Church
Service
Shortly after joining the Church of JESUS CHRIST of Latter-day Saints, I was called to be the assistant Varsity Leader to a man named Eric Kerns. Eric was a wonderful spiritual leader for this youth group of 14 and 15 year-olds. My first Sunday as assistant, I did not know what to expect, after the Sacrament hour we separated to go to various classes, Eric and I leading toward our assigned classroom. What a welcome I received... Eric prepared to teach the class of 8 or 9 youth sitting cross legged on their chairs, rocking back and forth chanting "We wanna go home, we wanna go home." Eric calmly taught the class over their actions, occasionally inviting the youth to get involved. I remember thinking how irreverent and unruly they were, and how this assignment could be a nightmare. I came to love those boys, all of whom had great potential as leaders.
Each year, an adventure week would take place often far from home where the boys were away from parents and guided by their priesthood leaders. Much planning went into these adventures, with the boys suggestions for locations and activities being the foundation for the trip. As expected, our boys, and occasionally I will mention a name, like Joey Sandford, came up with an adventure that would call for months of preparation before the trip, and a number of logistic hurdles for the leaders. Eric and I worked tirelessly to bring to pass the vision which the boys had, providing working locations, materials, plans, and, direction. Our efforts were rewarded by gaining the boys respect, and seeing them work towards a worthwhile goal which promoted unity among them. Sunny Harrison and two Ervin boys, come to mind as part of the group.
The project was for each of the boys to build their own plywood and fibre-glass kayaks, add custom paint, and journey up to the Klamath river in Oregon. We had six months to build the kayaks, each boy would build his own and Eric and I would each build one from a pattern one of the ward members provided. The design called for 10 ft long by half inch thick marine plywood, each kayak was built out of one 4 x 10 sheet, fastened together with one inch drywall screws and all the joints covered liberally with several coats of fibre-glass. At the time, I would leave home at 3am to go to work in Torrance, CA, a distance of 60 miles, and on a regular day would get there by 4:30am time enough to relax a little before work started at 5am. Often when coming out of my house at 3am I would walk to my garage and find one or two boys busily working on their kayaks, I thought they must be pretty tired when they were at school. As the months wore on and the kayaks began to take shape, a change in attitude occurred among the boys, although fiercely competitive in their creations, each began to help each other, and took pride in making each kayak the best they could, regardless of whether it was their own they were working on.
At long last all the kayak had been built, I remember thinking how ugly they looked, plywood with white fibre-glass seams, multiple stains, pencil marks, and fibre strands breaking what could be smooth surfaces. Soon the boys were hand sanding their creations, and preparing them for the base paint and eventually the paint that would set their kayak apart from all the others. It was a wonderful experience seeing the excitement, determination and artistic creative of these young men, as they changed completely the ugly kayaks into works of art, things of beauty. After all these years I still think my kayak had the best 'paint job,' but I suspect that each boy shares that opinion of their kayak. My kayak was pink on the bottom, with the British Union Jack design on the top, it was beautiful. I think Kyle Ervin's boat was two tone blue with a knife hilt behind the seat opening and the blade down to the front of the kayak. When completed each kayak was magnificent.
Prior to the day we were to leave, all the kayaks were loaded onto a borrowed canoe trailer, and taken over Brother Turleys home, we were borrowing Brother Turleys Van to tow the trailer up to the Klamath River. We planned to meet after work and school on Friday, get loaded, and leave that night, and stop on the way to rest. At Brother Turleys, we hooked up the trailer, and drove out of his driveway and turned a hard right to head down the street towards Limonite avenue. Once the right turn was made the steering wheel was turned to the left to bring the Van into a straight line towards Limonite, however, the steering wheel kept turning, in fact you could spin the wheel and no correction to the front wheels occurred. The steering shaft joint had broken. Brother Turley, Eric, myself, and the boys were able to maneuver the vehicle back into the driveway, after unhooking the trailer. Shane Ervin, one of the boys, offered his van as a replacement for Brother Turleys, and at such short notice we accepted. Looking back on this situation, I was amazed that the Lord protected us by having this happen before we set out. During the trip we drove the van and trailer along miles of dirt roads sometimes with a 20 or 30 foot dropoff into the river to one side of the road, with no protective fencing, not to mention the hundreds of miles of freeway driving where many lives would have been at stake.
About 7:30pm Saturday evening we stopped at a section of the Klamath river to get our bearings, the river looked placid and beautiful in the last rays of sunlight. We found a path down to the water and all went down to enjoy this large body of still water, with the sounds of rushing water on the far side of the river. Before many minutes were gone, the boys were begging and pleading to try their boats out on this large still area of river....just to see how they float and if they leak. Before long our hearts were softened and we allowed whoever wanted to to try their kayaks out. By nightfall, we had accounted for all but three boys and three kayaks.
Fear resulted in action, all the kayaks were pulled ashore, flashlights were distributed and shouts for the missing three initiated. Walking down river, calling names above the roar of the river, and shining flashlights, netted three wet forms on the other side of the river, with rushing waters in front and a 20 foot wall behind them, and large rocks for refuge from the oncoming waters. Shane and I walked back to the van to see if we had some rope to effect a rescue of our three companions, we found a ball of string and a rope of about one and a half inches in diameter (probably strong enough to raise the Titanic) which we took back to the site. The distance was only about twenty feet across the river to where the boys were but the river was moving pretty fast between us. We attempted to throw the rope to the boys with little success, and after the first throw with the rope wet, there was even less chance of success. Eric and I tried convincing the boys to walk upstream as far as the could and start swimming across and we would catch them as they floated past. Two boys tried and succeeded, the third boy was frightened and would not try it. I had a plan, I would go upstream with the string attached to me, the rope being tied to the end of the string and swim across, pull in the string then the rope, attach the rope to the boy, then have the boys on the safe side haul us in. Part one and two were successful, I managed to tie the rope around the boy, and have him enter the water, at what point I would dive in grab the rope and be hauled in with the boy. Well the best laid plans... I missed the rope, actually it hit my head as I was rushed downstream. Once the boy was ashore, I heard someone say, "Where's Brother Orman?" At which point I had crossed the rapid water and was entering one of those large areas where the surface is smooth, similar to the area we had first tried our kayaks. The exertion had tired me and it was tough to keep swimming across the expanse of water. Soon the flashlights appeared, and alighted on me seemingly taking my time swimming to shore, when in fact I felt my whole body getting ready to shut down. Upon reaching shore, I put on a brave face, and revelled in the chatter of leaders and boys alike sure in the knowledge that everyone was safe.
The following day, after well deserved sleep, and a wonderful breakfast/brunch the boys were anxious, once again, to get their kayaks in the water, their excitement could be felt. Before I continue, I would warn those who plan on kayaking, canoeing, or boating on an unknown stretch of river to first check out the river before putting your boat in the water! We decided we would drive up to where the bridge crossed the river, about two miles upriver, and there put our boats in and exit at our campsite at rivers edge. With the loss of three kayaks the night before, my kayak was one of the ones lost, and with one extra boy with no kayak the boys were forced to double up for the trip. The road back was more direct than the river, so I would walk along the road and where it came close to the river would wait for the boats to pass, checking that all were accounted for, if after a short while one or more failed to show I would walk up the river bank to check to see if anything was amiss. During the run, Erick, who was bringing up the rear, saw one of the boys on the bank with no kayak and paddled over to see him. Apparently one of the rapids had tipped him out and he swam to shore, Eric loaded him in his kayak and off they went. Before long, I was in Eric's kayak, nursing it down the river while Eric and the boy walked. Seven of the remaining eight kayaks were destroyed or sunk, with no injuries to the boys.
While the boys and Eric made their way back to camp, I was still on the river in Eric's kayak, I said I was nursing it, this was true, the front seam of the kayak had developed a tear which allowed the water to flow into the boat around my legs, and waist. Being very careful when the river forked, I took the easier looking path of the two. The other path I could see, it was rapids downhill for as far as I could see. The path I took was relatively easy until it came to the point where it dropped drastically.....there was no turning back, over I went. At what seemed like an incredible rate of speed I shot down the river, then my kayak hit a big rock and the front of the kayak came out of the water, which sank the rear end allowing the water to pour into the boat behind my back, pinning kayak and myself to the rock. I tried everything I could think of to break free, including using the paddle to pry myself loose, no luck. With what strength I could muster I got out of the boat, and with one leg out and one on the way, the kayak was loosed, the paddle, the kayak, and myself hurtled down the rushing incline. Where my fork of the river met the other fork, my fork made a right turn around a huge rock. Underwater, and not knowing which way was up, I remember wondering if this was it for me, I tried to relax and let the river take me where it wanted to, not worrying or even thinking that I needed to breath air sometime. My forward motion slowed then stopped as I came to the surface, instead of it being a wonderful experience was really yucky. The passage of the river had washed out the earth from a large tree and the roots were dangling into the river, where I came up was directly under this tree, and my head was lost in cold tree roots from which could be seen little light. Gasping for some air I quickly went beneath the water once again and pushed off from the bank to once again surface in a deep fairly slow moving river. Once I had regained my vision I noticed an anchored dinghy with two fisherman in it, I asked them if they had seen a blue kayak, and they told me it had just passed them on downstream, I said thanks and swam to the opposite shore.
By the time I reached the shore I could see the kayak caught in some rock a short distance downstream. Once it was shallow enough, I walked to shore noticing that there was pain in my right ankle as I walked. When I had been out of the water for a little while and after I had dragged the bedraggled kayak onto shore, paddle nowhere to be seen, my ankle was about twice its normal size. I had to walk along the bank and sometimes in the river before I reached a place where the road came close to the river, and when I got on the road it was just a short distance to camp. As I approached camp I noticed that the boys still had some energy, close to the bank, but not on dry land was a rock maybe ten or so feet high from which the boys were climbing up and jumping into the water, making noises that could be heard for miles.
The boys had gained an incredible experience that will stay with them for the rest of their lives, one that cost them the price of the kayak, a price far below the value of the experience.
A council was called and we all decided to spend our remaining money on blow-up dinghys, which we purchased from town the following day. The rest of the week was spent driving up the bridge, and floating down on the dinghys to our campsite, not totally uneventful but totally satisfying.
Each year, an adventure week would take place often far from home where the boys were away from parents and guided by their priesthood leaders. Much planning went into these adventures, with the boys suggestions for locations and activities being the foundation for the trip. As expected, our boys, and occasionally I will mention a name, like Joey Sandford, came up with an adventure that would call for months of preparation before the trip, and a number of logistic hurdles for the leaders. Eric and I worked tirelessly to bring to pass the vision which the boys had, providing working locations, materials, plans, and, direction. Our efforts were rewarded by gaining the boys respect, and seeing them work towards a worthwhile goal which promoted unity among them. Sunny Harrison and two Ervin boys, come to mind as part of the group.
The project was for each of the boys to build their own plywood and fibre-glass kayaks, add custom paint, and journey up to the Klamath river in Oregon. We had six months to build the kayaks, each boy would build his own and Eric and I would each build one from a pattern one of the ward members provided. The design called for 10 ft long by half inch thick marine plywood, each kayak was built out of one 4 x 10 sheet, fastened together with one inch drywall screws and all the joints covered liberally with several coats of fibre-glass. At the time, I would leave home at 3am to go to work in Torrance, CA, a distance of 60 miles, and on a regular day would get there by 4:30am time enough to relax a little before work started at 5am. Often when coming out of my house at 3am I would walk to my garage and find one or two boys busily working on their kayaks, I thought they must be pretty tired when they were at school. As the months wore on and the kayaks began to take shape, a change in attitude occurred among the boys, although fiercely competitive in their creations, each began to help each other, and took pride in making each kayak the best they could, regardless of whether it was their own they were working on.
At long last all the kayak had been built, I remember thinking how ugly they looked, plywood with white fibre-glass seams, multiple stains, pencil marks, and fibre strands breaking what could be smooth surfaces. Soon the boys were hand sanding their creations, and preparing them for the base paint and eventually the paint that would set their kayak apart from all the others. It was a wonderful experience seeing the excitement, determination and artistic creative of these young men, as they changed completely the ugly kayaks into works of art, things of beauty. After all these years I still think my kayak had the best 'paint job,' but I suspect that each boy shares that opinion of their kayak. My kayak was pink on the bottom, with the British Union Jack design on the top, it was beautiful. I think Kyle Ervin's boat was two tone blue with a knife hilt behind the seat opening and the blade down to the front of the kayak. When completed each kayak was magnificent.
Prior to the day we were to leave, all the kayaks were loaded onto a borrowed canoe trailer, and taken over Brother Turleys home, we were borrowing Brother Turleys Van to tow the trailer up to the Klamath River. We planned to meet after work and school on Friday, get loaded, and leave that night, and stop on the way to rest. At Brother Turleys, we hooked up the trailer, and drove out of his driveway and turned a hard right to head down the street towards Limonite avenue. Once the right turn was made the steering wheel was turned to the left to bring the Van into a straight line towards Limonite, however, the steering wheel kept turning, in fact you could spin the wheel and no correction to the front wheels occurred. The steering shaft joint had broken. Brother Turley, Eric, myself, and the boys were able to maneuver the vehicle back into the driveway, after unhooking the trailer. Shane Ervin, one of the boys, offered his van as a replacement for Brother Turleys, and at such short notice we accepted. Looking back on this situation, I was amazed that the Lord protected us by having this happen before we set out. During the trip we drove the van and trailer along miles of dirt roads sometimes with a 20 or 30 foot dropoff into the river to one side of the road, with no protective fencing, not to mention the hundreds of miles of freeway driving where many lives would have been at stake.
About 7:30pm Saturday evening we stopped at a section of the Klamath river to get our bearings, the river looked placid and beautiful in the last rays of sunlight. We found a path down to the water and all went down to enjoy this large body of still water, with the sounds of rushing water on the far side of the river. Before many minutes were gone, the boys were begging and pleading to try their boats out on this large still area of river....just to see how they float and if they leak. Before long our hearts were softened and we allowed whoever wanted to to try their kayaks out. By nightfall, we had accounted for all but three boys and three kayaks.
Fear resulted in action, all the kayaks were pulled ashore, flashlights were distributed and shouts for the missing three initiated. Walking down river, calling names above the roar of the river, and shining flashlights, netted three wet forms on the other side of the river, with rushing waters in front and a 20 foot wall behind them, and large rocks for refuge from the oncoming waters. Shane and I walked back to the van to see if we had some rope to effect a rescue of our three companions, we found a ball of string and a rope of about one and a half inches in diameter (probably strong enough to raise the Titanic) which we took back to the site. The distance was only about twenty feet across the river to where the boys were but the river was moving pretty fast between us. We attempted to throw the rope to the boys with little success, and after the first throw with the rope wet, there was even less chance of success. Eric and I tried convincing the boys to walk upstream as far as the could and start swimming across and we would catch them as they floated past. Two boys tried and succeeded, the third boy was frightened and would not try it. I had a plan, I would go upstream with the string attached to me, the rope being tied to the end of the string and swim across, pull in the string then the rope, attach the rope to the boy, then have the boys on the safe side haul us in. Part one and two were successful, I managed to tie the rope around the boy, and have him enter the water, at what point I would dive in grab the rope and be hauled in with the boy. Well the best laid plans... I missed the rope, actually it hit my head as I was rushed downstream. Once the boy was ashore, I heard someone say, "Where's Brother Orman?" At which point I had crossed the rapid water and was entering one of those large areas where the surface is smooth, similar to the area we had first tried our kayaks. The exertion had tired me and it was tough to keep swimming across the expanse of water. Soon the flashlights appeared, and alighted on me seemingly taking my time swimming to shore, when in fact I felt my whole body getting ready to shut down. Upon reaching shore, I put on a brave face, and revelled in the chatter of leaders and boys alike sure in the knowledge that everyone was safe.
The following day, after well deserved sleep, and a wonderful breakfast/brunch the boys were anxious, once again, to get their kayaks in the water, their excitement could be felt. Before I continue, I would warn those who plan on kayaking, canoeing, or boating on an unknown stretch of river to first check out the river before putting your boat in the water! We decided we would drive up to where the bridge crossed the river, about two miles upriver, and there put our boats in and exit at our campsite at rivers edge. With the loss of three kayaks the night before, my kayak was one of the ones lost, and with one extra boy with no kayak the boys were forced to double up for the trip. The road back was more direct than the river, so I would walk along the road and where it came close to the river would wait for the boats to pass, checking that all were accounted for, if after a short while one or more failed to show I would walk up the river bank to check to see if anything was amiss. During the run, Erick, who was bringing up the rear, saw one of the boys on the bank with no kayak and paddled over to see him. Apparently one of the rapids had tipped him out and he swam to shore, Eric loaded him in his kayak and off they went. Before long, I was in Eric's kayak, nursing it down the river while Eric and the boy walked. Seven of the remaining eight kayaks were destroyed or sunk, with no injuries to the boys.
While the boys and Eric made their way back to camp, I was still on the river in Eric's kayak, I said I was nursing it, this was true, the front seam of the kayak had developed a tear which allowed the water to flow into the boat around my legs, and waist. Being very careful when the river forked, I took the easier looking path of the two. The other path I could see, it was rapids downhill for as far as I could see. The path I took was relatively easy until it came to the point where it dropped drastically.....there was no turning back, over I went. At what seemed like an incredible rate of speed I shot down the river, then my kayak hit a big rock and the front of the kayak came out of the water, which sank the rear end allowing the water to pour into the boat behind my back, pinning kayak and myself to the rock. I tried everything I could think of to break free, including using the paddle to pry myself loose, no luck. With what strength I could muster I got out of the boat, and with one leg out and one on the way, the kayak was loosed, the paddle, the kayak, and myself hurtled down the rushing incline. Where my fork of the river met the other fork, my fork made a right turn around a huge rock. Underwater, and not knowing which way was up, I remember wondering if this was it for me, I tried to relax and let the river take me where it wanted to, not worrying or even thinking that I needed to breath air sometime. My forward motion slowed then stopped as I came to the surface, instead of it being a wonderful experience was really yucky. The passage of the river had washed out the earth from a large tree and the roots were dangling into the river, where I came up was directly under this tree, and my head was lost in cold tree roots from which could be seen little light. Gasping for some air I quickly went beneath the water once again and pushed off from the bank to once again surface in a deep fairly slow moving river. Once I had regained my vision I noticed an anchored dinghy with two fisherman in it, I asked them if they had seen a blue kayak, and they told me it had just passed them on downstream, I said thanks and swam to the opposite shore.
By the time I reached the shore I could see the kayak caught in some rock a short distance downstream. Once it was shallow enough, I walked to shore noticing that there was pain in my right ankle as I walked. When I had been out of the water for a little while and after I had dragged the bedraggled kayak onto shore, paddle nowhere to be seen, my ankle was about twice its normal size. I had to walk along the bank and sometimes in the river before I reached a place where the road came close to the river, and when I got on the road it was just a short distance to camp. As I approached camp I noticed that the boys still had some energy, close to the bank, but not on dry land was a rock maybe ten or so feet high from which the boys were climbing up and jumping into the water, making noises that could be heard for miles.
The boys had gained an incredible experience that will stay with them for the rest of their lives, one that cost them the price of the kayak, a price far below the value of the experience.
A council was called and we all decided to spend our remaining money on blow-up dinghys, which we purchased from town the following day. The rest of the week was spent driving up the bridge, and floating down on the dinghys to our campsite, not totally uneventful but totally satisfying.
Change My Life
In 1984, my life was in a shambles, a single parent of two very gifted and talented children who had minds of their own. I was going through a divorce from my wife of 15 years, and was for the most part a lost soul. During a dog judging trip to Phoenix, Arizona, I met Linda, who became my wife almost a year later. Linda was a member of The Church of JESUS CHRIST of latter-day saints, and was also in the process of divorce. It was a long distance relationship, by telephone, and the occasional visit. When together Linda would often ‘spout scripture,’ or so I believed. One who had been so far removed from church for so many years, any references to the Lord, or other doctrinal events seemed to me to be ‘spouting scripture. When alone, I had time to reflect on my lot, and it was not what I would have liked, I decided to investigate Linda’s church to find out more about it so that the next time I visited her I would be prepared with some answers.
This was a church I had never heard of, so when I was looking through the phone book to I expected to find a one line entry under CHURCHES, and with a bit of luck there would be one at least in a twenty mile radius of where I lived. Imagine my surprise when I discovered about three pages listing this church. The next challenge was to narrow down all these entries to one closest to home, I found a listing for Bishop Jeffrey Mann, who lived very close to my home, I called and told him I would like to find out more about his church, his response was immediate “ Are you busy, why don’t you come over now?” I accepted, and within 20 minutes I was ushered into his home, his first statement was an apology, “I am sorry that my wife, Marlene, is not here at the moment, she is out with the dogs.” Out with the dogs! This can’t be too bad a church if it has dog people as there members. Jeff said that he was about to leave for a fireside when my call came, would I like to go with him. “Sure” I said, imagining a group of people sitting around a fire ring and enjoying a beer and hot-dogs, and maybe a little mood music “sounds great.”
Jeff drove me over to Vern Lauritzen’s home, a really nice looking house, with several couples inside. Upon seeing Jeff, they gave warm greeting to the Bishop, and welcomed us into the home. One of the men, Jerry Maxwell said they were just about to watch a video, and would I like to watch it, it was called ‘Where Jesus Walked’ I replied that I would. After the video, the focus was on me, all wanted to know about me, and after mentioning about my involvement in dogs, Jerry and Kitty Maxwell , who were also involved in raising and working with dogs, began sharing their dog stories. I was fascinated with the warmth of my reception, and the ‘at home’ feeling I was experiencing with these people, none of whom I knew. That night I left Jeffs home with an invitation to attend church on Sunday.
Sunday came all to fast, I wore my best set of jeans and one of my best shirts, not white, I didn’t have one. The welcome by the members, none of whom I knew, was warm and genuine, like being among old friends. I must admit I was a little shocked at being at church for three hours, I was already to leave after the sacrament portion but stayed, more out of curiosity than anything else. It seemed to me that the members actually enjoyed being in church and were very active in the lessons being taught. For about two years as a child I had attended the Church of England church, which if I remember was about two hours long, the first hour was a lecture by the priest, and the second hour was Sunday school, which I think I enjoyed. I actually enjoyed attending this Sunday, and found no doctrine that sounded difficult to understand, or differing from what I already believed. Attending church on Sunday would be a challenge to my weekend activities with various dog clubs, I decided to take it on a week by week basis. Two Sister missionaries were assigned to teach me the gospel, both were about 21 or 22 years old and both were very good looking so this overcame what little resistance I had.
Appointments were kept, and Sisters from the ward were with the Sister missionaries when they came to visit, each visit was concluded with a challenge of some sort, at first it was to read the Book of Mormon, and as the lessons progressed the challenge was for baptism. I felt as if I was in no hurry to join this church, it would severely affect my social and work life, so although I did read the Book of Mormon, my heart was far from it. At the end of the Book of Mormon is a challenge, in Moroni chapter 10, I took this challenge, I knelt down on my knees and prayed to know whether the book was true or not. I remember at the time that I did not want an answer because I would have to change my life, and although it would be a blessing to change, change comes hard to me. I received no answer to my prayer.
Not receiving an answer did not affect my attending church, I often thought as I arose in the morning that I would not go, but always seemed to be there for the first meeting. I had started reading the Book of Mormon over again, Linda and I were starting to get serious, and friendships were forming with church members, life was beginning to change for me. Eventually I agreed to enter the waters of baptism, even though I had not received a personal witness that the Book of Mormon was the word of God. I felt different, I started feeling good about myself, and was enjoying the associations with the members. Jerry Maxwell, and I drove to Utah for a General Conference of the church, happens every six months, in his little Honda Accord. What a great trip, we stopped in Saint George going and coming home, and at the conference I was blessed to shake hands with one of the Apostles, Boyd K. Packer, and after shaking his hand I knew he was one of the Lords chosen. When I reached the challenge in Moroni Chapter 10 this time it was very different when I got to my knees. I received a witness from the Holy Ghost as to the truthfulness of this book. I have often attempted to explain this witness but words escape me, this is a personal feeling, one that must be experienced by us as individuals.
It has been about 28 years since this happened, and over that 28 years my testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ, has had its ups and downs, never so low as for me to leave, or even think of leaving the church. I know that this is Jesus Christ’s church, I know that the Book of Mormon is sacred scripture, and that anyone would draw closer to God by abiding by its precepts. That Jesus Christ lives and loves and cares for each of us regardless of whether we are members of the church or not. Looking back on my life I see the many blessings I have received because of my faith in Him whose church this is named after. I share this testimony in the name of Jesus Christ.
This was a church I had never heard of, so when I was looking through the phone book to I expected to find a one line entry under CHURCHES, and with a bit of luck there would be one at least in a twenty mile radius of where I lived. Imagine my surprise when I discovered about three pages listing this church. The next challenge was to narrow down all these entries to one closest to home, I found a listing for Bishop Jeffrey Mann, who lived very close to my home, I called and told him I would like to find out more about his church, his response was immediate “ Are you busy, why don’t you come over now?” I accepted, and within 20 minutes I was ushered into his home, his first statement was an apology, “I am sorry that my wife, Marlene, is not here at the moment, she is out with the dogs.” Out with the dogs! This can’t be too bad a church if it has dog people as there members. Jeff said that he was about to leave for a fireside when my call came, would I like to go with him. “Sure” I said, imagining a group of people sitting around a fire ring and enjoying a beer and hot-dogs, and maybe a little mood music “sounds great.”
Jeff drove me over to Vern Lauritzen’s home, a really nice looking house, with several couples inside. Upon seeing Jeff, they gave warm greeting to the Bishop, and welcomed us into the home. One of the men, Jerry Maxwell said they were just about to watch a video, and would I like to watch it, it was called ‘Where Jesus Walked’ I replied that I would. After the video, the focus was on me, all wanted to know about me, and after mentioning about my involvement in dogs, Jerry and Kitty Maxwell , who were also involved in raising and working with dogs, began sharing their dog stories. I was fascinated with the warmth of my reception, and the ‘at home’ feeling I was experiencing with these people, none of whom I knew. That night I left Jeffs home with an invitation to attend church on Sunday.
Sunday came all to fast, I wore my best set of jeans and one of my best shirts, not white, I didn’t have one. The welcome by the members, none of whom I knew, was warm and genuine, like being among old friends. I must admit I was a little shocked at being at church for three hours, I was already to leave after the sacrament portion but stayed, more out of curiosity than anything else. It seemed to me that the members actually enjoyed being in church and were very active in the lessons being taught. For about two years as a child I had attended the Church of England church, which if I remember was about two hours long, the first hour was a lecture by the priest, and the second hour was Sunday school, which I think I enjoyed. I actually enjoyed attending this Sunday, and found no doctrine that sounded difficult to understand, or differing from what I already believed. Attending church on Sunday would be a challenge to my weekend activities with various dog clubs, I decided to take it on a week by week basis. Two Sister missionaries were assigned to teach me the gospel, both were about 21 or 22 years old and both were very good looking so this overcame what little resistance I had.
Appointments were kept, and Sisters from the ward were with the Sister missionaries when they came to visit, each visit was concluded with a challenge of some sort, at first it was to read the Book of Mormon, and as the lessons progressed the challenge was for baptism. I felt as if I was in no hurry to join this church, it would severely affect my social and work life, so although I did read the Book of Mormon, my heart was far from it. At the end of the Book of Mormon is a challenge, in Moroni chapter 10, I took this challenge, I knelt down on my knees and prayed to know whether the book was true or not. I remember at the time that I did not want an answer because I would have to change my life, and although it would be a blessing to change, change comes hard to me. I received no answer to my prayer.
Not receiving an answer did not affect my attending church, I often thought as I arose in the morning that I would not go, but always seemed to be there for the first meeting. I had started reading the Book of Mormon over again, Linda and I were starting to get serious, and friendships were forming with church members, life was beginning to change for me. Eventually I agreed to enter the waters of baptism, even though I had not received a personal witness that the Book of Mormon was the word of God. I felt different, I started feeling good about myself, and was enjoying the associations with the members. Jerry Maxwell, and I drove to Utah for a General Conference of the church, happens every six months, in his little Honda Accord. What a great trip, we stopped in Saint George going and coming home, and at the conference I was blessed to shake hands with one of the Apostles, Boyd K. Packer, and after shaking his hand I knew he was one of the Lords chosen. When I reached the challenge in Moroni Chapter 10 this time it was very different when I got to my knees. I received a witness from the Holy Ghost as to the truthfulness of this book. I have often attempted to explain this witness but words escape me, this is a personal feeling, one that must be experienced by us as individuals.
It has been about 28 years since this happened, and over that 28 years my testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ, has had its ups and downs, never so low as for me to leave, or even think of leaving the church. I know that this is Jesus Christ’s church, I know that the Book of Mormon is sacred scripture, and that anyone would draw closer to God by abiding by its precepts. That Jesus Christ lives and loves and cares for each of us regardless of whether we are members of the church or not. Looking back on my life I see the many blessings I have received because of my faith in Him whose church this is named after. I share this testimony in the name of Jesus Christ.
Open Thy Mouth
One Tuesday night in November 2012 at the St George FamilySearch Library we had three groups of patrons in the center at the same time. A group of young women filled the Class Room, a room with 9 computers, a group of young single adults occupied every chair in the Staff Room, a room with 13 computers, and the third group, a ward from Santa Clara Heights filled the Research Room, our largest room 30 computers.
The young women were the first to arrive, at 6pm, they were assigned the Class Room because they were the smallest expected group. Assisted by Sister Diane Wittwer, I presented the lesson on Indexing, indexing is a process where volunteers, both members of the LDS church and non-member, transcribe the information from documents, such as Census records, WWII Draft Registration cards, or any other type of document, into a database in a set format that will allow searches, such as name, date, and place search, to be performed. The transcribed information from these documents is checked for accuracy up to five times before being published so that the world can search these records, for free, for their ancestors. Most of the lesson time was taken up by helping the young women get a LDS account which they needed to be able to index. By 6:50pm the girls were ready to index by themselves for the next hour or so.
Stepping out into the Research Room one of the 7pm groups, the Santa Clara Heights ward had arrived and were talking and finding an empty seat in front of a computer. This is Elder and Sister Hammons, two of our FamilySearch Library missionaries, ward. Believing Julie Hammons was going to be teaching this ward, she is a great teacher, I relaxed and walked in the kitchen for a drink of water. I am not sure how it happened but by 6:55pm I was notified that I was teaching this group 'FamilySearch Family Tree." Family Tree is a subject that I am familiar with, but I have never taught a class on it, so was ill prepared to do so now. A short prayer zipped through my mind, before I knew it I was addressing the group. The introduction to the class and the following forty five or so minute lecture that followed were in my voice, but were not from my brain. There is a scripture, Moses 6:32 "Open thy mouth and it shall be filled, and I will give thee utterance". The Lord blesses those who go forward in faith, and this day He blessed me. I believe the Lord and his servants, the missionaries at the FamilySearch Library, blessed the lives of most if not all those who came to learn this night. I can only speak about those individuals I helped, they accomplished tasks on Family Tree they had been trying to resolve for years. Each vowing to return to the library soon. At the end of the evening the excited chatter of happy patrons was a testament to me of the presence of the spirit of Elijah.
The young women were the first to arrive, at 6pm, they were assigned the Class Room because they were the smallest expected group. Assisted by Sister Diane Wittwer, I presented the lesson on Indexing, indexing is a process where volunteers, both members of the LDS church and non-member, transcribe the information from documents, such as Census records, WWII Draft Registration cards, or any other type of document, into a database in a set format that will allow searches, such as name, date, and place search, to be performed. The transcribed information from these documents is checked for accuracy up to five times before being published so that the world can search these records, for free, for their ancestors. Most of the lesson time was taken up by helping the young women get a LDS account which they needed to be able to index. By 6:50pm the girls were ready to index by themselves for the next hour or so.
Stepping out into the Research Room one of the 7pm groups, the Santa Clara Heights ward had arrived and were talking and finding an empty seat in front of a computer. This is Elder and Sister Hammons, two of our FamilySearch Library missionaries, ward. Believing Julie Hammons was going to be teaching this ward, she is a great teacher, I relaxed and walked in the kitchen for a drink of water. I am not sure how it happened but by 6:55pm I was notified that I was teaching this group 'FamilySearch Family Tree." Family Tree is a subject that I am familiar with, but I have never taught a class on it, so was ill prepared to do so now. A short prayer zipped through my mind, before I knew it I was addressing the group. The introduction to the class and the following forty five or so minute lecture that followed were in my voice, but were not from my brain. There is a scripture, Moses 6:32 "Open thy mouth and it shall be filled, and I will give thee utterance". The Lord blesses those who go forward in faith, and this day He blessed me. I believe the Lord and his servants, the missionaries at the FamilySearch Library, blessed the lives of most if not all those who came to learn this night. I can only speak about those individuals I helped, they accomplished tasks on Family Tree they had been trying to resolve for years. Each vowing to return to the library soon. At the end of the evening the excited chatter of happy patrons was a testament to me of the presence of the spirit of Elijah.
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