When you live in a small town and
someone passes away, the whole community is affected. It was probably someone you are related to,
someone you went to church with, a neighbor, a friend, a coworker, or someone
you’ve known since you were a kid. Let’s
face it. If you’re from St. Johns, you
know a lot of people.
Except for the first six years of
my marriage, I have lived here my whole life.
Peter and I lived in Tucson after getting married. I will never forget how worried I was about dying
while we lived there. The fear was due
to this feeling I had that if I died, no one would go to my funeral. OK, well maybe my Bishop and his wife, my
visiting teachers (maybe), our home teachers (who came over one time in the six
years we lived there), or possibly the Relief Society President if she didn’t
have a prior engagement. It seems silly
to think about now, but I was really worried about having no one show up!
I have always loved this little
town. I never wanted to leave! Mostly because of the people who live in our
town. I really love the people
here. There are so many people in this
town who have impacted my life. Looking
back, it was God doing his work through others.
It wasn’t so obvious back then, but I was later taught this principle in
an amazing way.
There is a family in town who lost
their son in a motorcycle accident. The
mother of this family is a relative of mine, but while growing up I didn’t have
the privilege of knowing her very well.
I attended the funeral, but I tried to keep my distance. I just didn’t know what to say or do. After the funeral, it seemed like I was
running into her more than ever, but I still tried to keep my distance. Many of my prayers during that time were
definitely in her behalf, but I was asking Him to comfort her.
One morning after dropping my three
oldest children off at school, I found myself at the stop sign facing the
cemetery. You know the one right in
front of the City yard. Well, instead of
making my normal left turn to go home, I went straight up to the cemetery. I remember my three-year-old son, who was in
the back seat, asking me where I was going.
I told him “I don’t know; let’s see.”
When I got to the top of the hill, I saw her. My devastated relative laying across the
grave of her son. Hoping that I hadn’t
been seen (not likely since I was in my diesel SUV), I quickly turned around
and started back down the hill. I
instantly started questioning God. I
knew he sent me up there, but I wasn’t what she needed. I couldn’t help her,
and I didn’t know what to say!
I will never deny that my SUV
turned itself around. Before I knew it,
up the hill back to the cemetery I went.
I was pleading with God, “If you’re going to send me, tell me what to
say!” When I got to her, I picked her up
off the ground and just held her. Then
the words came to me! I said, “God
brought me to you.” I had never felt
anything more powerful in my life! From
that moment, my testimony of our Heavenly Father’s love for his children was
set in stone.
I am grateful every day that I was
born and raised in the “Town of Friendly Neighbors”. People matter here. People are remembered when they pass on. Living in this town gives me confidence that
I matter in this big world. We have a
loving and caring Father in Heaven. He
knows each of us and is aware of our needs.
We are his instruments. We are one
of the most important ways He shares His love, His service, and His
blessings. When I look back, I see all
the times God sent someone to help me. I
live in a town of God’s instruments!
