My Stake Conference Talk

I was asked to speak in stake conference on Easter.  I was not super excited about doing it, but when the stake president called, I felt like I had to say yes.  How do you say no to the stake president?  He told me that he felt I had a good connection with children, and asked me to address my comments to them, focusing on Easter.

What I had initially thought would be a somewhat nerve-wracking experience (and was), turned out to be a real blessing.  Because the children were at our ward building with Mikayla and Guy, and I was sitting on the stand at the stake center, I was able to listen to the whole meeting.  I was uplifted and spiritually refreshed, something I am certain would not have happened had I been wrestling with Brandt and Blythe.  I hope my comments added to the spirit of the meeting.

So here is my talk:


My husband Kent and I are the parents to two children.  Brandt is five, and Blythe is three.  At our house, we love stories.  We all like to read books, and one of my favorite things to do each day is snuggle up with the children and read to them just before they go to sleep.  Brandt and Blythe also like to have us tell them stories we make up.  Brandt likes adventure tales where he rescues those in distress or achieves feats of daring-do.  Each morning as Kent walks Brandt to school, he tells him of magic rings that give Brandt extraordinary powers, secret doors leading through dark and sinister passageways, and evil villains Brandt must fight in the daily battle between good and evil.  As they leave the house, I frequently hear Brandt say, “And so . . .” as he expectantly awaits the beginning of the day’s saga.

Blythe, on the other hand, demands princess stories.  She wants to hear of tea parties in fancy clothes and sparkly jewels, and outings in the woods to commune with nature and forest creatures.  She likes to go along with Brandt on his adventures, and she is determined to have her stories turn out as she envisions, frequently derailing our plots so the story turns out as she wants.  Blythe also asks me to tell her the story of Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf every other day or so.  I tell this one really well—I’ve had lots of practice.

Our children also love to hear real stories from our lives.  They never seem to tire of hearing about the time Kent, when only four, fell out of a tree onto his head and fractured his skull.  Or when I inadvertently locked Brandt, then only eighteen months old, in the car while in Las Vegas and had to have the paramedics come and help open the door.  We share stories of our parents and grandparents so they will know of the goodness of their ancestors.  And we tell them over and over again about the day each of them came into our home and became part of our family through adoption, and about their respective sealing days, two of the very best days of our lives.  I especially love telling and retelling those stories because they help our children know how much we love them and how grateful we are they are ours.

There is another story our children love hearing and ask for practically each week.  Some time ago, in an effort to help Brandt and Blythe be more reverent during the sacrament, I got a number of small pictures of Jesus in various settings.  There is a picture of his birth, one of him studying the scriptures with Joseph, being baptized by John, healing a blind man, embracing children.  I thought the children would respond especially well to the last one; that they would relate to Jesus and the children.  But I was wrong.  Instead, each week when I take the pictures out of my church bag at the beginning of the sacrament, they fight over the picture of Jesus immerging from the tomb.  They will say to me, almost always in their non-church voice, “Mom! Read me this one!”  And this is the story I tell.

John 20: 1-2  "The first day of the week cometh Mary Magdalene early, when it was yet dark, unto the sepulchre, and seeth the stone taken away from the sepulchre and two angels sitting thereon.  Then she runneth, and cometh to Simon Peter, and to the other disciple, whom Jesus loved, and saith unto them, They have taken away the Lord out of the sepulchre, and we know not where they have laid him."

Together Peter and John ran to the tomb and found the burial clothes, but the tomb empty.  They were puzzled, "For as yet they knew not the scripture, that he must rise again from the dead.  Then the disciples went away again unto their own home." (V9-10)  Continuing in verses 11-16.

But Mary stood without at the sepulchre weeping: and as she wept, she stooped down, and looked into the sepulchre, and seeth two angels in white sitting, the one at the head, and the other at the feet, where the body of Jesus had lain.  And they say unto her, Woman, why weepest thou?  She saith unto them, Because they have taken away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid him.  And when she had thus said, she turned herself back, and saw Jesus standing, and knew not that it was Jesus.  Jesus saith unto her, Woman, why weepest thou?  Whom seekest thou?  She, supposing him to be the gardener, saith unto him, Sir, if you have borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, and I will take him away.  Jesus saith unto her, Mary.  She turned herself, and saith unto him, Rabboni; which is to say, Master.

When Jesus tenderly spoke her name, Mary recognized him.  She was so happy to see him because she loved him.  She had been weeping, but those tears became happy tears, just like the ones we cried when the children were sealed to us.

This story took on greater significance to me this past year when my father died unexpectedly.  Like Jesus’ family, friends, and disciples, I have shed many tears in my father’s absence.  I miss him.  However, I rejoice this day, this Easter morning, and every day I think of my dad, that Jesus was resurrected, and that because of his resurrection, we will all be resurrected too.  I know he died and I know he lives.  With Paul, I can say, “O death, where is thy sting?  O grave, where is thy victory?” (I Cor 15:55)

I never tire of sharing my testimony of the empty tomb with my children.  On Monday, our family home evening lesson was about Easter.  I again related this story to the children.  We looked at the pictures of Jesus on the cross, him being tenderly laid in the tomb by his family and disciples, and his wonderous meeting with Mary.  That night, as I lay in bed with Blythe, we had a very tender moment.  She said, “Mom, I don’t want to be resurrected.”  I asked her why not, and she said, “I don’t want nails in my hands."  I explained about crucifixion and how it doesn’t happen anymore, and then she asked, “Why did Jesus have to die?”  I then explained, in a very simple way, the plan of salvation, telling her about when we lived with Heavenly Father before we came to earth, how Jesus came and lived a perfect life, and how he died and was resurrected, and that because he was resurrected, we will be resurrected.  We will all live again.  Then, as she fell asleep, I sang I Lived in Heaven.  The third verse of that sweet song says, “Jesus was chosen and as the Messiah he came, conquering evil and death through his glorious name, giving us hope of a wonderful life yet to be, home in that heaven where Father is waiting for me.

 I know we are children of a loving Heavenly Father who wants us to return to him and, through our Savior Jesus Christ, made that possible.  I know we belong to the true church of Jesus Christ, and that this gospel is the great plan of happiness.  I know that families can be together forever through the great sealing power of the priesthood.