January 1978

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

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