Thank You, Mom

On Monday, my siblings and I all spoke at our mother's funeral service. Below is the text of my talk:

I’ve spent the past few days thinking of gratitude. With Thanksgiving this week, I’m sure it’s been on your minds, too. In the eight days since Mom passed away, I’ve also been thinking about her life and influence on me. And I’ve come to realize that the two things are very much intertwined. I’d like to share with you eight reasons why I am grateful for my mother.

Thank you, Mom:

… for keeping the faith. When you were 16 years old, missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints taught you the gospel. The young, nervous, and inexperienced elder had been in England for just a few weeks, but he had a light about him as he told you of Joseph Smith’s First Vision. You immediately knew it was true. You put your hand to the plow, so to speak, and never looked back. You remained true to this knowledge throughout your life. You loved the gospel and taught us to love it, too. Your life was your testimony to us.

… for prioritizing a temple marriage. Because you couldn’t find someone in your part of the globe who could take you to the temple, you came to Utah to look for him for yourself. That decision led to you Dad. I’m pretty sure you helped pray Jana into my life. It took a while, but it was worth waiting for.

… for going into the unknown. At age 21, you got on an airplane all by yourself to travel thousands of miles away to an unknown country in a faraway land. You put one foot in front of the other and kept walking. Many years later, when it was my turn to make my own journey all alone, a continent away, to my mission in Peru, a place where I knew no one, you had already shown me it could be done and that I could succeed.

… for teaching me the power of simple faith. Great things are brought to pass by small and simple things (see Alma 37:6). When Mike and I were just little and we lived in Michigan, Dad took the four of us home to Smithfield for the holidays for a visit. On the way home, we got caught in a terrible blizzard somewhere in Iowa. Our car’s engine died, and we crawled to a halt in the middle of nowhere. Dad got up to look at the engine and couldn’t figure out what was wrong with it. Frustrated, he came back to the car and sat down. Mom suggested, “Why don’t we pray?” Dad’s response to that became legendary in our family: “Prayer?! At a time like this?! Well, that’s what Mom then did … and the car started right up. We traveled safely the rest of the way home.

… for giving selflessly. You carried me for nine months. Figuratively, you never stopped carrying me after that. You changed my diapers. You taught me to walk. When I was a nerdy kid who dressed up as Superman a lot, and I embarrassed you when you took me to the grocery store wearing that outfit, you warned me I shouldn’t climb up on the roof and actually try to fly. You packed school lunches, planned birthday parties, and bought me clothes that didn’t get me beat up at school. When we returned from delivering our paper route on more than one cold morning, you were waiting for us with hot chocolate on the stove. You were always there, and we could always count on you for anything we needed. You laughed with me and cried with me through myriad experiences.

… for teaching me to love learning. You taught me to read and helped instill in me a lifelong love of books. When I had books to read in high school and college, you got your own copy of those books and read them on your own so we could discuss them together. You and Dad watched “Jeopardy!” with us religiously. I remember listening to the West Side Story soundtrack that you would play on our record player. (That’s at least three music formats ago. Yes, kids, I’m old.) You helped us to love the theater and other creative pursuits. You helped me learn to play the piano and the trumpet.

… for taking an interest in my interests. You bought me He-Man, Optimus Prime, and the G.I. Joe hovercraft. You came to Jr. Jazz and church ball games and soccer games. One year, you were even my soccer coach when none of the dads stepped up to do it. (We took second place, losing only one game. One of my teammates on that team, Matt Murri, was just elected to the Bountiful City Council. Congrats, Matt!) When I was interested in art, you had some of my drawings framed and displayed them prominently in our home. You came to my improv shows even though you couldn’t hear most of what was being said.

… for being fun. You took us to movies and Five Points Mall and Lagoon and Disneyland. You also took us home to England. When you came to Peru with Mike and Ben to tour the country for a week and then bring me home, you came to love the people and places there as I had. This happened in February, when “Carnaval” is celebrated throughout Latin America. In Peru, the kids would go out with the lone goal of getting people wet, and they would use water balloons and hoses and everything else they could think of. Many people would stay home rather than go to church each February for fear of getting soaked. It turned into one big game of mud volleyball in some places. Anyway, we were walking through the streets of Cusco (a real place, kids, not just a place in a Disney movie) when a truck full of people pulled up. A group of kids got out, carried over a garbage can filled with water, approached Mom, and said, “Agua?” With her limited knowledge of Spanish, all she could reply with was, “Si, si!” They then dumped the entire contents of this garbage can over her head while her three cowardly sons ran for cover. (Not my finest moment!) But Mom thought it was hilarious, and she just laughed it off.

I’d like to conclude my remarks with something from one of Mom’s favorite movies, Mr. Holland’s Opus. She watched this movie I-don’t-know-how-many times. If you’re not familiar with it, it tells the story of Glenn Holland, a man who wants only to compose music. However, the reality is he can’t, because he has a wife and son to provide for and needs to pay the bills. So, he takes a job as a high school music teacher. The film recounts his more than 30 years as a music teacher and ends when he is forced to retire due to budget cuts. By this time, he still hasn’t composed his great symphony. His students past and present, however, throw him a surprise farewell assembly. One of those former students has by this time grown up to become governor of the state. She gives a speech that I’ve slightly adapted the language of here, and I feel it appropriate for Mom as we look back on her life:

"Mom had a profound influence on my life and on a lot of lives I know. But I have a feeling that she considers an important part of her own life misspent. She sometimes agonized over whether her own family would accept the gospel in the spirit world. In her final years, she was always saying she had so much Family History work left to do. But Mom didn't accomplish these things, at least that we know of. So, it might be easy for her to think herself a failure on this point. But she would be wrong, because I think that she's achieved a success far greater. Look around you, Mom—wherever you are. There is not a life in this room that you have not touched, and each of us is a better person because of you. You've made history in your own family. Your work has only just begun, and you have all the time in the world to do it. We are your symphony. We are the melodies and the notes of your opus. We are the music of your life. Generations in this family, yet unborn, will call you blessed.

I was reading my scriptures yesterday when I came across this verse: “If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable” (1 Corinthians 15:19).

Were it not for Christ and His Atonement and Resurrection, we would fall to pieces at times like these. We would truly be miserable. But because of Jesus Christ, and because He took away the sting of death, we have great reason to rejoice. Mom also loved Christmas, and as we now enter another Christmas season, we will have multiple reminders of Him and, therefore, countless reasons to rejoice. Another of her favorite movies was It's a Wonderful Life. Mom's life truly was wonderful.

If my nieces and nephews here are having a hard time today, I would invite you to remember the movie Inside Out and this important lesson: It takes Sadness to know Joy, and vice versa. It's OK to feel sad, especially at times like these, even though we might want to always have joy.

I'd like to bear my testimony that our Heavenly Father's plan is wonderful. I am grateful for the ministering of angels, and it gives me comfort to think that Mom may already be among their number. I'm grateful for the gift of the Holy Ghost. I have spent the last week becoming reacquainted with Him, and the comfort and peace I have felt in spite of our loss has been overwhelming. In the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.