and Keeping Promises Made to the Lord
There are several ways to travel down the same straight and narrow path. You can walk with your head high, one foot in front of the other, soaking in the sun and the beauty with every stride. Or, you can inch yourself along on your upset belly, making mud with your tears and wondering when you will stop having the taste of dirt in your mouth. The way we travel down the path has nothing to do with what happens to us along the way; it has everything to do with what we want for ourselves in spite of it.
I was sent to a mother who loves me with all her soul, and has sacrificed for my happiness since the day I was born. Sheis a kind and generous woman. We have not always understood each other, but our love has remained steadfast. She has tried her best to respect my agency. From a very young age, she encouraged me to choose for myself. She is stubborn and tenacious—two qualities that are quite pronounced in me. She tells me I was born knowing who I am, which is no surprise, considering from whence I was sent. It is my unwavering belief that I existed as a beloved spirit daughter before my birth on earth. I had the same loving Heavenly Parents that watch over me today, except then, I lived in Their presence. I chose to come here, to leave Their perfect care and to prove myself with this mortal test. One day, if I am true and faithful, I will return to Them. That is my ultimate goal. It is what drives me and what brings hope to my soul.My earthly father loved me as much as he was capable of loving, having yielded to the destructive, numbing behaviors of addiction. He left, at my mom’s request, when I was five. During a visit with him some time later I asked him if he drank all the time. He replied, “Not all the time. . .on the days I come to see you, I don’t drink.” Perhaps this is why his visits were so rare. He died five years ago, never having known me.
I was sexually abused as a five-year-old Innocent. He was a friend of a neighbor. I was easy prey. A loving, trusting child, I had just lost the most important man in my life and wanted so much to have the loving attention of a “Dad.” He asked me to sing for him. He told me my voice was beautiful. He was excited to see me! I could not have imagined in my untainted mind the evil designs behind that smile. . . .
Perhaps the most traumatic thing about this heinous deed was the court trial that I had to participate in afterward. I got the opportunity very early in life to stand up for what I knew was the truth. Vivid as yesterday, I sat, feet dangling, in the witness chair. A few minutes earlier I had sat at the head of a gargantuan conference table, surrounded by people I didn't know. My task was to recount, both by pointing to body parts on male and female dolls and using explicit language, the exact nature of the abuse to which I claimed to have been victim. Now, in the courtroom, I awaited questioning. The defense lawyer stood and immediately launched into a well-rehearsed rhetoric of blatant lies. His argument was that I had imagined the whole thing. He told me to my five-year-old face that I was a liar. I had never before been confronted with such a corrupt adult. I shook my head insistently in disbelief. It had happened! Why else would I be sitting in this chair? It had never crossed my mind that my honesty would be questioned. Unequipped to deal with such accusations, I broke down. I cried so hard on that witness stand that the judge took pity on me and called a recess.
Mom took me to a bench in the hall and I buried my face in her lap. I did not want to see the man who had hurt me or his crooked lawyer. I wanted to be anywhere but in that building. When I regained some composure, I took my seat again on the stand. I answered all the questions directed at me, hoping that each new question was the last. I remember feeling embarrassed by my tears. The courtroom was such an “adult” place, and I wanted to be “adult-like” in my composure. There were so many adults there, but I was the only child. Why were all the adults staring at me? Would this bad dream ever end?
Exhausted, Mom and I left the Court building. I told her I never wanted to come back. She assured me I wouldn’t have to, and I tried to put the events of the last few weeks out of my mind. I found out subsequently that my offender had been sentenced to nine years in jail, with the possibility of parole some time before that. Instead of feeling relieved when I heard this news, I was filled with fear. I added up my age with how many years it would be until he could make parole. I thought for sure he could find me, and that he would be very angry with me for putting him in jail. I began to look out for him at school. I became afraid of any man I walked past on the street. I wondered if I had done the right thing by telling everyone what he had done to me. I developed great anxiety and did not feel safe.
The consequences of this brief period in my young life have been far-reaching. I have recognized some of them only in hindsight. It has taken toiling emotional work, the gifts of a very fine therapist, and the consistent application of the Atonement in my heart to heal. I have often taken comfort in the words of the Savior: “But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you; That ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven: for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust” (Matthew 5:44-45). The pain and loss I have endured because of the misuse of this man’s agency has been a great obstacle in my life. I can truly say being faced with the task of forgiving one who has offended me in the most detestable of ways has blessed me with a keener awareness of the reality of the Savior’s infinite sacrifice. Not only did He suffer for and feel all that I have felt and done and all that has been done to me, but He also suffered for this man. My forgiveness was given to my offender in private moments of prayerful surrender. There is a special kind of light that beams into the souls of those who extend this kind of forgiveness in this life. “I, the Lord, will forgive whom I will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men” (D&C 64:10).
The Episcopal Church was my religious home for the first eleven years of life. The congregation I attended was full of wonderful, supportive people seeking to do good and to glorify God. They were a family to Mom and me. They helped Mom take care of me. They taught me what Christian love is. There I learned that there is a God in heaven and that He is intimately concerned with my happiness. I was given the gift of a wonderful religious foundation upon which to build. There was one couple in particular that befriended us and became affectionately known to me as “Auntie Robin and Uncle Keith.” They took me into their home when my mom had no other choice but to be away. When I walked through their door, I was Princess for that day, that hour. I was treasured, taught, and spoiled. They were true Christian love personified.
“And now, behold, I say unto you, and I would that ye should remember, that God is merciful unto all who believe on his name; therefore he desireth, in the first place, that ye should believe, yea, even on his word. And now, he imparteth his word by angels unto men, yea, not only men but women also. Now this is not all; little children do have words given unto them many times, which confound the wise and the learned” (Alma 32:22-23). And, thus, it was with my conversion to the gospel of Jesus Christ and my decision to enter his church and stay.
Albert Ivan Moon, Jr., came into our lives when I was six years old. Having watched my birth father leave not even a year earlier, I was not exactly “open” to having a new man in my life. I drilled him with questions and mustered up as much attitude as I could with my six years of life experience to make sure he knew he was not welcome. I remember riding in the car one evening on the way to dinner and scowling so intensely at the headrest of his chair, I’m surprised he did not jump from the burn of it! He was a kind man, wise and good and very much in love with my mother. He was also patient and remained soft-hearted in fielding my precocious plan to expose him for what he “really was.” Of course, I did not know what this was, but he was NOT my father and that was enough for me. In contemplating the evolution of our relationship, I am reminded of a scripture in 1 John 4 that makes reference to the love of God: “We love him, because he first loved us. If a man say, I love God, and hateth his brother, he is a liar: for he that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not seen? And this commandment have we from him, That he who loveth God love his brother also” (1 John 4:12-21). Al, or “Dad” as I came to call him, offered me simple love, deep and steadfast. He was a most significant link to understanding the love of a Heavenly Father, Whom I would come to know.
Dad was a less-active member of the Church when he and my mom were married. I found out years later that he told her he never intended to return to the Church. Nevertheless, it was not long after we had started our life as a family that he began to have longings to go back. I do not know in detail why he returned to activity, but I do know that without his faith-filled decision, I would not have found this Church when I did. I do believe that his return was, in part, for me. We are taught that each of us has a mission in life. In the case of my dad, I know he fulfilled a portion of his life’s mission in helping me discover the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.
In the years just following their marriage, Mom and I went to church with Dad on Easter, for Christmas, or to hear him speak. Even at my young age, I knew that when I attended church with Dad, a powerful, warm feeling filled my insides. I did not have a name for it then, but I knew it was as real as I was. As I returned to the Episcopal Church with Mom, I noticed that I didn't feel the same feeling. The love that I had for the people there was still very much alive. But, I was aware that my heart was not full, like it was at Dad’s church. I remember the day that I sat in the pew in my childhood congregation and had a moment of pure enlightenment. It occurred to me, “Here I feel nothing and there I feel all lit up inside.” And then the question, “What do I do now?” This question remained in my mind. I could not shake it. I did not know how to proceed. “For behold, the Spirit of Christ is given to every man, that he may know good from evil; wherefore, I show unto you the way to judge; for every thing which inviteth to do good, and to persuade to believe in Christ, is sent forth by the power and gift of Christ; wherefore ye may know with a perfect knowledge it is of God” (Moroni 7:16). The Spirit was sent to me “by the power and gift of Christ” to stir within me these feelings. Also “sent forth” by his power were wonderful friends who would help me to know how to act upon what I felt.
The Wise family, who lived just up a grassy hill from us, formed the next link in my “bridge” to finding the restored gospel. They belonged to the ward that I attended on occasion with my dad. Their two girls, eight and five at the time of my baptism, were my very best friends. I spent afternoons and evenings in the warm comfort of their home. I loved the feeling there. I noticed how precious the children were to their parents and how their love emanated in their constant smiles and gentle ways.
Sister Wise ran a potpourri business out of a small room upstairs. I can still recall the scrumptious aroma that filled that room! One of our favorite ways to pass a few hours was to sit together and stuff lace sachets. On one such occasion the youngest sister sat quietly at a small white writing desk, while the rest of us stood around a utility table happily chatting. The desk faced the wall and was just her size. Unexpectedly, and at an opportune lull in the conversation, this little sister turned to me with wide, questioning eyes. “Lisa,” she began, “if the Church is true, then why aren’t you a member?” It was as if time had stopped. I stood there, among friends, with the innocent and piercing words of this dear five-year-old reverberating through my heart. “I don’t know,” was all the response I could muster. Conversation never picked up again after our brief exchange. After several quiet minutes, I excused myself. I walked solemnly down the stairs, out the back door, and into the sun. My pace quickened to running as I made my way down the grassy hill and into the door leading in from our back porch. I went straight upstairs to my room and closed the door. Reflective, out of breath, and heart racing with the anticipation of some great event—looming, yet still unseen—I spent a few minutes in communion with the Spirit. Those were life-changing moments in that room. I emerged knowing exactly what was expected of me, knowing I had received an answer from Heaven. And so, with heart burning, I walked into the living room and approached my dad. “Dad, I’m ready,” I said. “I’m ready to get baptized.”
The following weeks were filled with learning and peaceful feelings. Visits from both elders and sister missionaries brought truth that I recognized easily and with joy and wonder. What they taught felt so familiar, like I was being reminded. They answered questions I had always wondered about, but for which I assumed there were no answers. They were my angels then, and I love them.
Memories of my baptism day have faded over time. What I do remember most vividly is the sensation of purity that ran through me. I recall sitting down in my chair, after I had changed my clothes, and looking around the room. I understood that I had become a part of a church family. I knew that I was pure before God.
Oh, if only the purity of baptism days could remain! My teenage years were rich with Young Women activities, leadership, sports, friends, and music. I enjoyed a closeness with the Spirit and loved to visit the temple. I promised early, out loud before the Lord, that I would not let anything stand in the way of my getting to the temple to be sealed. I have come to know that sometimes what we promise the Lord ends up requiring much greater sacrifice than we could have imagined. Along the way, in high school, I gave my heart to one who could not take me to the temple. We dated through the end of high school and into the early part of college. We became engaged and set a wedding date. In hindsight, I know I thought I could change him. I saw in him such a good heart, such potential. I did not choose to see what a spiritual distraction he was. Neither did I acknowledge that he was, in many ways, asking me to question what I knew already to be true. He was not a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and even after participating in the missionary discussions, reading scriptures, and praying as a couple, he decided he would not join. This was devastating to me. I was faced with the most defining decision of my life thus far: Would I stay true to my promise, or would I choose this young man whom I loved very much? I suppose this may appear a clear-cut decision. But for me at that stage of my faith, it was not. You see, in the process of allowing our relationship to continue, I had put this young man at the center of all that I was. He had literally taken the place at the very center of my life that should have belonged to the Savior. Because I had allowed myself to forget the Savior in this way, I had lost some of the spiritual strength that I had gained through righteous living. My reservoir had become dry. For this young man, no matter how much I cared for him, could not fill it.
This was a time of great anguish of spirit. Indeed, my heart echoed the words of the prophet Nephi:
“Behold, my soul delighteth in the things of the Lord; and my heart pondereth continually upon the things which I have seen and heard. Nevertheless, notwithstanding the great goodness of the Lord, in showing me his great and marvelous works, my heart exclaimeth: O wretched man that I am! Yea, my heart sorroweth because of my flesh; my soul grieveth because of mine iniquities. I am encompassed about, because of the temptations and the sins which do so easily beset me. And when I desire to rejoice, my heart groaneth because of my sins; nevertheless, I know in whom I have trusted. My God hath been my support; he hath led me through mine afflictions in the wilderness; and he hath preserved me upon the waters of the great deep. He hath filled me with his love, even unto the consuming of my flesh. He hath confounded mine enemies, unto the causing of them to quake before me.
"Behold, he hath heard my cry by day, and he hath given me knowledge by visions in the nighttime. . .O then, if I have seen so great things. . .why should I yield to sin because of my flesh? Yea, why should I give way to temptations that the evil one have place in my heart to destroy my peace and afflict my soul?” (2 Nephi 4:16-23, 26, 27)
I mention this period of my life only because it was a great turning point for me. This was, besides my decision to be baptized, the most eternally significant choice I would make in my young life. It was also a predicament I had brought upon myself. Still, despite my unwise course, the Lord never deserted me. This was both inspiring and baffling to me.A perfectionist, I could not comprehend how the Lord could still believe in me when I had allowed myself to lose sight of the promise we shared. Like Alma, “Oh, thought I, that I could be banished and become extinct both soul and body, that I might not be brought to stand in the presence of my God, to be judged of my deeds. . . .And it came to pass that as I was thus racked with torment, while I was harrowed up by the memory of my many sins, behold, I remembered also to have heard my father prophesy unto the people concerning the coming of one Jesus Christ, a Son of God, to atone for the sins of the world” (Alma 36:15,17). This “atonement” of which I had been taught so often since my baptism day suddenly became more real than it had ever been. Yet, I wondered, could even I, one who had so much given so early and then nearly thrown it all away, qualify for His tender mercies?
“Now, as my mind caught hold upon this thought, I cried within my heart: O Jesus, thou Son of God, have mercy on me, who am in the gall of bitterness, and am encircled about by the everlasting chains of death” (Alma 36:18). I turned to the Father in prayer, restating my deep and unshaken desire to be sealed in His Holy House, acknowledging the many obstacles I had placed in my own way, and asking for His divine help. The words of my patriarchal blessing, “In the due time of the Lord, you will enter his holy House, a temple of the Lord, and there be sealed for all time and eternity to the one of your choice, by one having authority” washed over my mind. “Your choice” echoed over and over. In an instant I was empowered. “And now, behold, when I thought this, I could remember my pains no more; yea, I was harrowed up by the memory of my sins no more” (Alma 36:19). Hope returned to me. Repentance was possible. My dream, my promise, were alive in Christ! “And oh, what joy, and what marvelous light I did behold; yea, my soul was filled with joy as exceeding as was my pain! Yea, I say unto you…that there could be nothing so exquisite and so bitter as were my pains. Yea, and again I say unto you…that on the other hand, there can be nothing so exquisite and sweet as was my joy” (Alma 36:20-21).
A beautiful scripture bids, “For, consider the lilies, how they grow, they toil not, neither do they spin; and the kingdoms of the world, in all their glory, are not arrayed like one of these” (D&C 84:82). Preceding my coming unto Christ at this most significant juncture in life, I did an awful lot of “toiling”—the kind of toiling that turns you upside down inside and lands you in exactly the same place where you started. So much “toiling,” and no reward; so much needless “spinning.” I like that the Lord chose these words. How much “toiling” and “spinning” we, as the children of He who has all to give, do in vain! The Atonement of Jesus Christ allows us to repent and then, when all is done, to be beautiful and “arrayed” as a lily. We do not have to endlessly “toil” to pay off our debts. We give our hearts, our sincere repentance, whatever sacrifice is required. Then, the part we cannot pay is paid by our Savior. The lilies in this verse are given their beauty from the Lord. They are, as we are, the workmanship of His hands.
“If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me. For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: and whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it” (Matthew 16:24-25). Indeed, there is nothing lost in “losing” a life that would separate us from daily divine companionship. In fact, a life alive in Christ is a blessing so great that ANY sacrifice required to achieve it is well worth it. King Benjamin shed light on this subject in his address to his people: “And behold, all that he requires of you is to keep his commandments; and he has promised you that if ye would keep his commandments ye should prosper in the land; and he never doth vary from that which he hath said; therefore, if ye do keep his commandments he doth bless you and prosper you. And now, in the first place, he hath created you, and granted unto you your lives, for which ye are indebted unto him. And secondly, he doth require that ye should do as he hath commanded you; for which if ye do, he doth immediately bless you. . .”(Mosiah 2:22-24).
After handing my life to the Lord, I was immediately blessed. I went to the single’s Ward in my area. I made friends quickly, and was welcomed and loved. At the very first Young Adult Dance I attended, I was introduced to a young man named Brent Frost. He was full of energy and smiles, and was he ever a great dancer! We became fast friends and YA dance junkies. (We often joke that every significant event in the early part of our relationship took place at a Church dance.) Through a mutual friend, we collaborated on some musical numbers for sacrament meetings. Rehearsals with Brent were a blast. He always had a funny joke or an unexpected quirky comment to make me laugh. He also gave dating advice. My favorite piece was, “Remember, the Spirit goes to bed at midnight!” His kindness and positive attitude impressed me. He was as clean-cut and faithful as they come.One night, after about a year of friendship, Brent and I found ourselves at yet another Church dance. "Titanic," the movie, was in theatres and the DJ was giving away the soundtrack. As we danced to the theme song, I mentioned, “I must be the only one in the world who hasn’t seen this movie!” Brent quickly replied, “I haven’t seen it, either.” —LONG SILENT PAUSE— “Do you want to go?” My heart raced. I was sure he could feel it through my back. Was he asking me out on a date? I managed to blurt out a “Sure!” and we set the day and time before the song was over.
From our very first date, Brent and I knew that our most immediate and important goal was serving our missions. As I am three years older than he is, our planned departure dates fell in the same summer. In fact, I left the MTC the day before he arrived. Brent was called to serve the deaf in Florida, Fort Lauderdale, and I to serve the wonderful people of France, Bordeaux. We dated for six fantastic months before my entering the MTC, all the while helping each other prepare to serve the Lord. We resolved that we would write every month or so, and keep away from the really mushy stuff. This enabled us to be a great support to each other, instead of a distraction, in the mission field.
The mission was a time of great self-discovery and meaningful service. It was at once a refreshing spring and a fiery furnace. The coolness of the water was the love of the people and the bond of our close-knit missionary family. The burn of the fire was rejection and loss. I had not been in France two months when I received news that my dad had been diagnosed with leukemia. This was a blow. I was so far from him and my mom. I had not anticipated this as one of my struggles as a missionary. The day that I got the letter, my zone leader and his companion got permission to pay my companion and me a visit. They sang hymns and tried all they could to make me laugh. They were my brothers that day and will be dear to me forever. During their visit I received a priesthood blessing that would change my life. I was told that the Savior himself had wept with me many times in my life. Although I knew He loved me, I had never before considered that He would weep with me. That day, I learned that Jesus Christ knows me intimately. He is by my side, He feels what I feel, and I am His.
After a round of chemotherapy and as I continued my missionary service, the cancer that plagued my dad’s body went into remission. As a family we were thrilled that he had responded so well. I was as grateful then as I ever have been. The beauty of spring in France blossomed out of the bleak winter. I was filled with joy in doing the Lord’s work. I was convinced there could be no better place on earth. Months passed and I received the unhappy news that the cancer had returned. I was aware that there exists no cure for leukemia. Still, I had not expected that it would return so soon. Mom assured me that the doctor believed all would go well with this round of treatment, just as it had before. I took comfort in this and tried my best to focus on the work, instead of the worry.
One sunny spring afternoon, a few weeks later, my companion and I returned to our apartment for some lunch. The steady blink on the answering machine caught my eye. I pressed “play,” expecting to hear the voice of one of our ward members. Instead, it was the voice of my mother informing me that Dad had passed away. I fell to my knees and wept the deepest, most mournful cry I have ever wept. “No!” I pleaded over and over. I looked up to heaven. The Spirit came to offer His warm comfort. Anger arose in me and I pushed Him away. I was so tired of losing!!! How could he have been taken while I was so far? The only one in my whole family who fully understood my love of the gospel and the Church was gone from me! I think I was convinced that if I just kept the faith and worked really hard as a missionary, he would be saved. I thought my prayers and the prayers of my family would be enough. For the first time in my life, I was angry with God.
“For the natural man is an enemy to God, and has been from the fall of Adam, and will be, forever and ever, unless he yields to the enticings of the Holy Spirit, and putteth off the natural man and becometh a saint through the atonement of Christ the Lord, and becometh as a child, submissive, meek, humble, patient, full of love, willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon him, even as a child doth submit to his father” (Mosiah 3:19). In the decision to reject the Comforter, my “natural woman” took over. I let grief engulf me. I waded in it. It became, over the following days and weeks, the principal subject of my thoughts. The work I had loved so much was no longer the priority. I was consumed with what had been taken from me. This spread to memories of other eras of my life. I allowed anger, resentment, and confusion to taint the view of my earlier life. Why had I been sexually abused? What purpose could that serve? How could it be allowed for a good person to lose both of her fathers so prematurely? Did my efforts count for nothing? Did agency mean that God could not protect me from pain?
From where I sit today, it is plain that pain and grief were not the real issues that riddled my last months in France. Pride, believing my will was better than the Father’s, was at the heart of the matter. One of Satan’s greatest assets is our own pride. I did not yet understand that faith is, by definition, distinct from whether or not life is how I think it should be. For, “faith is not to have a perfect knowledge of things; therefore if ye have faith ye hope for things which are not seen, which are true” (Alma 32:21). Faith does not mean, “I will believe and trust the Father when things go my way,” or even, “when I understand fully, then I will believe.” Rather, faith is to say wholeheartedly, “I will believe and trust the Father in all things. I need not understand all things to believe.”
I remained in the mission field for three months after Dad’s death. I returned home almost four months early, depressed and in great need of loving support and understanding. These I received from a few choice friends and from my family. From others I received probing questions, suspicion, and doubt. Because they had not followed my journey of service or my decline in grief, they could not understand what would possess me to decide to cut my mission short. The first assumption by a few was that I must have done something wrong. Little did they know that I served worthily till the end, striving to fight the pain and pride and making efforts, however meager, to look outside of myself. I thought that coming home would fill the void. I thought the easiness of familiarity and the warm arms around me would snuff out the remains of loss. I was wrong. It was a dark, aching time.
During that year in France, I learned that the Savior weeps with us, and that His life can only really be appreciated by living a bit of what He lived. I did not suffer anything close to what He did, but I did get to have experiences that mirrored, in a small way, those He endured in this life. “For what glory is it, if when ye be buffeted for your faults, ye shall take it patiently? But if, when ye do well, and suffer for it, ye take it patiently, this is acceptable with God. For even hereunto were ye called: because Christ also suffered for us, leaving us an example, that ye should follow his steps” (1 Peter 2:20-21).
It took a great deal of prayer, much time spent in the solace of the temple, and humble introspection for me to crawl out of the depression. Sometimes I was hanging on by my fingernails, but I held fast. It is often in our darkest hours that we get down to the raw part of ourselves and discover what we truly are. I cannot count the hours spent on my knees in anguish of spirit, feeling alone.
The Holy Spirit can work miracles with time and faith. The pain was not taken from me all at once. Instead, I was tutored and refined by it. The process was gradual, the message repeated: “There is immeasurable joy to be found in life. Pain and uncertainty are essential parts of our existence here, just as are triumph and certainty.” What was required of me was endurance and a desire to turn to the Lord, instead of away from Him. “And ye shall offer for a sacrifice unto me a broken heart and a contrite spirit” (3 Nephi 9:20). I yielded to the will of the Father, and my heart was mended. I let the Spirit gently coax me to give away pride, and I was healed.
Brent returned home after an honorable mission nearly a year to the day after my return. Toward the end of his service, our letters grew more frequent and his intentions more clearly defined. He arrived home on August 24, 2000, and kissed me that very day (after being released, of course). We saw each other nearly every day after that, and picked up where we had left off with our “dance fever.” We found a dance nearly every weekend somewhere in Southern California.
There happened to be a “Fifth Saturday Dance” the September after he came home. It was a costume dance. We dressed up as Princess Leah and Luke Skywalker. Upon arriving at the meetinghouse, I was immediately whisked away by Brent’s sister, Natalie. It was great that she was so excited to see me, and I gladly chatted as Brent escaped from sight. Little did I know that they, and every one of our friends in attendance that evening, were in on a plot of the most wonderful kind. After a few minutes, Natalie and I proceeded into the cultural hall. We joined Brent on the dance floor and immediately got our “groove” on! As the night progressed, the cultural hall got more and more crowded. There were, at final count, about four hundred dancers there.
At exactly midnight, Brent took my hand and led me off the dance floor, into the hall, and up the stairs onto the stage. I heard “our song” start to play. We usually made it up on stage at least once at every dance, so I did not find this move unusual. He held me close as we danced to the familiar words of “All My Life” by K Ci and JoJo. As we turned slowly, I spotted my dear friend, Deanna, in the corner of the stage. She was holding a video camera, very intent upon capturing this moment. Still naïve to the plot, I thought, “Oh, how sweet! She wants to document our dating days!” I smiled for the camera and lost myself again in our dance.
As the song drew to a close, I could feel Brent fidgeting with something behind my back. “What is he doing?” I wondered. The final chord faded and the DJ turned to us. Into the microphone he announced, “I’m going to hand the mic to Brent.” At this point, my heart began to pound. Brent led me over to the middle of the stage, took the ring box out of his pocket, and spoke the most beautiful words I’ve ever heard. . .“Lisa, will you marry me?” The cultural hall erupted as I struggled to regain the use of my vocal chords. I was doing the “I’m-so-happy-I’m-hyperventilating” cry. After what must have seemed like a year’s wait to Brent, I managed a quietly ecstatic “Yes!” He slipped the beautiful ring on my finger. I took one look at it and decided I should show it to the world. I turned to the four hundred excited dancers below and thrust my newly adorned hand high into the air. The man of my dreams wanted me for eternity!
December 15, 2000, was an exquisite day. Brent and I were sealed in a room next to the celestial room in the Los Angeles California temple. This momentous day, I kept my promise to the Lord. I chose Brent, and he chose me. We formed a new eternal family. Every sacrifice, every heartache was recompensed. Every dream of starting life right for my children had come true! I thanked my Father over and over that day for not giving up on me. Because He stayed close and I reached for Him, I was in the right place at the right time being sealed to the right person.
Mom could not enter the temple to see us sealed. She has remained a devoted Christian, but has told me repeatedly that she has no intention of ever joining the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I long, unceasingly, as did my dad, to share the joy and covenants of the temple with her. Indelibly imprinted on my mind is the memory of sitting next to Dad in sacrament meeting and singing “Families Can Be Together Forever.” Feeling his body shake and hearing his voice crack, I looked up to find tears streaming down his face. It was almost more than I could bear. For a moment, I felt his grief and saw into the deep longings of his soul. This was one of the most difficult times we experienced attending church as only half of a family.
“When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a (woman), I put away childish things” (1 Corinthians 13:11). I admit it was difficult to understand, as a child, why my mom, who was so much older and experienced, refused to embrace something that brought me such joy. It has taken me many years to just love her for who she is, instead of concentrating on what I want for her. My mother is a devoted follower of Jesus Christ. She has been a selfless parent who has stuck with me, even while I was judging her. It is because of her willingness to let me learn that I felt comfortable enough to voice my desire for baptism so early. I know we share a common love of God and Jesus Christ. She has many spiritual gifts, one of which is discernment. She is quite sensitive to the Spirit and has approached me many times after church meetings, or a special church event in which I’ve performed, to tell me how strongly she felt the Spirit speak to her heart.
To be loved where we are for who we are is a desire deep in each of our hearts. I think this is all my mom has ever wanted from me. I have judged her harshly because she has not chosen to live exactly as I do. “If there be therefore any consolation in Christ, if any comfort of love, if any fellowship of the Spirit, if any bowels and mercies, fulfill ye my joy, that ye be likeminded, having the same love, being of one accord, of one mind. Let nothing be done through strife or vainglory; but in lowliness of mind let each esteem other better than themselves. Look not every man on his own things, but every man also on the things of others. Let this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 2:1-5). Although our courses in life have been different, Mom and I have grown in mutual respect and have made great strides in accepting one another. Besides my Heavenly Father, she has been the constant in my life. She has been my rock. I am indebted to her always, and pray that one day the riches of eternity may be hers.
“Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God” (John 3:3). I have been reborn many times during these twenty-nine years on earth. Each time has been an opportunity to “see” the kingdom of God in a new light." My most recent rebirth was the long-awaited arrival of our first child, Hannah. What a joy! What a miracle! I question at times if she is not really mine; that she is just “on loan” from heaven and that They will miss her so much that she’ll have to go Home early.We chose Hannah’s name because we both think it’s beautiful, and, more especially, because I feel a kinship with the Hannah of the Old Testament. What a woman of faith and courage! Brent and I were told the chances of having Hannah were very small—1 percent, to be exact. This was, of course, devastating for two people whose love was meant to create a warm place to nurture little ones. I felt the pain of this valiant woman of God as I struggled with the yearnings of my soul to mother a family and the undeniable odds against me. Still, I knew the promises the Lord had made to me privately and in the scriptures. I held on to these so tight I squeezed the life out of doubt. Against the doctor’s advice, we decided to follow our hearts and just wait on the Lord. We waited for the promises to become reality. Amazingly, I was pregnant within only weeks of the doctor’s “1 percent” declaration. Our God is a God of miracles. Indeed, He is!!
Brent, Hannah, and I share a sweet and busy life. I am currently serving as the Relief Society president in our branch and Brent as the second assistant in the High Priest group. Hannah spends her days absorbing everything she can about the world and learning about love from us. She is a miracle. I do not know a family who is more blessed than we are. The Lord has truly showered us with His love and His choice blessings. His is a welcomed presence in our home. He is the Head of our little family. We are working each day to return to live with Him again.
The Savior Jesus Christ is the Redeemer of all mankind. He is the one on whom my weary head rests as I kneel at the end of the day. He has shed tears for me. He suffered anguish as He descended below all and visited my darkest places. I owe everything to Him: the smile on my face, the cleanliness of my hands. I love him. I am His forever, and He is mine. When I finally get to kneel before Him I imagine my heart will burst with love and my face will glow with the smile and tears of sweet reunion. I can hardly wait for that blessed day!
“For now we see through a glass, darkly;
but then face to face: now I know in part;
but then shall I know even as also I am known.”
(1 Corinthians 13:11)