I would like to share the following story by President and Sister Puzey. I served with them at BYU-Idaho campus stake. Truly humbling!
A page from my journal… 25 May 2010
What does it mean to be faithful or to endure to the end? That question has been on my mind recently as I have been serving here in the Philippines. Back home I felt content knowing that I had a current temple recommend and had served where called. I was mostly certain that having served three times as scout master and had been on what seemed a hundred campouts and taught that group of 14 year old wild youth in Sunday school that I had given my all. I had always tried to get my home teaching done before the middle of the month and I stopped fishing on Sunday, now that is sacrifice. I had thought that would rank me among the faithful saints of God. After being with the Saints here in the Philippines I have been thinking lately that it might require more of me.
On Sunday I attended the little branch in Maria Aurora. The meeting house is on the second story of the corner feed store just across from the town market. It is a busy, noisy place but the saints were so happy to move from the crowded front porch of one of the member’s homes months before. After making our way around the buildings crowded side alley we make the climb to the upper level. I make a dash to the CR (comfort room) after a long road trip. The bathroom is about four foot square with a small wall sink without faucets, wall tap, a small toilet bowl without a seat or a tank and a bucket of water to wash with and flush the toilet with. The floor is covered with water because members come early to wash before the meeting.
The meeting room holds about 75 people. It is a hot summer day in the mid 90’s as sweat is already beginning to run down my back. With all the windows open, the noise from the street and the heat makes me gasp for air. As we enter, members jump from the brown plastic chairs and greet us with eager smiles and hand shakes. The children take our hands and hold them to their foreheads as a sign of respect for their elders. We make our way to the front and the young branch president offers us a seat behind the simply built podium. As I look up from my seat about 40 beautiful brown eyed members are watching our every move. The crowd is mostly women and children with a few scattered priesthood brethren. Two young men sat ready to pass the sacrament while two older men were prepared to bless. The members were dressed in their very best which might be tee shirts and pants, a few dresses and white shirts. Shoes are mostly flip-flops.
Part of me wanted to whine about the difficulty of our assignment but as I looked out at those beautiful saints the thought made me ashamed. I thought of the beautiful chapel in Sugar City, the carpets and soft seats and comforting temperature. In my mind I could picture the seats full of well dressed members perfectly seated in rows. It was a quiet and reverent. Beautiful music was accompanied by a piano or organ. I can hardly remember what that was like. For a moment, I felt a bit torn between home and the mission field but I real peace comforted me.
Seated at the sacrament table next to me was Graciano Valdez, a 72 year old member who had joined the Church when I first arrived in the mission two years ago. He had lost his wife just a few months earlier. I knew he lived in a little run down house of about 12 foot square, made of used plywood with a tin roof. He walked about 2 miles to come to church each week with his worn Book of Mormon protected by a green plastic sack. He had an old pair of faded green military dress pants on that were rolled up at his ankles with the waist line puckered in piles under an old belt. His white shirt was bright white but was very large and I noticed that the shoulder seam was held together with blue thread, hand stitching. I felt a lump in my throat and a special closeness to my Savior as he knelt on the floor next to me and with his poor eye sight read the sacrament prayer.
After the meeting we greeted each other and reported on our resent health and happiness. He told me how thankful he was to be a member and how he loved the Gospel and the hope and peace that it brought to his life. He spoke tenderly of how happy he was that he and his wife had been sealed together forever in the temple just before her death. Brother Valdez then turned to me and said very solemnly that he had promised God that he would be faithful until he died. He then took my hand and told me again not to worry about him that he would be faithful until death and he would be with his wife again. I believed him and I know God was aware of his promise.
On my long travel home and until now I continue to ponder how faithful am I and what have I promised the Lord. I thought of my many blessings and if I could be faithful until death. I have renewed my to the Lord that I would be faithful so that I can be together again with those I love.
President Puzey
Pictures attached of the Chapel and Graciano Valdez
What does it mean to be faithful or to endure to the end? That question has been on my mind recently as I have been serving here in the Philippines. Back home I felt content knowing that I had a current temple recommend and had served where called. I was mostly certain that having served three times as scout master and had been on what seemed a hundred campouts and taught that group of 14 year old wild youth in Sunday school that I had given my all. I had always tried to get my home teaching done before the middle of the month and I stopped fishing on Sunday, now that is sacrifice. I had thought that would rank me among the faithful saints of God. After being with the Saints here in the Philippines I have been thinking lately that it might require more of me.
On Sunday I attended the little branch in Maria Aurora. The meeting house is on the second story of the corner feed store just across from the town market. It is a busy, noisy place but the saints were so happy to move from the crowded front porch of one of the member’s homes months before. After making our way around the buildings crowded side alley we make the climb to the upper level. I make a dash to the CR (comfort room) after a long road trip. The bathroom is about four foot square with a small wall sink without faucets, wall tap, a small toilet bowl without a seat or a tank and a bucket of water to wash with and flush the toilet with. The floor is covered with water because members come early to wash before the meeting.
The meeting room holds about 75 people. It is a hot summer day in the mid 90’s as sweat is already beginning to run down my back. With all the windows open, the noise from the street and the heat makes me gasp for air. As we enter, members jump from the brown plastic chairs and greet us with eager smiles and hand shakes. The children take our hands and hold them to their foreheads as a sign of respect for their elders. We make our way to the front and the young branch president offers us a seat behind the simply built podium. As I look up from my seat about 40 beautiful brown eyed members are watching our every move. The crowd is mostly women and children with a few scattered priesthood brethren. Two young men sat ready to pass the sacrament while two older men were prepared to bless. The members were dressed in their very best which might be tee shirts and pants, a few dresses and white shirts. Shoes are mostly flip-flops.
Part of me wanted to whine about the difficulty of our assignment but as I looked out at those beautiful saints the thought made me ashamed. I thought of the beautiful chapel in Sugar City, the carpets and soft seats and comforting temperature. In my mind I could picture the seats full of well dressed members perfectly seated in rows. It was a quiet and reverent. Beautiful music was accompanied by a piano or organ. I can hardly remember what that was like. For a moment, I felt a bit torn between home and the mission field but I real peace comforted me.
Seated at the sacrament table next to me was Graciano Valdez, a 72 year old member who had joined the Church when I first arrived in the mission two years ago. He had lost his wife just a few months earlier. I knew he lived in a little run down house of about 12 foot square, made of used plywood with a tin roof. He walked about 2 miles to come to church each week with his worn Book of Mormon protected by a green plastic sack. He had an old pair of faded green military dress pants on that were rolled up at his ankles with the waist line puckered in piles under an old belt. His white shirt was bright white but was very large and I noticed that the shoulder seam was held together with blue thread, hand stitching. I felt a lump in my throat and a special closeness to my Savior as he knelt on the floor next to me and with his poor eye sight read the sacrament prayer.
After the meeting we greeted each other and reported on our resent health and happiness. He told me how thankful he was to be a member and how he loved the Gospel and the hope and peace that it brought to his life. He spoke tenderly of how happy he was that he and his wife had been sealed together forever in the temple just before her death. Brother Valdez then turned to me and said very solemnly that he had promised God that he would be faithful until he died. He then took my hand and told me again not to worry about him that he would be faithful until death and he would be with his wife again. I believed him and I know God was aware of his promise.
On my long travel home and until now I continue to ponder how faithful am I and what have I promised the Lord. I thought of my many blessings and if I could be faithful until death. I have renewed my to the Lord that I would be faithful so that I can be together again with those I love.
President Puzey
Pictures attached of the Chapel and Graciano Valdez
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