Lessons Learned from 1961-1963 by David Albert Brown

Each day that I work in my office in downtown St. Johns, I try to take a few moments and contemplate the history of the building. My grandfather, Joseph Albert Brown, served as the St. Johns' Postmaster for many years. When I was a little boy, half of the building was the post office and the other half was my grandmother's Variety Store (which was an antique version of Dollar General). As I sit and remember my grandfather, I am reminded of the important life lessons that I learned attending his and four other funerals during 1961-1963, when I was 6 to 9 years old.

In late March of 1961, I witnessed the entire community come together as planes landed and took off incessantly looking for Virgil and Farr Whiting. They were my dad's older first cousins and, in the Whiting family in St. Johns, first cousins are the same as brothers. All of Dad's first cousins in St. Johns have always been my "aunts and uncles." I remember praying fervently in family prayer that they would be found. I remember the massive funerals and feeling a sense of profound loss for the community of St. Johns. My heart ached for my two second cousins my age who lost their fathers. I never told them this, and they are now both gone.

A few weeks later, my grandfather died at the age of 66 on April 21, 1961. My favorite memory of my grandfather was sitting in the middle of the pickup seat between my dad and my grandfather driving to the farm or the ranch. Grandpa Brown had an amazing ability to make me feel like I was the most important kid in the world. Mom, Dad, Norman, and I visited Grandpa in Albuquerque not too long before he died. I will never forget him telling us that he loved us even though he could barely speak through a tracheotomy from his throat cancer. The impact of the funeral hit me when I touched my grandpa's cold face and saw my dad cry for the first time.

One of my father's favorite uncles was Edwin Isaacson Whiting, known as Uncle E.I. As such, he was also my favorite great-uncle. Life was never richer than when listening to my dad talk to Uncle E.I. about ranching, business opportunities, politics, and family issues. He was a one-man adventure team. Uncle E.I. passed away on January 4, 1963. I was so impressed with the grace and charitable disposition of Uncle E.I.'s good wife, Aunt Ethel. Later, when I was in high school, I had the privilege of home teaching Aunt Ethel with my father. She lived right across the street from the church. It was a royal treat to be hosted by one of the most graceful, proper women I have ever known. Even after burying her husband, four sons, and a son-in-law, she still lived life to the very fullest. She died during my senior year of high school. Partly from the urging of Uncle E.I., Dad ran for the Legislature and began serving several days after Uncle E.I.'s funeral. That decision changed my family's life. In January 1963, we moved to Scottsdale for the legislative session where I disliked the rest of third grade.

The last funeral that impacted me from 1961-1963 was that of President John F. Kennedy, who was assassinated on November 22, 1963. Anybody around my age or older remembers exactly where they were when they heard about the shooting. I was playing basketball at the Pioneer School during lunch time. I will forever remember the feeling of community in St. Johns. For one week in St. Johns, the Catholics and the Mormons prayed together, rang bells together, worshipped together, mourned together, and drew closer together. Truly the worst of times can be the best of times. Indelibly imprinted in my mind is the little black and white TV we had at our house and watching the funeral procession down Pennsylvania Avenue while little John John saluted his father as his body passed by. My entire family wept. Political differences seemed so trivial at the time.

During that 2 1/2 period of my young and impressionable life, I learned many lessons, but these are the most important that I remember now:
1. The Comforter is real, especially in times of tragedy.
2. Family bonds are eternal.
3. God loves little boys.
4. Living in St. Johns is a laboratory of the human experience, and everything good can be found here in spite of death and tragedy.

Four Hundred Ninety by Ina Overson

Last night I had the privilege of attending a truly delightful wedding reception at the fairgrounds in St. Johns. The bride was radiant, her groom adorably proud, and their parents gracious and kind. The decorations were somehow cozy and elegant at the same time and the food was delicious! I looked around at friends and neighbors cheerfully visiting and felt like I had been transported into a Country Time Lemonade commercial! Warm feelings were plentiful and visible on the faces of those around me. Thus is life in a small town…sometimes.

I have also attended events in St. Johns, from city council meetings to Little League baseball games, where there was nothing remotely ideal. The only warmth radiated from tempers barely kept under control--or not. Hostility was abundant and evident on the faces of those present. On these occasions, many of the very same friends and neighbors had found themselves on opposites sides of important issues or even insignificant quarrels. A well-meaning teacher had made a mistake or someone’s tender feelings had been bruised. Sides were chosen. Loyalties were tested.

Such situations are inevitable in small towns. We work together; we coach each other’s children, serve on the same boards and compete for the same promotions. Many of us have known one another for so long that we have had countless interactions and numberless opportunities to offend each other. If you grew up in St. Johns, it is likely that there were wonderful individuals who nurtured, taught and inspired you. It is just as likely that there were individuals who broke your heart, caused you physical pain or even crushed your dreams. Good or bad, these experiences involve people you still know and associate with on a regular basis. If you are raising children here, these experiences become even more acute and impactful!

How do we get beyond these things? Why do we stay when, often, it would be easier to leave? How do we continually associate with former enemies or people we simply do not like? How can we live in such close proximity, sometimes for generations, without becoming the Hatfields and McCoys? I don’t claim to know the answer to these questions for everyone. For me, the answer is forgiveness.

     

In the New Testament, Matthew recorded an infinitely important conversation on this topic between the Savior Jesus Christ, and his apostle, Peter: “Then came Peter to him, and said, Lord, how oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? Till seven times? Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee, until seven times:  but until seventy times seven.” (Matthew 18:21-22) When I think of forgiving someone who has hurt me, (or worse, my child) 490 times, it just seems excessive! However, when I consider being forgiven 490 times, it seems like not nearly enough. I make mistakes all the time! I made them as kid and I make them now. I am so grateful for people who are willing to forgive me! I feel especially grateful for those who assume the best of me; those who realize that I am just a person doing the best I can to live a good life.  I strongly believe that if we all recognize this about each other, we can continue to forgive. If we can continually forgive, with the help of the Lord, we can dwell happily in this small town…at least most of the time.

Shades of Goodness by Paul Otto

Almost nine years ago we packed up all that was important to us, said farewell to New Hampshire and started on a 2,400-mile journey to St. Johns, AZ. My family consisted of Janet (my wife), six of our children (ages 9 months old to 10 years), 5 hamsters and a dog. With sadness we left our New England friends and tried to feel a sense of adventure for the next 36 hours of driving ahead of us. About an hour into the trip, however, the alternator in our rental truck quit working and we were stranded roadside. As I grabbed my cell phone to call for help, I noticed I had a new voice mail message. To our surprise it was from our St. Johns realtor (Patti Rabie)-- the house we had under contract was no longer available, the seller had pulled out of the agreement. Within an hour of the commencement of our "adventure" we were immobilized and homeless! We wondered what we would do when we arrived in St. Johns.

It didn't take long for us to learn that news travels fast in St. Johns. For having no prior connection to the area, we were surprised how much people seemed to know about us when we arrived. But, we also fielded questions like “New Hampshire, isn’t that next to Virginia?” and “Why in the world would you move here?” and “Do you really like the color brown better than green?”

We felt greatly blessed when Craig and Jana Bloomfield heard of our plight (through Patti Rabie) and offered to move out of their house and rent it to us. They moved with lightning speed, as if they had experience with moving a time or two.

The first church meeting we attended in St. Johns was conducted by Bishop Larry Heap. The next Sunday a returned missionary, Elder Heap, spoke in church. I grinned later in the month when it was announced that Roger Heap, from the high council, would speak to us. I wondered to my wife, “Do you have to be a Heap to speak in church here?”

We were warmly embraced by the older generation in town--Ana Hansen, the Rabans, Lambsons, and Ollertons. Ted and Julie Raban were always complimentary and happy to see us. It just so happened that they had the same number of children with the exact birth order according to gender (3 boys, then 3 girls, then a boy). Even years after we had been here, the Rabans went out of their way to make us feel welcomed. Just about a year ago, Ted saw me pumping gas and made it a point to come over and tell me (again) how glad he was that my family “came to our little community” and how we had made it a better place.

Over time, I had the privilege of getting to know “Gooder than Heck” Bill Prentice. To me, Bill is a model of true manhood. Bill has skied down mountain sides in his Army gear, tamed broncos, survived plane crashes, experienced the death of his children, loved and honored his wife, and remained true to his testimony of the Savior. If Bill Prentice is your friend, the world automatically is a better place!

I remember distinctly one Sunday Chris Nielsen, referring to their acts of service, asked the question, “Who will take the place of Bill Prentice and Carl Ollerton when they are no longer able to cut wood?” The question was simple but the implication was powerful: to keep St. Johns a great place, the younger generation needed to rise up and fill the shoes of the older generation. I have come to realize that the goodness of any community depends on each individual citizen's use of his or her moral agency. Through our individual choices, we create together the environment in which we live.

There are so many stories I could tell to illustrate the goodness of the people here. Although I have mentioned experiences with members of the LDS Church, I equally admire and have been affected by those of other faiths like the Meg and Tom Robertson and Tony and Mary Jo Raykovitz families.

Through the good people of St. Johns and their acts of kindness, I have been truly humbled. One particular night, while thanking Heavenly Father for the generosity of our family friend, Orlando Mora, the scripture found in Matthew 5:16 came into my mind: “Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.” Orlando chose to use his talents to bless my family, and by so doing, I realized that he was in essence a messenger or conduit, that the source of his goodness was truly divine; that through him Heavenly Father was sending me a direct message--that he knew me personally and intimately. I began to understand Matthew 5:16 more fully: Our good works have the power to change lives, heal hearts, and ultimately lead people to reconnect with a loving God. I love St. Johns not for the different shades of brown that color our landscape. I love it because, in St. Johns, there's a high concentration of people using their moral agency the way God had intended it when he designed the Great Plan of Happiness.

A Day of Gratitude, of Honor, of Responsibility by Suzanne Hancock

"They hover as a cloud of witnesses above this Nation."

~Henry Ward Beecher

"Who kept the faith and fought the fight; the glory theirs, the duty ours."

~Wallace Bruce

"The dead soldier's silence sings our national anthem."
~Aaron Kilbourn

Unknown Stranger by Christoffer Nielsen

          I, Frederick Nielsen, was born in Lexington, Lee County Texas on the 25th of October 1875.  My father Ole Nielsen died of pneumonia when i was just a babe.  I arrived in St. Johns, Arizona in 1881. Times were hard, we killed one of our oxen and dried it, we lived on that until the weeds started to grow! The first winter we were there we dug a hole in the bank of a hill and put a roof of dirt over it, that's where we lived.  In the springtime we lived in a wagon box until we made an adobe house.  My mother passed away when I was only 13 years old.  I wrangled horse on the old Long H Ranch for my board before being hired on for $25.00 a month.  I worked there for three years then moved back to town to herd sheep for Will Harris.  I begin going with Mary Holgate. We saw each other for three years and then we married December 19, 1899.  We didn't have much but we were happy.
          In the spring of 1912 we moved up to Richville and I farmed for Tom Irwin. I was looking for a farm to buy.  One day a man by the name of Rule Jarvis, who owned the farm just North of where I was working, told me he would like to buy my cows.  I told him I would like to have his farm, so we traded.  I gave him 40 cows for the ranch at Richville. (this is where many Wards in our Stake hold their Fathers and Sons outings)
          I was finally converted to go to the Temple to be sealed to my wife and our children.  We had be saving for a long time for this.  There were only 7 children living, one had passed away.  We traveled by team and wagon and it took us three months and three days to make the trip up and back.  It was a hard trip but pleasant.  We started out on the 14th of June, 1915. Each night at sundown we stopped and made camp, so each could get proper exercise and rest. They boys and I would care for the horses.  After each horse had eaten a helping of grain, they were hobbled and turned lose to graze.  Momma and the girls would get our supper.  After it was over, we sang songs while I played my fiddle.  We told stories and sometimes played games before we had our family prayer and went to bed.  Arising early, everyone would gather around the campfire to have morning prayer.  Then each child would get busy with their responsibilities so we could get on our way.  This same procedure went on each day except Sunday.  On that day we did not travel, but rested and read the scriptures.

          One afternoon we came to a junction in the road and did not know which way to go to Salt Lake.  As we sat there wondering which road to take, i was looking over the beautiful country and i saw a person coming toward us.  As he came closer to the wagon, Mother said, "He has a pleasant face and a nice smile, I'm sure he can help us."  After greeting this stranger he asked if we were having trouble.  I told him no, we just didn't know which road lead to Salt Lake. The Stranger told us, started to leave, turned back, and asked why we were going there.  I told him we had traveled hundreds of miles to be sealed in the Salt Lake Temple for time and all Eternity, and have our eight children sealed to us.  The man said, "Well, in that case you had better take the other road which is a shorter distance to the Manti Temple, because the Salt Lake Temple closes for the summer in two days, and you couldn't possibly make it there in time."  I reached over and patted mother's hand knowing she had her heart set on getting married in the Salt Lake Temple.  I turned back to thank the stranger, and ask him to eat with us, but he was gone!  No one saw him leave, and he was no where to been seen!  You can draw your own conclusions, but we know in our hearts that stranger was sent by a spiritual being to show us the right way to go.  We broke the wagon tongue one time, but that is the only trouble we had.

          This was an account given by my Great Grandfather Frederick Nielsen who set the example for our family to be sealed in the temple of the Lord.  I am thankful to him and my Great Grandmother for their sacrifices and examples.  I'm grateful for the many lessons learned from this simple account of their trip.  I hope we can all remember the sacrifices and service our ancestors have provided us. These acts of service and sacrifice have afforded us all the blessings we enjoy, both temporal and spiritual no matter what faith we belong to.  It is my prayer and hope that we can all provide the same examples and blessings to our posterity!

For All You Moms Who Sparkle by Suzanne Hancock

For my mom's birthday three years ago, part of her gift from us was a children's picture book, The Very Fairy Princess. My favorite line in this book is, "You just have to let your SPARKLE out!" I took this idea and wrote my mom a poem about the ways she sparkled to me. Unfortunately, I never gave it to her. She had surgery on that birthday, and two short weeks later, she departed this earthly life. With so much going on during that time, I just couldn't find the right moment to present her with this gift. It is still one of my regrets that I did not share this with her when I had the chance.

On this Mothers' Day, I hope for three things:
1. I hope that those of you who still have your mothers here with you will tell them all the ways they sparkle. Tell them in writing, tell them over the phone, tell them when you see them. Just tell them while you still can.

2. I hope those of you who have lost your mothers will remember their goodness and carry on their sparkle in your own lives.

3. I hope that all of you who are mothers will realize how much you sparkle in all you do, all you say, all you are to your children.

And now, I share with you the words I wrote for my own mom. I'm praying that she has better-than-Frontier internet service in heaven and can read this blog and know what is in my heart.

Mom's Sparkle

You sparkle by being

faithful and full of faith,

trusting in your Heavenly Father's care,

as He ever holds you

in the palm of His hand.

You sparkle when you

laugh,

especially at an inappropriate comment

someone else made ~

or you made,

shocking us all with the side of you

few get to see and hear.

You sparkle when you listen to music,

shoulder dancing to Abba,

singing that you know that your Redeemer lives,

wiping your tears when a song

touches a place deep within your soul.

You sparkle as an example

of the type of woman

all of us want to be,

compassionate,

loving,

forgiving,

and enduring.

You sparkle in your role of Gramma,

taking each one of nineteen

and making them feel like the only,

playing,

reading,

giving suckers.

You sparkle as a chef,

creating dishes flavored with

sugar, spice, and love,

sharing your expertise

through phone calls,

copied recipes,

and carefully put-together binders

to be used and cherished.

You sparkle

because you are Mom to me,

loving me with all my faults,

sharing my joys and sadnesses,

traveling with me to Washington,

and always leading me back home.

No Wound That Cannot Be Healed by Ryder Nielsen

My name is Ryder Nielsen. I recently returned home from my mission in the Philippines Manila Mission. I would like to share the story of an extraordinary woman from the Philippines; her name is Rose Chit. Sister Rose had it all in her life; she had married the love of her life and was raising 3 beautiful children. Her family had joined the church in 1993 and were very active up until 2004 when her husband had become very involved with the community as a politician. For the next three years they stopped attending church due to the great demand of his schedule. They had slowly moved away from God's light. In the summer of 2007 Sister Rose and her family would face the biggest trial of their lives, especially for her. Her husband had made the decision to run for congress which required him to be at weekly planning meetings for his campaign. After one of these routine meetings her husband returned to their home late in the evening. He walked into his bedroom to find Sister Rose and their youngest daughter, Paulyn, lying on their bed. At that moment 3 masked men holding knives broke through the door and began to stab him. Being petrified with fear, Sister Rose and her daughter Paulyn, who was just 7 years old at the time, helplessly watched as the men stabbed him to death. We can only imagine the great horror Sister Rose and Paulyn must have felt. With deep mental and spiritual wounds from such a traumatizing experience, only God would be able to heal Sister Rose and her family. But she became very angry with God. She felt that He had abandoned her and her family. She quickly made choices that pushed her away from God’s healing hand, turning to alcohol and cigarettes to ease her pain. For the next 4 years she spent her days away from her family hanging out in bars and casinos to keep her mind from facing reality. She even contemplated taking her own life. Although she felt God had abandoned her, I know the whole time He was watching over her, waiting for the right time when she would be humble enough to receive the healing He so wanted to give to her through the Atonement of Jesus Christ.

In April of 2014 that time had finally come as 2 Mormon missionaries came knocking on her door. She recognized us immediately and welcomed us into her home. After many months we helped her to overcome her mental road blocks, and she allowed the Healing and Redeeming power of the Atonement into her life. She returned to activity in the church and her youngest daughter, Paulyn, made the decision to follow the example of Jesus Christ and was baptized. In her own words, she wrote me saying, “I am so much thankful you have been an instrument in opening our hearts and minds to let God back into our lives again.”

The experience I have shared has many principles we can learn from, but the greatest is the fact that God uses His servants in helping and influencing others to use The Atonement of Jesus Christ in their lives. For Sister Rose it was my companion and I. For those of you who may be suffering at this time I pray you will be able to recognize those the Lord has put in your life so that you may also be healed of the deep spiritual wounds you may have. I pray also that we may be instruments in the hands of God to help and influence others in receiving God's love. I pray that we ourselves will not set bounds and limitations on The Infinite Atonement of our Elder Brother. May we always remember the words of Nephi: “Therefore, cheer up your hearts and remember that ye are free to act for yourselves- to choose the way of everlasting death or the way of Eternal Life.”