So for a long time I had been feeling like I needed to get involved in family history work/indexing and all that good stuff. I would get on my computer and see the little tree icon in the corner of my desktop and get a haunting pit in my stomach...then I would quickly facebook it out. Well done, Hannah. Anyweee, so finally the feeling wasn't so much of an anxiety or guilty feeling but it was more of just a need to do something. Clearly the latter is the one that came from the Holy Ghost. But I just could NOT get excited about it! I couldn't bring myself to do it even though I knew that I was holding back as far as what I could give to the gospel went. So this Christmas, I decided to make my gift to Jesus be that I would learn about and become more involved in family history work. We take our gifts to Jesus pretty seriously around here and so I started going to the three week course of family history sunday school. Then I knew I needed to sign up for an institute class but my schedule is all weird so in my brain I kept justifying NOT signing up for a family history class (guys, Satan can be tricky, k?). So finally I just did it. I just registered for the once a week class. Theeeen I debated actually going because it was during a nice little break I had in between classes - a break that I would usually take a small snooze on campus during (like I said, Satan is tricky and plays at our weaknesses. We all know how much I love a good campus snooze). SO! This is where it gets good. And a bit more serious. Wednesday night, the night before I would have to decide whether or not to actually go to this institute class, I had a good conversation with my roommate about how the Spirit works in our lives and how we need to act upon the promptings we get. I knelt down and prayed and prayed that I would have the energy, motivation, and excitement I needed in order to make it to my class. I knew I couldn't do it on my own because I am human and ridiculous. GUESS WHAT HAPPENED NEXT! Well, I went to bed. BUT! The next morning, when my tired wave usually hits around 10 in the a.m., I was wide awake! I had a bounce in my step and I went into that family history class and LOVED it!! I cannot even explain to you the joy and assurance I felt as I left my class. I couldn't wipe the smile off of my face. A) because I knew that I had been blessed - that the Lord got me there and B) because I truly felt confirmation that I was supposed to be in that class. Since then, I have found a few names, given them to my parents, and those members of MY deceased family have received their baptismal and temple blessings. Then I showed my dad how to do it and HE found some names. Then I showed my brother and my sister and my nephew, and THEY are now determined to do the same. What a joy. A true, you-can't-find-it-anywhere-else joy. My dad told me how excited he was about all of this after he found the name of a Russon man who needed every ordinance performed. I thought to myself, "imagine how excited he is." Which reminds me of a simple scenario I once heard that describes the importance of family work, missionary work, and our promises to "our fathers." I re-wrote it in more of narrative form, and it is not doctrine by any means, but it personalized it for me. I'll include it at the end of this post. Read it, I say!!!
So to make a long story...less long, let me just tell you how exciting this has been for me. Let me tell you how my testimony has grown in so many different facets. I know family history work is important. It is necessary and is most definitely us red marble holder's responsibility to participate in. If the family history bug hasn't bitten you yet, pray for it to! Pray for some motivation and desire and help. You'll get it and you'll be blessed. Promise. :)
Well done for making it to the end of this story.
The End.
Actually the end is after the red marble story, soooo....GO!
It was what seemed just a moment after the final decision of how our Father’s plan would be carried through, that we all lined up - waiting! Excited and nervous to see what color of marble we would get. We knew that the choice of receiving a body and going to earth would mean hardship. We knew it would mean forgetting, for a while, the face of our Father. We knew it meant being tested, but we didn’t know whether or not we would have the truths of the gospel to accompany us on our journey. That’s what we were waiting to find out.
If you were handed a red marble, you would be born into the gospel. Of course you would still have to experience you own conversion process, but with the red marble, the gospel would constantly be at your fingertips. If you were given a blue marble, you would have to wait a bit before coming to the knowledge of Jesus Christ. You would be lucky enough to receive it still in the mortal life, but just not immediately. A while without the truth and assurance of our Father’s plan and love would be required. If you were given a green marble, oh everyone dreaded the green marble, you would be expected to walk the world without the complete truth - without the promises that can so fully be ours with the ordinances of baptism and the temple. Perhaps you would be born during a great apostasy, or perhaps you would live in a far corner of the world where the messages of Christ couldn’t be spoken. Whichever the case, the green marble was least desired.
So we patiently...anxiously...waited to see what lot we would face in life. Two of my friends and I stood in line next to each other tightly holding hands until it came our turn to break our clasps and hold them out for a single marble to be dropped into. My fist clasped tight around my marble before I even saw the color. I slowly opened my hand only inches away from my face. Red. A never before experienced surge of relief fled over my body. I couldn’t have been more thrilled. I would have the companionship of the Holy Ghost to get me through whatever I would face in life. I would have this glorious truth. I hurriedly looked up to see my friend’s marbles, completely forgetting that theirs might be different than mine. Neither of them spoke. They both just looked from their hands up to me with small, faithful smiles on their faces. One blue and one green. Their tear-swelling eyes seemed to say to me, “what will we do? What will you do?” “I will find you,” I said, sealing my promise with an embrace for each of them. “Whether it mean I walk long miles bolding testifying of the gifts I will be given, or it mean I spend hours searching for your name on old faded records and certificates, I will find you with the Lord as my guide.
Each time I go to the temple or share my testimony, I can’t help but think of my brothers and sisters I quite possibly knew, loved, and promised to help receive the fullness of the gospel.
This is the responsibility each of us have. This is the promise of which Elijah has spoken. May our hearts turn to our fathers...and our mothers and brothers and sisters. May we ever give because we have been given much.
I love this Hannah! Family History is one of my goals this year. Thanks for sharing and for your example. It is time to dig in and get to work.
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