Dear Dad,

Nick taught a lesson that included Family Home Evening today at church.

I thought about you. 

I thought about how you and mom tried so hard to follow the counsel of the church. 

Now that I'm an adult, I realize how hard it must have been to have Family Home Evening every week.

To get all nine people in our family in one place. 

To get us all there and all of us have an assignment.

I never remember you being cross or throwing your hands up in disgust when one of us complained.

My very favorite family home evening of all time was when you let us wrap those raw eggs up in boxes and packing material and drop them off the roof.  I don't remember the point of the lesson - just that my egg broke because I wasn't a very good packer and that we had a good time as a family.

And I remember how excited you always were about refreshments.  Especially when it was root beer floats.

I wanted to say thank you.  To you and mom. 

For honoring and keeping your commitments.  Even when it was really, really hard.

This story from Elder Eyring about his dad reminds me of you:


"To appreciate this story, you have to realize that it occurred when he was nearly eighty and had bone cancer. He had bone cancer so badly in his hips that he could hardly move. The pain was great.

Dad was the senior high councilor in his stake with the responsibility for the welfare farm. An assignment was given to weed a field of onions, so Dad assigned himself to go work on the farm.

Dad never told me how hard it was, but I have met several people who were with him that day. I talked to one of them on the phone the other night to check the story. The one I talked to said that he was weeding in the row next to Dad through much of the day. He told me the same thing that others who were there that day have told me. He said that the pain was so great that Dad was pulling himself along on his stomach with his elbows. He couldn't kneel. The pain was too great for him to kneel. Everyone who has talked to me has remarked how Dad smiled, and laughed, and talked happily with them as they worked in that field of onions.

Now, this is the joke Dad told me on himself, afterward. He said he was there at the end of the day. After all the work was finished and the onions were all weeded, someone asked him, "Henry, good heavens! You didn't pull those weeds, did you? Those weeds were sprayed two days ago, and they were going to die anyway."

Dad just roared. He thought that was the funniest thing. He thought it was a great joke on himself. He had worked through the day in the wrong weeds. They had been sprayed and would have died anyway.

When Dad told me this story, I knew how tough it was. So I said to him, "Dad, how could you make a joke out of that? How could you take it so pleasantly?"

He said something to me that I will never forget, and I hope you won't. He said, "Hal, I wasn't there for the weeds."


Thank you for being an example to me, dad. 

I love you,