Remember, Know, Hear: A Personal Story
by Melinda R. Morgan
melindarmorgan.com
@melinda.r.morgan
Last year, my son informed me that he and his wife were moving away. This news broke my heart for it meant I would not be able to see my grandchildren very often. I realized that with today’s technology, it would be possible to communicate with my grandchildren face to face, but it would not be the same as holding them, baking them cookies, reading them stories, or rocking them to sleep. So, I did what any grandmother would do. I cried. A lot.
The question came to me, “What is your greatest fear?” I realized what I feared most was my grandchildren would not remember me. They would grow up never really knowing me, and they would forget how much I love them.
One of God’s deepest sorrows must be knowing many of His children will go through mortality never knowing Him. They would not remember Him or comprehend the great depths of His love for them.
God wants all His children to remember Him, know Him, and hear Him.
This past June, my husband and I knelt across the altar of the temple and our 20 year marriage became an eternal union. For years, I had imagined this moment. I met and married my husband during a time of spiritual darkness and famine. He was not a member of the church and did not believe in Jesus Christ, nor in a Heavenly Father. The road to his conversion was long and laborious, and quite frankly, miraculous. One evening, our stake president visited our home. As he was leaving, he pulled me aside, “The Lord has heard your prayers,” he said. I offered him a gracious smile and turned to go when I felt him gently tug my arm. He bent closer and with his penetrating gaze quietly said, “No. The Lord wants you to know He has heard your prayers.” His words filled my soul with warmth. Tears puddled my eyes as I realized a mighty miracle was in the making. It was too much to hope for, and yet it was real.
A year following his baptism, the day arrived when my husband and I knelt at the altar of the temple to be sealed for time and all eternity. This moment was everything I had ever hoped for and more. The spirit in the ceiling room was so sweet, so exquisite, that I knew I would never be able to adequately put into words the joy I felt. Like the Grinch, my heart “grew four sizes” that day. God had indeed heard my prayers.
About now, some of you are thinking, “Well, that’s all fine and good for you, but that kind of miracle–that kind of joy–can never be mine.” Maybe you feel you don’t deserve it or you aren’t worthy of it.
I hope the story I’m about to share convinces you otherwise.
I invite you to travel back in time with me to a grey and gloomy Saturday afternoon 22 years ago. If you had met me at this time, you would have met a very different person than who I am today. I was in the middle of a severe crisis of faith. I was a recently divorced single mother of four young children with a giant chip on my shoulder because life had not turned out the way I expected. I felt like a complete and utter failure emotionally, financially, and spiritually.
Rather than reaching out or reaching up for help, I lashed out. I reacted with bitterness and anger and stubborn pride. I had tried it the Lord’s way and it didn’t work. Now, I was doing it my way. Like the prodigal son in the New Testament, I hardened my heart and decided to make my own happiness by stepping away from the covenant path.
On this particularly grey and gloomy afternoon, I had what I call a “Shake my fist at Heaven” experience. My children were visiting their dad for the weekend, and I was alone in a cold and empty house. The silence was debilitating, and I felt a profound sense of despair overcome me that was so overwhelming, it flattened me. Literally. I lay face down on the floor and sobbed. When the pain became unbearable, I raised my head and shook my fist at Heaven, and screamed. “What do you want from me?” And I demanded that God answer me!
When my anger eventually ebbed and I lay in a whimpering stupor, I heard two very distinct responses. The first was a reprimand, “I need you to understand that this is what it’s like to live without the Holy Ghost. This is what life will be like if you continue to do things your way.” The second was a gentle and earnest plea, “I want you to remember me and to remember who you are.”
I wish I could say that was the moment when I turned around and began my walk back to God. But it wasn’t. I was so afraid of failing again, that I ignored God’s earnest plea. I heard God’s words that day, but I did not hearken nor heed them.
Fast forward about five years to a different afternoon in a different living room. I had met and married my non-member husband and we were making the best of blending two families. I was cleaning out an old armoire when I found an old cassette tape of the Tabernacle Choir singing, “Oh, Divine Redeemer.” The recording was grainy and difficult to understand, so my husband asked me to read the words aloud as the music played.
Ah, turn me not away, receive me though unworthy.
Ah, turn me not away, receive me though unworthy.
Hear Thou my cry, hear Thou my cry,
Behold, Lord, my distress!
O divine Redeemer, O divine Redeemer!
I pray thee grant me pardon, And remember not
Remember not my sins!
Forgive me!
Night gathers round my soul
Fearful, I cry to Thee,
Come to mine aid, O Lord!
Haste Thee, Lord, haste to help me!
Hear my cry, hear my cry
Save me, Lord in Thy mercy;
Hear my cry, hear my cry!
Come and save me, O Lord!
As I struggled to speak the words, tears pooled in my eyes and I crumbled to my knees. These were my words! These words expressed an aching and desperate need in me to find my way back to my Father in Heaven. And in that sacred moment, I heard my Savior’s plea to remember Him, to know Him, and to hear Him.
Taking my hands in his, my husband knelt beside me and said, “You need to go back to church.”
Looking back, I realize that although I may have had a testimony of the truthfulness of the church, I was never truly converted to the gospel of Jesus Christ. Or, like Elder Bednar put it, I believed in Jesus Christ, but I did not believe Him.
From that moment, I began a life-long quest to know my Savior and my Heavenly Father on an intimate and personal level. To hear them, to believe them, and to hearken to them. I love them! Moreover, I have discovered for myself (another story for another day), that they love me!
As with Alma the Younger, when the gospel of Jesus Christ finally made it from my head to my heart, when I finally heard my Savior say, “Your sins are forgiven, be whole,” there could be “nothing so exquisite and sweet as was my joy.”