tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36720734931026015212024-02-18T17:42:01.633-08:00A Perfect BrightnessJennifer Rickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16893901588875111664noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672073493102601521.post-17610151486829695392011-03-15T18:57:00.000-07:002011-03-15T18:58:03.139-07:00My Temple Fast<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>“Surely we on this side of the veil have a great work to do. . . . We can see that the building of temples has deep significance for ourselves and mankind. . . . We must accomplish the priesthood temple ordinance work necessary for our own exaltation; then we must do the necessary work for those who did not have the opportunity to accept the gospel in life. . . .</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i> </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>“Yet there are many members of the Church who have only limited access to the temples. They do the best they can. . . .</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i> </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>“Let us truly be a temple-attending and a temple-loving people. We should hasten to the temple as frequently, yet prudently, as our personal circumstances allow. . . Let us make the temple, with temple worship and temple covenants and temple marriage, our ultimate goal and supreme moral experience.”</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"> - President Howard W. Hunter, “A Temple-Motivated People,” Ensign, May 1995</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYBIwmSe2jstLLH8LBEo6u4NTdHnrVjjLt4dlNcjcysGIS4Ytt2RNRysB3MV2aBIH-xDXejXDojyo3EYnS91BvdAgHOybzmxLchNSAgqjDPN0b6if72S3Nki1i1crSvfSEFU7AkwPmWZLL/s1600/a.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYBIwmSe2jstLLH8LBEo6u4NTdHnrVjjLt4dlNcjcysGIS4Ytt2RNRysB3MV2aBIH-xDXejXDojyo3EYnS91BvdAgHOybzmxLchNSAgqjDPN0b6if72S3Nki1i1crSvfSEFU7AkwPmWZLL/s200/a.png" width="200" /></a></div>The Oakland California temple was an hour drive away from where I grew up. As a mutual group, we were usually able to go to the temple to do baptisms for the dead several times a year. In addition, we occasionally went to the temple grounds and Visitor’s Center for other events, like stake conferences, dance festivals, special concerts, and Christmas lights. I felt very blessed that the temple was a part of my life as a youth, but making the trip always took careful planning and was a big event.<br />
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When I went to college at BYU, suddenly the Provo temple was just five minutes away. I could walk there. I could even just go to the grounds just to read my scriptures, something that I had always dreamed of doing when I dreamed of living close to the temple. Although I could only do baptisms for the dead, I was very excited that I could go to the temple more frequently.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZvzp7elov5dED5qnGHtmHWplAGUeZugMYcLzUpl2ZM6LdtL4JTVY9BJuJPbrhzfqz2_SElQ0WpMWPJROLnUk7jPAF_YB0iISKAy9Lh4ektvZfYC-_F8sOmfcgX_2bn9r1_WhbQjFMc74C/s1600/b.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZvzp7elov5dED5qnGHtmHWplAGUeZugMYcLzUpl2ZM6LdtL4JTVY9BJuJPbrhzfqz2_SElQ0WpMWPJROLnUk7jPAF_YB0iISKAy9Lh4ektvZfYC-_F8sOmfcgX_2bn9r1_WhbQjFMc74C/s200/b.png" width="200" /></a><br />
But college started all too soon and I was busy from the start with classes and adjusting to life on my own away from home. There wasn’t much time to hike up the hill to the temple when I had papers to write, tests to take, and other homework to do. I was also a little nervous about finding my way around the baptistery and only wanted to go to the temple if friends could go with me. Sadly, during that first semester—five minutes away or not—I only went to the temple once or twice.<br />
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Then the lesson began when the opportunity of temple attendance was ripped from me. Over Christmas break that year, I broke my leg in a sledding accident. I came back to college several days late and in a leg cast. I had to use a wheelchair and crutches to get around to my classes, and going to the temple, at a time when I was struggling emotionally as well as physically from my injury and the strength of the temple would have been a tremendous help, was impossible (you just can’t be baptized in a cast!).<br />
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The closest I could get to the temple that semester was in my Doctrine and Covenants religion course. The class covered the second half of the Doctrine and Covenants, and we talked about the temple a lot that semester because in many of those sections the Lord talks about the importance of building and worshipping in temples. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtEgTmlPsK74Zc0e5Kk_gSluZSIy01smI8GSH4aBwrieL10kj0x4cFzau-VterW5Z7ofDWGkPUqzBEV_mGVv_2gUsduLeezVUC3tA1iVqrMOhmNfHkCp3SrotY6ktfNSgRBleELiMGTE-K/s1600/c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtEgTmlPsK74Zc0e5Kk_gSluZSIy01smI8GSH4aBwrieL10kj0x4cFzau-VterW5Z7ofDWGkPUqzBEV_mGVv_2gUsduLeezVUC3tA1iVqrMOhmNfHkCp3SrotY6ktfNSgRBleELiMGTE-K/s200/c.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
As we studied these commandments in class, our professor challenged us to write down goals about our temple attendance. I felt so sorry that I hadn’t taken time for the temple while I was able to go, but I could still make goals and did. I promised the Lord and myself that once I was out of my cast I would not take the temple for granted again. <br />
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Looking back, I call this time in my life my temple fast. As I waited for my leg to heal so I could walk again, I learned how much I missed the temple in my life when I took the time to appreciate it. Every time I start thinking about how going to the temple isn’t convenient in my scheduling or travel plans, I remember how much I missed it when I wasn’t physically able to go and try to remember to better appreciate the opportunity—and not a chore—that regular temple attendance is in my life. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkykSPDWQiJhcpd_HIsS7-5LCz7Elcxowx5j5acwH2Pq5HpJFRAecN6i4pTS3W_k74DEoEQ_zxH3AjQse6vduTbgZcgA2AYOkZgxw0XsiLUAzVFFCiM5_TDtZCzz8ylt_qp4bdLlCxfV_Q/s1600/e.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="119" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkykSPDWQiJhcpd_HIsS7-5LCz7Elcxowx5j5acwH2Pq5HpJFRAecN6i4pTS3W_k74DEoEQ_zxH3AjQse6vduTbgZcgA2AYOkZgxw0XsiLUAzVFFCiM5_TDtZCzz8ylt_qp4bdLlCxfV_Q/s200/e.png" width="200" /></a>Years later, one of my bishops talked about the time when the temple closes for cleaning in the summer or winter each year as a time of a temple fast. He would always encourage us ward members to go just before and just after the scheduled temple closing and during the few weeks without an open temple to think about our “fast” to help us recognize how much we appreciate the temple, but I after that first temple fast in my life I have always hoped that I can learn to appreciate the temple even while I live near one, and while it’s open, by attending frequently.Jennifer Rickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16893901588875111664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672073493102601521.post-20910488587757665252010-12-09T13:29:00.000-08:002010-12-09T13:29:33.876-08:00What I Didn't Say “Just try to stick to Elder Oak’s conference talk on testimony,” Brother Wallace’s voice message said when he gave us our speaking assignment for the following Sunday.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWqhgs3tXqkcHDf7oxOA2TPUH5FgS9ccEIbvDGfA0aJW4XeknH_ks23Xbep8d7EdXxIPKaVOlc9abYbegDoCCiuZlJXpH8J4pTBgBbPwGRfUF9Y9WiHwn_G_3gSQuXc2JBiR84dA3tksWg/s1600/a.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWqhgs3tXqkcHDf7oxOA2TPUH5FgS9ccEIbvDGfA0aJW4XeknH_ks23Xbep8d7EdXxIPKaVOlc9abYbegDoCCiuZlJXpH8J4pTBgBbPwGRfUF9Y9WiHwn_G_3gSQuXc2JBiR84dA3tksWg/s200/a.png" width="200" /></a><br />
I was excited about the topic because I had benefited a lot from that talk in the April 2008 General Conference. But, on the other hand, I had a really great idea of how to teach from Alma 32 about planting the seed to allow faith to grow into testimony. As I started preparing my talk, however, I felt prompted to only talk about Elder Oaks’ talk and not Alma 32.<br />
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I followed that prompting. I re-read Elder Oaks’ talk and took notes on things that stuck out to me. I started outlining. My husband and I decided that I would cover the first half of the talk and he would cover the second half. I took my reading notes and chunked the ideas into three main points. I thought of personal experiences I could share for each point and I decided on the main points that Elder Oaks had made that I wanted to share with the congregation. My outline was two pages of bullet points and looked great.<br />
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But a few days before Sunday, I still didn’t feel like I had the right talk. I had studied, pondered, and organized everything and thought I had a great talk outline, but I still didn’t feel settled. I looked at my printed outline and started crossing things out. I really felt like I should chop down my content by two-thirds, even if that meant that I wouldn’t fill up my time. Even just before Sacrament meeting started on Sunday, I was circling and crossing out all over my outline.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid3uQXgaSw_vEuLC5znJS4f0C2Q2ingMhawO6KGD9g5Ereonaw3QeKEp5vmS6ZMbpPN33kbtd4l7LJvCKWzrUEx1B7FXfyG7yKYXMe6YxPhZldQJ9FrImKHA5hSlu9RK7_tjvWy4AljMFR/s1600/b.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid3uQXgaSw_vEuLC5znJS4f0C2Q2ingMhawO6KGD9g5Ereonaw3QeKEp5vmS6ZMbpPN33kbtd4l7LJvCKWzrUEx1B7FXfyG7yKYXMe6YxPhZldQJ9FrImKHA5hSlu9RK7_tjvWy4AljMFR/s200/b.png" width="200" /></a><br />
When I got up to speak, my talk only covered one of my bullet points. I kept all my personal experiences in and related them to that one point. I felt guided as I spoke, even in details such as where in the congregation to look and where to pause.<br />
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But even though I felt like everything went well, I was still a little disappointed. Why did the Spirit tell me to leave so much content, the specifics of Elder Oaks’ instruction, out? I found the answer to that question when I went to Relief Society. It was a fourth Sunday Teachings for Our Times lesson, and the bishop had asked that the teachers teach from Elder Oaks’ conference talk on testimony, the same that my husband and I had been assigned to speak about in Sacrament meeting. I don’t know if the bishop knew that his counselor had assigned us the same talk, but because of the Spirit, this double arrangement worked perfectly. In my talk I had given personal experiences that talked about the importance of testimony and how we should be seeking to gain testimony in everything we do—in every lesson and every personal scriptures study session. Our Relief Society teacher, however, spent the lesson time talking about the more specific points of Elder Oaks’ talk, like the different types of knowledge and ways to learn.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhATDDmyYbvH-LDZ65mrdXQDY1lBE34aSnM-J4KhBVcNM-qzPzhkxgnQTD0fwCow4vX9H-JCQ4bcMslD89Kd_Vjr_nFpwxvT_RwPkyUp3AS6XTiop7VIiFOWEvdjNiREm4xNq9RDuE3C19p/s1600/c.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhATDDmyYbvH-LDZ65mrdXQDY1lBE34aSnM-J4KhBVcNM-qzPzhkxgnQTD0fwCow4vX9H-JCQ4bcMslD89Kd_Vjr_nFpwxvT_RwPkyUp3AS6XTiop7VIiFOWEvdjNiREm4xNq9RDuE3C19p/s200/c.png" width="133" /></a><br />
As I sat through that Relief Society lesson I was so grateful for all that the Spirit had told me to cut out of my talk. If I had tried to cover what the Relief Society teacher wanted to cover, I would have ruined her lesson and the sisters, including me, would have been bored with going over the same talk twice within the three-hour block of church. Instead, the Relief Society built on what I had said in my talk. Further, the specific points of Elder Oaks were discussed much more productively in a classroom setting than I could have done from the pulpit.<br />
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My sacrament meeting talk was a teaching miracle to me. Only the Spirit could have told me and the Relief Society that we were both preparing lessons on the same General Conference talk and had it work out as perfectly as it did. I hope that I can always seek the Spirit to help guide me with what I should and shouldn’t say in a talk.Jennifer Rickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16893901588875111664noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672073493102601521.post-18591460697796164172010-12-08T14:01:00.001-08:002010-12-08T14:03:13.049-08:00Shining as a Nightlight“We need a nightlight,” my husband said.<br />
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“A nightlight?” I repeated blankly. We were grownups—I hadn’t had a nightlight since I was about five. “Uh, honey,” I asked, “are you afraid of the dark?” <br />
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“No, no, no,” my husband replied. He explained that we needed something so neither of us ran into anything if we had to take a trip to the bathroom in the middle of the night.<br />
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That seemed logical. In our newlyweds’ studio apartment we only had windows in the living room. The bathroom around the corner was completely dark at night.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOZL4J0rtEqSNxY2AVfqDeRqqC8n3J1ftquumDBNnMAJ2hkzBlD0i5W2sS7udTHKTZOAewVPSBMhx2TbYZuiz2tSZHWYQ0Y3gs6B716fVPvthnTaGiPbVdyTfUSTqhvOYmMVhU5LF4e1SH/s1600/a.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOZL4J0rtEqSNxY2AVfqDeRqqC8n3J1ftquumDBNnMAJ2hkzBlD0i5W2sS7udTHKTZOAewVPSBMhx2TbYZuiz2tSZHWYQ0Y3gs6B716fVPvthnTaGiPbVdyTfUSTqhvOYmMVhU5LF4e1SH/s200/a.png" width="132" /></a>The next day I bought a nightlight at the grocery store. When my husband got home that evening I realized that the least expensive nightlight might not have been the right choice. He looked at the package, and his face fell with disappointment.<br />
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“Will it be enough light?” he asked.<br />
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His question was just. The nightlight was round and very small, small enough to plug in the wall and not block the second electrical outlet. <br />
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“Well,” he said, “we can try it anyway and if it doesn’t give enough light then we’ll just have to buy something else.”<br />
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It was still early evening in the summer and very light outside, but we plugged the nightlight in the bathroom anyway. My husband was right. The little nightlight was feeble, even pathetic. I chalked the whole experience up as a lesson to improve my inadequate homemaking skills and tried to forget about it until I would have to go back to the store and buy a better nightlight the next day.<br />
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However, my second trip to the store to buy a nightlight never happened. We went to bed as usual that night, and I was grateful that my housekeeping failure didn’t keep me from sleeping soundly through the night. When we woke up in the morning, my husband was beaming at me.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzQQAqlQ2Dy3wVpGRAIf6HMoPjgGCNQG_HO6Oj0IyX3ZUJ34fZo82xxi4V_98UpZaCN7r81Kmy6KWE_ZBUPavlwQ5hAeJKJRPv1ppqEE99ItW1WtUU5LCjdFVfkxv9dhHU5dxuE14_75Dj/s1600/b.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzQQAqlQ2Dy3wVpGRAIf6HMoPjgGCNQG_HO6Oj0IyX3ZUJ34fZo82xxi4V_98UpZaCN7r81Kmy6KWE_ZBUPavlwQ5hAeJKJRPv1ppqEE99ItW1WtUU5LCjdFVfkxv9dhHU5dxuE14_75Dj/s200/b.png" width="200" /></a><br />
“It’s great!” he said happily.<br />
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“What are you talking about?” I yawned.<br />
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“The light!” he said. “It works!”<br />
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I slightly stumbled to the bathroom. The nightlight was still there and still gracing the room with its feeble orange glow. “It looks the same to me,” I said, “pathetic.”<br />
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“That’s because it’s morning!” my husband replied triumphantly, “but in the dark it’s just what we need!”<br />
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The next night, when I had to make my own nighttime pilgrimage, I learned for myself that the nightlight was a brilliant success. When the rest of the world was light, the nightlight looked too weak to be helpful at all, but in the middle of the night, when it was the only source of light in sight, it was just want we needed. <br />
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Thinking on this experience, it’s important to remember that the nightlight’s glow never changed. Even though at night it seemed as if it was brighter, in actuality its light was the same at all hours of the day; only its surroundings, and the circumstances that we perceived it in, changed between day and night.<br />
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We have used this trusty nightlight in three different apartments now. Whenever we move, it’s one of the last things we pack and one of the first things we unpack. I never think about that nightlight during the day; during daylight hours it’s just a regular thing plugged into our bathroom wall, almost unneeded. At night, however, that nightlight is a trusted, helpful friend.<br />
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As I crept past it back into bed one night, I realized that there are many friends, people, and things in my life that I often take for granted when the sun is shining but that, like my nightlight, are always dependable and keep me safe and comforted whenever darkness falls.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBzd2-QI8T52lRaigmuoeFt9PL6imYAq19qsjB1m4fWAp-SAbUUkWpF5w34tjrRA-15-shKqWkTpsWSHKMw2f-tGnYqW7KPwh0Sm6QrkSgoTR5e2BoH7EM62ex6aVo52H4TyCanhJ4Ft_d/s1600/c.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBzd2-QI8T52lRaigmuoeFt9PL6imYAq19qsjB1m4fWAp-SAbUUkWpF5w34tjrRA-15-shKqWkTpsWSHKMw2f-tGnYqW7KPwh0Sm6QrkSgoTR5e2BoH7EM62ex6aVo52H4TyCanhJ4Ft_d/s320/c.png" width="320" /></a></div>In the New Testament, Jesus talks a lot about light. In Matthew 5:14 he says this well-known verse: “Ye are the light of the world. A city that is set on an hill cannot be hid.” Although I’ve always loved views of city lights at night, I’ve never felt as strong or brilliant as an entire city. My nightlight has reminded me that that’s not what Jesus expects of me or what that verse really means. Verse 15 is also important: “Neither do men light a candle and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house.”<br />
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We don’t use candles as our primary source of light anymore, but we can still draw some meaningful conclusions from Christ’s analogies about light. Putting a candle under a bushel doesn’t just hide it from view; under a bushel, the flame won’t have enough oxygen to burn and will go out. Additionally, a short, stubby candle gives a lot less light than a long, tapered candle on a candlestick. A candle under a bushel gives very little light (and eventually none). A candle on a candlestick gives as much light as its solitary flame can. On a candlestick, the candle is reaching its full potential of light.<br />
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What Christ teaches in these verses about light, how each of us can shine to light the world with truth and goodness, brings my thoughts back to my trusty nightlight. There are so many people in my life that have been nightlights for me—always plugged in. Even though by themselves they aren’t an entire city to shine on the dark horizon, and when the sun is shining they don’t seem that important, there are many of these individuals whose constant shine has comforted, guided, and protected me when darkness came into my life.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcV6y5Wl0Emaftkbdcwd4Mb13ImhiSJHEN4OM8No4WDhVw9QYd28sXU5cC4ntbffZ3vFmI1X-mob2gpvLxBjM8cnwVVm02kmuEyi1aGtlCStYmwVD-9VC3a6skCgwSgYQQApcVU7ZpCDeY/s1600/d.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcV6y5Wl0Emaftkbdcwd4Mb13ImhiSJHEN4OM8No4WDhVw9QYd28sXU5cC4ntbffZ3vFmI1X-mob2gpvLxBjM8cnwVVm02kmuEyi1aGtlCStYmwVD-9VC3a6skCgwSgYQQApcVU7ZpCDeY/s200/d.png" width="133" /></a>One person that has been a nightlight in my life is a friend I grew up with. We lived in the same ward as long as we both could remember. Although we sometimes hung with different social crowds, I knew that I could always rely on this friend, especially spiritually. Even though I felt like a shy caterpillar where she was a social butterfly, we still talked about everything. We went to church and young women’s together every week. We both were faithful in our seminary attendance, even if we weren’t in the same class every year. We talked about our dating standards and every other important decision we had to make in our teenage years. We relied on each other and knew that we could be strong and choose the right if for nothing else because we knew that the other would. <br />
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There are other people in my life that have stood as faithful examples, constant nightlights, for me—family members, ward members, mentors, and other friends. When all other lights seem to go out, or even if I was feel a little dim myself, these nightlights have shown through the darkness when I needed comfort and guidance the most.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7kdTJGkS2qoP13BELqBC4r4oQLp-ilVUi8GEERuHMOsi97C_u-lpRLkjjQcrT7Alxpb-Q8Y27SQQE5AFvq_zjjox0MUhGvhbGclZeTFSyqPxq0fpcGsbtZsgvLJPv7ZiQRk3xODfhdF9z/s1600/e.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7kdTJGkS2qoP13BELqBC4r4oQLp-ilVUi8GEERuHMOsi97C_u-lpRLkjjQcrT7Alxpb-Q8Y27SQQE5AFvq_zjjox0MUhGvhbGclZeTFSyqPxq0fpcGsbtZsgvLJPv7ZiQRk3xODfhdF9z/s200/e.png" width="161" /></a>What is a lighted city on a hill? It isn’t just one person; it was never meant to be. The lighted city that Christ talks about is a simple candle on a candlestick, or a steady nightlight, shining out from every home. One nightlight at a time makes up that shining city on the hill. In the daytime, when there is a greater light all around, the smaller lights don’t seem that important, but at night, all together, they make a huge impact on the skyline. Banded together, we can each be a light to the world as each of our homes shine together in our wards, stakes, communities, and nations. Individually we can each be nightlights to each passerby when we follow the Savior’s words to “Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven” (Matthew 5:16).<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>Image copyright by Microsoft Corporation. Available in Microsoft Word Clip Art Galleries.</i></span>Jennifer Rickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16893901588875111664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672073493102601521.post-60492427943537513732010-09-28T18:38:00.000-07:002010-10-11T08:29:43.167-07:00GiftedThe piano is one of the greatest gifts my parents ever gave me, and I say it that way on purpose. I don’t mean “my piano” because I grew up and purchased my own instrument; I say “the piano” because I feel that because of the opportunities they have given me, every piano and piano piece in the world is open to me.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn3cz-k6ZW2wCO0SB0q_3CP02neWaUiKVdlzSGh26BkVcYAyt-Epx3u-dU_AIH1tL-_f1EfbsCE0ulyds-CSm6nHQOOUIlDVF-MoIPTDtJNp7Dw1YgfeGnspx5W3xPahfMHWCmJS59W5Wc/s1600/a.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="134" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn3cz-k6ZW2wCO0SB0q_3CP02neWaUiKVdlzSGh26BkVcYAyt-Epx3u-dU_AIH1tL-_f1EfbsCE0ulyds-CSm6nHQOOUIlDVF-MoIPTDtJNp7Dw1YgfeGnspx5W3xPahfMHWCmJS59W5Wc/s200/a.png" width="200" /></a>It is true that my parents had it pretty easy. I was a child who begged to take lessons. Although I wasn’t always perfect at practicing scales and drills, I loved to play. Even as a teenager, when many of my friends quit music, I loved to sit and play all the beautiful music I could get my hands on and learn for hours at a time. Growing up in a three-bedroom house in a family of eight children, sitting on the piano bench was the only space I had to myself. Even with cartoons on the TV in the other room and my brothers fighting over Lego bricks on the carpet behind me, I could sit and play and escape from everything.<br />
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Now that I am older and beginning to think about music lessons for my own children, I realize how much my parents gave to give me the piano. As I think of it, the primary sacrifice they made wasn’t even the money for years of lessons, although that was a substantial investment, or the patience in hearing me practice, though that was a constant in their daily lives. What they gave most was their time. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_k0y-_asfHYMEQH-6uADU8JKU0lDA6RflwBC46f40E06yEHG3nF-k2phx2vtYVY8iaCZM4BMREp-h3LuvwQvcrpiM_A9YBIjkXIUxzh-_6KIuIr9cMmSgyldtLl19XcBy-NjGkRVWCFeP/s1600/b.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_k0y-_asfHYMEQH-6uADU8JKU0lDA6RflwBC46f40E06yEHG3nF-k2phx2vtYVY8iaCZM4BMREp-h3LuvwQvcrpiM_A9YBIjkXIUxzh-_6KIuIr9cMmSgyldtLl19XcBy-NjGkRVWCFeP/s200/b.png" width="200" /></a>For years, my mom took me to piano lessons once a week. At first I went to lessons in tow with my two sisters and whatever brothers Mom could bribe, force, or threaten to endure piano lessons as well, but gradually, by the time I was in high school, I was the only one left on the roll sheet from our family, but Mom never asked me to stop. As I look back now, I realize what a sacrifice she was making for me; even my siblings sacrificed. For at least an hour a week, and sometimes more if my teacher lived far away, Mom was away from the rest of them just to take me to lessons.<br />
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I don’t think I’ve ever told my mom how much those drives meant to me. I looked forward to those drives—just me and mom. Once a week I got all of her attention. We talked about anything on our minds, and she never acted like it was hard to leave the other seven—and all the activities they wanted to do—just to be with me and to give me the piano.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>With this wonderful gift of beauty and love that my parents gave me, when the ward needs someone to fill in playing for the choir or Relief Society or some prelude music, I always say, “Yes.” And amid the thanks I receive, over and over again I try to remember that this isn’t really my talent; it’s my parents’ gift.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcf5TE6s4MIEQaqpqRJRuy-Sl9V914ki4nCRE-s3Y0F1pnbN4OL2x0gNMtONQSvY4PLtgRdNGhonHN03zYdopF602peyQ-t8qFFqyaul95STzAmwZcxAzGu2R5TYPiwwiMI14sl46AcWSh/s1600/c.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcf5TE6s4MIEQaqpqRJRuy-Sl9V914ki4nCRE-s3Y0F1pnbN4OL2x0gNMtONQSvY4PLtgRdNGhonHN03zYdopF602peyQ-t8qFFqyaul95STzAmwZcxAzGu2R5TYPiwwiMI14sl46AcWSh/s1600/c.png" /></a></div>Jennifer Rickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16893901588875111664noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672073493102601521.post-41833785766900220162010-06-16T08:47:00.001-07:002010-06-16T08:47:55.649-07:00What JokeI found a link to this <a href="http://health.msn.com/health-topics/mental-health/articlepage.aspx?cp-documentid=100105578">online stress test</a>. At first it looked a little depressing how many of the stressors I could check, but then it turned hilarious. Check out these items being a factor in the life of a new mom:<br /><br />- Change to a new type of work<br />- Change in my work hours or conditions<br />- Took a course to help my work (does a prenatal class count?)<br />- Took on more work responsibilities<br />- Took on fewer work responsibilities (yes, both: I quit my full time job, but now I’m a full-time mom)<br />- Major change in living conditions (he’s another body, right?)<br />- Change in family get-togethers<br />- Major change in health or behavior of a family member (he’s alive, right?)<br />- Change is social activities (we have to find a sitter now)<br />- Change in personal habits<br />- Vacation (we have done this!)<br />- Major decision about immediate future (like every day!)<br />- Major loss of income<br />- Major and moderate purchases (I think he and all his gear entail both)<br />- Been to the hospital<br />- Major change in eating habits<br />- Major change in sleeping habits<br />- Major change in recreation<br /><br />Apparently I have “high stress.” Wow, that was helpful—not. Good thing we’re doing good with the exercise or I might just need to “seek therapy.”<br /><br />Oh, but, Baby, I'm still so glad you're in my life!Jennifer Rickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16893901588875111664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672073493102601521.post-32384653463358193182009-10-21T13:42:00.000-07:002010-10-11T08:30:23.591-07:00All Saints’ Day and an LDS Context<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKKzZII3J5aljWfdBSjvpuHBsr6xz5uBC25DY1V-_AFsICctQ-N2d6yNdojOg823q9Q9X2ns5IhAhZOrgBjIx5TmG2z8BY62KDz5sFusXcSrKphVixTdCVBBMDgkxytZvYtKM2H5V3KpLK/s1600-h/lake.bmp" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395157402513986354" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKKzZII3J5aljWfdBSjvpuHBsr6xz5uBC25DY1V-_AFsICctQ-N2d6yNdojOg823q9Q9X2ns5IhAhZOrgBjIx5TmG2z8BY62KDz5sFusXcSrKphVixTdCVBBMDgkxytZvYtKM2H5V3KpLK/s320/lake.bmp" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 199px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 296px;" /></a>On November 1, some Christian faiths celebrate All Saints’ Day. Although we don’t officially recognize this holiday in <a href="http://mormon.org/">the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints</a>, there are some traditions of this day that we have inherited and can have meaning for us.<br />
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All Saints’ Day is also called “All Hallows” or “Hallowmas.” Thus, Halloween, or “All Hallows Eve,” is the day before All Saints’ Day, or October 31. According to tradition, November 1st is the time to celebrate the lives of the martyrs. Traditionally, this holiday is directly followed by “All Souls’ Day” on November 2, also called “The Day of the Deceased” or “The Day of the Dead,” although some cultures have blended All Saints’ and All Souls into one day. The context of these dates gives Halloween traditions a little more relevance. For example, Halloween obsessions with death make more sense when the next two days are supposed to be holidays about the dead.<br />
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In the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we don’t have canonized Saints, but we do believe that we are all saints in the kingdom of God. This is why the tradition All Saints’ Day festival hymn, “For All the Saints,” is also included in our <a href="http://www.lds.org/cm/display/0,17631,4650-1,00.html">LDS hymnbook</a>.<br />
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“For All the Saints” was written by Anglican Bishop William Walsham How and published in 1864. When we sing this hymn in our congregations, we think of “All Souls” as “All Saints”; we think of the “saints” in this hymn as the many beloved people we have known and loved who have departed from this life and are now at rest.<br />
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Below are the lyrics of “For All the Saints,” as included in our hymnbook:<br />
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For all the saints, who from their labors rest,<br />
Who Thee by faith before the world confessed,<br />
Thy name, O Jesus, be forever blest.<br />
Alleluia, Alleluia.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKFy9ZIpEpRUll0xVsaooKuMWywnHsSNQP3_0syVBv74f0Bs1jBXysfwCxke_RuATzW9E0kW-Dgjks9Gx8eCwv9wIqcFNo7Uuq3XNevwmeMHh0TabuhDUzciL-BxXiv1Cadz5d5AVo3-NI/s1600-h/light.bmp" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395157616813635794" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKFy9ZIpEpRUll0xVsaooKuMWywnHsSNQP3_0syVBv74f0Bs1jBXysfwCxke_RuATzW9E0kW-Dgjks9Gx8eCwv9wIqcFNo7Uuq3XNevwmeMHh0TabuhDUzciL-BxXiv1Cadz5d5AVo3-NI/s320/light.bmp" style="cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 236px; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; width: 159px;" /></a><br />
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Oh, may thy soldiers, faithful, true, and bold,<br />
Fight as the Saints who nobly fought of old,<br />
And win with them the victor's crown of gold.<br />
Alleluia, Alleluia.<br />
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Thou art our rock, our fortress, and our might;<br />
Thou, Lord, our captain in the well-fought fight;<br />
Thou, in the darkness drear, our one true light.<br />
Alleluia, Alleluia.<br />
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And when the strife is fierce, the warfare long,<br />
Steals on the ear the distant triumph song,<br />
And hearts are brave again, and arms are strong.<br />
Alleluia, Alleluia.<br />
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From earth's wide bounds, from ocean's farthest coast,<br />
Through gates of pearl streams in the countless host,<br />
Singing to Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.<br />
Alleluia, Alleluia.<br />
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This wonderful hymn expresses faith in Jesus Christ as “our rock, our fortress, and our might” and as our captain. As November begins, as the holiday season approaches, the words of this All Saints’ Day hymn can lend us strength, faith, and courage, even though during the next few months may be when we miss deceased loved ones most.<br />
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Among several other additional verses, Bishop How originally had these two beautiful additional verses appear between the two final verses in our hymn:<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWpipKfCRKlfyenM5n9bC1PSW4-NzMSl-jjWchBGgfZ_1txFBekE8AndC8FRSjM6BGT-qDgA6oK4Yo88lbsCJHPJBzGH_UizW-J357e_5dcKstZx15jFu7WwP3KXGPpQkelvlEc8eKDZlG/s1600-h/sky.bmp" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395157405369018562" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWpipKfCRKlfyenM5n9bC1PSW4-NzMSl-jjWchBGgfZ_1txFBekE8AndC8FRSjM6BGT-qDgA6oK4Yo88lbsCJHPJBzGH_UizW-J357e_5dcKstZx15jFu7WwP3KXGPpQkelvlEc8eKDZlG/s320/sky.bmp" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 207px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 274px;" /></a><br />
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The golden evening brightens in the west;<br />
Soon, soon to faithful warriors comes their rest;<br />
Sweet is the calm of paradise the blessed.<br />
Alleluia, Alleluia!<br />
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But lo! there breaks a yet more glorious day;<br />
The saints triumphant rise in bright array;<br />
The King of glory passes on His way.<br />
Alleluia, Alleluia!<br />
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In this season, we can remember all the saints, all our loved ones who have passed from this life. As Bishop How’s hymn says, “Sweet is the calm of paradise the blessed. . . . But lo! there breaks a yet more glorious day.” On this All Saints’ Day, we can remember the hope of that glorious day and the faith we can have in Jesus Christ which comforts all our pain and enlivens all our hope.Jennifer Rickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16893901588875111664noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672073493102601521.post-18234215606595670232009-03-23T07:55:00.000-07:002009-03-23T08:22:39.340-07:00On the Marked Trail<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_R6zXw94ez5Wf54-ghxGdrEstWWYWzRy1gBCYA2QsALui3UDav5Y9s0rr9GOJvHu60WQeXtqadIJz5TqlqdHmqKgYDAC_i7_uM3RU-gB0_Fjy3nl8sjhmk9rqXfsbHLmytK3dPw_2SY6k/s1600-h/Snoqualmie+Falls+by+Jennifer+Ricks.bmp"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_R6zXw94ez5Wf54-ghxGdrEstWWYWzRy1gBCYA2QsALui3UDav5Y9s0rr9GOJvHu60WQeXtqadIJz5TqlqdHmqKgYDAC_i7_uM3RU-gB0_Fjy3nl8sjhmk9rqXfsbHLmytK3dPw_2SY6k/s320/Snoqualmie+Falls+by+Jennifer+Ricks.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316402475965153410" border="0" /></a>Twenty-five miles east of the city of Seattle, Washington cascades 270-foot high Snoqualmie Falls. The force of the water crashing onto the rock gorge and river below the falls sends up a fine mist of water that, when caught on a soft breeze, lingers over three hundred feet above the river.<br /><br />Several years ago my husband and I took a day trip to the falls. Driving up and down the rolling hills of Snoqualmie city, flanked to the right by mountains of rich evergreen forest, I remembered why people decide to settle in Washington. Views like that make all the rain worth all the green.<br /><br />When we reached the Snoqualmie Falls Park, it was a fickle jacket sort of day—sometimes you wanted your jacket and sometimes you didn’t. The signs from the parking lot pointed us to the observation deck, what we later learned was the upper observation deck. We were amazed at the spray that drifted so far up and at the height of the falls. Far below, we could see people tramping among the rocks next to the river below. We knew there must be some way to get down and see the fall from the bottom instead of the top. We followed several pathways and signs and found ourselves on a trail that promised to lead us to the lower observation deck in half a mile.<br /><br />Just a few steps onto the trail brought us deep into a gorgeous forest. Everything was dense with green on many levels—from tall, majestic trees to bushy clumps of fern and stray, simple wildflowers on the edge of the trail. It was Saturday, and the park was slightly crowded. We saw so many families of all ages—couples with infants strapped to their fronts, young children holding a parent’s hand, several teenagers slouching after their over-enthusiastic parents, and grandparents slowly making the climb up and down at their own pace.<br /><br />In addition to the beauty of nature and the interesting people we passed on the way, the signs and signals of the trail also riveted my attention during our hike. The trail that took us down to the river was steep and winding. In quite a few places, usually at a bend in the path, the park officials had bolted a large log in the way of a misleading clearing. The logs blocked the path of shortcuts that cut too close to dangerous cliffs and hillsides. The most dangerous off-shoots of the path were marked with fences and signs, but the milder ones were only blocked by logs that suggested the true trail. Compared to the number of people we saw on the trail, few took the discouraged routes, but I was surprised that not everyone chose to stay on the designated path.<br /><br />At the bottom of the trail we found the river. To get to the lower observation deck, however, we had to follow a chicken-wire tunneled boardwalk that led us around the backside of the lower power plant. This way was narrow but relatively straight. After we passed the power plant, the wire tunnel ended. On the next part of the path, a large sign had been duplicated and reposted every dozen feet or so. The sign warned us not to leave the fenced boardwalk path because the hazardous river could rise suddenly at any time.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEJp0BVuliNaciAi-reC1u9pkQDZ9zqLSdwbCKcIqXCjcGwATXRKgOTL5pjO4nIbCA_WkIbkVtPnXsrN_TdiMVv6rdTO2TaUwKtOt3AltqJHF2rae7QWOGMsSmSzQPsX7g7fp7MzqSxc83/s1600-h/Fisherman+at+Snoqualmie+Falls+by+Jennifer+Ricks.bmp"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 224px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEJp0BVuliNaciAi-reC1u9pkQDZ9zqLSdwbCKcIqXCjcGwATXRKgOTL5pjO4nIbCA_WkIbkVtPnXsrN_TdiMVv6rdTO2TaUwKtOt3AltqJHF2rae7QWOGMsSmSzQPsX7g7fp7MzqSxc83/s320/Fisherman+at+Snoqualmie+Falls+by+Jennifer+Ricks.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316403636562497986" border="0" /></a>Two or three minutes further down the path brought us to the lower observation deck, but the observation deck itself was a disappointment. We were still much farther away from the waterfall than all the people we had seen rambling among the river rocks, and the observation deck was much too small to accommodate all the people that were there at the same time that we were. As we squished and jostled on the deck just to strain a view of the waterfall at all, I realized why the signs had been so adamant. There were swarms of people that had forgotten its warning; they meandered all along the river and much closer to the falls than the observation deck’s confines allowed. There was even a man fishing in the middle of the river, quite close to the falls. Part of me wanted to join in, to hop the carefully placed wooden fences and freely roam the river’s edge as close to the waterfall as I dared. But, instead, my husband and I grimaced at each other and squeezed ourselves back onto the boardwalk trail to return to upper level of the park.<br /><br />On the way back, the tedious signs weren’t facing us anymore, and for many people that were coming towards us the signs were as good as backwards for what little they would heed them. I knew that it was very unlikely that the river on that certain Saturday would catastrophically rise and wash all the daring people that had broken the rules away, but the “what if” kept me from joining them.<br /><br />The trail back to the upper part of the park felt steeper on the way up. I couldn’t believe one dad who was pushing a stroller, with a child inside nonetheless, up the steep grade. I shouldn’t have been surprised when even more people veered onto shortcut trails on the way back up than had on the way down. I figured that for many of them they had already broken rules once by playing along the river, so why not do it again? But I couldn’t. Again, what if there was a rock slide, or I got lost, or I destroyed an important natural habitat?<br /><br />Maybe our day trip would have been more exciting if we had taken a short cut. Maybe we would have felt the rush of danger, the excitement of breaking the roles, but somehow, even though the story of the day doesn’t seem that exciting, I don’t regret staying on the marked path.<br /><br />All my life I’ve stayed to the marked path. Sure, I’ve made plenty of mistakes, but nothing very daring. Sometimes I wonder if my life’s been boring because I’ve kept to well laid trails. Wouldn’t it have been more thrilling to take a short cut? But then I remember the trails at Snoqualmie Falls: Sure, by taking a short cut we might have had a thrilling, dangerous experience, but most likely we would have just gotten muddier. I’d rather save my nerve for the often rugged steepness of the safe road than squander my daring on the unneeded frivolous danger of a roguish thrill.<br /><br />When I think back on the shortcuts at Snoqualmie Falls, I remember that I didn’t need the excitement of danger to improve the experience. The fantastic views of the falls from a safe location were enough for me. Unmarked trails aren’t don’t have a monopoly on significant memories and unforgettable journeys. Although it was the what-ifs that always seem to hold me back from unmarked trails, following the marked trail eliminates the haunting what-ifs, which also means no regrets.Jennifer Rickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16893901588875111664noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672073493102601521.post-10561186640839870032009-02-19T14:03:00.000-08:002010-10-11T08:31:20.373-07:00Service in the Snow<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp5_0QcTEnfkzeEadV4qzhciFl-yhz9lll4OV02aLakEl0y-9FKNl9HAcQ9X4yzdqdmesd7WIEPSPeZjbHE_EyEs1y7qrhj89DC1PGtHKDX7AfQPK_t8UQWtzSwcpvjmicfXAl_NfA0YfZ/s1600-h/snow+tree.bmp" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304635841468115202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp5_0QcTEnfkzeEadV4qzhciFl-yhz9lll4OV02aLakEl0y-9FKNl9HAcQ9X4yzdqdmesd7WIEPSPeZjbHE_EyEs1y7qrhj89DC1PGtHKDX7AfQPK_t8UQWtzSwcpvjmicfXAl_NfA0YfZ/s320/snow+tree.bmp" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 320px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 214px;" /></a>It was snowing heavily, and I was very late. I hurried from the stake center foyer out into the flurry, turned on my car, and shivered as I brushed the snow off the windshield only a little more quickly than the snow piled back on. After clearing off my car as much as I could, I jumped back in and turned up the heater. As I reached out my hand to shift into drive, I felt an impression to go back outside and brush the snow off the car next to me.<br />
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I hesitated. The Saturday enrichment activity had started late because of the snow, so I was nearly an hour behind the time I said I would be home. My family had other plans for that day, and I was already really late. But, the Spirit said to my heart, cleaning the snow off the car next to me would only take five minutes, which wouldn’t make that much of a difference to my plans. I yielded.<br />
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I didn’t know whose car it was or who I was helping as I brushed the snow off the car next to me. I comforted myself with the fact that the inside of my care would be all the warmer when I finished and went back inside my own vehicle. As I scraped away the snow from the other car, I mused about how great the service I was giving could be. Maybe if I scraped one sister’s car, she would clear the snow from the car next to her, and soon there’s be this great, big, wonderful chain of service in our ward Relief Society that morning, all started by me.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqxrAytzbNAP_o6_BFZPpBV_Rh2RCZvyvfnNA2hdchzAdumEWJYk2_SiLiGHrY5m_oybXSjoD3tUmg-ms3dlwV3l33UyyjsicsZsLco8-COtZKiQWrMb4u_mfLDzfG1VMFbfRYiIl_Yxlx/s1600-h/frost+leaves.bmp" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304636292580231970" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqxrAytzbNAP_o6_BFZPpBV_Rh2RCZvyvfnNA2hdchzAdumEWJYk2_SiLiGHrY5m_oybXSjoD3tUmg-ms3dlwV3l33UyyjsicsZsLco8-COtZKiQWrMb4u_mfLDzfG1VMFbfRYiIl_Yxlx/s320/frost+leaves.bmp" style="cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 240px; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
When I finished clearing the snow I probably had more snow stuck to my coat than there was snow left on the other car, but my car had heated up nicely on the inside. I pulled out of my parking spot cheering by my visionary service domino effect. But just as I was leaving the parking lot, I saw a sister with a stroller hurry out of the building and unlock the car that had been next to me.<br />
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Suddenly I was so grateful, and very humbled, that I had followed the prompting to clear the snow off of this sister’s car. I didn’t know her very well, but I knew she was a new mother and hadn’t seemed as cheerful as usual that day. With an infant to care for, I knew that traveling in the snow, and just getting in and out of the car in any weather, was much more difficult for this sister than it was for me.<br />
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I’m sure the young mother didn’t scrape the car n<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCJJRRUbm2076CvVyx_rsXP60_GwserG7XW3tRpnMJTxswqiGxA0BhJy1L7293_wsUuMXd5hlWfpBDBKjx_Ju32FVaS7Qd9lRZd0vPQUaLxlzf10RFwEVhAluZU3Bvdqsm8rpbZ8FmD1th/s1600-h/snowy+trees.bmp" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304635844023130066" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCJJRRUbm2076CvVyx_rsXP60_GwserG7XW3tRpnMJTxswqiGxA0BhJy1L7293_wsUuMXd5hlWfpBDBKjx_Ju32FVaS7Qd9lRZd0vPQUaLxlzf10RFwEVhAluZU3Bvdqsm8rpbZ8FmD1th/s320/snowy+trees.bmp" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 213px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 320px;" /></a>ext to her, so the wonderful snow service chain I had envisioned, with me as the secret star, didn’t come about at all, but I didn’t care. Instead of gratifying my pride, doing service that snowy morning taught me a new lesson about the worth of souls. Heavenly Father didn’t need a service chain started in our Relief Society; he needed me to show love to one sister who needed some extra help. He knew this sister’s concerns, just as he answers my prayers in so many ways. I drove home, not thinking about my tardy to-do list, but of the multitude of His tender mercies all around me.Jennifer Rickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16893901588875111664noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672073493102601521.post-49871820805392437752008-12-02T11:01:00.000-08:002008-12-02T11:27:24.386-08:00Dad’s Special Gifts“Would you like to go for a drive with me?” Dad asked.<br /><br />I smiled before I turned around and answered, “Sure.” Making this request was the most humble I ever saw my dad. We had been through this routine for three years in a row, but I knew that this time would be the last. I handed my bowl of pie dough off to my little sister, grabbed my shoes, and went out to meet Dad on the driveway.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7L6eVABGqd__FWH5sra8zlckGpgMp7CBme9CsL02zYK4E8jOKjfVoH2HJHe-j6M2czV7CmOgdXYz3fIgs6SOQIYNS2SiOJ9Nr94EcIvJrfNbUBHHeG59IB_DKNCmdAUwBxFYerv5uH4_4/s1600-h/santa+shopping.bmp"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7L6eVABGqd__FWH5sra8zlckGpgMp7CBme9CsL02zYK4E8jOKjfVoH2HJHe-j6M2czV7CmOgdXYz3fIgs6SOQIYNS2SiOJ9Nr94EcIvJrfNbUBHHeG59IB_DKNCmdAUwBxFYerv5uH4_4/s320/santa+shopping.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275273116150627810" border="0" /></a><br />Dad headed the car towards the mall. Along the way we talked, but not too much. We talked about my life at college and my plans for the future, but sometimes he fell silent. I knew he was focusing on the task ahead of us.<br /><br />During each of these yearly trips to the mall with Dad we went through every store that sold nice women’s clothes—every one. It was the only time I ever went to the really nice stores. Some stores would only take a minute or less—a quick walk-through and Dad would know that they didn’t have what he was looking for. In some stores we’d browse for a while. Sometimes he’d brush off the smiling sales ladies with the usual, “Thanks, but we’re just looking.” But in others he’d accept their help and take the time to describe how he was looking for something really wonderful. Sometimes he asked my advice about style, colors, or patterns, but other times he didn’t even hear the advice I volunteered because he was too focused on finding his special gift.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1SfOHZaAy07RoQTT9xA2Ek8jF3mvAFIj2jXIxtYNE0BdbeaNL82bWQ4glXOPyyTNbQRV41YMaHwpja7pHGDWObLf9FEoMCrKGt7MG8zyR2vwmVONav5qFsHTOG-C6mew4yDpsUt_lm2lY/s1600-h/daddy+shopping.bmp"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 256px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1SfOHZaAy07RoQTT9xA2Ek8jF3mvAFIj2jXIxtYNE0BdbeaNL82bWQ4glXOPyyTNbQRV41YMaHwpja7pHGDWObLf9FEoMCrKGt7MG8zyR2vwmVONav5qFsHTOG-C6mew4yDpsUt_lm2lY/s320/daddy+shopping.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275273268766088578" border="0" /></a><br /><br />In the end, we always walked away from the mall with at least one plastic-covered hanger that hid Dad’s secret. Sometimes we came back with two or three hangers. Dad placed the loot carefully in the trunk, where it stayed until he snuck it into the living room late on Christmas Eve while Mom was getting ready for bed. Then, on Christmas morning, those plastic-covered department store hangers came into full view the moment Mom walked into the living room. She beamed at Dad, even before she opened them, and I think that smile made all the effort worth it for the both of us.<br /><br />The last time I went Christmas shopping for my mom with Dad was the Christmas before I got engaged. I knew the engagement was coming and that we would be married within the year, so I also knew that it would be my last trip with Dad to find his special gift for Mom. I knew that the next year things would be different; my duties as consultant and companion to Dad on his special mission once <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRSVzWt1a5k3ZcOUfRkwUr8alUFSdBFQDxylBHl4fs6Mwp8sMJ20NKV6qwvTolEK1RoYnWnZZn2oBtCcVql2j34DBGS28A7YO3Y5qFMA_EP759TEJsYDd-By-1HG0h4Wylm3E-_e9dpu9V/s1600-h/gift+bag.bmp"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 242px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRSVzWt1a5k3ZcOUfRkwUr8alUFSdBFQDxylBHl4fs6Mwp8sMJ20NKV6qwvTolEK1RoYnWnZZn2oBtCcVql2j34DBGS28A7YO3Y5qFMA_EP759TEJsYDd-By-1HG0h4Wylm3E-_e9dpu9V/s320/gift+bag.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275273120784786018" border="0" /></a>a year would be passed to my younger sister. Imagining his request to her still warms my heart.<br /><br />Maybe I’m not giving my dad enough credit, but I don’t think he engineered this activity as daddy-daughter bonding time to teach me how much he loved my mom on purpose. I think he just needed the company. It felt good that he wanted me for company, that he trusted me with his secrets and his desire to make Christmas special for his sweetheart. He didn’t do it on purpose, but Christmas shopping with Dad did teach me how much he loved my mom, and that knowledge helped me know, understand, and love Dad better.Jennifer Rickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16893901588875111664noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672073493102601521.post-53412751374575222182008-11-13T08:53:00.000-08:002010-10-11T08:31:41.464-07:00My Scripture Study TraditionWe are regularly reminded to spend time each day reading and pondering the scriptures, especially the Book of Mormon. For many of us, these words of President Ezra Taft Benson are still familiar: “The Book of Mormon was written for us today. God is the author of the book. It [was] . . . compiled by inspired men for our blessing today. . . . [I]t was meant for us.” (“The Book of Mormon Is the Word of God,” Ensign, May 1975, 63).<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikNYFx0pTnB2wka1Igu0zOArkG70ij1VzPZ_DrAZty-wRLQozpDPqktQkovNmSL5cc7-5P39vmfZA4zZGZZ0HKoXR4B_3TrdLfe1wpFKasq59O4D_7-zPrgYWnaU-Zk15L0TDZ1tFF_fwt/s1600-h/scriptures.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268551077660015058" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikNYFx0pTnB2wka1Igu0zOArkG70ij1VzPZ_DrAZty-wRLQozpDPqktQkovNmSL5cc7-5P39vmfZA4zZGZZ0HKoXR4B_3TrdLfe1wpFKasq59O4D_7-zPrgYWnaU-Zk15L0TDZ1tFF_fwt/s320/scriptures.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 145px; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; width: 294px;" /></a><br />
As a child, my parents had a goal to read a chapter from the Book of Mormon as a family every night. This pattern usually meant that we would read the entire book aloud about every year. Family scripture study became a solid tradition. Even now, when I’m only home to visit a few weeks each year, every night our entire family gathers and Mom reads aloud from the Book of Mormon.<br />
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My family’s scripture study tradition helped encourage me to create my own personal patterns and traditions of scripture study. Studying the scriptures individually is also vital. Elder L. Tom Perry has said, “It is up to us to study the Book of Mormon and learn of its principles and apply them in our lives” (“Blessings Resulting from Reading the Book of Mormon,” Liahona, Nov 2005, 6–9). In the last five years I have developed a tradition of reading the Book of Mormon at a certain time each year. This pattern has made the Book of Mormon a miraculous influence in my life.<br />
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It all started four years ago. I was eighteen and getting ready to start my freshman year at BYU at the end of August. During June, July, and the first part of August I was still working my high school job and getting ready to move away from home for the first time.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7q8OTogYwSJrfYC2sq1Mad6Wfc922yv58aUqhlG1kF8UHUQDRsBTX5NYSAqbRKsM6WPA17xvPu4YzQU7txVyIDqhIqtu6c_iyLOCi029Ouz3BCh-LKsSMmqPJ9HWRq8OgIrdb-WG8C1x-/s1600-h/letter.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268551486854057378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7q8OTogYwSJrfYC2sq1Mad6Wfc922yv58aUqhlG1kF8UHUQDRsBTX5NYSAqbRKsM6WPA17xvPu4YzQU7txVyIDqhIqtu6c_iyLOCi029Ouz3BCh-LKsSMmqPJ9HWRq8OgIrdb-WG8C1x-/s320/letter.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 195px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 161px;" /></a>As I started packing, I went through all the memories I had stored for all my growing up years. In a box under my bed I found a packet of envelopes I had received from a Young Women’s New Beginnings activity the year before. Inside each envelope was a spiritual thought with a scripture reading assignment from the Book of Mormon. Our leaders had called this scripture study program a “30-day Walk with Christ.” They challenged us to open an envelope a day and, by following the reading assignments, read the entire Book of Mormon in a month.<br />
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I had lasted less than a week. Swim practice and choir concerts got in the way, and I only opened a couple of envelopes. As I came across the packet again, I set it aside. I hadn’t been able to do the 30-day walk before, but wouldn’t this be a perfect time, right before I left for college? I felt like I could use a great spiritual boost just before I moved away from home for the first time.<br />
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I planned the thirty days so that I would finish reading the Book of Mormon right before my mom and I drove to BYU. I wasn’t <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgXTV0TSAaIMh_doSL6ACevuLfXcc555pzVYgN3UpDevorqSole5eCaRfVYvfet6YBH3NqUJV48loycTUa2mintM8J5trRiFrz7CWZgCQtol3qhe7WmaLWlj1Zo1k8_dd8diR5j0suT3MC/s1600-h/college.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268551082293785122" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgXTV0TSAaIMh_doSL6ACevuLfXcc555pzVYgN3UpDevorqSole5eCaRfVYvfet6YBH3NqUJV48loycTUa2mintM8J5trRiFrz7CWZgCQtol3qhe7WmaLWlj1Zo1k8_dd8diR5j0suT3MC/s320/college.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 99px; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; width: 198px;" /></a>perfect; some days I forgot or didn’t have time for the full reading assignment so I’d have to catch up and do double the next day, but I did it. After I reached the goal, I didn’t think too much about it—my mind was suddenly occupied with class schedules, buying textbooks, making friends, and settling into dorm life—but looking back I can see that reading the Book of Mormon in those thirty days just before I went to college did bless my life, immensely. This spiritual boost helped me remember who I was even though I was in a new place, far from home, and making my own decisions.<br />
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That was the first time I read entire the Book of Mormon during the month of August. A year later, August 2005, I was back home again and working for the summer. In the Ensign that month, the First Presidency message, by President Hinckley, was about the Book of Mormon. He said, “Today, a century and three-quarters after its first publication, the Book of Mormon is more widely read than at any time in its history. Whereas there were 5,000 copies in that first edition, about 5,000,000 are currently distributed each year, and the Book or selections from the Book are available in 106 languages. Its appeal is as timeless as truth, as universal as mankind. It is the only book that contains within its covers a promise that by divine power the reader may know with certainty of its truth.”<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG7-D5KN_88a0BYv4PDkpfgOtizWrZJSGxvTAxVH7rQu2Jp58C6JYnjHXN7nlHM2F0KKJNYLxID7Ww9x431FQH7tRapByY92KufJcwEIE5icLuLZY5p1Q6ue5CuFegwXdg2535EITTICcM/s1600-h/GBH.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268551490559264210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG7-D5KN_88a0BYv4PDkpfgOtizWrZJSGxvTAxVH7rQu2Jp58C6JYnjHXN7nlHM2F0KKJNYLxID7Ww9x431FQH7tRapByY92KufJcwEIE5icLuLZY5p1Q6ue5CuFegwXdg2535EITTICcM/s320/GBH.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 200px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 159px;" /></a>It is President Hinckley’s memorable challenge that we all remember the most: “I offer a challenge to members of the Church throughout the world and to our friends everywhere to read or reread the Book of Mormon. . . . Without reservation I promise you that if each of you will observe this simple program, regardless of how many times you previously may have read the Book of Mormon, there will come into your lives and into your homes an added measure of the Spirit of the Lord, a strengthened resolution to walk in obedience to His commandments, and a stronger testimony of the living reality of the Son of God.”<br />
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August 2005 was the second August that I read the Book of Mormon, thanks to President Hinckley’s challenge. My summer job was the most monotonous employment imaginable: I was pulling staples for a large company’s record archiving project. It was good money, but very, very boring. I could listen to headphones at work, so I decided to listen to an audio recording of the Book of Mormon before I left my job and went back to BYU. The recording covered just about three work days. I decided to save this book for last.<br />
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My last three days of work were amazing! I had never read the <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA7MgiuHclmD1Apx-VI3x6GVifcjq5oF1qCK_qfNA5WhlHdObTVU7EzCwHFAGc-vGGr2yu3QSdneet1Tm-7U9PNZTtFcvJgAcqCniYg_k3fDzydiedoWnb_04Gjag8ZazPKebOOwUbyIV5/s1600-h/paperclips.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268551082260386098" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA7MgiuHclmD1Apx-VI3x6GVifcjq5oF1qCK_qfNA5WhlHdObTVU7EzCwHFAGc-vGGr2yu3QSdneet1Tm-7U9PNZTtFcvJgAcqCniYg_k3fDzydiedoWnb_04Gjag8ZazPKebOOwUbyIV5/s320/paperclips.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 87px; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; width: 198px;" /></a>Book of Mormon in so short a time before. Listening to the audio recording was a unique experience too. It only took about five minutes until I had to grab some scratch paper and take some notes. I kept a pen handy next to my work so I could write down phrases that had struck me or thoughts I had during the reading. What amazed me most was the entire book fit together so much better than it ever had before; because I was covering the whole history and chronology in just three days, I understood where all the flashbacks and break-off groups fit in with the book as a whole.<br />
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At the end of my three day Book of Mormon spree I had eleven pages, front and back, of notes, thoughts, and impressions from that reading. I still have those notes, the record of when I reread the Book of Mormon just after I turned nineteen years old. By fulfilling the prophet’s challenge, I, with the rest of the Church, truly felt “an added measure of the Spirit of the Lord” in my life for the rest of that year.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ-G4dcrYiTdSEiruglkr9rQmxngqbNyUn_4XO0ZTj2SgtuJyZRvEI7TJDmn6Fs9gh5QQqiNbsPcPmh3CjE8VnK01XyySSEhJGgFTnv1yswsYromfO0mYfruX9qfNu6BZmaYHmLq13Y4z8/s1600-h/CD.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268551491643607602" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ-G4dcrYiTdSEiruglkr9rQmxngqbNyUn_4XO0ZTj2SgtuJyZRvEI7TJDmn6Fs9gh5QQqiNbsPcPmh3CjE8VnK01XyySSEhJGgFTnv1yswsYromfO0mYfruX9qfNu6BZmaYHmLq13Y4z8/s320/CD.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 200px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 128px;" /></a>Because of these two previous experiences, when August rolled around in 2006 I felt an urge to read the Book of Mormon again. I had stayed in Provo that whole summer to work as an EFY counselor, and I finished my final EFY session the last week of July. I had a few weeks off of work before school started after Labor Day, so I decided to give in to that desire and challenged myself to read the entire book before school started. I spent all my free time reading the Book of Mormon. I remember how great it was to pull my picnic blanket onto the lawn in front of my student apartment complex on a free afternoon and read the scriptures just because I wanted to.<br />
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This year has been my fifth year in a row that I’ve read the Book of Mormon during the month of August, but this year, like every year, was a little different. President Hinckley’s challenge is a treasured memory for all of us now. This year has also brought new changes and challenges into my life. As I look back on the past five Augusts, I am so grateful for the inspiration I had to rely on the scriptures to give me the strength I needed to get through transitional times that seemed to come every year in August.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh38Vxvy15b4T7w2fJ_FefiT1uvYnlCbvHOxXhoyDPMKXug_aJdWBFudCE_O-IFKg2BlnV6OD_RSY3NahNPC52IHidLSbnDfbneuUzJ1IEofSBUuefy5JGmJzi44AO6T0eA7qnpbQmKDHmP/s1600-h/bom.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268551088218208322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh38Vxvy15b4T7w2fJ_FefiT1uvYnlCbvHOxXhoyDPMKXug_aJdWBFudCE_O-IFKg2BlnV6OD_RSY3NahNPC52IHidLSbnDfbneuUzJ1IEofSBUuefy5JGmJzi44AO6T0eA7qnpbQmKDHmP/s320/bom.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 200px; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; width: 138px;" /></a><br />
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Reading the Book of Mormon in August may not become your tradition, but I believe that each of us can receive inspiration that not only urges but directs our scripture study. We are commanded to have personal scripture study because it blesses us and strengthens us. God has never given us a commandment that we do not reap both immediate and long term blessings from or that he will not help us to fulfill, if we ask him. Embracing patterns of scripture study so that they become firm traditions of spiritual devotion bring great spiritual power to our lives.Jennifer Rickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16893901588875111664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672073493102601521.post-29663820386880713352008-10-17T12:08:00.000-07:002008-10-17T12:22:38.203-07:00All Saints’ Day and an LDS Context<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirQVl9MLQZ5dgS7sWSH5vI4DvMDJLKbOcNejEehH-NNxnEngf0-JsjtRIgrXVBfX_gANJFdYIAQYq6rRaHvT2x-ehfKkEEI79A7x3Pla2e2yW86sTk0WNBr2FI1D-iqr4fYGj0XYpLZW3F/s1600-h/mountain+sunset.bmp"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirQVl9MLQZ5dgS7sWSH5vI4DvMDJLKbOcNejEehH-NNxnEngf0-JsjtRIgrXVBfX_gANJFdYIAQYq6rRaHvT2x-ehfKkEEI79A7x3Pla2e2yW86sTk0WNBr2FI1D-iqr4fYGj0XYpLZW3F/s320/mountain+sunset.bmp" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5258204501863900706" /></a><div>On November 1, some Christian faiths celebrate <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/All_Saints_Day">All Saints’ Day</a>. Although we don’t officially recognize this holiday in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, there are some traditions of this day that we have inherited and can have meaning for us.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>All Saints’ Day is also called “All Hallows” or “Hallowmas.” Thus, Halloween, or “All Hallows Eve,” is the day before All Saints’ Day, or October 31. According to tradition, November 1st is the time to celebrate the lives of the martyrs. </div><div>Traditionally, this holiday is directly followed by “All Souls’ Day” on November 2, also called “The Day of the Deceased” or “The Day of the Dead,” although some cultures have blended All Saints’ and All Souls into one day. The context of these dates gives Halloween traditions a little more relevance. For example, Halloween obsessions with death make more sense when the next two days are supposed to be holidays about the dead.</div><div><br /></div><div>In the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we don’t have canonized Saints, but we do believe that we are all saints in the kingdom of God. This is why the tradition All Saints’ Day festival hymn, “For All the Saints,” is also included in our <a href="http://www.lds.org/churchmusic/detailmusicPlayer/index.html?searchlanguage=1&searchcollection=1&searchseqstart=82&searchsubseqstart=%20&searchseqend=82&searchsubseqend=ZZZ">LDS hymnbook</a>. </div><div><br /></div><div>“For All the Saints” was written by Anglican Bishop William Walsham How and published in 1864. When we sing this hymn in our congregations, we think of “All Souls” as “All Saints”; we think of the “saints” in this hymn as the many beloved people we have known and loved who have departed from this life and are now at rest.</div><div><br /></div><div>Below are the lyrics of “For All the Saints,” as included in our hymnbook:</div><div><br /></div><div>For all the saints, who from their labors rest,</div><div>Who Thee by faith before the world confessed,</div><div>Thy name, O Jesus, be forever blest.</div><div>Alleluia, Alleluia.</div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5wPm7YycVPrnaqTXMRu9dFNMskoVtAelr6d7o4z9fhBMU5A4lFtIGN4yfxCvtSEGyAAZevk27M8aWIkrbNcZCI9IaYg4EKTgNR9NeKDljRvSGeFSgnn5A7QMj4FGbhOqX4Exnjd0oEFwo/s320/lighthouse.bmp" style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5258204608903692226" /><div><br /></div><div>Oh, may thy soldiers, faithful, true, and bold,</div><div>Fight as the Saints who nobly fought of old,</div><div>And win with them the victor's crown of gold.</div><div>Alleluia, Alleluia.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thou art our rock, our fortress, and our might;</div><div>Thou, Lord, our captain in the well-fought fight;</div><div>Thou, in the darkness drear, our one true light.</div><div>Alleluia, Alleluia.</div><div><br /></div><div>And when the strife is fierce, the warfare long,</div><div>Steals on the ear the distant triumph song,</div><div>And hearts are brave again, and arms are strong.</div><div>Alleluia, Alleluia.</div><div><br /></div><div>From earth's wide bounds, from ocean's farthest coast,</div><div>Through gates of pearl streams in the countless host,</div><div>Singing to Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.</div><div>Alleluia, Alleluia.</div><div><br /></div><div>This wonderful hymn expresses faith in Jesus Christ as “our rock, our fortress, and our might” and as our captain. As November begins, as the holiday season approaches, the words of this All Saints’ Day hymn can lend us strength, faith, and courage, even though during the next few months may be when we miss deceased loved ones most.</div><div><br /></div><div>Among several other additional verses, Bishop How originally had these two beautiful additional verses appear between the two final verses in our hymn:</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnSe8fFYYwvnt0fHkGAt4iLX29o2MnfWnE5hxzzaIO7J2qvOeMdOFqZ-EZNyBv5Wcaj3BSNjy7sgykEd7L-WGiltCVCcuKGT8yXr_8HclL4F8Is2VUT3atPAP0Ui9eBOS1Tu3UUjJJ50Ja/s320/sunrise+sky.bmp" style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5258204607429759570" /></div><div>The golden evening brightens in the west;</div><div>Soon, soon to faithful warriors comes their rest;</div><div>Sweet is the calm of paradise the blessed.</div><div>Alleluia, Alleluia!</div><div><br /></div><div>But lo! there breaks a yet more glorious day;</div><div>The saints triumphant rise in bright array;</div><div>The King of glory passes on His way.</div><div>Alleluia, Alleluia!</div><div><br /></div><div>In this season, we can remember all the saints, all our loved ones who have passed from this life. As Bishop How’s hymn says, “Sweet is the calm of paradise the blessed. . . . But lo! there breaks a yet more glorious day.” On this All Saints’ Day, we can remember the hope of that glorious day and the faith we can have in Jesus Christ which comforts all our pain and enlivens all our hope.</div><div><br /></div>Jennifer Rickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16893901588875111664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672073493102601521.post-64870357157596701742008-07-31T16:24:00.000-07:002008-07-31T16:50:32.411-07:00August, and the Book of MormonAugust. The month makes me think of hot sunshine, weary air conditioners, lemonade cravings, cold backyard pools, premature back to school anxiety—and an urgent desire to read the Book of Mormon. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRMcavRIS3kAuaCQhlQ0qRnFS4GsDoctcupsiUEExywtHuCPTf1gA6O6IqoL1qnlklz49EkG88vkv0m7K-F5_QN3zRhyphenhyphenwZNQDWBlj32MHTF7DrT-FamA16DrsEoCodjBBwbQfJ979IN2Jz/s1600-h/august.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229328466041758242" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRMcavRIS3kAuaCQhlQ0qRnFS4GsDoctcupsiUEExywtHuCPTf1gA6O6IqoL1qnlklz49EkG88vkv0m7K-F5_QN3zRhyphenhyphenwZNQDWBlj32MHTF7DrT-FamA16DrsEoCodjBBwbQfJ979IN2Jz/s200/august.bmp" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Weird, I know, and a very strange end-of-summer tradition. It all started four years ago. I was eighteen and was getting ready to start my freshman year at BYU. School started on August 30th that year. During June, July, and the first part of August I was still working my high school job and getting ready to move away from home for the first time.<br /><br />As I started packing, I went through all the memories I had stored for all my growing up years. In a box under my bed I found a packet of <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI7Ue9x-QClIePhVfh68mxv9vRc3hO4RuAuGfVNdDRDFUghxa8KHI4jnmkvlO9xvtJTUDBtCjWtZB-3X5g8WocwQVuvPhKze9PaEB1FjiiKEHHuzju9Oim8uzoKq85LbNLt6OgoI4yv_fQ/s1600-h/envelope.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229329274305725746" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI7Ue9x-QClIePhVfh68mxv9vRc3hO4RuAuGfVNdDRDFUghxa8KHI4jnmkvlO9xvtJTUDBtCjWtZB-3X5g8WocwQVuvPhKze9PaEB1FjiiKEHHuzju9Oim8uzoKq85LbNLt6OgoI4yv_fQ/s200/envelope.bmp" border="0" /></a>envelopes I had received from a Young Women’s New Beginnings activity the year before. Inside each envelope was a spiritual thought with a scripture reading assignment from the Book of Mormon. Our leaders had called this scripture study program a “30-day Walk with Christ” and had challenged us to open an envelope a day and, by following the reading assignments, read the entire Book of Mormon in a month.<br /><br />I had lasted less than a week. Swim practice and choir concerts had gotten in the way, and only a couple of envelopes had ever been opened. As I came across the packet again, however, I decided not to pack the envelopes away yet and set them aside, outside the cardboard box. I hadn’t been able to do the 30-day walk before, but wouldn’t this be a perfect time, right before I left for college? I felt like I could use a great spiritual boost just before I moved away from home for the first time.<br /><br />I planned the thirty days so that I would finish reading the Book of Mormon right before my mom and I drove to BYU. I wasn’t <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghkS8bjOT_WBminy1z6owLL0sM-jnDKR9jP-SWMMOx9RykR6ONnWcNmAOM6hxeBrXWd0SH4nfI7A1zwcKcjOa-XqgD2URRIXBHDoPiBAl2u2HWNEYUzV_qXpXi9lRRGuOv80fQz-MO9MSX/s1600-h/college.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229328468811057090" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghkS8bjOT_WBminy1z6owLL0sM-jnDKR9jP-SWMMOx9RykR6ONnWcNmAOM6hxeBrXWd0SH4nfI7A1zwcKcjOa-XqgD2URRIXBHDoPiBAl2u2HWNEYUzV_qXpXi9lRRGuOv80fQz-MO9MSX/s200/college.bmp" border="0" /></a>perfect; some days I forgot or didn’t have time for the full reading assignment so I’d have to catch up and do double the next day, but I did it. After I reached the goal, I didn’t think too much about it—my mind was suddenly occupied with class schedules, buying textbooks, making friends, and settling into dorm life—but looking back I can see that reading the Book of Mormon in those thirty days just before I went to college did bless my life, immensely. The “spiritual boost,” as I called it to myself, helped me remember who I was even though I was in a new place, far from home, and making my own decisions.<br /><br />That was the first time I read entire the Book of Mormon during the month of August. A year later, August 2005, I was back home again and working for the summer. In the Ensign that month, the First Presidency message, by President Hinckley, was about the Book of Mormon. President Hinckley began his message by talking about Parley P. Pratt’s experience with the Book of Mormon and how Pratt eventually wrote the hymns “An Angel From on High” (#13) and “The Morning Breaks (#1). President Hinckley’s message then continues as he adds his own praise for the Book of Mormon:<br /><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmY8EGkOog5BlfPVYW0NdNObKXNzOt-dYXNqSd8Sh4TBWxnPrk1r_bnYbEOF7RLJEBRwwIhIEm9fAKYgTBd7_eAbl5wPwyy7OofDmXRJc-v6hjhABKrYHEz0AEKvlEjghmUHeKbMvgynDH/s1600-h/gordon_b_hinckley.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229329274431212290" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmY8EGkOog5BlfPVYW0NdNObKXNzOt-dYXNqSd8Sh4TBWxnPrk1r_bnYbEOF7RLJEBRwwIhIEm9fAKYgTBd7_eAbl5wPwyy7OofDmXRJc-v6hjhABKrYHEz0AEKvlEjghmUHeKbMvgynDH/s200/gordon_b_hinckley.jpg" border="0" /></a>"Today, a century and three-quarters after its first publication, the Book of Mormon is more widely read than at any time in its history. Whereas there were 5,000 copies in that first edition, about 5,000,000 are currently distributed each year, and the Book or selections from the Book are available in 106 languages. Its appeal is as timeless as truth, as universal as mankind. It is the only book that contains within its covers a promise that by divine power the reader may know with certainty of its truth."<br /><br />It is President Hinckley’s memorable challenge that we all remember the most about the August 2005 First Presidency Message: “I offer a challenge to members of the Church throughout the world and to our friends everywhere to read or reread the Book of Mormon. . . . Without reservation I promise you that if each of you will observe this simple program, regardless of how many times you previously may have read the Book of Mormon, there will come into your lives and into your homes an added measure of the Spirit of the Lord, a strengthened resolution to walk in obedience to His commandments, and a stronger testimony of the living reality of the Son of God.”<br /><br />August 2005 was the second August that I read the Book of Mormon, thanks to President Hinckley’s challenge. My summer job was the most monotonous <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1RrzCB9u822E0-ecDb_BO-W3y_srCg2YcJhQgdF-_ofFWBkum4YGmPB_3R9t2KAsc2L7jTZ47iV5PN4gn1DQJzxdfLBOMa278RHXKWyjtyhT8LLQ10rCBcKx-_PpPbqVXcFZ7xUofEiZl/s1600-h/paperclips.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229328469016571698" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1RrzCB9u822E0-ecDb_BO-W3y_srCg2YcJhQgdF-_ofFWBkum4YGmPB_3R9t2KAsc2L7jTZ47iV5PN4gn1DQJzxdfLBOMa278RHXKWyjtyhT8LLQ10rCBcKx-_PpPbqVXcFZ7xUofEiZl/s200/paperclips.bmp" border="0" /></a>employment imaginable: I was pulling staples for a large company’s record archiving project. It was good money, but very, very boring. We were allowed to listen to headphones as we prepared the documents for scanning, and so I spent most of the summer checking out books on tape and CD at the library and listening to them at work. After the August 2005 Ensign came out, I decided to listen to an audio recording of the Book of Mormon before I left my job and went back to BYU. The recording was about 24 hours long, so covered just about three work days. I decided to save this book for last.<br /><br />My last three days of work were amazing! I had never read the Book of Mormon in so short a time before. Listening to the audio recording was a unique experience too. I remember I popped in the first CD and started pulling staples, but it only took about five minutes until I had to grab some scratch paper and take some notes. I kept a pen handy next to my work so I could write down phrases that had struck me or thoughts I had during the reading. What amazed me most was the entire<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJxpsY7-V0VjjRylPcR8ZOzr6fBOS8BgXZGCMm4BaBc9ALsjcVHpHjPx4kEBUnjoqoszFrWs8ALLA54wKvFLvzjGfJuhEGhDlMx9p6U_xBGjNrUzCZogEzz_ytxoOMwnWQpsXHv_7EINYE/s1600-h/3218611.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229329269668764450" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJxpsY7-V0VjjRylPcR8ZOzr6fBOS8BgXZGCMm4BaBc9ALsjcVHpHjPx4kEBUnjoqoszFrWs8ALLA54wKvFLvzjGfJuhEGhDlMx9p6U_xBGjNrUzCZogEzz_ytxoOMwnWQpsXHv_7EINYE/s200/3218611.jpg" border="0" /></a> book fit together so much better than it ever had before; because I was covering the whole history and chronology in just three days, I understood where all the flashbacks and break-off groups fit in to the book as a whole.<br /><br />At the end of my three day Book of Mormon spree I had eleven pages, front and back, of notes, thoughts, and impressions from that reading. I couldn’t help writing things down as I listened. I still have those notes, the record of when I reread the Book of Mormon just after I turned nineteen years old. By fulfilling the prophet’s challenge, I, with the rest of the Church, truly felt “an added measure of the Spirit of the Lord” in my life for the rest of that year.<br /><br />Because of these two previous experiences, when August rolled around in 2006 I felt this intense intrinsic urge to read the Book of Mormon again. I had stayed in Provo that whole summer to work as an EFY counselor, and I finished my final EFY session the last week of July. I had a few weeks off of work before school started after Labor Day, so I decided to give in to that desire and challenged myself to read the entire book before school started. I spent all my free time reading the Book of Mormon. It took me a couple of weeks because I had other things going on as well, but I remember how great it was to pull my picnic blanket onto the lawn in front of my student apartment complex on a free afternoon and read the scriptures just because I wanted to.<br /><br />The same thing happened the next year. August 2007 began and I felt this <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWHthBwVGRK9NMihZj24Gn-NqqHRiDOAKkJGMhfKod5KKQbk-3rsMKMB40b3JvdEB0M-0LZBjEj2MswldlQC4CMio5rVSvRtd1MAJ-d4La8XrgovaGgpRSFi46pxQSe0sA4BRhu1BNKsb9/s1600-h/bom.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229328472661059986" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWHthBwVGRK9NMihZj24Gn-NqqHRiDOAKkJGMhfKod5KKQbk-3rsMKMB40b3JvdEB0M-0LZBjEj2MswldlQC4CMio5rVSvRtd1MAJ-d4La8XrgovaGgpRSFi46pxQSe0sA4BRhu1BNKsb9/s200/bom.bmp" border="0" /></a>habitual desire to read the Book of Mormon during the month, so I did. This year will be my fifth year in a row that I’ve read the Book of Mormon during the month of August. It’s become a given activity at this time of year for me now, but this year, like every year, is a little different. President Hinckley’s challenge is a treasured memory for all of us now. This year is also the first time I won’t be going back to school in the fall because I graduated from BYU in April. As I look back on the past five Augusts, I am so grateful for the inspiration I had to rely on the scriptures to give me the strength I needed to get through transitional times that seemed to come every year, in August. I hope I can always be sensitive to do what the Holy Ghost tells me that my spirit needs, and I hope that throughout my life I will always read the Book of Mormon in August. </div>Jennifer Rickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16893901588875111664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672073493102601521.post-59529100946833159872008-07-21T15:26:00.000-07:002008-07-25T11:30:10.721-07:00My Own Temple Dress<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Perpetua; panose-1:2 2 5 2 6 4 1 2 3 3; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} p.MsoHeader, li.MsoHeader, div.MsoHeader {margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; tab-stops:center 3.0in right 6.0in; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} p.MsoFooter, li.MsoFooter, div.MsoFooter {margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; tab-stops:center 3.0in right 6.0in; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.0in 1.0in 1.0in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; border:dashed #0099FF 1.0pt; mso-border-alt:dot-dash #0099FF .5pt; padding:24.0pt 24.0pt 24.0pt 24.0pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--><span style="font-size:100%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimZC0NVdVbrrYgw5js8QDSW3ZSED4gc2XXJvPgkZtimyqIQCZltTFiDIDmcyETLFUFIx43YrYjgXj9AF7QpVtOY0hcpylyYVECIct9t-w7SfmMrHkVUj2SqgMPQ425hDYaOMQaOR8qmQsy/s1600-h/P6160059.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 157px; height: 153px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimZC0NVdVbrrYgw5js8QDSW3ZSED4gc2XXJvPgkZtimyqIQCZltTFiDIDmcyETLFUFIx43YrYjgXj9AF7QpVtOY0hcpylyYVECIct9t-w7SfmMrHkVUj2SqgMPQ425hDYaOMQaOR8qmQsy/s200/P6160059.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225598986996297762" border="0" /></a></span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:130%;" >I was very excited to go through the temple for </span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:130%;" >the first</span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:130%;" > time. Receiving my templ</span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:130%;" >e endowment at that specific time was a preparation</span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:130%;" > for my temple marriage, but I knew that making covena</span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:130%;" >nts in the House of the Lord in the temple endowment was an important step on my </span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:130%;" >p</span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:130%;" >ersonal spiritual progression as well as a necessary prereq</span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:130%;" >uisite to my temple marriage. I scheduled my first temple trip a few weeks before my wedding so that I</span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:130%;" > could recognize receiving my temple</span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:130%;" > endowment as its own special event and not just </span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:130%;" >something adjacent to my marriage.</span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >The day </span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >before my endowment session, my mom took me to the distribution center to buy my first temple garments. </span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >While we were there, I realized that I had always expected that my mom would buy me my own temple</span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" > dress. I had hinted</span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" > at this a few weeks previous, but my mom had said that it might</span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" > be a few years until I purchased my own temple</span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" > dress and robes </span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >and not to worry about it. As the attendant rang up our purchases, I peeked longingly into the</span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" > room</span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" > further in the store where they had racks of white dresses. I was too shy to ask my mom to buy them for me outright, but I hoped that she would notice th</span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >at I was looking.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyt5ExakNit3FVOtnwrFx2L_XHm4fsjcYHWP38MrHpqo5toM6pp2bQ-apx-HQpia_jckMqVGX-IAHt6Rg04ISfZZSiaDBl94WiaJMOqvMDOh8ElHml6oeceh2xi_x7u44Vxud_r4iGMjLj/s1600-h/P6120010.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyt5ExakNit3FVOtnwrFx2L_XHm4fsjcYHWP38MrHpqo5toM6pp2bQ-apx-HQpia_jckMqVGX-IAHt6Rg04ISfZZSiaDBl94WiaJMOqvMDOh8ElHml6oeceh2xi_x7u44Vxud_r4iGMjLj/s200/P6120010.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225598989842893586" border="0" /></a></span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >She didn’t. She finished </span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >paying for the garments and we left the distribution center. I felt like I had to drag my feet back to t</span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >he car. This was silly. Why did I have my heart set on my own temple dress? Why was it such a big deal?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >My mom </span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >pulled the car out of the parking lot and headed onto the freeway.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >“We’re all set, right?” she asked. I think she noticed how quiet I was.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >“Yeah, </span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >I think so,” I said, but untruthfully. We passed a few exits, and suddenly I felt like I was going to cry. Inside, I </span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >chastised myself. Why was I being so impractical? This wasn’t that big of a deal. Finally, I pushed the unsuccessful chastising voice aside and expressed </span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >my honest feelings.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >“Mom?” I ventured, turning my face to my left, towards her.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >“Yeah, honey?” she replied as she took a glance </span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >in the rear-view mirror to facilitate a lane-change.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >“I think I really want my own temple dress.”</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXUxq-VUkJvHtGVxl3jdjRrbPwWEANrMeh_RJC4qHKmcXYJFe3GhEw127NsoxTu5aXpxZnHrZHrI2EgEGNAyGwfUNLKPkLTAdE7drpDtB2NjSU1ZT_lRrY_WZPzaZQ_GYimiUrFUichwut/s1600-h/P6120012-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 97px; height: 99px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXUxq-VUkJvHtGVxl3jdjRrbPwWEANrMeh_RJC4qHKmcXYJFe3GhEw127NsoxTu5aXpxZnHrZHrI2EgEGNAyGwfUNLKPkLTAdE7drpDtB2NjSU1ZT_lRrY_WZPzaZQ_GYimiUrFUichwut/s200/P6120012-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225599162892964082" border="0" /></a></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >I stared at my feet, at the muddy navy-blue</span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" > car mats. I felt like I was sinking in my seat because it felt like such a childish request, and yet it was really </span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >how I felt.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >“Should we go back then?” my mom asked. I couldn’t quite tell what her mood was, but the question didn’t sound anywhere </span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >near angry or annoyed. I was relieved.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >“Yeah. Mom, is that okay?” I asked, looking at her again.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" ><span style="">
<br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>“Sure. </span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >Let’s do it.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" ><span style="">
<br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>She pulled back into the right lane, took the next exit, and turned us around to go back </span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >to the distribution center.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>When we walked back into the distribution center the attendant was surprised to see us again so </span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >soon. I was </span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >embarrassed, but my mom simply said that we decided to buy a temple dress and robes today as well. I couldn’t </span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >believe it; my mom didn’t mind that having my own temple clothes really mattered to me.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>We tried </span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >on different styles of temple dresses and chose one that my mom and I both liked. It was nice that she was there to help and be a part of choosing one. The </span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >distribution center also gave us a discount, which was very helpful, because it was my first time going to the temple. As we drove away the </span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >second time, I felt like I was filled to the brim with happiness.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >
<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >The story of my temple dress taught me a lot about the love my </span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >earthly mother has for me and also taught me about prayer and the love my</span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" > </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTeS4pGVIGUpTLannywCnGPHEbHPeaqiSJ8tBByjrkUuM4JEkmYf2atTIOW9YNNyb1dxJTtaF0H7bW4wQ3V1PFjRtiMuSJ04LOvY8B8RkAaPzAakzn4GaGc3XvBzpT4Q3WUxRtPHzTfGTF/s1600-h/P6160070.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTeS4pGVIGUpTLannywCnGPHEbHPeaqiSJ8tBByjrkUuM4JEkmYf2atTIOW9YNNyb1dxJTtaF0H7bW4wQ3V1PFjRtiMuSJ04LOvY8B8RkAaPzAakzn4GaGc3XvBzpT4Q3WUxRtPHzTfGTF/s200/P6160070.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225598997762701042" border="0" /></a></span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >Heavenly Father has for me. Under “Prayer,” </span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >the Bible Dictionary explains that “the object of prayer is not to </span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >change the will of God, but to secure for ourselves and for others blessings that God is </span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >already willing to</span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" > grant, but that are made conditional on our asking for them.” The Bible Dictionary</span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" > entry continues by saying,</span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" > “Blessings require some work or effort on our part before we can obtain them. Prayer is a form of </span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >work, and is an appointed means for obtaining the highest of all blessings.” Like my earthly mother, who was very willing to give me a temple dress when she knew that it was something I really wanted, our Heavenly Father is willing to give us many blessings if we only ask for them in prayer.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >
<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >Prayer is naturally an act of humility. As we kneel before our Heavenly Father and counsel with him (see <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Alma</st1:place></st1:city> 37:37), we </span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >acknowledge his power and our submission to his will and purposes. Through prayer, we can commune with our Father in Heaven. In doing so we can show our love for him and our desire to draw closer to him as we also feel his infinite love for us. King Benjamin teaches that when we “humble [ourselves] before God” we can “[taste] of his love” (Mosiah 4:10-11). King Benjamin further counsels us to “always retain in remembrance, the greatness of God . . .</span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" > and humble yourselves even in the depths of humility, calling on the name of the Lord daily, and standing steadfastly in the faith of that which is to come” (vs. 11). This counsel highlights the necessity of humility to prayer; both humility and prayer are necessary for our spiritual progression because they allow us to develop a personal relationship with God. By recognizing our dependence on God, we can draw closer to him and learn how to do his work.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >Having my own temple</span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" > dress when I received my temple endowment was not something that was an absolute need in my life, but it was a sincere desire of my heart. <o:p></o:p>Turning the car</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS_1U9odf69CK4SBBLsTFtg23NlDcZDi7pVf4YklOKeeMLKLpgYUk3nZeqczNS8QaUWdvMBwvJ24kpngDBcYL-pW2roBcYt7qGdR00oxjZRbT9WiXMHDKhT-KVMzVVkijtXyhrpZVoCcE0/s1600-h/P6120017-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS_1U9odf69CK4SBBLsTFtg23NlDcZDi7pVf4YklOKeeMLKLpgYUk3nZeqczNS8QaUWdvMBwvJ24kpngDBcYL-pW2roBcYt7qGdR00oxjZRbT9WiXMHDKhT-KVMzVVkijtXyhrpZVoCcE0/s200/P6120017-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225599169891418802" border="0" /></a></span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" > around to go back to the distribution center to buy the dress was a striking example of the mercy of my mother. I certainly hadn’t done anything to even begin to deserve the gift that I desired, but she gave it, willingly, because she loved me.<o:p></o:p> Likewise, there are many things that our Heavenly Father is willing to bless us with to satisfy the righteous desires of our hearts as well as our needs. All blessings, whether or not they are</span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" > essential to our spiritual or temporal survival, are manifestations of God’s mercy. He blesses us before we ever draw close to deserving a blessing, and when we try to repay our debt to him by serving him, he immediately blesses us again, leaving us indebted to him “forever and ever” (Mosiah 2:24-25).
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >Because I had to ask my mom to buy me a temple dress in complete humility, having done nothing at all to deserve it, the situation turned into an opportunity for her to demonstrate her love and mercy towards me. This in turn gave me the opportunity to appreciate the debt I owe her and to spur me to </span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >want to be merciful and loving to other people as well. King Benjamin promises that when we humbly pray to </span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >God and remember His greatness and our own </span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >nothingness, “Ye shall always rejoice, and be filled with the love of God, and always retain a remission of your sins; and ye shall grow in the</span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" > knowledge of the glory of him that created you, or in the knowledge of that which is just and true” (Mosiah 4:12). And, even further, we will begin to want to reach out to others, “to live peaceably,” to serve those in need, and to teach our children righteousness (vs. 13-16). Thus by humbling ourselves in prayer to God, “[calling] upon his holy name that he would have mercy upon [us]” (Alma 34:17) with our “hearts . . . full, drawn out in prayer unto him continually for [our] welfare, and also for the welfare of those who are around [us]” (vs. 27), we learn more of his love for us as we grow in love and faith towards him.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;">
<br /><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwvbjPgY8q0haxkoB9Ga4i7UwYOwsNxazbPtC3onqXpOc5NHD_EBv89IPXiQSmsvqcpGUn0RxYiOqdoksXyTywdbWdwUBCEBAOBzssMPMT7r8Gd_Xu7w1Fwe4k2vjZFojeLkyTbF2FXVdi/s1600-h/P6120020.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwvbjPgY8q0haxkoB9Ga4i7UwYOwsNxazbPtC3onqXpOc5NHD_EBv89IPXiQSmsvqcpGUn0RxYiOqdoksXyTywdbWdwUBCEBAOBzssMPMT7r8Gd_Xu7w1Fwe4k2vjZFojeLkyTbF2FXVdi/s200/P6120020.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225599003556395538" border="0" /></a></span><span style="line-height: 150%; color: rgb(0, 51, 153);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >The story of my temple dress reminds me every time I see or wear it not only of the special covenants I made when I received my temple endowment, but also how the love and mercy of my mother demonstrated the love and mercy of the Lord and how by asking for our righteous desires in the prayer of a meek and humble child (see Mosiah 3:18-19) we can “learn the true relationship in which we stand toward God[--that] God is our Father, and we are his children” (BD “Prayer”).<o:p></o:p></span></p> Jennifer Rickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16893901588875111664noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672073493102601521.post-30452170315985105592008-07-09T16:43:00.000-07:002008-07-09T16:55:00.023-07:00Pioneer LegacyMuch to my mother’s disappointment, my brother was born just after midnight on July 25th. No, the disappointment wasn’t my brother, it was the date. When she went into labor the day before, Mother was so excited that the baby would be born on the 24th of July. That would mean that he would have parades and celebrations on every birthday of his life, but instead he came into the world just a few minutes too late.<br /> <br />I have heard this story over and over again, and the funny thing is that I <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnQ6HbV7f1i9ZciFEsu2_7J9U1rgM_BuiAqNqFHKpVFZDbn6zTjcK6YciR-rZxH_ZU5j6g0iUTtJzjQVU5UtJbqfL-OLzeb61SaL3AVQQhwJsEhy9sf27c4GRVBkEbMW9guA7MnWalzSGp/s1600-h/wagon.bmp"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnQ6HbV7f1i9ZciFEsu2_7J9U1rgM_BuiAqNqFHKpVFZDbn6zTjcK6YciR-rZxH_ZU5j6g0iUTtJzjQVU5UtJbqfL-OLzeb61SaL3AVQQhwJsEhy9sf27c4GRVBkEbMW9guA7MnWalzSGp/s200/wagon.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221165803135493346" border="0" /></a>don’t think my brother has ever seen a Pioneer Day parade. We grew up in California, and the 24th of July wasn’t a holiday to anyone else in our town except other ward members; everyone still had to go to work. We did celebrate, but without any thing like a parade. Primary singing time for the entire month of July was always dedicated to “Pioneer Children Sang as They Walked” and “To be a Pioneer,” and there was usually a ward barbecue on that day, or as near to it as possible.<br /> <br />In 1997, however, our primary registered a pioneer float in our town’s Fourth of July parade. The parade still wasn’t on my brother’s birthday, but at the age of almost five he dressed up with the rest of us and marched behind the pioneer float. During the weeks before, my mother sewed calico and gingham bonnets and dresses for my sisters and me. Dad even joined in the preparations and fitted a frame of chicken wire over our play wagon and covered it in white paper.<br /> <br />By celebrating Pioneer Day in our ward and family, I learned at a young age to appreciate the Church members who sacrificed so much to protect the Church from persec<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT9onm6vqdOUTn2Ul0M1hTxqeVKfq2ET_RE4-iNW90MJZtKumavXTKKuvCWa6PDStuooVRZ5gMykgfWq_FXGmfqYh4r-FxkN3APD89Ssz2N3BJvtsP1coWkHbDgS0coNxrvWg1Lyu_Ytbb/s1600-h/cutting+grain.bmp"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT9onm6vqdOUTn2Ul0M1hTxqeVKfq2ET_RE4-iNW90MJZtKumavXTKKuvCWa6PDStuooVRZ5gMykgfWq_FXGmfqYh4r-FxkN3APD89Ssz2N3BJvtsP1coWkHbDgS0coNxrvWg1Lyu_Ytbb/s200/cutting+grain.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221165801700965986" border="0" /></a>ution so many years ago. In recent years, however, I’ve realized that there are other pioneers that have influence my life who never pushed a handcart or walked thousands of miles. In the First Presidency Message of the July 2008 Ensign, President Uchtdorf talks about the importance of pioneers of all kinds. He mentions how he does not have ancestors that were 19th century pioneers who crossed into the Salt Lake Valley. However, he claims that these saints are his “spiritual ancestry, as they are for each and every member of the Church” because they “established . . . a spiritual foundation for the building of the kingdom of God in all the nations of the world” (p. 5).<br /> <br />President Uchtdorf’s acknowledgment that he has no pioneer ancestry surprised me, but of course it makes sense because his family joined the Church in Germany during World War II. Then I remembered that my mother also has no literal pioneer ancestors. My father’s ancestors were pioneers who had joined the early saints in Nauvoo before crossing the plains, but my mother’s family history is different. Her parents joined and fell away from the Church before she can remember. Even though her parents were never active again, my mother says that faithful home teachers came to their home regularly just the same. These home teachers urged my mother’s parents to allow to her to be baptized. Her mother didn’t give permission until my mother was nine.<br /> <br />After that time, her family still was not active in the Church. But one day when my mother was thirteen she noticed a c<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjf28golu2uqmDlhiZtG20ng4UrvKyPO6sefbEn0LK51Qi7jonJeJoA4RfSm-c2aWBS2ouyk2oGVobhKd2ZN8Z6I7PCCqN-YyJkjSwWXOdAEFYpfPTVs-nZAYai0rWkDIHx5XN_v69e-fY/s1600-h/schoolhouse.bmp"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjf28golu2uqmDlhiZtG20ng4UrvKyPO6sefbEn0LK51Qi7jonJeJoA4RfSm-c2aWBS2ouyk2oGVobhKd2ZN8Z6I7PCCqN-YyJkjSwWXOdAEFYpfPTVs-nZAYai0rWkDIHx5XN_v69e-fY/s200/schoolhouse.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221165946151292754" border="0" /></a>opy of Bruce R. McConkie’s Mormon Doctrine in the house. She was drawn to the book and felt a strong impression that she needed to start going back to Church. She went alone at first, and then her older sister joined her. Years later, her older brother also reentered activity. All three of them had temple marriages, and because of their faithfulness all fourteen of the children of their combined families have been born in the covenant. Out of us fourteen—myself, my siblings, and my cousins—we have so far had five full-time missions, four temple weddings, and two more children born in the covenant. There are no handcarts or wagons in my mother’s ancestry, but the fruits of the labors of the pioneer legacy of her and her siblings have been great.<br /> <br />The 19th century pioneers crossed the plains to the Salt Lake Valley to build Zion, God’s kingdom on earth. My mother journeyed away from the habits of a less active family in order to build her own Zion home. I may think that the pioneering of faith is a<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhODrlrdksCUqgk07vR2gQq_XrSk43dW8dxWqhhnzGAUxbMnTUtMpP74jkQADFUoNvfkQHOKGxN94EScvO5zb7jskCi9TILpWp1qMjT-_WWfJXaDKIaaIB6kpwGX5j2ekxUIXn7PsVyqrhn/s1600-h/into+the+valley.bmp"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhODrlrdksCUqgk07vR2gQq_XrSk43dW8dxWqhhnzGAUxbMnTUtMpP74jkQADFUoNvfkQHOKGxN94EScvO5zb7jskCi9TILpWp1qMjT-_WWfJXaDKIaaIB6kpwGX5j2ekxUIXn7PsVyqrhn/s200/into+the+valley.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221165806189757682" border="0" /></a> thing of the past that belongs to my Mormon pioneer ancestors and my valiant mother, but President Uchtdorf reminds us that we all are pioneers, that we must be diligent in strengthening our families and “building a spiritual foundation that will establish the Church in every part of the world.” Each of us can trace our spiritual heritage to the first member of our family to accept the truth of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and that first member might even be ourselves. No matter where the heritage of testimony began, we each have a charge to continue the pioneer legacy. My brother wasn’t born on the 24th of July, but he and I both carry the pioneer legacies of our parents and ancestors—a sacred trust of faith.Jennifer Rickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16893901588875111664noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672073493102601521.post-38547645874554040582008-06-26T14:24:00.000-07:002008-07-04T12:27:30.692-07:00"Born on the Fourth of July"<span style="font-size:100%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2NdiVPZvIpyAS2I8oooBlkK6BOqOMslcPJEsTPYqP4cgQpJ8ZN5c4n8oM6VsPNM4dkZ6T0EvkEeZEb-zQ1XCENZzbgIdGAaMmIxVI32qz6SXke31Q8L9e5rmYkW3QOnhjW7_sLzYqTp1q/s1600-h/fourth+hat.bmp"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2NdiVPZvIpyAS2I8oooBlkK6BOqOMslcPJEsTPYqP4cgQpJ8ZN5c4n8oM6VsPNM4dkZ6T0EvkEeZEb-zQ1XCENZzbgIdGAaMmIxVI32qz6SXke31Q8L9e5rmYkW3QOnhjW7_sLzYqTp1q/s200/fourth+hat.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216307009920980482" border="0" /></a>
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charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CBRIAN%7E1.A95%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Perpetua; panose-1:2 2 5 2 6 4 1 2 3 3; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 140%;"><span style="line-height: 140%;font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >My grandma always sings “Yankee Doodle Dandy” on the Fourth of July, but for a special reason of her own in addition to the season of American patriotism. This year, my grandma’s sweetheart, Grandpa, will celebrate his eighty-fourth birthday on the Fourth of July. By looking back at memories of the Fourth of July celebrations of my childhood, I’ve realized that my feelings of gratitude for our country were also “born on the Fourth of July” as I’ve become grateful for the family with which I lived those memories.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="line-height: 140%;font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" ><o:p></o:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 140%;"><span style="line-height: 140%;font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 140%;"><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CBRIAN%7E1.A95%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Perpetua; panose-1:2 2 5 2 6 4 1 2 3 3; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 140%;"><span style="line-height: 140%;font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <span style=";font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >
<br /><span style="font-size:130%;">When I was a kid, the morning of the Fourth of July at my home involved weaving red, white, and blue crepe paper in the spokes of my bicycle and curling trails of patriotic ribbon for the handlebars—necessary preparations for our town’s Fourth of July parade. The parade always started with a crowd of parents leading children on bicycles, tricycles, wagons, and strollers all decorated for the holiday. Anyone could join in as long as you lined up in time. Before the parade, our family went to our ward building for the Boy Scouts’ flag raising and the annual ward Independence Day pancake breakfast. At the parade, when we had finished our circle around the four-block downtown, we found a seat on a curb and waited for floats to drive by and throw candy. Later, in the afternoon, we had barbecue at home, and when it got dark Dad would drive us around to look for professional firework displays because in our county we weren’t allowed to light our own.</span></span><span style="line-height: 140%;font-family:Perpetua;font-size:130%;" ><o:p></o:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 140%;"><span style="line-height: 140%;font-family:Perpetua;font-size:130%;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 140%;"><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CBRIAN%7E1.A95%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="City"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="State"></o:smarttagtype></span><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Perpetua; panose-1:2 2 5 2 6 4 1 2 3 3; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 140%;"><span style="line-height: 140%;font-family:Perpetua;font-size:130%;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <span style=";font-family:Perpetua;font-size:130%;" >
<br />That was Fourth of July at home, but sometimes our family traveled to my dad’s hometown</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNELXdyUXX5VH-DaRYgUVU3_W4mutISHbBHDR3pma0_R7y2G27HUXeMHvt67YfjbWHXOYj16pcsecg3Rc8EjnxsI1gmW8vDSp9QE2Ebu0Y-tSmYkOV1VgJ5F1Dlx7b9SDn9kRSGe7RjL5N/s1600-h/fourth+flag.bmp"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNELXdyUXX5VH-DaRYgUVU3_W4mutISHbBHDR3pma0_R7y2G27HUXeMHvt67YfjbWHXOYj16pcsecg3Rc8EjnxsI1gmW8vDSp9QE2Ebu0Y-tSmYkOV1VgJ5F1Dlx7b9SDn9kRSGe7RjL5N/s200/fourth+flag.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216307666007891202" border="0" /></a></span><span style=";font-family:Perpetua;font-size:130%;" > of <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Rexburg</st1:city>, <st1:state st="on">Idaho</st1:state></st1:place> for the holiday. Because of Grandpa’s birthday, Independence Day in Rexburg always seemed like a double-holiday to me, and our routine at Grandma’s house was slightly different than from ours b</span><span style=";font-family:Perpetua;font-size:130%;" >ac</span><span style=";font-family:Perpetua;font-size:130%;" >k home. Rexburg was a bigger city than my hometown, and instead of riding my own bike in the parade, the highlight of the holiday was seeing Grandpa ride in the parade in a nice convertible. When I was very young I thought that Grandpa rode in the parade in a fancy car because it was his birthday, but I later learned that it was because Grandpa served as an <st1:place st="on"><st1:state st="on">Idaho</st1:state></st1:place> state senator for twenty-five years.</span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 140%;"><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CBRIAN%7E1.A95%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Perpetua; panose-1:2 2 5 2 6 4 1 2 3 3; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 140%;"><span style="line-height: 140%;font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 140%;"><span style="line-height: 140%;font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >After my cousins and I caught as much candy as possible from the parade, we went back to Grandma’s house for a giant patriotic sheet cake decorated with “Happy Birthday, Grandpa!” Later that night, my uncles and older cousins would light fireworks in the driveway and when ours were all burned out we’d sit around in lawn chairs and watch the neighbor’s. Both at home and at Grandma’s, the Fourth of July always ended up being the perfect day.<span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 140%;"><span style="line-height: 140%; color: rgb(255, 153, 0);font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 140%;"><span style="line-height: 140%;font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 140%;"><span style="line-height: 140%;font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >But when these memories occurred, I wasn’t that proud or grateful to be an American; I was just a kid trying to catch candy in t</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOrA_fP6K8HY63aYlxDhCRTcBVZiOdwggjM3vA_nW21hpvmBaNudhsoQ6N4cSXQIg9TTGNCUUDwGJkaA-zAN0foFAu4If_RBpVVp76sdRrohHXHTbUnRDABKsn4IaUA5dd4tUGKNM78GoP/s1600-h/fourth+bbq.bmp"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOrA_fP6K8HY63aYlxDhCRTcBVZiOdwggjM3vA_nW21hpvmBaNudhsoQ6N4cSXQIg9TTGNCUUDwGJkaA-zAN0foFAu4If_RBpVVp76sdRrohHXHTbUnRDABKsn4IaUA5dd4tUGKNM78GoP/s200/fourth+bbq.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216307184753678098" border="0" /></a></span><span style="line-height: 140%;font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >he parade. I had dozens of elementary school lessons about Columbus, George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, </span><span style="line-height: 140%;font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >the pilgrims, and others who helped form our country, but I didn’t fully appreciate the significance of the freedoms we enjoy. However, now that I look back at the parades, barbecues, and fireworks that color </span><span style="line-height: 140%;font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >my Fourth of July memories, I realize that an appreciation for our country is in them because my Fourth o</span><span style="line-height: 140%;font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >f July memories are all about my family. The holiday allows families to get together, but the freedoms we have in our nation allow our families to stay together each and every day because we can make a living and live the religion and values we hold dear. Looking back, for me the patriotic spirit started as I watched my grandpa—a solid citizen, an honest farmer, and a loving father and grandfather—ride in the annual Rexburg Fourth of July parade.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 140%;"><span style="line-height: 140%;font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <span style=";font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" >
<br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Memories of Grandpa’s birthday remind me that the tradition of patriotism and gratitude for our country is fostered in every child by memories that are “born on the Fourth of July.” All in all, my Fourth of July memories spiral down to my family and gratitude to God for those memories and that family—a prayer of gratitude and commitm</span></span><span style=";font-family:Perpetua;font-size:130%;" >ent that for us, as individuals and families, “In God We Trust.”</span><span style="font-size:100%;">
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<br /><span style="font-size:78%;">*Add a comment!
<br /> What meaningful Fourth of July memories have occurred in your life?</span>
<br /></span><p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 140%;"><span style="line-height: 140%;font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 140%;"><span style="line-height: 140%;font-family:Perpetua;font-size:100%;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> Jennifer Rickshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16893901588875111664noreply@blogger.com2