I am nearly 80 years old. Years ago my two daughters were taught the gospel and were baptized by a returned missionary who had been a high school friend. I was broken-hearted because I believed my religion to be the "true" one. Over the years, the girls tried to tell me about their beliefs, but I'd reply with, "You believe what you believe, and I'll believe what I believe. I'm too old to change!"
Years later one of my sons-in-law was dying of bone cancer at age 32. It was a long, painful death. I saw what the Relief Society sisters were doing to care for my daughter's two very young ones and were preparing meals for all four while she spent her days at the hospital. When death was near, I went with her to pick out a burial plot and suggested she purchase a double one so they could be together someday. My wise daughter said, "Mom, it doesn't matter where I'll be when I die. Bob will be there to take my hand."
Then came the funeral. My husband, Wilfred, and I had never witnessed a Mormon ceremony before. We were very impressed and said we would pay the bishop for the service. Again, my daughter said, "Mom, the bishop doesn't take pay; this is an act of love." After the funeral, the family returned to my daughter's home to find the Relief Society had brought in a lovely meal.
As the evening wore on and we were all comforted, I told my daughter that we needed to find out more about her church. As soon as we left, she phoned her bishop, who, in turn, phoned the bishop in our ward area and the very next morning we had three lovely sister missionaries call on us. (We didn't know about the fast missionary chain-of-events.) Two were full-time missionaries, Sisters Billie Levy and Joyce Yates. Sister Ann Roth was a young stake missionary. We invited them in. As they taught us the gospel we felt the influence of the Holy Ghost telling us it was all true. I was 57 and my husband a few months younger when were were baptized on July 10, 1977.
That was 22 years ago last month. We were sealed in the Los Angeles Temple on July 15 the following year. My husband was a double amputee above the knees and spent 53 years in a wheelchair. He died more than two years ago in the calling of high councilor. — Barbara H. Warren, Mt. Pleasant, Utah
Illustration by John Clark.
