Of Families Forever

There is a saying in our church that when a boy leaves on a mission he comes back a man. It is so true. That two years spent as a volunteer serving people and serving the Lord, and teaching others about Christ in their own language really does something to one's soul. Where most 19 or 20 year old guys would be off partying at college, young men in our church are out serving, constantly thinking of others, helping out in many, many ways. I have a brother who is currently serving a mission in the Phillipines. He is there mostly on his own dime (with, I think, a little help from the folks!), and it is amazing to hear his stories, and hear about the spiritual growth he is experiencing. His stories of the natives also put me in awe when I think of our relative circumstances, and how very little the Phillipinos have compared to us. It makes me want to serve more and be better, to show my gratitude for all that I have.

My Dad sent the following e-mail out to the family last week,(I have edited out all the basketball news!) and I wanted it to be posted on my blog to be archived for my kids to read when we print this off. It is a beautiful reminder of what is important in our lives, and brought tears to my eyes when I read it. The talk is from a Phillipino lady--she gave a devotional recently at BYU. Anyway, enjoy, dear readers, and take a moment to ponder her message and it's significance for you, personally.
Here you are:


There is one more journey that my heart holds dear. It happens to be a story within a story, my family's journey of conversion. In the Book of Kings is an account of faith by a widow in Zarephath, who, in time of drought and famine, gave up her family's remaining food for the prophet Elijah:

...As the Lord thy God liveth, I have not a cake, but an handful of meal in a barrel, and a little oil in a cruse...16

The gospel came in our lives at a time when we had been sufficiently humbled by trials. The most that we could literally offer at the altar was not even a morsel of bread for we had none, but our very faith. It was all that we had. Thus, I liken the widow at Zarephath to a widow in the Philippines, the widow of Tondo with seven children. She is my mother. Let me tell you our story....

Without a stable breadwinner and with seven children left to a mother without a job nor a college degree, our finances were tenuous. We grew up in poverty, not just income poverty, but also a scarcity of opportunities. We were too poor to get an education, but my mother persisted in her dream to have each of her children complete a college degree. She believed in the power of education to enlighten and transform lives, to equalize social standing, and as the vehicle out of our dismal circumstances. She borrowed money even at high interest rates to keep us in school. I remember rejoicing in being able to take exams (Yes, those were joyful not dreadful moments) because it meant that my mother was able to pay our tuition. Eventually, the only way for us to go beyond high school was to qualify for scholarships....

Four years after my father died, two young American men knocked on our door looking for my mother. They introduced themselves as missionaries. Behind them was a throng of Filipino children, fighting for their attention and calling out, "Hi, Joe." Under the sweltering Philippine heat, these young men stood out in their white shirts, and ties, and black briefcases that for us they looked like a toss-up between James Bond and CIA agents. I was about to tell them that my mother told me that she was not home when my mother's friends and their children, who came with the missionaries, showed up. My mom overheard and motioned to me to let them in. I quietly asked myself, "What are we getting ourselves into?" To invite these Americans was social suicide as my mom was known in our community for her staunch devotion to the dominant faith....



To our surprise, our mother listened to the missionaries. She even attended an area conference at the Araneta Coliseum presided by Pres. Spencer W. Kimball. That was an act of boldness to go against the predominant religion. This was the 70's. People's minds were strongly averse to changes. It must have exacted much willpower from my mother to stop drinking coffee and to stop smoking just because two foreigners, barely in their 20's, said so ---at a time when nicotine patches were unheard of. It must have taken real faith to part with a widow's mite for tithing....



What did the missionaries offer? They offered us the opportunity of knowing that families can be together even beyond death, ---something my father had always hoped we could be. The missionaries taught us that we have a Heavenly Father who knows each of us by name and who loves us dearly, ---a concept so foreign, for the God that we knew lashed out punishments and heard only memorized prayers. The missionaries taught us that our bodies are sacred. They taught us the value of preparedness, temporally and spiritually. The missionaries taught us where we came from and where we were going. The missionaries offered a message so sweet that it was most desirable above all things. It filled us with joy, not just momentary bliss, but peace and radiance that continued to sustain us through difficult times....


(Me again) That was the excerpted version--I am guessing the while talk is archived on the BYU website. Beautiful though.