MORE THAN SUFFICIENT

With Justin’s brother and sister-in-law, Jared and Mitcee, supposed to be in Boston for a professional conference, we scheduled our monthly temple trip for this weekend so we could try to meet up with them. We had also wanted to meet up with some old friends who live up there before we head off to Germany. Unfortunately, Jared and Mitcee missed their connecting flight in Phoenix the night before and we were unable to get a hold of them Saturday morning to hear what their plans were and when they’d be getting in. We weighed the options and decided to go to the temple anyway and hope we could see them, but accept that we’d have to come back up if needs be. I did ask in our prayer before we drove off, though, that we would be able to see Jared and Mitcee and the Hahls without too much inconvenience if that were at all possible. After doing our temple stuff, we tried calling Jared and Mitcee from the church (we still don’t have a cell phone) but only got their voice mailbox. To make a long story shorter, just as we were leaving our friends’ house, we decided to try Jared once more. They had just landed and were at baggage claim, and their hotel turned out to be just 15 minutes from our friends’ house. It worked out perfectly to go pick them up, grab some dinner, then drop them back off and head home. Parking in downtown Boston is as tricky as any big city, but luckily we landed a spot right in front of a restaurant that was also right next to a laundromat so we easily changed the only three dollars cash we had into quarters for the meter. We managed to get dinner, dessert, and supplies for the weekend for Jared and Mitcee–even with three kids in tow–in time plus four minutes to spare on the meter without even feeling rushed, though Justin did comment that we only had a couple $20s left now to pay the tolls for the drive home.

After we dropped Jared and Mitcee off, we got on I-90 planning to stop at the first gas stop just for a bathroom break since we had already filled up. We were all in high spirits, running back to the car holding hands, the extra jostling of which made me note that there seemed to be a lot of change in my purse, which is odd, because I never actually use my purse except as a diaper bag and certainly never have any cash with which I could get change. After we got the girls all buckled in and started up the car, I noticed that the man standing next to the U-haul in front of our car, his cigarette glowing against the darkening sky, was nervously making motions for us to roll down our window. As the father of a family of little girls with a smallish but rather roughish-looking man in a parking lot trying to get his attention, Justin was understandably hesitant to answer the man’s request, but he went ahead and rolled the window down. The man apologized for the awkwardness of the situation and then proceeded to recount that through some series of misadventures he and his wife were out of fuel and couldn’t get where they needed to go. “We just need $40…” he said, after his jumbled story all came out. “Oh, perfect! That’s exactly how much we have!” we said. Justin handed it over but then remembered we’d have tolls to pay. “Well, I heard some change jangling in my purse just barely, let me see how much it is.” Truth be told, I didn’t even know where to look for change in my purse, but I eventually located the pocket that had caused the jangling, saw plenty of quarters plus two dimes to boot to meet the $1.75 toll we paid on I-90 every temple trip, and announced that we were set. After giving the man our address at his repeated insistence so he could send us back the money when he got home, we left feeling honored, to be honest, that we were able to help him. (We’ve been watching the Joseph Millett Story video pretty frequently–”You can’t tell me how good it made me feel to know that the Lord knew there was such a person as Joseph Millett.”)

Anyway, we drove along feeling very happy that we could help, until we got to the toll booth. We handed them our ticket and the man announced, “$2.90, please.” $2.90?! Did we have that much? I handed Justin the quarters and two dimes, poised to start rummaging the bottom of his backpack in hopes there were some spare pennies in the certain event we were short. “$2.95,” the collector said, “here’s a nickel change.”

I suppose there are all sorts of lessons to be learned from this little experience, but maybe the overarching one is that the Lord provides, and He even provides generously, so long as we count four minutes and 5 cents generous–more than sufficient for our needs–generous. What a great day!                       –Lia Collings

A COMMON FAMILY MEMBER

I prefer to attend the temple before the kids wake.  I went to bed Friday night at 8:30 with the intent of rising early to attend the 6 am temple session.  However, that didn’t happen.  I actually didn’t wake until after the 6 am session started.  I hurried in hopes of making it to the 6:40 am session.  But that didn’t happen either.  In my haste I failed to take my slip; I had just washed my temple clothes and didn’t put everything back in my temple bag.  While I waited for a temple worker to bring me a slip, the session started.  So I settled for the 7:20 am session instead.

 

I had two family names available to take on the endowment session: Theresa Schilling or Catharina Kleinmann.  I looked at both names and chose Catharina Kleinmann.  When I approached the name booth, a sister pulled back the curtain and I entered her booth, one of three available.  She took my name, looked at it, and pronounced in delight, “Kleinmann!  That’s one of my family names!”

 

“Wow!”  I thought.  “So there’s a reason for so many delays this morning!”  I was satisfied that the Lord’s purpose had been fulfilled, and was happy that I could be a part of it.

 

At the end of the session, it became apparent that a sister had missed her assignment; there was no ordinance worker at veil number three.  The veil coordinator dispatched the assistant coordinator to find a substitute.  The session wound down, each sister taking her turn to approach the veil at one or another of the many available slots.  As it turned out, I was the last sister to approach the veil during that session.  As I arose to accept my assignment, I noticed that two slots had just become available: slots two and three.  The veil coordinator directed me to slot three, the slot with the substitute.

 

I approached the ordinance worker and realized she was the same sister who had assisted me in the new name booth!  She looked at me and exclaimed in even greater delight than before, “It’s you again!”  She and I were both deeply moved that we could be “randomly” reunited to participate in these most sacred of eternal ordinances for a common family member, realizing that in no way had our reunion been random, but rather, very carefully orchestrated to bring the three of us together at that precise moment.

The Graduation Tassel

Chari’s high school graduation neared.  She had borrowed a cap and gown from a friend who graduated the previous year but needed a tassel for her mortarboard.  An office worker informed me that the school purchased a few extra tassels each year.  I sent Chari to the front office to get one.   The office worker was mistaken; they did not have any tassels.  Therefore, Chari would be responsible for obtaining one on her own.

She texted me that information while I was out running errands.  As a matter of fact, I was somewhat lost in the Mill Creek Industrial Park, trying to find the address of a man who had advertised a desk for sale.

I texted Chari back to find out how to go about finding a tassel so close to graduation.  She replied: “Jostens.”   I had no idea where to find Jostens.  So I texted back and asked here where Jostens is located.  She replied, “IDK but here is their 800 number.”

To my surprise, just at the moment I received the last text, I saw a Jostens’ sign on the right side of the street I was on.  I immediately pulled in, walked into the Jostens store, and purchased Chari’s graduation tassel.

I have heard my mom often comment, “Men make many plans; but God orders our steps!”  That morning, I truly felt God had ordered my steps.

A Dedicated Bishop

David’s mom, Gloria Vance, and step-father, Doug Vance, drove out with their granddaugher Sarah Walker and her two boys, Jonathan and Nathaniel to Provo, Utah, last week, arriving Wednesday, in order to attend Brigham Young University’s 2011 Spring graduation.  Caci, Jini, and Kinsi all three were participating in the ceremonies.  Prior to the commencement exercises Thursday afternoon in the Marriot Center, as Mom and Pop were struggling to make their way to their seats in the Handicapped section of Portal U, they heard a voice behind them offer his assistance.  They turned to see the smiling face of their bishop in Olathe, Kansas.  What a dedicated bishop to be johnny-on-the-spot for two of his ward members half-way across America.  What are the chances?

SPECIFICITY IN PRAYER

I had an experience on my mission that taught me the importance of asking very specific prayers.

My companion, Desi Farnsworth, and I were serving in the Chino 4^thWard of the Chino, California, Stake.  We had attended a zone conference in Upland, California, that morning at which a member of the Upland Stake Presidency spoke, named Altemyer, or something close to that.

The topic of his remarks was specificity in prayer. President Altemyer suggested that we keep a journal of our prayers.  He recommended that we divide the journal page into two columns: one  column to record the things that we ask for and a second column to record the answers to our prayers.  He advised that we be very specific and that we date each column.

At lunch that day, I asked Sister Farnsworth to prepare the meal, a task that I customarily attended to. Meanwhile, I went into the bedroom, took my journal, made two columns, dated them, and knelt down to pray.  I told Heavenly Father that Sister Farnsworth and I were going on splits that afternoon with two Laurels from the ward, Terry Sterzer and Terry Anderson.  I asked that while we were on splits, we would find someone whom we could start teaching within three days and who would be baptized that month.  It was the first Thursday in November, 1980.

That afternoon we picked up our splits and separated to begin our afternoon labors.  Sister Farnsworth and Terry Anderson left in the mission car.  Terry Sterzer and l left in her car for a pre-determined area to knock on doors. On the way to the area we had chosen, I noticed one of my favorite tracts lying on the back seat of Terry’s car­­– the red “Which Church is Right?” pamphlet.

“Hey, Terry,” I asked, “what is this tract for?”

“I got that for my boyfriend,” she replied.  “He lives in Riverside.” Terry had recently moved from Riverside, where she had been living with her mother, to Chino to live with her father.

“Really!  Do you think maybe you could invite him and us to Sunday dinner so we could maybe teach him or something?”  I asked half-heartedly, not really thinking about what I was saying.

“Sure, I’ll ask him,” she replied. We knocked doors all afternoon but didn’t find a single “golden.”  So much for specificity in prayer!  I thought.

The next night Terry Sterzer called and asked us to come to her dad’s house for dinner after church on Sunday.  We gladly accepted.  When we arrived Sunday afternoon, we were surprised and delighted to meet her boyfriend, Rick DeSilva.  He was a very polite and earnest young man about 20 years old.  The dinner discussion was cordial but no mention was made of the Church or religion at all.

After dinner we retired to the family room where Terry invited Rick to learn something about our church. He accepted the invitation, so we commenced with the first discussion.  We related Joseph Smith’s vision and the restoration of the Gospel.  By the end of the first discussion, I knew that the prayer I had recorded in my journal on Thursday—three days before—had been answered. Rick continued the discussions in Riverside and was baptized November 30^th, the last day of that month.

In every respect, Heavenly Father had answered my very specific prayer in a very specific way. I had asked that we find someone to teach that day.  We did find Rick that day—in the conversation about the tract.  I had asked that we would start teaching our contact within three days.  We started teaching Rick three days later, on Sunday afternoon.  I had asked that our contact be baptized that month.  Rick was baptized the last day of that month. Rick went on to be sealed in the temple–though not to Terry.  She decided to serve a full-time mission herself and Rick was married before she returned.

Since this event, and from literally hundreds of other prayers that have been answered, I have gained a sure testimony that Heavenly Father really does hear and answer our prayers—including the very specific ones.

Coming Home

 

There was a woman

Who had great talents and abilities.

But she also had an emptiness

In her heart. 

So she set out to fill the void.

 

“I will change the world,” she said.

“I will plant the earth.”

And she did.

She planted flowers and ferns

And trees and grasses.

And he earth was beautiful.

But the emptiness deepened.

 
I will write books,” she said.

And she did.

She wrote of life and death

And the rise and fall of nations

And the light and dark in men’s souls.

And man was enlightened.

But the emptiness persisted.

“I will lead nations,” she said.

And she did.

She organized committees,

And collected food for the hungry,

And marched against social ills,

And ran for office,

And became president,

And led armies into battle,

And reduced the deficit,

And the economy surged.

But the emptiness ached within her.

 

Then one day,

During a brief reprieve

From the exhausting marathon

That was her life,

She took a moment to reflect

Upon her accomplishments.

And she heard a cry—

                A child sobbing.

  

She looked down to find a strange boy

Clinging to her knees.

She knelt to retrieve the child

And she realized that

It was her child.

 

And she saw the swollen eyes

And tear-stained face and she realized

That he had been crying

For a very long time.

 

And she took the child

Into her arms

And held him

And comforted him.

 

Suddenly, she felt the sharp claws

Loosen their grip from around her heart.

And she thought,

“I will love my child.”

And she did.

 

And the pain in her heart subsided.

And the void was filled.

 

And she wondered,

“Is it too late?”

But her child laughed.

And the rising sun

Draped the earth in lemon yellow

As she and her son

Skipped through the golden poppies

Of a new day.

And they were happy.

And the heavens rejoiced.

 

“I will change the world,” she said.

 

 

                                And she did.

 

 

–Mindy Suttner

Are We Not All Beggars?

 As I was getting a cart from the bin in the Harmon’s parking lot one day, I was approached by a disheveled old man.  He looked to be in his late 60’s, he hadn’t shaved in days, and he looked to have slept a few nights in his clothes.  He told me he had felt directed to me.  He said he felt like I was someone who could help him in his time of need.  He told me he had come to St. George a few days before to visit the doctor.  He said he had car trouble and had not been able to repair his car.  He said he needed $27 more than he had to purchase a bus ticket home.  I told him I was sorry that I couldn’t help him.  I told him that I didn’t have any money and that I never carry cash. 

I excused myself and headed on in to Harmon’s to purchase groceries—with a debit card.  I didn’t believe him anyway.  He looked to me to be nothing more than a bum who had concocted a sob story to pan-handle kindly victims.  I had been in the store only a couple of minutes when I thrust my hand into my pocket.  Wait a minute!  I felt something in my pocket.  I did have some money!  I pulled it out to count it.  What?  I counted out twenty-seven dollars. 

Instantly, I felt ashamed that I had judged the old man harshly.  I had not believed him.  Perhaps he was lying.  But when I found the same amount of money in my pocket that he said he needed when I was sure that I didn’t have any at all, I felt convicted.  I remembered what King Benjamin said about imparting your substance to the poor: “Perhaps thou shalt say: The man has brought upon himself his misery; therefore I will stay my hand, and will not give unto him of my food, nor impart unto him of my substance that he may not suffer, for his punishments are just—But I say unto you, O man, whosoever doeth this the same hath great cause to repent; and except he repenteth of that which he had done he perisheth forever, and hath no interest in the kingdom of God.  For behold, are we not all beggars?” (Mosiah 4:16-19)

  I felt that Heavenly Father was telling me, “Don’t judge; don’t criticize. Just give.”  I went out to the parking lot, found the old man, apologized, and gave him the money he said he needed for the bus ticket.  I don’t know what happened to the old man, but I felt that I had done what Heavenly Father wanted me to do.             –Mindy Suttner

 “…are we not all beggars?…and if ye judge the man who putteth up his petition to you for your substance that he perisheth not, and condemn him, how much more just will be your condemnation for withholding your substance, which doth not belong to you but to God, to whom also your life belongeth; and yet ye put up no petition, nor repent of the things which thou has done.  I say unto you, woe unto that man, for his substance shall perish with him….”  Mosiah 4:19-23