Thursday, July 16, 2009


Neil is from the Philippines. Some people found him homeless and brought him to my father. He moved in with my parents and worked the farm to earn money for his mission. I have never had more tender feelings for my father than while watching him with Neil. He senses his need, not only for stuffed pigs to sleep with, but for human touch. I watch him doctor a small cut on Neil's hand. A nineteen year old is perfectly capable of caring for his own cut but my father understands the power of his touch, and his nurturing to this hungry spirit. In the absence of any other family my father leaves his livelihood to bring him to the MTC along with 2 other young Filipinos he has taken under his wing. We tour the city, the sights, go through the temple . . . At night I find my exhausted father sitting under the stars helping these beautiful young men process their experiences. They share and laugh.

Briz, the girls and I try to help him with his self imposed task for a day or two. I watch the Lord reach out his hand over and over in small ways in the hours we spent together to touch the lives of these young men. I see and feel his love for them in the smallest act. "How strange," I think, "that the God of the universe gets involved with tiny details such as bringing all the Filipino sisters to talk with these boys." Yet he did. "Why then am I in such current crisis and turmoil? Where is the small act for me?" I ask. The answer comes immediately. "First daughter, when I don't act it is because there is always benefit in the experience for you. Second, Can't you see my hand?"

Oh. yes. I feel rather small. The best thing you could have done for me was done by my earthly father. You are there. I am just too wrapped up in my pain to see what you have done to help me regain my strength. Thank you.

1 comment:

  1. I don't have my 'read between the lines' glasses on but I sense that if I did there would be much more written.