  I love the youth of the church.  In them, I see so much promise and hope for the future.  We cannot afford to fail them.  We must do all that is within our power to make sure that not even one falls through the cracks.  We must, as Moroni said, remember and nourish them.

Click here to read what I read today: Moroni 6