Feeling a little dispirited one day, I took a hike in the Rocky Mountains of southern Alberta . I was not very hopeful about my progress towards perfection, and my weaknesses lay heavy in my heart. It was late spring in the valley. The flowers were out, the trees full of leaves, and warm breezes were blowing. The higher I climbed, the less green I saw. Snow lay in patches on the trail. After a few hours of climbing, I saw very few signs of spring. All around it was still cold, still winter. I sat down on a rock to rest and began to ponder and pray. I noticed a little bush in front of me; it had tiny green buds on it—just the promise of spring. As I stared at it, the little plant seemed to whisper these words, “In the highest mountains, spring comes late.” I wondered what these words meant until I had studied the green buds long enough to realize that our lives can be much like that little bush. We’ll never be content with the valley and the spring that comes early at the foot of th
(Rebecca M. Taylor and Vaughn J. Featherstone, “Friend to Friend,” The Friend (Liahona), Aug. 1995, 12). When I was young, my father was often away from home because of a serious alcohol problem. My mother had to work full-time to support us, and I began to do many of the household chores for her. Mother taught me how to scrub floors and how to wash clothes in an old washer. . . . When I was about 11 years old, many of Mother’s relatives came from out of town to have dinner with us one Saturday night. Such visits were rare, so she spent the whole day getting the dinner ready. She prepared a pot roast and all the vegetables to go with it, mashed potatoes and gravy, salads, hot rolls, and dessert. She cooked all day, and soon the dirty dishes started stacking up. After dinner, everyone brought the leftover food to the kitchen, then went into the living room and began to visit. I remember going back to the kitchen, thinking, Mother works all week long, and now she’ll have to do the
Memorial Service for Mary Ellen Ryder 6 September 2008 * Boise State University Student Union Building Friday, September 5, was a late summer day, with searing sunshine, cool breezes, and pure blue skies. It was a good day for the drive north on I-15 and I-84 from Salt Lake to Boise. There was no hint of the recent tragedy, no sign of the disaster, except for small stretches of scorched land near the freeway in a few places. At a rest stop near Boise, a “Biker Mama” said that she used to live in the Columbia Village where the fire occurred. She said that news reports stated that the fire spread very quickly, that homes just exploded one after another as flames devoured dry brush nearby. After I got settled in a hotel near the Boise State University campus, I took a drive north on Highway 55, winding my vehicle and my thoughts up the beautiful Payette River canyon in the evening light. I wanted to have a sense of Mary Ellen’s landscapes in Idaho, to see some of the places she had
Comments