1. Power comes from our faith in the Savior, Jesus Christ.

The first thing I want her to know is that there is great power in our faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. Faith is not just to believe in Jesus Christ, it is also showing that we believe Him by obeying His commandments. The Savior taught that if we have faith as a mustard seed, we could move mountains (Matthew 17:20). More importantly, if we have faith in Jesus Christ it can change our lives—and our hearts. Faith is a defining character of Disciples of Christ. From ancient times, women of faith have seen and experienced miracles. The widow of Zarephath is an example of a faithful follower of Christ. There is a famine in the land, and the people are starving. The Lord commands Elijah the prophet to go to Zarephath, saying, “There I have commanded a widow woman there to sustain thee” (1 Kings 17:9). Elijah arrives at the city and finds the widow woman, asking her to bring him some water and a morsel of bread. The woman replies that she has only a handful of meal and a little oil, and she is on her way to make a final meal for herself and her son before they perish (1 Kings 17:10-12). Elijah tells her,

Fear not; go and do as thou hast said: but make me thereof a little cake first, and bring it unto me, and after make for thee and for thy son. For thus saith the Lord God of Israel, The barrel of meal shall not waste, neither shall the cruse of oil fail, until the day that the Lord sendeth rain upon the earth (1 Kings 17:13-14). 

Elder Jeffrey R. Holland, a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles (with the First Presidency, the governing body of The Church of Jesus Christ), said:

Then this understated expression of faith—as great, under these circumstances, as any I know in the scriptures. The record says simply, “And she went and did according to the saying of Elijah.” Perhaps uncertain what the cost of her faith would be not only to herself but to her son as well, she first took her small loaf to Elijah, obviously trusting that if there were not enough bread left over, at least she and her son would have died in an act of pure charity. The story goes on, of course, to a very happy ending for her and for her son.

This woman is like another widow whom Christ admired so much—she who cast her farthing, her two mites, into the synagogue treasury and thereby gave more, Jesus said, than all others who had given that day.

Unfortunately, the names of these two women are not recorded in the scriptures, but if I am ever so privileged in the eternities to meet them, I would like to fall at their feet and say “Thank you.” Thank you for the beauty of your lives, for the wonder of your example, for the godly spirit within you prompting such “charity out of a pure heart.” [1]

These women are not known for the letters behind their names, but for the strength of faith that they showed when times got tough. It is this power that can get us through anything—because it is power beyond our own. Faith helps us access the help of the heavens in our times of need. It is the power to move the spiritual mountains in our lives. Or, rather, it is the power to climb the spiritual mountains in our lives and reach the other side.

2. Your contribution to the Church and the world are based on who you are—not whether you hold the priesthood.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DkUwh1YUMtE

I think there comes a time in the life of almost every woman who is a member of The Church of Jesus Christ when she wonders if her role is really that important because she will not be ordained to the priesthood (which is the power that God gives to man to act in all things for the salvation of His children). I wondered that when I was younger, so it wasn’t really surprising that my daughter does now. But I love what Elder Neil L. Andersen, an Apostle of Jesus Christ, said:

We sometimes overly associate the power of the priesthood with men in the Church. The priesthood is the power and authority of God given for the salvation and blessing of all—men, women, and children.

A man may open the drapes so the warm sunlight comes into the room, but the man does not own the sun or the light or the warmth it brings. The blessings of the priesthood are infinitely greater than the one who is asked to administer the gift. [2] 

And all those who keep the commandments of God are entitled to the blessings of the priesthood. Elder Andersen continued:

To receive the blessings, power, and promises of the priesthood in this life and the next is one of the great opportunities and responsibilities of mortality. As we are worthy, the ordinances of the priesthood enrich our lives on earth and prepare us for the magnificent promises of the world ahead. The Lord said, “In the ordinances … the power of godliness is manifest.”

There are special blessings from God for every worthy person who is baptized, receives the Holy Ghost, and regularly partakes of the sacrament. The temple brings added light and strength, along with the promise of eternal life.

All of the ordinances invite us to increase our faith in Jesus Christ and to make and keep covenants with God. As we keep these sacred covenants, we receive priesthood power and blessings. [2] 

Women are not ordained to the priesthood, but they have as much access to the blessings of the priesthood as the men. Women are not less because they are not ordained to the priesthood. This is one important concept that I want my daughter to understand. Elder Quentin L. Cook, an Apostle of Jesus Christ, said:

God placed within women divine qualities of strength, virtue, love, and the willingness to sacrifice to raise future generations of His spirit children.

A recent United States study asserts that women of all faiths “believe more fervently in God” and attend more religious services than men do. “By virtually every measure they are more religious.”

I was not surprised by this result, particularly as I reflected on the preeminent role of families and women in our faith. Our doctrine is clear: Women are daughters of our Heavenly Father, who loves them. Wives are equal to their husbands. Marriage requires a full partnership where wives and husbands work side by side to meet the needs of the family. …

Much of what we accomplish in the Church is due to the selfless service of women. Whether in the Church or in the home, it is a beautiful thing to see the priesthood and the Relief Society work in perfect harmony. Such a relationship is like a well-tuned orchestra, and the resulting symphony inspires all of us. [3] 

Our contribution to the work of the gospel of Jesus Christ is based on who we are. And who we are is based on all of our life experiences, as well as our choices and our education. When we work together—as men and women, husbands and wives, brothers and sisters—we can accomplish much good in our home, in The Church of Jesus Christ and in the world.

3. Women have complementary roles. 

Women are given the gift of bearing children. And make no mistake, this is truly a divine gift. Women enter into a partnership with God as they carry and bear children. My husband is the father of our children, but he did not have the opportunity to carry a new life for nine months— feeling the child move for the first time, having a little companion with you and knowing that this child is fully dependent on you for life. It is an amazing experience, and one that my husband only shared—he didn’t get to experience it on his own. That doesn’t diminish his contribution; his contribution was just different. In a tribute to mothers, Elder Holland said:

Mothers, cherish that role that is so uniquely yours and for which heaven itself sends angels to watch over you and your little ones. Yours is the work of salvation, and therefore you will be magnified, compensated, made more than you are, better than you are, and better than you have ever been. … Know that in faith things will be made right in spite of you, or more correctly, because of you. [4] 

Mothers matter to their children. I took my mother for granted…until she went back to work outside the home when I was 13. It was just for a short time, but I remember coming home from school to an empty house—empty because my mom wasn’t there. I cried the first time she wasn’t there. I was so glad when my parents decided that my mom needed to come back home. My mom went back to work last year, and even as an adult a little part of me was mad because I knew that my access to her would be more limited. She lives thousands of miles away, but I still need her to be there for me. I know my siblings feel the same way. That is the power that mothers hold for their children.

4. Sacrifice is its own reward.

The power of sacrifice in our lives cannot be understated. A line in one of my favorite hymns states: “Sacrifice brings forth the blessings of heaven” (Hymns #27, “Praise to the Man”). This is another principle I want my daughter to understand. We don’t give things up just for fun—we give things up because it’s right. And when we do so without complaint, we are blessed. I quit working outside the home after I had kids. It was important to me and to my husband that we be the ones raising our children. I didn’t want my kids being raised by a daycare or a nanny. That was a choice I made—and one that I have never regretted. The law of sacrifice is a divine law. Sometimes the sacrifice is easy, sometimes it’s not. But it is always worth it. Elder Dallin H. Oaks, an Apostle of Jesus Christ, said:

Many Christians have voluntarily given sacrifices motivated by faith in Christ and the desire to serve Him. Some have chosen to devote their entire adult lives to the service of the Master. This noble group includes those in the religious orders of the Catholic Church and those who have given lifelong service as Christian missionaries in various Protestant faiths. Their examples are challenging and inspiring, but most believers in Christ are neither expected nor able to devote their entire lives to religious service.

For most followers of Christ, our sacrifices involve what we can do on a day-to-day basis in our ordinary personal lives. … Today the most visible strength of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the unselfish service and sacrifice of its members. Prior to the rededication of one of our temples, a Christian minister asked [the late] President Gordon B. Hinckley why it did not contain any representation of the cross, the most common symbol of the Christian faith. President Hinckley replied that the symbols of our Christian faith are “the lives of our people.” Truly, our lives of service and sacrifice are the most appropriate expressions of our commitment to serve the Master and our fellowmen. [5] 

The service to our fellowmen includes the work we do in the home as well as outside of it. When we reach out to others, we are serving them. One of the things that I enjoy doing is volunteering in my children’s classrooms. It’s just a couple of hours a month, but it means a lot to my children. It also helps out the teachers. And I have fun getting to know the kids in the classroom. Just a little act of service can make a big difference.

5. You don’t have to be famous to be important in the world. 

The final thing I want my daughter to know is that you don’t have to be famous to be important in the world. The most influential women in my life have never graced the pages of a history book. Their names have never appeared in any newspaper, and the world wouldn’t know their names if they were—my mother and grandmothers and great-grandmothers. Also included are the many teachers in the youth organizations of The Church of Jesus Christ who loved me, and made sure that I knew it. I had one teacher who recognized that the work that I did for my family outside her class adversely impacted what happened in her class. But she recognized that I was doing the best I knew how—and honored me for it. It had never occurred to me that I was doing service for my family, and I had no idea that anyone ever noticed. I am still humbled at the love these women showed me, and their efforts resonate with me still to this day.

My kids make me feel important when they need and want me around—when my 13-year-old asks for my help in getting ready for Scout camp. Or my 9-year-old wants me to go to her game. Or my 6-year-old wants me to play a game with him. And I feel important when LMK, my almost-12-year-old, wants me to go to the first day of Girls Camp (a camp sponsored by the local congregations of The Church of Jesus Christ for girls ages 12-18) and spend the night so that she can sleep with me in a tent. All of my education, experiences and sacrifices are worth moments like these. That is the power that women hold—the power to change the world, one child at a time.

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My name is Lecia. I am 37 years old. I’ve been married for 17 years and I have four children, ranging in age from 15 to 4. I’ve long regretted the fact that I have no interesting hobbies to reveal, but I do love to read and write. I’m currently serving as first counselor in the Primary, where my little charges insist on telling me a lot more about their families than their parents ever wanted me to know!

I was born into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, but I believe I was converted around the age of 16. At the time, I was serving as a youth tour guide at the Arizona Temple Visitor’s Center. Because of this, I was spending a lot of extra time studying the gospel and trying to find answers to questions that people of other faiths often ask about the church. I spent quite a bit more time than usual on my knees during that period of my life, and I just remember one night when I felt a sweet, peaceful feeling that what I was learning and teaching others was true. I have often found that the experiences I’ve had with the Spirit came with the sacrifice of extra time and effort on my part.

Inside my own head, I often think of my life as a quiet crucible. I haven’t experienced any of the truly heart-rending sorrows this world seems to hand out so readily – my children are healthy and sound, I have a loving and supportive family, and have never suffered abuse or handicap. What I do have is a sweet spouse who has been dealing with chronic pain for the last fifteen years. This long and tedious trial has certainly been worse for him than for me, but letting go of my ideas about being a full-time mom, and learning to carry all of the responsibilities that two parents would generally share has had its difficult moments, to be sure. But I have seen in my own life the Lord blessing me with compensating blessings, and that is what helps me when I feel down. I know Heavenly Father loves me and is aware of my struggles because of the many little hand-holds he leaves for me as I climb this mountain. For every hardship, a compensating blessing is given. For me, these blessings are simple, but many – I almost never get sick, so I have been able to run our household and take care of my family every day, with very few exceptions. My children were blessed with sharp minds, so the time that I don’t have to struggle through their homework with them isn’t missed, because they don’t need it.

This past year has added yet another blessing. Like so many others, my hours of employment shrank, along with my salary, and even my strictest budget tells me that I have a $300 shortfall every month. But somehow, after a whole year of this, I have yet to dip into my savings. I simply can’t explain it, but I know that I am living out my own story of the woman with a little bit of oil in her cruse that lasted until the famine was over. I’m afraid to even discuss it too much, it’s such a wonder.

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I was born in Magrath, Alberta, Canada but consider my home to be Calgary, Alberta. I am a junior high French teacher by trade but my career now is full-time mom. My current calling in the Church is 1st Counselor in the Primary Presidency.

I love photography (photographing my kids especially), making jewelry, traveling, eating out, watching movies with my husband, keeping active and being in the great outdoors.

Being challenged to read the Book of Mormon as a teenager during seminary changed my life and was the foundation of a rock solid testimony of the Savior and His teachings.

I love knowing that there is a plan for us on the earth – that families are forever. I love knowing that we aren’t perfect and that when we make mistakes we can go to a loving Savior who has made it possible for us to return to live with Him.

I know God loves me because I see it in the eyes of my children every day. I feel it in my heart as I kneel to pray, as we sit together for family home evening and I listen to my 5 year-old give the lesson, and as I sing “I Am a Child of God” every night to my son. I just know.
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It was the night before Christmas Eve. John was already asleep beside me, unconcerned about the last minute plans I was making. I had meant to be all ready for Christmas, but I didn’t count on the chicken pox. For three days and nights I had cared for Rebecca and Scott, trying to soothe the constant itching. How annoying, I thought—couldn’t they have waited until after the holidays? But now the worst was over; they would sleep well tonight. As I drifted off, a jumble of images fill my mind – no visions of sugar plums – just things to do: Christmas dinner to make…the house to clean…some gifts to deliver…packages to wrap…toys to assemble…a few more stocking stuffers…a list of phone calls…so much to do…

I was awakened early Christmas Eve morning by Rebecca’s touch. “Mommy, my chin hurts.” I could see some puffiness around one of her chicken pox. I admonished her not to scratch it, and closed my eyes again, but she tugged at me again and said, “I don’t feel good.” I reached for her forehead, wondering why her fever had returned.

Since the first of December, she had been counting the days to Christmas, faithfully reminding us every morning what day it was. Yesterday she had proudly announced, “It’s two more days ‘til Christmas!” But this morning, she didn’t say anything about Christmas.

Medication did nothing to ease Rebecca’s fever. Her chin and cheek became hugely swollen, and she lay on the couch, her eyes dull and lifeless. We couldn’t even coax a smile out of her. Something was terribly wrong.

That evening we admitted her to the hospital. I was vaguely aware of the carols playing over the intercom, the strings of colored lights, and the Christmas tree. Mostly, I noticed how strangely quiet it was. As we carried Rebecca down the hallway, I overheard a nurse say, “Wouldn’t it be horrible to bring your child to the hospital on Christmas Eve?”

Yes, it was horrible. I had cried earlier as I selected one present from under the tree for each of our four boys and said good-bye to them, sending them to my parents’ home. Ten-year-old Gary responded, “We don’t even want to have Christmas without Rebecca.” Often the true spirit of Christmas is manifested in a single moment, and this year, the moment was now. “Bless you, Gary,” I said.

Rebecca had cellulitis, a deadly, strep-like infection of the skin that invades deeper and deeper layers of tissue, threatening breathing passageways and the brain within hours. It was not surprising to hear how fast the disease could spread – we had literally watched her face grow throughout the day. Had we waited too long to call the doctor?

Both John and I stayed in her room that first night, watching, worrying, praying and trying to make her comfortable. In the morning she awoke slowly. The infection had spread under her chin and to the other side of her face. John looked at me from across the bed and said grimly, “Merry Christmas.” Rebecca gazed blankly at a white teddy bear on a chair in the corner – a gift from Santa. I was struck by the contrast of this morning with all the other Christmas mornings of my life: No whispers, no giggles, no squeals, no wrapping paper or boxes or bows, no noisy toys, no surprises.

Funny—a few days ago we considered it a hassle to have chicken pox during the holidays. Yesterday, we worried that she was too sick to enjoy her presents. Today we didn’t care about presents. Today we didn’t care about any of the frantic and frivolous Christmas rush.

For two days, we stayed by Rebecca’s bed and watched the infection grow as an IV steadily pumped a high-powered antibiotic into her tiny veins. Her fever hovered around 105. She was afraid of the nurses who came to test her blood for toxins. She was motionless one moment, and restless the next, and miserable all of the time. I prayed in a way that I had never prayed before, and realized more than ever what an immeasurable blessing it is to know that He lives, to know that He would hear my prayers. I begged Him for a miracle. Oh, please, I kept saying, please make her better.

By the third day John and I were nearing exhaustion, but we began to notice a change in Rebecca. Her appetite returned and her fever began to drop. She felt well enough to be bored. When she saw herself in the mirror, she pouted, “My face looks stupid.” Actually, the swelling was beginning to go down. I lifted my eyes heavenward and whispered, “Thank you for this gift.”

After lunch the next day, I was sitting on Rebecca’s hospital bed, reading a new book to her. “Mommy,” she said suddenly, “I missed Christmas.” Tears welled in my eyes. She was right—she had missed Christmas, but none of the rest of us had. Instead, we experienced the most meaningful holiday of our lives. We understood more completely all the true gifts of Christmas, the gifts freely granted us because Christ the Lord was born a babe in Bethlehem: The gift of hope, the gift of love, and yes, the gift of life itself.

We brought Rebecca home two days later when the only sign of her illness was a knot on her chin. The unopened presents were still under the tree where we had left them nearly a week ago, but they held little meaning for us. We had our Christmas gift.

Grace Crowell penned these words that were so appropriate then, as they are now:

I shall have leisure—I shall go out alone from my roof and my door;
I shall not miss the silver silence of stars as I have before;
And oh, perhaps—if I stand there very still and very long,
I shall hear what the clamor of living has kept from me—the angel’s song.

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~by Jenny

Last night, while tightly hugging me around my neck, my twenty-three month old spontaneously told me that she loved me – for the first time. “I love you.” Oh, how those words hold such magic. I immediately became a puddle of mommy love, Callie melting to the ground with me. I then filed this memory in that ever-growing box in my brain titled “Memories Never to be Forgotten.” I hope this box doesn’t fail me because that is surely a moment that I never want to forget. Callie’s older sister Samantha has a genetic condition and developmental delay so I may never hear “I love you” from her. That’s ok.  I know she loves me. But hearing those words from Callie was a magical moment.

When Samantha was nearly a year old we thought about having another child. Only eight months later we were blessed with Callie. We were scared at the closeness of age with a special needs child but we were also filled with pure joy. When I first saw Callie I instantly fell in love, but admittedly, the mother/daughter connection took some time. I remember holding her on the couch one day and I was overcome with a tremendous amount of love. I thought, “She is my daughter. She is mine.” It seems so simple but it held such strength and power. Memory filed in box. From that day on, I have felt a deep connection with her that continues to grow.

Being a mother of two, I have learned for myself what everyone has told me for years. Each child comes to earth with her own personality. Those mixed personalities combined with love make a family. Samantha loves to cuddle. Callie prefers being chased around. Sammy eats anything. Callie doesn’t. Their differences compliment each other. For instance, Samantha likes to be comforted, while Callie likes to do the comforting. When Sammy is sad, Callie is concerned and gives her sister hugs and kisses.

Of course, there are many similarities too. They’re social. They laugh easily. They’re determined to figure it out on their own – frequently they do.  And they both clearly love their mommy and daddy.  When Callie was born our family became more complete.

There is one more difference that may seem obvious to others, but that I frequently forget: I delivered Samantha in a hospital. Callie was delivered to me by an adoption caseworker. Surprisingly, I have had several people tell me that they could never adopt because they couldn’t love someone else’s child as if he/she was their own. But you see, that child becomes your own. There is no doubt in my mind or in Callie’s mind that I’m her mother and she is my daughter. I understand that she’ll have questions and may want to meet her birthmother. That is why we chose open adoption. But when it comes to love between a mother and her child, it doesn’t matter if the child is biological or not. Callie’s birthmother, as the mother who gave her life, will always love her. That is a mother’s love. And I, as Callie’s mother who raises her, will always love her and think of her as my own. That is a mother’s love.

November is a month of Thanksgiving. It is also National Adoption Month in the United States. For our family, this is extremely fitting that these two are celebrated together. Without birthmothers who selflessly sacrifice so their babies can have a better life, our family would be incomplete. Everyday, we give thanks for adoption. We give thanks for the laws that allow it, and for individuals who sacrifice so families can be complete. As we celebrate the season of Thanksgiving, we also consider the blessings and joys of adoption for many families around the world.

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My name is Anna and I am a mother, wife, sister, aunt, and friend. I’ve been a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints my whole life, yet I’ve had to discover and develop a faith of my own to make it through the challenging times in life and know that God is really there hearing my prayers.

My family has experienced a lot of heart-ache, growth and change that has made me search myself to know who I really am and what is most important to me. I grew up really focused on academics and thought I wanted to be a traveling career woman. I am a task-oriented person who is recovering from being a compulsive type-A personality. I met my wonderful husband in college, and three years after our marriage we had a beautiful little boy and two years later a little girl, changing my view of what is really important in life for the better.

When our son Spencer was 3 years old, he became inexplicably very ill and went through three days of hospitalization trying to figure out what was wrong. It was terrifying as we went through various tests and doctors told us about extremely high white blood cell counts and potential causes like Leukemia. We finally discovered that my son had had the worst level of vesicoureteral reflux—a widening of the ureters causing a “backwash” of urine and bacteria causing serious kidney infections and other bladder problems.

In Spencer’s urinary reflux health issues, there has not been a clear breakthrough for a cure but I’ve seen steady progress, and I see how he has received comfort and strength in small ways. His bladder is improving in that he feels like he needs to use the bathroom, which he did not sense before and he adheres to his potty break schedule every three hours with very few complaints even when it interrupts his own agenda. A few adults have told me that Spencer has told them about his surgery on his own in a way that expresses his strong faith that he will get better. He hears us pray for him as a family and afterward gives us big hugs, saying in a sincere way that melts my heart, “Thank you, I love you.” Prayer provides that comforting assurance that someone is listening and truly does care for us.

All this happened when we lived far away from family while my husband was in graduate school in New York. It was so reassuring to have a network of support through The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as others helped us through the difficult times.

When Spencer’s health became stable I enjoyed taking my kids to the park and enjoyed the wide spectrum of people of all race, religion, political, and cultural backgrounds. Somehow being at the park and having children is the great uniting force for strangers. Children’s play areas have been the best place to meet new people and have interesting discussions. For example, when discussing Spencer’s recent surgery, I often found myself explaining how we pray for a good outcome and how those prayers help Spencer be at peace. One woman sincerely asked me, “Do you really think someone is listening and your prayers are heard?” And I was able to answer with a resounding, “Yes.”

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By: Heather

I am 38 yrs old, married to my college sweetheart now for 15 yrs and have been blessed with three children.  My main job is being a mother and wife, something I didn’t predict for my future had you asked me in college as I was focused on my career path, physical therapy.  Todd and I were married just before we both began our graduate degrees and had a great time living in San Francisco while we attended school.  I worked until I had my second child and though I miss the hospital setting and helping people heal and move again, I know that the work I am doing within my family is where I am meant to be at this time in my life.

Being married to Todd is full of surprises…one of the things I fell in love with was his spontaneity and adventurous streak.  But I couldn’t have predicted that one of the blessings that would come from the union would involve my love of dance.  His sister, Mindi, a dance major at BYU formed a dance company and created, with a few others, a Christmas dance production for the Oakland Temple Hill’s Days of Christmas.  The show, Behold the Gift, has been a testimony builder, a faith-sharing tool and an opportunity for personal fulfillment and meaning in my life.  I have been so deeply affected by it that I count this as one of my greatest blessings.

I discovered my love and talent for dance in high school and continued to take classes in college until the dance dept. was closed at our university.  After returning to the Bay Area with Todd, his sister invited me to audition and since that time, I have had the privilege of dancing in many productions and have had many spiritual experiences.

My first year in the show I had many insecurities about my talent or lack thereof.  Mindi and others involved in producing assured me that our desire to share our testimonies through movement was the most important factor in what would come across to the audience.  I have a strong testimony of this now.  A dear friend dancing that year was injured and just hours before that evening’s performance, I learned her part and went onstage in her place.  It was humbling to feel the power of the Holy Spirit guide me to fill this role.  I know that Heavenly Father’s plan was moving forward and that I was able to do this because of it.

We typically perform three evenings and have a cast testimony meeting just prior to the last performance.  I always look forward to this because everyone is on a spiritual high and is ready to share and build one another through testimony.  Our relationships that have grown through 4 months of rehearsals are the foundation for being open with one another and sharing how the show has affected our lives.  I will never forget one year in particular, a teenage girl in the cast shared her testimony and had me in tears.  She had been withdrawn and often didn’t even seem to want to be at our rehearsals although I could see her dance talent when she was moving.  She shared her testimony that final night, holding back tears and told us of her parent’s divorce and her struggle with her testimony.  How coming to rehearsal each week would give her the strength she needed to get through another week.  I had been so focused on the choreography and physical preparation for the show that I had failed to consider that for some dancers, the more important thing happening was with their spirit, their testimony.  I have witnessed this over and over through the years.

Every year when auditions come around, I think of the sacrifice that my family has to make in order for me to be involved in this production.   Weekly four hour rehearsals, commutes into Oakland and an absent mom and wife during performance week.  It is never an easy decision as priority is family.  Last year I did dance but could feel my body’s age affecting my recovery time post rehearsal.  I felt slower and my body didn’t seem to move as quickly as the younger dancers.  I was 20 years older than the average dancer so what did I expect, right?  I was really struggling with whether or not to even quit.  And then I had a rehearsal where I learned a piece set to “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing”.  I have loved this hymn for many years and when I was dancing to it, I could feel the spirit so strongly, I knew that I was meant to be a part of the show.  The movement felt effortless, it was like I had a power inside me that filled my extremities and gave extra grace to what I was doing. The words to the hymn were a part of my body and I felt like I was dancing my prayer.  And then onstage during this particular piece, I would feel my eyes fill with tears and my body fill with light.

I love to dance and knowing that I can dance my testimony and share it with others has been an amazing experience for me.  I have a greater appreciation and reverence for our physical bodies because of it.  Heavenly Father has given us talents, dance being one of them,  to be developed and used to strengthen each other.  We are here with purpose and I am so lucky to know that one of my favorite things to do is also a way to testify of Christ.  I know He lives.

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This past Mother’s Day, one of the speakers spoke about how her children all had another mother. For example, with her first daughter, a hospital intensive care (ICU) nurse held her baby and knitted her booties to wear when the only other thing she could wear was a diaper while in the isolette.

The speaker went on to tell about her children’s other mothers. Two of her children are adopted. As such, they both have natural mothers who gave them life. One also spent time in foster care. The speaker was able to give birth after adopting, but again, her baby spent over a month in ICU with many other women who took care of her child. She spoke of all the other mothers her children have had in Primary (children’s church class), Young Women’s (teenage girl church class) and all the different influences children have in different stages of their lives. Women around us contribute to our lives, they are other mothers to us.

It was a wonderful talk for a Mother’s Day — speaking to all women. We are all mothers as we contribute to the well being of children growing up around us.

Thank you to all the women in my life. I need your love and support to be who I am, and to help my children be who they need to be. It is especially applicable this time of year as so many children, young and old, go to school and are nutured by ‘other mothers’.

Few of us will reach our potential without the nurturing of both the mother who bore us and the mothers who bear with us. -Sister Sheri Dew

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My name is Marivic and I am a Mormon woman in progress. I say that not so much because I worry about not being the kind of Mormon woman people expect me to be, but because I believe I still need to cover a lot of ground before I become the Mormon woman Heavenly Father wants me to be.

I have been married 24 years to my husband and best friend, Alan, and we have three children, 2 boys and a girl. Our oldest son, Christopher, completed earth life before he turned three years old which is the biggest sadness of our life, but we have faith that someday we will have a full understanding of the plan and have the answers to our questions. I look forward to the day when we are reunited with him, and faith becomes true knowledge, and I can finally comprehend why he left so soon and broke our hearts.

Meanwhile, we have been blessed to have the opportunity to enjoy our daughter and youngest son, both currently wonderful teen-agers. Ah, I know— “enjoy,” “wonderful,” and “teenagers” should be antonymous! Believe me, I often agree, but I can honestly say that Heavenly Father blessed me with good children who fill me with joy and make me grateful for motherhood. It is the hardest but most fulfilling role that I have been entrusted in my life. I am grateful that the gospel of Jesus Christ enabled me to recognize this.

The first time I heard about the Mormon Church was as a young girl in the Philippines. I was about eight years old when Mormon missionaries were first invited in to our home. Unfortunately, my parents were in a sort of “all is well” state common to the prosperous, and my dad told the missionaries not to come back. But times changed. Philippine President Ferdinand Marcos declared Martial Law in 1972, and the people of the Philippines suffered. The years of economic hardship my family endured under the Marcos regime humbled my parents and the next time the missionaries knocked on our door my parents’ minds were open and their hearts were ready. Our family was baptized into the church in 1977.

Being a young Mormon in a predominantly Catholic country was quite interesting. The best education was at private schools run by the Catholic Church, so I attended private Catholic institutions both in high school and college. The nuns and the priests were aware of my religion and were tolerant and kind. They did not bother me about my beliefs but neither did they exempt me from the required Theology classes. So for at least a couple of years I managed to balance being president of my seminary class in the LDS Church and an A-student in theology at my Catholic school. You would think I would have been one confused young woman! But I believe that this experience made me feel secure in my faith and my Mormon identity no matter where I am and what the circumstances are. It taught me not only to be tolerant of people with different values, but to also be comfortable in my friendships with people who do not believe as I do.

My friends in the church and out of the church like to say that I am not a stereotypical Mormon. Maybe it’s because, as some say, I have a lot of spunk. Maybe it’s because, in some ways, I tend to do things atypical of how some may have stereotyped a Mormon wife and mom. For example, except for a brief five-year stint as a stay-at-home mom before my kids went to school (which was an awesome and treasured experience), I actually choose to work outside the home; I am a revenue manager for a large hotel chain in the United States. Also, I do not find joy in baking, cooking, sewing, scrapbooking, gardening, canning, etc. I do enjoy reading, amateur photojournalism, and occasional blogging. I currently serve on the Activities Committee in my ward and as a visiting teacher.

I may not fit some stereotypes, but I am a Mormon woman who is deeply although quietly grateful for the gospel and for the Savior. I pray and I study the scriptures. I also strive to have a clean mind, clean hands, a clean mouth, a clean heart and a clean life. I teach my kids to love, to be kind and courteous, to be happy, to seek intelligence and knowledge, and to have faith. I can only hope these things count in my identity as a follower of Christ.

There are many spiritual experiences that have shaped who I am. These experiences came when serving as a full-time missionary in The Philippines Baguio Mission, and when serving in different church callings throughout the years, whether it be as a nursery teacher or as a Stake Young Women President when I was just in my twenties.

However, the experience which defines me the most, which indelibly shaped me and convinced me that Heavenly Father lives, is the experience of losing my first born child. I was crushed under the weight of overwhelming sorrow, but I was lifted up so I could rise from its depths and allow faith to set me on the path to healing. This experience is so sacred to me I have rarely if ever shared it. But I felt it would be worthwhile to share here.

Twenty years ago this year, my son who was not yet three passed away during his nap. There was no medical explanation for the devastation I was asked to bear. “Undetermined natural causes” was all the medical examiners could give us as the reason for why my world was turned upside down. Suddenly, what I thought was my strong testimony that helped me as a young woman, a missionary, a young bride, a new mother, could not hold me up against overwhelming grief and pain. I found myself desperately needing to know that the plan of salvation was true, not just because I felt it or that it made sense in my mind, but because I know. I needed to know it just like I know with perfect knowledge that the sky is blue, and that I have five fingers in each hand, and that a flame hurts when it burns my skin. I had to know not in the abstract but with absolute knowledge that there is indeed a resurrection and that I will see my son again. If I could not know that, then I decided I would rather die.

I am not sure how much my mother-in-law knew of my struggle, but she arranged for me and my husband to meet with Elder Richard G. Scott (an apostle in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints; the  Mormons) shortly after our son’s funeral. (She was a church office employee back then and was able to do this.) My husband and I went to see Elder Scott and I was determined to get an answer. I did not want an apostle to just bear his testimony to me. I wanted an apostle of Christ to give me a testimony, to tell me how he knew the plan of salvation is true, so I could know it myself. I told Elder Scott exactly how I felt. But of course, and as you already suspected, Elder Scott could not give me a testimony. He shared his testimony, but he could not give me the knowledge and testimony I sought. However, I will always remember what I walked away with on that day. Elder Scott, whether he knew it or not, gave my spirit peace and solace when he told me that it was okay if all I had was faith and not knowledge. He did not judge me or chastise me. He simply told me to keep believing even when I don’t know. Because believing based on faith will carry me to the end, and in the end I will know.

Twenty years later my heart and my spirit are still broken in many ways, and I am still without perfect knowledge. For this I sometimes believe I am farther behind than most Mormon women in their journey back to Heavenly Father. Nevertheless, I am farther along in that path than I was twenty years ago. I can only measure myself against my own progress and not against others’. Along the way I learned to separate the gospel from the cultural expectations of my religion. More importantly, I know now more than I knew back then that I have a Heavenly Father, and to Him I pray. I believe with a deep abiding faith that someday I will see Christopher again. And so I continue in faith to seek understanding, and knowledge— a Mormon woman in progress.

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The Missionary Spirit was written for my daughter Joann’s birthday when she was on her mission in Argentina…. She had one birthday while serving in Argentina, and I wanted to send her something special that didn’t cost a small fortune. I thought of her and how badly she wanted to serve, the sacrifice on the part of the whole family, and the blessings we all received for her service.

The Missionary Spirit

The glow of missionary spirit
Is welling in your eyes.
Love for the children of the Lord,
Yet, unknown, waiting for His message.

A droplet slips across a cheek
Blushed with joy.
The message is delivered,
Reaping gratitude in return for salvation.

Cherish the moment,
Don’t dab it away,
Relish the days,
Hold fast to the spirit.

Return in triumph, knowing
Christ is love, love is charity,
Charity is service,
Service is you.

– by Dianne Billstrom

*This is Dianne Billstrom’s third poem she has shared with us. We are thankful to her for her willingness to share! If you would like to submit your own poetry, please send it to us via email: ‘mormonwomen’ (or ‘mormonwoman’) at ‘gmail’ dot ‘com’.
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