I remember bringing home my usual straight-A report card and having my parents remark about an “A-“, joking that I was slipping, and then watch them turn cartwheels over a younger brother's “C” up from a “D” in math.
I have sat in leadership meetings, silently struggling with the challenges of my life, and heard leaders mention this particular less-active member that needed strong home teachers, quietly thinking that sometimes active members get overwhelmed, too.
I have sat in a ward conference debating about whether or not to let the bishop know that I was an overload, only to hear him say, “Some people say they are burned out. Well, then the solution is to turn them over and burn them on the other side.”
Is there anyone out there besides me who has sat in a Sunday School class and listened to the story of the Prodigal Son and has felt a little sympathy towards the older brother? I understand, of course, the message about forgiveness and rejoicing over the lost sheep, but when the older brother is taken to task for his attitude, I have always imagined that his father, if possessed of wisdom, would not dress him down for his anger, shaming him into rejoicing over his brother, but rather would take the time to express to that son his appreciation for his faithfulness. I have always felt that would more effectively take away his anger and open his heart to joyful feelings about his brother's return.
This column today is for all the faithful Primary teachers who show up every week with a well-planned lesson. The presidency never has to scramble to find a last-minute replacement for this teacher, because if she is not going to be there, she finds her own substitute.
It is for the involved home teacher who really knows his families and cares about what is going on in their lives.
It is for the young woman who has made up her mind that she will not marry anywhere but in the temple and stays unwaveringly true to that commitment.
It is for children who carry on doing what is right while the bulk of their parents' attention seemingly goes to a straying sibling.
It is for the young man who still serves a mission even though he does not have family support, emotional or financial.
It is for a young woman who makes sure her younger brothers and sisters still make it to church even though Mom and Dad have stopped going.
It is for the brother or sister that a bishop knows he can call on and count on in any capacity.
It is for the convert who gave up family and friends to be true to his beliefs.
It is for the ward member who is always there behind the scenes, always unofficially on the clean-up committee, always serving in some small unnoticed way.
It is for the auxiliary leader out rounding up lost sheep when she sometimes secretly feels like breaking down the fence and leaving the pen for awhile just to see if anyone would come search for her.
This poem is for all those who are always there--never straying, always serving, faithfully teaching, rarely asking for help for themselves, even when they need it.
For the Ninety and Nine
“Son, let us kill the fatted calf. The prodigal has returned to the fold.
I prayed he would come home to us before I grew too old.
Matthew, there is anger in your eyes, I cannot help but see.
Set it aside. Sam has returned. Come rejoice with me.”
“He has returned home now his pockets and belly are empty.
Tell me, Father, when did you rejoice because of me?
I have not left your side for lo these many years,
Nor have I been the one to fill your eyes with tears.”
“While he made merry, I've toiled the fields and tried to do thee well,
Not strayed the straight and narrow path nor trod the road to hell.
“Yet he returns and you rejoice, as though it was but a day,
When for years he wandered lost, squandering his inheritance away.”
“He returns and you make merry. ‘Come sup with me and shout for joy!
We'll lay a feast, for a father claimeth his lost boy!'”
You'll leave no stone unturned in searching for your lost sheep,
While quietly your other son strives to earn his keep.”
“He is my son, and what he's done does not change that fact.
In my worry over him, I have not seen what you have lacked.
Though I am saddened, and not well pleased at the jealousy I hear.
Do you suppose my joy at his return makes you somehow less dear?”
“Sit, my son, for I must speak to you these loving words long overdue.
Soften your heart and let your father ask forgiveness now of you.
Mingled with my prayers of hope for the straying one,
Were oftimes words of gratitude for you, my faithful son.”
“The wrong I did toward you was to keep them in my heart,
And those are the words and feelings that I now to you impart.
My heart has rested easy, Matthew, always knowing sure
That you were safely folded, unwavering and secure.”
“I never wondered if you would stray the path,
Nor doubted you, so strong and true, would gain all the Father hath.
In my heart I have quietly and privately rejoiced,
And now I see it is past time those sentiments were voiced.”
“My faith in you has always been constant and sure.
I never doubted for a day that you would conquer and endure.
You, my treasured son, are dear to me like no other.
Dear to me also is your returned wayward brother.”
“Perhaps these few and feeble words have chased the anger hence,
Words a faltering father should have spoken long since.
I ask forgiveness now of you,
That what I felt, I thought you knew.”
Standing up, a father took his elder son into his embrace.
Weeping tears of shame, his father's shoulder hid his face.
“Thank you, Father, for holding me near
And for saying the things that I needed to hear.”
