#GiveThanks for Blessings

Helen and L. Brent Goates

It's that blessed season of the year when we can step aside from the demands of the world and #givethanks for the many blessings we enjoy. This is Thanksgiving week. I begin by giving thanks for the life of my father, L. Brent Goates, who passed to the other side this week five years ago. I love my Dad, and I still miss him every day since his passing. I find myself still reaching for the phone to check in on him, only to realize he won't be picking up the phone. Even the house he lived in has been demolished and replaced by a new home with new owners. What is left behind is a lifetime of memories of him and Mom. Giving thanks for them is a cherished part of this week's celebration.

Mom had this picture taken of them for no special reason, simply because it captured them in their "prime." They were a great example to all of us, and we still miss them when we gather as a family. 

Dad was a Utah fan for most of his adult life until he defected to the "dark side" and turned himself into a BYU fan. Some things in life are simply and emphatically inexplicable. But this week, he would be exulting in both football teams being nationally ranked. 

Whether red or blue, there has been plenty to cheer about this week, and I especially give thanks that on the eve of his 62nd birthday Kyle Whittingham officially became the winningest coach in Utah football history with 142. His team toppled No. 3 Oregon before a record crowd at Rice-Eccles stadium by a score of 38-7. Seriously, who can't be thankful for that? 

So, consistent with its history, the PAC-12 teams have once again beat up on each other this year to knock all the teams out of consideration for a national championship berth in the BCS bowls. I know it's just whimsical in comparison to all the more meaningful things in life for which I am grateful, but I will allow a little whimsy now and then. 

Utah will now contend for the PAC-12 championship in Las Vegas in December, then if they win out will likely get the Rose Bowl bid, a long-sought goal for Coach Whittingham.

This last few weeks we have been celebrating a new missionary in our family, Elder Alexander James Goates. On Sunday we gathered at their ward to hear him give his farewell talk prior to his departure for Peru. He is a great young man, excelling in areas where he has put his focus, including starting his own outfitting business and giving guided tours for fishermen in the Uintas, being a nationally recognized spikeball champ, and of course an outstanding scholar. He will be here for Thanksgiving dinner, then he will be headed out to Peru to take up his labors as a full-time missionary for the Church. We #givethanks for Alex. What a powerful example of goodness and humility!

General Ulysses S. Grant

I have been reading the complete memoirs of President Ulysses S. Grant recently. He was a contemporary of Joseph Smith, and it was his leadership during the darkest days of the Civil War that ultimately produced the victory for the Union troops over the Confederates. We often lament how divided we are today in our politics. You might want to consider reading Grant's memoirs for a little bit of perspective. He rose through the ranks as a somewhat reluctant though willing participant because he believed so ardently in the cause of holding the nation together despite the divisiveness of the country over the slavery issue. Like so many of his predecessors and successors as leaders of armies, he viewed war with absolute disdain and abhorrence because of the waste of men and material. Stories are told of battlefields so littered with dead bodies that one could scarcely walk across and find ground upon which to walk. He is a pivotal figure in our history as a nation and his words in his autobiography are inspiring. He was known in the end of the war as "Lincoln's General," and President Lincoln turned over the conduct of the war without interference from him. He would later be elected as the 18th President of the United States, and was still working on holding the fragile coalition of the states together. Grant might easily have been with the Lincolns at Ford's Theatre that fateful night, but Mrs. Grant was eager to return to their home to visit their children. Grant often lamented the fact that he had been absent, thinking he might have prevented the assassination if he had gone to the theatre that night. Booth also had Grant on his target list. So I #givethanks for heroes proved in liberating strife in our nation's history who filled such a vital role in our destiny as a free nation.

Thanksgiving Journal, Day 5

Will I ever run out of blessings for which I am grateful? I don't think so. My heart literally is filled to overflowing these days. It is the 95th anniversary of my Mother's birth today. I pay tribute and #givethanks for Helen Lee Goates today. She continues to inspire me every day, but especially this time of year whenever Thanksgiving rolls around. Her birthday often fell on this day, as it did the last year she was with us in 1999. She was a violinist and a vocalist. Thoughts of her lead me to my love of music.

I've been pondering this morning that one of the greatest gifts for which I am grateful is the gift of music. 

My love of music began around the age of 8, when my father introduced me to the piano. Grandfather Lesley Goates had purchased a baby grand piano for their small home in Sugarhouse when my father was a child. It nearly didn't fit into the front room of that home. No one played the piano, but Grandpa Goates was a gifted vocalist who led many choirs during his life, and was eager to introduce his fledgling son, Brent, to the beauties of music. I learned on that piano and #givethanks for the memory of that instrument that I had refinished when it found a place in our living room many years later. I am thankful my father persisted with me as long as he did with early morning wake-up calls to practice.

I had two great pianists who I loved to listen to in concert - Grant Johanneson (local Salt Lake City boy) and Van Cliburn. They were each at the pinnacle of their professional careers as concert pianists when I heard them play as soloists with the Utah Symphony in the Tabernacle before Abravanel Hall was built across the street from Temple Square. It was these two who first introduced me to the spectacular concert "workhorse," Tchaikovsky's Piano Concerto No. 1. I am grateful for their musical prowess that always uplifted me.

I #givethanks for Cherry Brown and Charlene Snow, my two piano teachers in the Federal Heights Ward, who labored diligently to teach me the intricacies of the keyboard, harmony and music theory. I never rose to the heights of extraordinary proficiency, but I was adequate enough to accompany the congregational singing in every town where I served in England during my mission. 

At East High School in Salt Lake City, I was further tutored in vocal ensembles under the tutelage of Lorraine Bowman. I sang in her A cappella Choir, Madrigals and the Boys Quartet. Those were days never to be forgotten during our senior year. I was the bass in the quartet comprised of Mark Ethington, Steve Spencer, Doug Richards and me. I #givethanks today for those lifelong friendships. Especially during the Christmas season, those memories were made to last a lifetime because of the influence of music well prepared, well sung and long remembered.

After being tutored by Cherry and Charlene on the piano, I began to branch out and buy my own sheet music, which I loved to play for many years later. My children remember being accompanied to sleep each night with strains of "I've Grown Accustomed to Her Face," from "My Fair Lady."

Speaking of that musical reminds me to #givethanks for my Nana Fern Lucinda Tanner Lee, who loved to play the original soundtrack recording from the Broadway production in New York. She and Grandfather Harold B. Lee had attended the production and still had the original playbill on their shelf. When I would stay with her on the weekends when Grandfather Lee was traveling for stake conference assignments, she would put the record on their large Magnavox stereo console and let me listen to it again and again as she described the action on stage. She introduced me to the theater of the mind. I would pick a spot on the plush white carpet in front of the stereo so the sound from the left speakers was evenly balanced with the sound from the right speakers. It was heavenly, and I was so familiar with the music that I managed to memorize every word of the lyrics. 

The original production featured Rex Harrison and Julie Andrews. Nana was always a little nervous when Rex Harrison as Professor Henry Higgins introduced his song about Eliza Doolittle with the expletive "Damn, Damn, Damn, Damn, I've Grown Accustomed to Her Face." The expletives were about his reluctant admission that he was falling in love, somewhat surprisingly and unwillingly. Knowing it was coming in the soundtrack, she would time her entrance into the room to turn down the volume when that part came up. She didn't want me tainted at such an impressionable age. 

Little could she have known when I entered the Army for basic training that I would hear much worse than that! I had drill sergeants who were skilled in the multifaceted uses of one particular four-letter word which was used interchangeably as a noun, a verb, a preposition, an adjective, and a gerund. Those who have been in the Army, Air Force, Marines, Navy or Coast Guard will tell you exactly the word to which I refer.

That formative introduction to Broadway musicals came from Nana. I would go on to collect the soundtracks of virtually all the productions, and had the chance to see many of them in person. I am so grateful for the uplifting inspiration they often provided. 

But if we're going to talk about inspirational music, how could I do any better than the Tabernacle Choir and Orchestra at Temple Square? Since Mack Wilberg took the reins of the Choir and the Orchestra, they have soared to the highest heights. His arrangements will live on forever. I #givethanks for a heavenly choir here on Earth that was recently named as one of the top ten choirs in the world.

Perhaps tomorrow I will single out some specific arrangements for which I am particularly grateful, but I will conclude today's post to #givethanks for music and its influence in my life.

 

"He Was Wounded For Our Transgressions"

Enough days have passed since a recent automobile accident that I can finally write about it. Up until three weeks ago all my near death experiences had involved horses. Now I can add a one-car roll over to that list.

It was a Thursday afternoon, and I was near home on my way from the office. The skies were clear, the air was warm, it was a perfect spring day. The stealthy all-electric Nissan Leaf I was driving was silently humming along. I put the car on cruise control at the posted speed limit, 50 mph. That was my last conscious memory until the car left the highway and started tumbling.

I hit a tree on the passenger side, and the force of the accident flipped it in midair and landed it on all four wheels in the opposite direction I had been traveling. The force of the impact came from the rear, smashing six of my ribs in my back. When the car came to rest I was strapped into my seat belt surrounded by destruction. All the windows were broken and shattered, and the interior was mangled beyond recognition. All the air bags deployed and I found myself in a protective cocoon inside the car. The car was a total loss.

I first moved my hands that had sustained some broken glass scratches and nicks, then my arms and legs, then my neck. I tried to reach for my cell phone, but the pain in my back was excruciating and I couldn't get it out of my pocket. I knew I had broken ribs, but I also knew my spine was not involved. I would live. I didn't lose consciousness throughout the ordeal. A passing motorist called for help on his cell phone and alerted Patsy.

In due time the paramedics arrived with an ambulance and I was transported on a back board with a neck brace to the emergency room at the Intermountain Medical Center in Salt Lake. The trip was nearly unbearable as I felt every bump in the road and the pain registered in my back.

I will spare the readers all the medical details. Suffice it to say I had never stayed overnight in a hospital in my entire life as a patient. I was told pain management was the only thing medicine had to offer me with my broken ribs. The trauma team put me through a CT scan from head to toe, and discovering no other injuries other than the cracked ribs, offered surgery to mend the bones with titanium plates on the six ribs, but when they described the benefits their case was not compelling enough to me. I opted for no surgery. They loaded me up with eight different meds in varying cocktails until they found a combination and frequency that worked. I was there for three days. Oxygen was added to aid my breathing.

When I left to go home, I discovered everything had changed and I had to begin again with even rudimentary tasks like learning how to go to the bathroom again with regularity. Showering was painful, but efficacious and it felt wonderful. Tiny shards of glass kept appearing as I showered and I meticulously picked them out of my skin. Eating was a chore, and nothing tasted right. My head was spinning. I was light-headed and dizzy. For those who talk about the benefits of masking pain with narcotics, I found them to be the antithesis of a desired life. I was walking with a walker to keep my balance, and I was admonished to practice my deep breathing to avoid pneumonia. Sleeping in a bed was nearly impossible, and I finally gave that up in favor sitting up in an overstuffed couch with pillows bracing my back. I was awake most nights, slept most days, and I found it difficult to discern the difference between night and day. Patsy was setting an alarm every two hours during the night and day to administer my meds.

Then, finally, after a week of all that at home I decided I'd had enough. I told her no more meds. I wanted to discover what my baseline of pain was without the meds, so I quit everything one night to see what would happen. I awoke to discover that I had slept and the pain was tolerable. Soon thereafter I quit the oxygen. By the time I went in for a follow-up exam with my doctor about a week and a half after the accident, I was walking unaided without oxygen and my blood was sustaining normal oxygenation levels again. His comment: "Your speedy recovery is an indication that your underlying health profile is excellent."

Based upon what I had been told at the hospital, I had expected 6 to 8 weeks of agonizing pain in the recovery process. In fact, I had gone back to the office and was driving again after 2 1/2 weeks.

I still feel some pain, but it is manageable. I am sleeping on both sides in bed without pain. My energy and stamina are still lagging, but I feel so blessed. My bruised and broken body is healing rapidly.

The rest of the story is that on scene at the accident site, the tow truck driver who came, along with the paramedics and the local police and volunteer fire department were all members of my ward. Patsy insisted that they give me a blessing before I was transported to the hospital, which they did. Then at the emergency room my sons who were nearby gathered and gave me another priesthood blessing. I was not appointed unto death (see D&C 42:48), and I am still healing and living on in mortality for purposes yet unknown to me. I am so grateful for this merciful deliverance. But for an inch or two here or there in that event, the outcome might have been very different.

Fifteen years ago this week, my mother passed away after a courageous battle with ovarian cancer. I became aware of her presence seated next to me last week in the chapel of the Woodland Ward at our fast and testimony meeting. I felt a distinct impression from her, "The time for us to be reunited is not yet. You have a work yet to do." My father, who still lives and is 93, was less comforting. He reminded me that I had arbitrarily taken away his car keys and sold his car to prevent this very kind of thing from happening to him. And now it had happened to me. Touche, father.

I have no idea what that work might involve, but I know I have gained added perspective on the suffering of our Savior in this Easter season. Never again when I read or sing the words about His broken and bruised body bleeding at every pore will I not personally connect and have immediate recognition of the degree of pain that was inflicted upon Him in the agonizing hours preceding His death and resurrection. While I may never know in full what that pain might have been, I have come to appreciate only in a small part what He must have suffered for each of us.

"But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed." (Isaiah 53:5).

Elder Neal A. Maxwell offers this perspective:

". . . we are told that Jesus took upon Himself the infirmities of all of us in order 'that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities.' (Alma 7:12. Italics added.) Being sinless Himself, Jesus could not have suffered for personal sin nor known what such agony is — unless He took upon Him our sins, not only to redeem us and to save us, but also in order that He might know how 'according to the flesh . . . to succor his people according to their infirmities.' A stunning insight!

"Thus the compassion of the divine Jesus for us is not the abstract compassion of a sinless individual who would never so suffer; rather, it is the compassion and empathy of One who has suffered exquisitely, though innocent, for all our sins, which were compounded in some way we do not understand. Though He was sinless, yet He suffered more than all of us. We cannot tell Him anything about suffering. This is one of the inner marvels of the atonement of Jesus Christ!" (Neal A. Maxwell, All These Things Shall Give Thee Experience, 35).

May we come to appreciate and understand what His liberating agony in Gethsemane and on Golgotha might mean to each of us, is my prayer.

Liberty, Freedom, Repentance and Exaltation

On this 4th of July, 2011, a message of liberation and freedom from sin on this wise: The atonement of Jesus Christ is infinite and eternal and more powerful than any of us has surmised.

In recent weeks, events in the lives of two younger brothers have done much to advise my beliefs and buttress my faith in the Lord Jesus Christ and the gift of personal revelation.

First, brother Hal suffered a massive coronary and the emergency installation of three stents in occluded arteries saved his life. The doctors who attended him estimated he was within minutes of death.

Lesley Drew Goates

Second, while we were all focused on Hal and praying for his recovery, brother Drew died in his sleep, ending a truncated life filled with challenges beyond the normal scope of most mortals.

I have always believed the gospel of Jesus Christ. I cannot remember a time when I did not have a testimony. I find as I have grown older the foundation of my testimony remains strong and is deepening and ripening. I have discovered new insights and perspectives I never imagined as new facets of my faith become exposed to the sunlight of truth.

If I were teaching from the Gospel Principles manual about what is required to obtain exaltation in the highest degree of the celestial kingdom, I would likely lay it out in an outline something like this:

Requirements for Exaltation

President Joseph Fielding Smith

The time to fulfill the requirements for exaltation is now (see Alma 34:32-34). President Joseph Fielding Smith said, "In order to obtain the exaltation we must accept the gospel and all its covenants; and take upon us the obligations which the Lord has offered; and walk in the light and understanding of the truth; and 'live by every word that proceedeth forth from the mouth of God'" (Doctrines of Salvation, 2:43).

To be exalted, we first must place our faith in Jesus Christ and then endure in that faith to the end of our lives. Our faith in him must be such that we repent of our sins and obey his commandments.

He commands us all to receive certain ordinances:

We must be baptized and confirmed a member of the Church of Jesus Christ.
We must receive the laying on of hands for the gift of the Holy Ghost.
We must receive the temple endowment.
We must be married for time and eternity.

In addition to receiving the required ordinances, the Lord commands all of us to --

Love and worship God.
Love our neighbor.
Repent of our wrongdoings.
Live the law of chastity.
Pay honest tithes and offerings.
Be honest in our dealings with others and with the Lord.
Speak the truth always.
Obey the Word of Wisdom.
Search out our kindred dead and perform the saving ordinances of the gospel for them.
Keep the Sabbath day holy.
Attend our Church meetings as regularly as possible so we can renew our baptismal covenants by partaking of the sacrament.
Love our family members and strengthen them in the ways of the Lord.
Have family and individual prayers every day.
Honor our parents.
Teach the gospel to others by word and example.
Study the scriptures.
Listen to and obey the inspired words of the prophets of the Lord.

Finally, each of us needs to receive the Holy Ghost and learn to follow his direction in our individual lives.

Discussion

Why are faith in and obedience to Jesus Christ necessary to become exalted?
What ordinances must we accept in order to become exalted?
What laws does the Lord give us that we must obey to become exalted?
Why must we learn to follow the direction of the Holy Ghost to become exalted?

After We Have Endured to the End

What happens when we have endured to the end in faithful discipleship to Christ? The Lord has said, "If you keep my commandments and endure to the end you shall have eternal life, which gift is the greatest of all the gifts of God" (D&C 14:7). President Joseph Fielding Smith said, "If we will continue in God; that is, keep his commandments, worship him and live his truth; then the time will come when we shall be bathed in the fulness of truth, which shall grow brighter and brighter until the perfect day" (Doctrines of Salvation, 2:36). I would emphasize that everything we receive from God in the end is a GIFT, despite what we may think we deserve through our righteous endeavors under the law.

Joseph Smith

The Prophet Joseph Smith taught: "When you climb up a ladder, you must begin at the bottom, and ascend step by step, until you arrive at the top; and so it is with the principles of the Gospel -- you must begin with the first, and go on until you learn all the principles of exaltation. But it will be a great while after you have passed through the veil [died] before you will have learned them. It is not all to be comprehended in this world; it will be a great work to learn our salvation and exaltation even beyond the grave" (TPJS, 348).

Drew's final stop on his mortal journey was a modest burial plot in the Salt Lake City Cemetery amid the family members who preceded him in death -- my Grandfather Harold B. Lee, his two wives, Fern Lucinda Tanner Lee, Freda Joan Jensen Lee, Uncle Ernest L. Wilkins, Aunt Maurine Lee Wilkins, my mother Helen Lee Goates, and Drew's infant daughter Julie Goates. As I dedicated Drew's grave I was in awe with the revelation that flowed.

Somehow, in a way I may never fully comprehend, his mortal journey now at a merciful terminal point, Drew is on the path leading toward exaltation through little or no merit based upon his performance under the laws of the gospel as outlined above. He did the best he could, but his performance under the law fell woefully short during his mortal probation.

However, he repented for years through prodigious amounts of pain and suffering. I cannot judge the quality or the quantity of his sackcloth and ashes, but I know it was commensurate every day of his mortal probation with the magnitude of his sins.

It is not my intention here to detail his deficiencies, though they were many. There is no purpose to be served by an attempt to wash the dirty family laundry in this day of cyberspace truth telling. Suffice it to say the list of his sins would be comprehensive and infamous. Contrasted with the life of his illustrious grandfather, the 11th president of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Drew's individual merits for exaltation would be woefully short of the minimum standard required for exaltation in the highest degree of the celestial kingdom.

President Harold B. Lee

If the truth were known, as the eldest grandson of Harold B. Lee, and speaking strictly for myself, I came to understand many years ago that I would never measure up -- the mountain was simply too high, the path too rocky and the topography too steep to ascend to his high and lofty station. Certainly, without any doubt, Drew shared similar sentiments. We all did. To be saved in the celestial kingdom alongside our grandfather is to have to chop some pretty tall timber. He seemed to be more than a mere mortal. Even after all these years one cannot tune into any General Conference, any speaker in any session, without a high probability of hearing a quote from Harold B. Lee.

Imagine a father, the son-in-law of Harold B. Lee, who was desperate to have his posterity measure up, to never deviate from the gospel plan, to keep the commandments with exactness and honor, to magnify their calling to the high and lofty station to which we were called as his posterity, and to live righteous lives within the fishbowl into which we were thrust by his high and holy calling so the whole membership of the Church could see our shining examples in nothing but good works.

Of course, it was a worthy goal, but proved impossible to achieve.

Imagine a president of the Church who fully understood the challenge, who warned us all that Satan desired to have us. "If he cannot get to me," he cautioned, "then he will do everything he can to get to me through all of you."

We were a small family. Grandfather and Nana had two daughters, Maurine and Helen. Between them ten grandchildren emerged. The results in living the laws of the gospel have been a mixed bag in varying stages of exactness and honor. Would that surprise anybody, knowing what you know about your own families? I will not presume to judge any of them, only to summarize that if we are all to be judged by the law without the sweet accompaniment of mercy, we are all doomed -- and I mean all of us.

We did not measure up. We did the best we could, all of us with our respective talents, tendencies, performances and desires, but I am certain all would agree, none of us deserves the high station through entitlement in the eternal worlds ahead that will be accorded Harold B. Lee. Not one of us.

President Thomas S. Monson

As I pronounced the dedicatory prayer over his grave, however, the words of President Thomas S. Monson were still resounding deep within my soul. The funeral cleansed me. The music was heavenly, a violin trio of family members performing "How Great Thou Art" and a male quartet singing "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing."

President Monson was a surprise visitor to Drew's funeral. He slipped into the Relief Society room just as my father was beginning the family prayer. He greeted us and bore a brief testimony after Dad's prayer had been concluded. He quipped to my perpetually shrinking father (now shriveled to about 5' 2" after starting at 6' 1"), "Well Brent, I'm still taller than you."

Then he stopped at one of the pews as he entered the chapel to greet a little grand-daughter, Jenna, who was standing on the bench watching him. He leaned over, taking her by the hands, "Watch my ears," he invited. They wiggled in matched symmetry, then he whispered with a twinkle in his eyes, "I only do that for little girls." (Not really true, because most of us priesthood men recall a General Priesthood Meeting when he did it for the whole Church).

What a gentle giant of love, unstinting service to all, and unmatched good humor. He spoke at the conclusion of the services for Drew. "I want you to know I feel part of the Goates family, the Lee family, and other families who have shown me the way, and I follow their teaching. They aren't gone, they're just away. I want to strive to be with them, and with Drew and with all, when He calls to go with them on high," he said simply in summary. Really? Did I hear that right? You hope to be with my unworthy prodigal brother someday? Did he just turn the requirements of the law on their ear and shake them all upside down with mercy? Was he saying the unworthy prodigal was now somehow more worthy than all of us who are left behind in mortality still toiling under the law? How thankful I am for a living prophet, the servant of all!

He came unannounced with hope, with love and with forgiveness in his heart to bless our grieving hearts. Such is the man and his mantle. The man is a living prophet, a prophet among prophets, a wonderful gift of love from our Heavenly Father to all His children who will accept him as a true servant, one willing to serve, to love, and to bless even the least among us.

As we now think upon the "awful arithmetic of the atonement" in the sweet afterglow of Drew's funeral, we stand in awe of those who lie buried in that hallowed little plot of dirt in the Salt Lake City Cemetery. There are two more still living whose mortal remains will someday take the last two remaining spots. In it all our hope is renewed that all in the family plot will come forth in the morning of the first resurrection, embrace one another and rejoice in the possibility of eternal life together.

Before that time comes, however, there will be ample opportunity for more sincere and wrenching repentance, for growth beyond the grave, and for progression. Because Drew had finally obtained the strait and narrow path in this life, according to his last bishop who also testified at the funeral, Drew will not fall off it again in the spirit world ahead. Don't think for one minute that grace is cheaply obtained, however. The glories of exaltation are not obtained on the cheap, nor are they offered at discount rates. Before he is resurrected Drew will pay the uttermost farthing in remorse.

But perhaps the most powerful lines came from daughter Katie when she wept, "Daddy, I forgive you for everything, and I hope that someday you will forgive me too."

Repentance and forgiveness -- keys to turn in the lock that release all the demons of hell who keep us bound in chains of guilt and remorse in the darkness of secret sins.

I believe there must be an unwritten law of commensurate suffering that attaches somehow to the infinite atonement, requiring accountability for individual sins, and almost unimaginable grief and sorrow for sins despite the promises the pain can be assuaged through accepting Christ's suffering. (See D&C 19).

In my younger brother I witnessed the fulfillment of the miracle of Christ's atonement, which thing I had never before supposed was possible because I had put unwarranted limitations on its magnitude.

When I see myself for what I really am, the unworthy prodigal rather than the righteous older brother, my vision expands and the light shines more brightly on the path of liberty, freedom, repentance and exaltation.

How grateful I am on this Independence Day to know it is possible for me to see Drew again if I live worthy enough. I want to be an eyewitness of his release from the prison of his broken physical body that entrapped his soaring spirit. Now freed from pain, addiction and sin, as I once knew him when he was an innocent child, I expect to be with him again. I have renewed hope and joy in the fulfillment of that promise.

May each of us realize that blessing for ourselves and those we love most.

Helen Lee Goates: A Retrospective at 85

Lee Family (l to r) Fern, Helen, Maurine, Harold

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving.  It's also the anniversary of my mother's 85th birthday.  She passed away in April, 2000.  She was 74 years old, and we celebrated a Thanksgiving Day birthday at her home in 1999, where she was surrounded by family.  We held her funeral the day before Easter, 2000.  Flowers were blooming, spring was in the air, and the promise of life's renewal was everywhere present. 

Since then, I've been gently cajoled several times to write something in tribute to her life.  I've deferred far too long.  Today seems like a good time to tickle the keyboard of my laptop and reminisce a bit.  Bear with me, please.

Mom was the second daughter of Harold B. Lee and Fern Lucinda Tanner Lee.  She was born on November 25, 1925.  They had two daughters and Auntie Mar was the elder of the two.  As a result they were a close family.  Mom and Auntie Mar learned how to play the violin and piano respectively, and during the years they grew up were constantly sharing their talents with others.  They played together in every single Mormon chapel in Salt Lake City in those years.

My memories of my childhood begin and end with our shared times with the Wilkins cousins.  It seems every holiday was spent with them.  Those two sisters were inseparable and so were we as their children.  They lived in Provo, we lived in Salt Lake.  The BYUtah rivalry was played out in backyards and driveways with hoops in both cities in every sport as we grew up.  It was mostly innocent fun, not nearly as "life and death" as it seems to be nowadays.  The saddest time of all was the parting -- we begged for "trading cousins" every time.

My mother was an exceptional homemaker.  I'm not certain how the divine plan worked the way it did.  These two exceptional mothers, daughters of a prophet, were saddled with eight boys among them and only two daughters -- one for each.  That they patiently bore our schemes and antics as boys is remarkable, since neither had much experience with boys until we came along.  Jane and Martsy, however, became the embodiment of their respective mothers.  They were the leaven in the lumps of clay -- the older and younger brothers who tormented them.  We might justly take at least some credit for the way they both turned out.  They are angels, polished and burnished in the rough and tumble of obnoxious brothers, no doubt.

Mom was resigned at some point, I suppose, to the need for help around the house.  As her oldest son, I was shown the finer points of homemaking.  That included washing windows, scrubbing floors, cleaning toilet bowls, sinks, bathtubs and showers, vacuuming and even ironing sheets!  Her philosphy, instilled within me at an early age was to always leave things better than I found them.  That carried over into my work in my career and the Church, and even when I was in airplane restrooms.  I always heard that little voice, "Leave it better than you found it," which included cleaning the basin and the small counter so it would be better for the next person.  Back in the day before "permapress" was invented she had a roller iron contraption and taught me how to iron the bedsheets by feeding them into the jaws of the hot iron pressed against the roller, controlled by foot pedals and hand controls.  It was an interesting invention to have to master, but we boys did it in turn.  Taking the wrinkles out with that flat iron gave one the sense of accomplishment and measurable improvement.  It was a lifelong lesson in satisfaction for having done something to improve the way I found it.

We had a "Behavior Record" that was posted on a prominent cupboard in the kitchen for all to see.  "Good marks" were scored at the top of the list, moving down -- 1 through 10 -- each week.  A brief description was written by Mom.  "Bad marks" were scored from the bottom up, blacking out the numbers and subtracting a penny for each "bad mark" registered.  That's how the allowances were paid, and of course, because Mom was the sole adjudicator of what was right and wrong in our home during the day, Dad was able to ascertain by a quick glance at the "scorecard" how well his sons were treating their mother and their siblings.  It wasn't always a pretty picture.

At home night on Monday evening the pennies were counted out.  For extra good behavior noted during the week a subjective star was awarded beside the measured good work, and sometimes for extra, extra good behavior two stars were awarded.  In the early stages the stars were worth nickels.  It was good to be good in our house!  As inflation ravaged the assumptions through the years, the stakes increased from pennies to nickels to dimes and quarters.  Remember, a Three Musketeers candy bar was only 5 cents!  I remember some adults talking about the end of the world when the price of candy bars got bumped to 10 cents!  Tithing lessons were taught early and often, and only the brightest, shiniest pennies were fit for tithing.

I loved reading with Mom at night.  We had a tradition called "Night up with Mother."  That meant in rotation one child got to stay up later than the other siblings and read with Mom.  She was a reading advocate when reading just wasn't that cool and there weren't any contests at school.  We read the classics.  She had a collection of books from which we read, including the Iliad and the Odyssey by Homer (among others) that remain among my treasured memories with her.  Mark Twain, Robert Louis Stevenson, J. M. Barrie, Robert Frost, even Mary Mapes and Charles Lutwidge Dodgson (Lewis Carroll) made the "play list."  The theater of the mind, as a result, is still more visual and valid to me than the movie or television screen, even though I was a child of the sixties raised on TV.

Perhaps my favorite part of the hot summer days was "Quiet Time," another Helen Lee Goates tradition.  She passed it off as a necessity to somehow stop the spread of polio.  I've never seen any authentication for that imperative medical prophylactic, but somehow she sold it to us as valid.  At any rate, we were called home in the heat of the day to pick up a book of our choosing and spend an hour in the shade reading.  I loved it.  I learned to love reading because of my Mother's invitations.

Mom was the perfect "ying" to Dad's "yang."  They complemented each other well.  Dad was the consummate hospital administrator and Church leader, gone from home a lot during those years, while Mom was the vigilant stay-at-home Mom -- always on scene and ever-present in our lives.  I became, she told me later, her confidant when Dad wasn't there to discuss whatever was troubling her that day.  It may be the origins of cooking up sibling strategies to keep two younger brothers in line, as she enlisted my support for her mothering.  I hope by now they've both forgiven my zeal for that assignment.  Before automatic dishwashers were in vogue, we would often do the dishes together -- she washed and I dried and we talked.  I'm not certain I had much wisdom to impart, but she told me years later what a good listener I had become.  If it's true, I learned it from Mom.  Once the remodeling of the kitchen was accomplished, the dishwasher replaced me and the long talks over dishes ended.

I remember lessons at the ironing board.  We ironed our own shirts and Levis -- yeah, you heard me -- Levis!  We used to put them on "pant stretchers" after washing them, then ironed out the wrinkles and put a crease in them.  Are you kidding me?  I swear it's all true!  She stayed up with me teaching me how to darn socks before I left for England on my mission, certainly a lost art today.  When I got to the mission field I was well-trained in all the necessary survival skills.  Everything she taught me was put to use.  Laundry was always a big item at our house, and learning how to do it was a necessity.  Folding clothes and putting them away were also part of the weekly rituals.  Looking back now, I realize I was raised as the daughter she never had to begin her mothering years.

President Boyd K. Packer

 No account of my relationship with my Mother would be complete without recalling the "apricot story."  I even got in on all the fruit bottling my Mother did in the fall.  President Packer in Teach Ye Diligently reminded us of how memorable the lesson was as a result of the story President Lee told about one of his daughters (Helen) and one of her sons (yours truly).  He described the power of the story this way:

For example, take the expression "everyone loves a story," and you may see what I mean. If you have a point to put across and can illustrate it with a story, all can be taught. If you tell it in simple terms, a youngster can understand it; at the same time the oldest person may draw a great lesson from it. That is one of the reasons the Lord taught in parables. By so doing, He was teaching everybody at once, but not all of them the same lesson.

Some time ago in a meeting the Brethren were discussing motion pictures, specifically those that would strengthen the family. Someone mentioned one featuring President Harold B. Lee. "Which one?" someone asked. "There were many produced in which he appeared." One of the Brethren identified it simply by saying, "You know, the one about apricots."

Everyone nodded. That identified the film from all of the others. Why? Because in it President Lee had told an incident about his daughter canning apricots. Not wanting to be interrupted, she had almost put off her little boys who wanted help with their prayers. "But, Mommy, what is more important," one of them had asked, "prayers or apricots?"

In that film President Lee had lectured forcefully on strengthening the home, but the film is remembered as the "apricot" film. We may have missed other things, but we all got that message. Each of us was alike in remembering that.  (Boyd K. Packer, Teach Ye Diligently, 124-25).

Thankfully, the more feminine part of my nature was supplanted with the blessed arrival of a cherished daughter!  All that "girlie stuff" programming gradually gave way once Jane finally arrived.  "Elizabeth Jane," she named her -- after Queen Elizabeth of Great Britain.  It was during the 50s, and the royal family was greatly admired and held up as role models in America.  I was routinely reminded of my mother's affinity for the Queen and Prince Charles, since they had been pregnant with each of us at the same time.  My mother was heartbroken when news of his antics spread a few years ago.  She anguished for the Queen.  But the monarchy survived apparently, as new hope arises in the announcement of Prince William's engagement and his logical succession to the throne someday when Queen Elizabeth passes.  That has to tell you something about how long the Queen has been on the throne of England!

Mom was a role model among women.  They loved her for her example of righteous and concecrated motherhood and womanhood.  She was a leader among her peers, serving as the Relief Society president twice in the Federal Heights Ward, then on the General Board (twice) later in life.  After that assignment concluded she was surprised by a call to serve late in life as the stake Young Women's President.  When the call came to her, she asked, "Don't you mean Relief Society?" because that was all she had ever known.  She was assured they hadn't made a mistake and she served for three years, seeking to "spiritualize" the young women in her stake.

When she contracted ovarian cancer, she quickly arranged a dinner for her children and their companions at her home.  The diagnosis hadn't been announced, but she had a premonition something wasn't quite right.  When the diagnosis was confirmed, she was trying to pull her family back together again.  We had a three-and-one-half year protracted farewell with her.  Major surgeries and chemotherapy extended her life.  She did all she could to heal the inevitable rifts among us.  We learned to love and forgive one another because of her example.  One by one on her death bed we spent time as she quietly gave her final counsel to each.

I love my Mother.  I continue to feel her influence.  She had a way with me, and she took full advantage.  Whenever I was tempted to lie to her, she would take my face in her gentle hands and say firmly but gently, "Now David, look me in the eyes and tell me the truth."  She was the perfect combination of velvet and steel.  I couldn't ever get away with anything, it seemed.  She could pierce through my eyes into my very soul.  Nothing escaped her.  I realize now it was the power of a righteous life that aided her.  Discernment came easily to her.  She was on familiar terms with her Father in Heaven.  Her testimony of her Savior was unwavering.  Her influence, her words, her gentle touch and her inspiration continue to affect me.  I am confident there is nothing in my life of which she is unaware.  She continues to minister among us.


President Thomas S. Monson

So on the eve of this next Thanksgiving Day, falling as it does on her birthday once again, I pause to give thanks for my beloved Mother, Helen Lee Goates.  On the back of her funeral program we reprinted a letter she had written for the time capsule that was sealed in 1980.  President Thomas S. Monson quoted from that letter in a talk titled, "If Ye Are Prepared Ye Shall Not Fear," when he beautifully described her passing at a General Relief Society meeting in 2004, in these words:

As I conclude my remarks, may I share with you an experience of several years ago which depicted the strength of you dear sisters in Relief Society.

During 1980, the sesquicentennial year of the organization of the Church, each member of the Relief Society general board was asked to write a personal letter to the sisters of the Church in the year 2030 — 50 years hence. The following is an excerpt from the letter written by Sister Helen Lee Goates:

“Our world of 1980 is filled with uncertainty, but I am determined to live each day with faith and not fear, to trust the Lord and to follow the counsel of our prophet today. I know that God lives, and I love Him with all my soul. I am so grateful that the gospel was restored to the earth 150 years ago and that I can enjoy the blessings of membership in this great Church. I am grateful for the priesthood of God, having felt its power throughout my life.

“I am at peace in my world and pray that you may be sustained in yours by firm testimonies and unwavering convictions of the gospel of Jesus Christ.”

Helen Lee Goates passed away in April of the year 2000. Shortly before her impending death from cancer, Sister Monson and I visited with her and her husband and family. She appeared calm and at peace. She told us she was prepared to go and looked forward to seeing once again her parents and other loved ones who had preceded her. In her life Sister Goates exemplified the nobility of Latter-day Saint women. In her passing she personified your theme: “If ye are prepared ye shall not fear.”

She was well prepared for her death when she quietly slipped away.  I pray it might be said of me and all of us.