"A Bumper Crop"

"Even if you cannot always see that silver lining on your clouds, God can, for He is the very source of the light you seek. He does love you, and He knows your fears. He hears your prayers. He is your Heavenly Father, and surely He matches with His own the tears His children shed." - Elder Jeffrey R. Holland

A memory from my aunt about my grandpa.  I weep every time I read this.  My grandpa was/is one of the great ones.  These are her words:

"I was raised in a pristine little valley nestled in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains.  My father was a farmer who raised alfalfa and wheat... and kids!  There were 5 of us.  Even as little children we knew certain things about farmers and farms.  We knew farmers were strong, and handsome, and could make their kids laugh with pure glee, and that they were very good dancers, because my dad was all those things.  We also knew farmers had a love of the earth that was deep and respectful, and a connection to it that not everyone had, a connection that was deeply spiritual.

"At an early age we knew a couple of other 'farm facts.'  We knew that a 'bumper crop' was the kind of crop that farmers pray for and work for every season, but that rarely comes along.  But one summer, when I was still quite young, the talk around the table among the adults of the family all started to center around 'Bill's bumper crop of wheat.'  It was tall and golden and thick.  Even as a child I was enchanted with the beauty of this field of gold, swaying in the summer breeze.  We children would run up to the field bare-foot and just stand and watch it sway, with the comfort of our dad's tractor motor off in the distance.

"That summer my mother was working on her degree at Brigham Young University in Provo.  So while Daddy worked in the fields, we would clean the house, play every kind of outdoor game 5 energetic children could come up with, run up to the field to catch a glimpse of Daddy, run back to the house, make a batch of fudge (whose consistent results is yet another story!!!) and clean the house again before evening came and Daddy came in from the fields.  It was a good summer.  One filled with contentment and so much pleasure, part of it because we knew our hard-working dad's efforts were paying off, and that Heavenly Father was seeing to it that he was getting a true bumper crop.

"But there is another 'farm fact' that farmers' children learn very early, the danger of big, billowing, black clouds that form in a late summer sky and rumble toward the valley from a southwestern direction toward the north.  They only hold one thing: hail.

"It was getting late one afternoon in mid-August when one of us happened to look toward the southwest and saw the clouds.  Soon all of us had stopped our play and stood like little statues in the front yard, praying those clouds away from our dad's crop.  But they were moving fast and in just a few minutes they were right over head.  We had run into the safety of the house, and climbed on anything we could to watch the storm from the safety of the kitchen window.  Five little noses pressed against the windowpanes as they started to fog up, the air had gotten so cold outside.  We stood in silent disbelief as we watched huge hailstones pound across the ground in their fury, and soon everything was white.  None of us dared move to the windows in the back of the house to see what had happened in the field.  In a matter of minutes the storm had wreaked its havoc and had moved on toward the north.  And still we stood in open-mouthed disbelief.  In just a moment we saw our dad's truck pull into the driveway, covered with inches of white hailstones.  We saw him climb out of the cab, glance up at the window and see his five little kids with their noses plastered to the glass.  He ran his hand along the cab of the truck, formed a 'snowball' and tossed it gently at the window and beckoned us outside to play with him.  With the naive innocence of little children, we scampered out and threw a few snowballs back and forth at him and each other.  After a time he looked at us, heaved a sigh, and said, 'Well, there's not much work to do around here for the next few days.  How would you like to go to Provo H. Utah and visit your mother?' (I guess the 'H.' stood for Hunter!)  Childish shouts of joy at the promise of an adventure gave him our answer but as we followed him into the house and filed into our bedroom, through his closed bedroom door we heard our dad break down and cry.

"Kids have lots of experiences growing up, but only a few experiences carry with them lessons that shape them with eternal depth.  This is one for me... for 4 other kids, in fact.  My dad taught me truths about godly characteristics from which, even now, I am still learning.  As I look at my brother and sisters, our children, and our children's children, I find myself hoping that Daddy knows that he really did grow a bumper crop that year.  Because of his deeply profound example, we five children hope that we are passing the same seeds on to our children, and they to theirs."

"The history of the Church in this, the dispensation of the fulness of times, is replete with the experiences of those who have struggled and yet who have remained steadfast and of good cheer as they have made the gospel of Jesus Christ the center of their lives. This attitude is what will pull us through whatever comes our way. It will not remove our troubles from us but rather will enable us to face our challenges, to meet them head on, and to emerge victorious." - Pres. Thomas S. Monson