Today in Sunday school something in the lesson stirred a memory in me. One I haven't thought about in a long time.
I was 18. Jana and I were in Canada, visiting, and no doubt getting spoiled by our dear Nonnie and Poppop.
The memory- the day my 75+ year old grandfather navigated us to an LDS chapel in downtown Toronto- not before insisting on a stop at a mouth-watering donut shop on the way. It was fast Sunday, ironically, but this was not lost on me. I, a young adult in every sense of the word, was well aware of what this meeting could mean to my grandparents. I could show them my testimony. I could show them that our church was right there in between the donut shop and the flea market in their city.
Without much hesitation I stood up and walked to the pulpit. I began to bare my testimony to a room full of strangers. The only thing I remember saying was how remarkable and comforting it was that the church is the same no matter where you go. I was far away from home- in a different country- and there in that modest chapel in Toronto I found a little piece of home. I hope that I testified of Christ, as my Savior, and of a loving Father in heaven, but I really don't know.
I do remember marveling at my courage- this was not really something I would have expected from myself. I also remember my primary motivation for going up there that day. My Nonnie and my Poppop.
Oh they were simply the best. I could not have asked for more attentive, loving, selfless, kind people to grandparent me. They cared. They loved us so much. They showed us this every chance they could. And that day I remember wanting to show them, my Poppop especially, what I believed and possibly impress him with my fearless act of testimony.
You see, one of the primary reasons I had been told all my life on why he wasn't a Mormon like me, was because he was incredibly shy, especially when it came to public speaking. My parents would speculate that was one of the biggest reasons he had never gotten close to investigating their religion. Praying in public. Giving a talk to a congregation. Teaching a class on gospel topics. It was perhaps inconceivable to think Poppop would ever join a church that required that of it's members...especially when he was content with Father Harold, his pastor, doing all those things every Sunday- while he silently benefited with the mass.
Today as we were talking about missionary work, my mind was brought to back to that moment behind a microphone in Canada. What did Poppop think of me? Did my testimony stir anything in his soul? Did the Spirit touch him in any way that day? Did I make a difference? Was I prompted to do that for a reason?
Poppop never did join the church on this earth. But today I wondered if maybe, just maybe, Poppop remembered my small, probably infantile testimony. And maybe, just maybe, as he heard the Gospel of Jesus Christ in a perfect way on the other side, I made a small difference. I hope with all my heart that he has accepted the Gospel.
I wonder, if he hasn't, what Nonnie has to say about that...
