Remember

Saturday Mark and I went to the baptism of one of his little friends.  I spent the first several minutes of the baptism feeling embarrassed about how Mark looked.

He and Braeden had chosen the ensemble Mark was wearing and let's just say they're not going to win any fashion awards.  We were already running late so it had to be OK.  (And it was OK.  Does anyone care what Mark wears?  Besides me?  No.)

As I let my angst over Mark's appearance slip away, I was able to enjoy the baptism.  I love baptisms.  They never fail to make me happy.

Brother Park, a member of our bishopric and a man who has come to our family's rescue numerous times, spoke.  He's high on my People I Admire list.

And I always want to remember what he said.

He told Finn, the little boy baptized, to remember today.

He said, "Remember how it's a little bit rainy.  Remember how warm the water was.  Remember all these people that are here.  Remember how you feel."

He went on to say that there will be days ahead that are scary, lonely, hard, bad.  He counseled Finn to remember today.

There are days that are scary, lonely, hard and bad.  Lots of them.

But then there are the days to remember.  I remember my baptism.  I remember I locked myself in the bathroom and said I wouldn't get baptized.  Enoch had chicken pox and my uncles weren't going to come to my baptism with their young families.

So I wasn't going to get baptized.

I yelled through the door, "I'm not getting baptized unless Uncle Fred is there!"

And my uncle Fred was there.  My aunt stayed home with their babies and he drove the four hour round trip alone.  For me.

When my days are scary, lonely, hard and bad, I can remember that.

I can remember the day I saw Adam after his mission. (handsome!)  The day we were married.  The way more light filled our house with the birth of each child.  I can remember being in the temple with my parents and siblings.  I can remember the glow of Emma's face the moment after she was baptized.  I can remember the first day Braeden passed the sacrament as a newly minted deacon.  Crooked tie.  White shirt.  Nervous gait.

I can remember that Mark's most vivid memory of the day his grandpa died is when we prayed together (the kids and I) in Emma's room and we felt a palpable warmth that can only be our Heavenly Father's love.

Remember, remember, remember.

I will.