Legacy of Faith

This past Saturday was my Grandma Anne's funeral.  I don't know if this is even allowed, but my brother sneakily FaceTimed us into the service so we could see and hear all the tributes given and songs sung. It was a huge blessing to take part in that, even from a few thousand miles away.
I have now been to three funerals of grandparents. I feel very blessed that I had a unique and wonderful relationship with each one.  I have a wonderful relationship with my Grandma Marilyn, who is my only living grandparent. My Grandma Rosemary, who died a few years before I was born, has had an angel hand in my life. These are all special blessings.

I remember when Andy and I got sealed in the temple. Elder Marlin K. Jensen performed our sealing and talked about the importance of our family legacy. He had served with both of my grandfathers and knew Grandma Pinnock well. He taught about the importance of honoring that legacy of faith by teaching our own children the gospel and remaining faithful to the promises we were making. It was a very tender part of the sealing. My Grandpa Albert, Grandma Marilyn, and Grandma Anne were all in the sealing room that day. Though each of them were battling poor and feeble health, I knew their testimonies were as strong and solid as can be.

I noticed something at both of my grandfather's funerals and it was no different at Grandma Anne's. You could not separate the Gospel of Jesus Christ from the person when recounting his or her life. I took particular notice of that this past weekend. My Dad and each of his siblings gave wonderful tributes and shared personal memories they each had with her.

My Dad mentioned how loyal she was as a wife and helpmeet. She lovingly supported my Grandpa in all of his callings and responsibilities. Even after his death, she went on to share a light with others and sprinted to the finish line.

Aunt Annette talked about her faith and the power of her prayers. We all kinda felt that Grandma's prayers carried a little more weight;)

Uncle Marc talked about the many ways she would serve others and help them receive of the blessings of the priesthood.

Uncle Jon talked about her love of the Book of Mormon and her love of sharing the gospel. To her, the purpose of a Cruise was to find someone to share the Book of Mormon with. And she did! At her funeral, there were copies of the Book of Mormon with her testimony written in each one. This was her gift to others.

Uncle Nate spoke of her love for the Savior and her endurance to the end. She would drag her failing body to the end in order to make sure someone had been served with Christlike love.

Aunt Andrea spoke of Grandma pushing her walker down the street with a hot meal resting on it, on her way to give it to a sick friend. She recounted a few memories of her spreading the love of Christ and her testimony of the Restoration.

Of course, interspersed were funny stories and anecdotes of the loving mother and wife she was. But central to all of what was shared was her legacy of faith.

Grandma's passing and  funeral happened at an interesting time. Somewhat jokingly, when I heard she had died, I thought to myself, "Grandma would decide it was time to go at my 35th week of pregnancy, the cutoff for being able to fly home!" But I think there is a special reason of why some things play out the way they do.

This past week or so, I have been able to do a lot of reflecting and I have been able to have some tender conversations with my husband. Though I would have loved to be with the whole family this past week, I have felt her presence very near.  The veil between earth and heaven has felt very thin.  I have been somewhat private about my pregnancy, with the exception of a few pictures and blog posts about ultrasounds. But I have had some sweet, tender experiences and I know that my grandparents are developing a relationship with our baby and are preparing him or her for life on earth.

Along with reflecting about our baby, I have also been thinking about my own faith and the importance of my beliefs. After hearing tributes to my Grandma's love for the Book of Mormon, I have been thinking about what role it plays in my own life, and how I am going to share that with my own children. For most of my life, I have been a sponge, soaking up gospel knowledge from my parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, youth leaders, etc. I would like to think that I have always had a lot of faith and a conviction early on that the Gospel of Jesus Christ was true and that it was restored through Joseph Smith in the Latter Days. I think I have always know that God loves me and that the Savior lives.

But that testimony and faith were going to be tested big time.

The role of "sponge" was added upon when I decided to serve a mission. I would continue to soak up spiritual knowledge, but now had a mission to take that message to others. And it was terrifying. I felt comfortable baring my soul over the pulpit in Sacrament meeting or mission prep class. I thrived having gospel conversations with those that got it.  But in Oakland, California, the majority of my audience were those who could care less about religion.  In fact, there were many people we would meet knocking on doors who would not only say "No thanks," but would find every way of telling us what idiots we were for believing in such things as angelic visitations or the Book of Mormon. I remember my enthusiasm slowing waning throughout many of those days. Fortunately, I had good companions and got to serve with many other missionaries at the Temple Visitor's center. After really bad days, we would all buoy each other up and would be able to share the message of the gospel with those who came to "our turf." 

Sister Yeung and I

Then, my full-proselyting time came. For the next 6 months, no serving in the Visitor's Center. I still had a companion, but I would be in my area the whole time.  It all started out well. We actually had a lot of people to teach, and we had appointments in our planners (something I hadn't experienced in my last area). It was fun to teach people who were searching.  After a few months, some stopped progressing or just said "No thanks" all together. A lot of these days were spent just trying to find new people. And I will be honest, it was depressing.  There was one particular day that would change me forever.

Sister Yeung and I were knocking on doors on a street near Lafayette when we were approached by a man who wanted to talk to us. At first I lit up, thinking to myself "wow, someone coming to us!" But my hopes were quickly dashed when he started going off about what idiots we were for trying to share our message. He said he had read parts of the Book of Mormon and thought it was garbage and that what we were teaching was complete nonsense.  This was nothing I hadn't heard before, but for some reason, that day my defenses were completely down.  The testimony I thought I had always had felt like a raft that had been perforated by a thousand tiny pinholes. "Maybe he is right," I thought to myself.

We went on with the rest of our day.  We went to have dinner at a member's home, had an appointment or two, and planned for the next day. My heart wasn't really in it.  I could not shake off what I let inside my heart that day. I think I said my prayers that night, but I mainly just remember crying. It was as if something very palpable had died inside me. One by one, I sifted through doctrines in my head, doubting them.  I woke up the next morning, not feeling any different.  I dreaded going outside to another day's work.  My companion went on with her personal study, so I went over to my desk to at least look productive. Her desk was in the other room, so I did have this room to myself for an hour or so. I knelt down to begin my study with prayer. Then came the sobs. I don't think i have ever plead in a prayer the way I did in this one.  I basically said, "Father, I am sinking fast, and I need you to provide me with some kind of evidence that you are hearing my prayer right now." After my prayer, I just waited by my bedside. I was hoping to hear an actual voice, like those experiences you hear in missionary homecoming talks. No voice. Just silence. I'm not a very patient person, so I got up and picked up my scriptures. I opened up to a random page, with a little prayer in my heart that I would receive an answer. The chapter was Mormon 8.  At this point in the Book of Mormon, Moroni is trying to flee away from the Lamanite army, and he is all alone. He writes his last words on the plates and explains how they will come forth. He also talks about the last days, and how the children of men will be lifted up in the pride of their hearts and doubt the Savior. I proceeded to Chapter 9.  One by one, Moroni testified of each of the doctrines I had doubted. Then came the comfort in verses 18-21.

18 And who shall say that Jesus Christ did not do many mighty miracles? And there were many mighty miracles wrought by the hands of the apostles.

 19 And if there were miracles wrought then, why has God ceased to be a God of miracles and yet be an unchangeable Being? And behold, I say unto you he changeth not; if so he would cease to be God; and he ceaseth not to be God, and is a God of miracles.

 20 And the reason why he ceaseth to do miracles among the children of men is because that they dwindle in unbelief, and depart from the right way, and know not the God in whom they should trust.

 21 Behold, I say unto you that whoso believeth in Christ, doubting nothing, whatsoever he shall ask the Father in the name of Christ it shall be granted him; and this promise is unto all, even unto the ends of the earth.

I read these verses over and over again. I felt so many of my fears dissipate and I felt embraced with love.  More than anything, I knew what I was reading was true and that it testified of a loving, unchangeable God and Christ. And if these verses were true, then so was the Book of Mormon in its entirety. And if the Book of Mormon was true, then Joseph Smith really did translate it my God's power and restored the gospel in its fulness. As I felt each dot connecting, I felt strengthened. God was aware of me, even among the billions of His children. As long as I kept calling upon Him, I would not sink.

This was the point in my life when the Book of Mormon took on very special meaning.  I had always appreciated the scriptures, but from this point onward, I needed them and loved them.  Though this record was written centuries ago, it contains the words of Christ, which are always relevant. No matter what we are going through, we can read the Book of Mormon and the Spirit can tell us how to move forward. More than anything, the Book of Mormon reassures us that God still speaks to us today, that He is a God of miracles and that His love for us is unchanging. His greatest gift of love is our Savior, which the Book of Mormon testifies of more than any other book. It is considered the keystone of our religion, because without its doctrines and testimony, everything else crumbles.

There is a lot of opposition out there. With the internet, there is so much information, both true and false. There seems to be more unanswered questions, which lead to doubts. I have my own questions, some of which have been answered and others still pending. But my peace and consolation is the Book of Mormon. I will get answers in due time because I trust God. His promises are true, and I am reminded of that when I read the Book of Mormon.

I hope my conviction of this can be part of the legacy I pass on. I am grateful for those who have gone before me and have helped instill a love of the Lord inside me.  

Links that I love in reference to the Book of Mormon

mormon.org

https://www.lds.org/ensign/1996/08/being-a-missionary-church?lang=eng

https://www.lds.org/manual/preach-my-gospel-a-guide-to-missionary-service/what-is-the-role-of-the-book-of-mormon?lang=eng