Sometime ago, a friend posted on her Facebook about her 5 year old daughter reading a book that included a description of hoary marmots. Her daughter carefully read the description of the "hoary Mormons" that whistled loudly when predators, such as coyotes, came around. "Hey," I thought, "I resemble that remark." And so I do. Except for the whistling part. I don't whistle when coyotes come around. But I am an old, hoary (well, mostly bald, but the stuff that IS there is grey) Mormon living in Sin City, USA.
I've been thinking a lot about being a hoary Mormon. I've been one my whole life, at least the Mormon part. I didn't get hoary until I had teenagers, but that's a story for another day. The story for today is the "Mormon" part.
Three of my four grandparents were Mormons, and two of those came from old Mormon stock. My maternal grandmother was a Cockayne, and her family had been LDS for a long time. My paternal grandmother was an Allphin, and they had been LDS since the early days of the church. Israel Dodge Allphin had crossed the plains with the Mormon pioneers and had settled various locations in the west as directed by Brigham Young.
My paternal grandfather's parents had joined the church in Switzerland in the early 1900s. My great grandfather wanted to bring his family to the United States, but couldn't afford passage for all ten of his children aboard the Titanic. He had to settle for another ship, upon which he was able to get a job and get his family to America.
My maternal grandfather was Catholic, but he supported my grandmother and my mom and her sister in attending the LDS church.
My parents were married in 1971 in the Oakland LDS Temple, which overlooks the San Francisco Bay Area from its perch on the eastern bench. Nine months later, they were blessed with a nearly perfect son. He had a tendency to whistle when predators approached, but otherwise, he was good. Over the years, my parents added 7 more little rodents to the brood--five more boys, and two girls.
I didn't intend for this to be a life history, but it's headed in that direction. We were all raised LDS, but we were all afforded the ability to choose for ourselves what we would believe. Belief was easy and natural for me, and although I spent some time pushing the boundaries, I ultimately found that I wanted to be a Mormon.
At age 19 I served a mission to Oklahoma City. I spent two years there preaching the Gospel and serving people I didn't know, many of whom did not like me simply because of the badge on my chest. It was humbling and life-changing, and it engrained in me even deeper the convictions I had gained during my youth. I have never seriously questioned my faith from that time.
Fast forward to yesterday and today. I am now a 43 year old truly hoary Mormon. Still no whistling about predators, though. I have the choice opportunity to serve with missionaries that are doing the same thing I was doing all those years ago. For the first year, I had Elders, which means male missionaries who are a whole lot younger then me. (Side story, one night during a lesson, the young woman that the missionaries were teaching offered a prayer in which she thanked the Lord for the "Elders, and the older Elder [read: me]" that were there to teach her and her boyfriend.) For the last 14 months, though, I've had Sisters.
The work is different between the two. I think that's primarily because I can't just pick up the Sisters and head out with them. Something fishy about an older-Elder-hoary-Mormon running around with two 20 year old young women, I guess, that doesn't seem right. But I have many opportunities to go on teaching appointments with them.
It was through the missionaries that I met T and K and their family. T and K have a big family--five kids plus one in the oven. They are also a choice family. T works hard to support his family, and K is a happy and loving mother. The lessons for them went really well. They seemed to be what missionaries call "golden", meaning they accepted the teachings without argument or complaint. They were well prepared for receiving what the missionaries were teaching.
Clorinda and I had their family in our home for dinner and a lesson, and we both went to their house several times with the missionaries. After a while, the Sisters invited the family to be baptized, and they accepted.
Yesterday was their big day. They asked me to perform their baptisms, which was an incredible honor. I have been able to perform individual baptisms on occasion, but I've never been involved in a whole family's conversion before, even as a missionary.
T was the first, and he was very emotional. K followed, and then their three kids that were of age. The spirit was clearly present--feelings of peace, love, and joy filled the room, and tears flowed freely. When his boys were teasing him later about how they'd never seen dad cry, T simply explained that they were "tears of joy."
Today in church they were confirmed and received the Gift of the Holy Ghost. This is done by the laying on of hands, and includes a blessing of guidance and direction from Heavenly Father. I was again privileged to be asked to perform that ordinance for them. Thank you, T & K, for giving me the honor. I love your family.
I'm not sure I have the words to describe the feelings that come from sharing the blessings of the Gospel with friends, old and new. I wish I could say that it made my life blissful and easy and practically perfect in every way, but it doesn't. What it does do, however, is give me direction and peace, an understanding of who I am and where I'm going. On those days where nothing seems to be right, it helps me to step back and broaden my perspective. It gives me hope that I can be with my family forever, despite my weaknesses and shortcomings.
And it whistles to let me know when predators are near.
