As an uncertain eight year-old, I sat on the front row of the chapel and stared at my mother’s casket. I tried to pay attention to the speakers, but my age and circumstances made it hard.
More than forty years later, I only remember one of them. My aunt. She probably stood up to eulogize her older sister, but it was her testimony of Jesus Christ and His resurrection that I remember.
It was January in northern Utah. Bitter cold and foggy outside. But inside the building the light of the gospel burned, conferring Light and Truth. And inside my heart a burning flame was lit.
The Holy Spirit seared those words into my heart and gave me the gift of believing in my Savior and Redeemer.
On special occasions — my baptism, my marriage, the birth of my children — I know my mother has been watching. But more importantly, I know she will rise on the morning of the First Resurrection because of Jesus Christ.
May 20, 1946 — Dec. 31, 1977