A Letter From Grandpa

Jacob, mom found this letter that grandpa wrote to her while she was serving her mission. It classic grandpa, when I read it I hear his voice. Your grandpa is an actual pioneer. 

When we were at grandmas tonight to clean the carpet, your uncles, mom, grandma, and aunt Susan were talking about how grandma felt that the should have one more child. Your grandparents always struggled financially and grandpa wasn’t a big fan of the idea for that reason. Grandma just asked him to pray about it and then she wouldn’t bother him anymore. He prayed and dreamt of a little boy that wanted to come to the family. He agreed with your grandma and they had uncle Steven.

They were told another story about when your uncles Tim and David were on their missions at the same time. Money was so tight they had to do a paper route and the whole family would help. 

Your grandpa had faith Jacob, I know he was so proud of all of his grandchildren that are serving and have served missions. Like I said the other day, your grandpa wasn’t a perfect man, but he’s a great example of faith.

September 27, 1992

Dear Heidi:

I know that I just wrote you that lengthy (TWO PARAGRAPH) letter the other day, but felt it my solemn (or words to that effect) duty to write this simple sonnet of love and appreciation for you work in the mission field.

Like the Franciscan Friars of old--who would labor in their Mission fields--you are working to bring forth fruit of the labor or love. It was such a labor that brought me into the church more than twenty six years ago…

It was the late Winter/early Spring of 1966 that I was first exposed to the Mormon faith. Though I knew members all through High School, this was my first exposure to a church service: It was a Fast and Testimony meeting.

Actually the "exposure" took place earlier in my life, with questions I had, like: 'Why does the Bible only speak of the people of Christ time?'; 'Why doesn't some one write about us?'; and Why don't we have prophets today?' No one could answer these questions that would satisfy me. When I was younger we would go to church, but the answers weren't there. I went to the presbyterian faith well into high school, but finally dropped away from church all together. 

When I joined the Air Force, I told them that I was Methodist because; I couldn't spell Presbyterian. I was never active, but was required to attend two services while at Lackland A.B. F., TX. (The Air Force's training center). I was Stationed in Hawaii after my training and served there for two and a half years; with a near six month tour in Viet Nam.

I was then transferred to Holloman A.F.B. N.M. and later Transferred to Cannon A.F.B. N.M. (and gateway to Hell). Cannon is set ten miles west of Clovis and about 20 miles from the Texas border. It's "claim to fame" is in the fact that Billy The Kid came from the area and was killed near there. It was also there I "converted" back to Presbyterian, when the base chaplain helped me fill out the form.

It's also there I met your mother; it was at a Mutual activity that Bob Carter (professional worry wart) had asked me to attend with him (Every member a Missionary). He said that he had someone he wanted me to meet. (your mother) I volunteered to go to church that Sunday (I wanted to see Y.M. again and ask her out--wound up being asked if I wanted to take the lessons; but that comes a little later).

I knew NOTHING about the Mormons, and even less about why I was there. I attended Priesthood meeting (in pre-block days priesthood was usually held early in the morning about 7 a.m. or so). I felt a strange presents there; as though I belonged and yet didn't. Next came Sunday School; and just about the time I was (more than) ready to go home: FAST AND TESTIMONY MEETING!! As Air Police, we got two and a half (2 1/2) days off a month and I didn't want to spend one of them at an all day church! Though, I must admit, there wasn't much to do in Clovis. or at the Base, which was a bunch of building surrounded by Wheat and Corn fields with an landing strip and air planes and now much else: I endured the Testimony meeting with what I thought was a bunch of Holy-Rollers. (* ....I sob, sob.... Know the sob....sob... the Church is sob....TRUE...sob honk, honk cry and sob.....') I thought to my self that I had to get out of there'..... these people are NUTS!' But true to my upbringing, that of having respect for religion--no matter how flaky it may seem--I remained, but frankly was a little scared that someone "having been possessed with the Spirit" would grab me and I'd be in a fight of my life in a room full of people in support of the "possessor".

Finally!, the service was over, and I headed for the door as quickly and as nonchalantly as possible (my legs were saying "RUN" ). People were grabbing at me and shaking my hand, but all I wanted to do was to GET OUT OF THERE! Then, there by the door, were two missionaries; one whose name was Elder Gary Fish and had the reddest hair I think I've ever seen: Did I want to hear more about the church?......A strange thing happened: I said yes, and thus embarked on a journey that has now lasted more than 26 years.

I was Baptized and confirmed a member of the Church of Latter Day Saints By Virgil Kovalinko on May 28, 1966 in the yet to be dedicated Clovis Branch (now the Clovis 1st Ward building). Did I ever regret saying yes?; No, though the journey has never been what you would call smooth.

I suppose that some day, when this is all over, then I'll know the smooth path. But until that time I guess I'll just have to stoop over and pick-up a few stones from the path and toss them to the side, and side step others.

This is my story of conversion.

Love, Dad

p.s. maybe someone will write to their missionary son or daughter some day and mention you as having had part of changing their life.