Joseph and Emma

Hello friends! In preparation for the 200th anniversary of the First Vision, I present some personal musings on the significance of this sacred event.
While reading Joseph Smith-History this week, I thought Of a couple things that I had never considered. First off, Joseph married Emma before he got the plates. They were married about eight months before he obtained the plates. I’d like to think that those eight months put him through a refiner’s fire that helped spiritually prepare him to protect and defend the Book of Mormon. More than that, however, I think about how Emma was present for basically every early event of the restoration minus the First Vision. She was an active participant in the restoration of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I don’t think that’s a coincidence. I believe that Joseph was never meant to engage in such a sacred work alone and that Emma was the perfect companion for him, both in the context of his personal life as well as in the context of his spiritual journey as a prophet called of God.
I wrote this poem reflecting on what Emma had to give up to marry Joseph, but also what she gained. She lost friends, home, family; she lost children, she lived without riches, without fanfare, and without worldly adoration; and she eventually lost even her dear Joseph. But she was privilege to play an important role in the restoration of the gospel, and I’m sure the happiness that that brought her as well as the joy she found in her family outweighed any cost.

Married Life

She stands at the window, waits for him
To ride in from the town
And smiles when she spots his horse afar
Making its way down
She rushes to prepare for him
A hot drink to warm him up
On tiptoes, reaching for some bread
Cheese and soup for him to sup.
The door creaks open, flurries fly
She hears the blizzard’s haunting howls
Joseph’s snowy, head to toe
But his face is free of scowls
She smiles, her dear Joseph never
Seems to have dark days
Even when the the storms are fierce
He reflects the sun’s warm rays
He sits down, talks of the town
She moves to prepare for him his bread
He pauses, reaching for her hand
Preferring she stay with him instead
He is startled when he sees her face
It’s quiet pain that looks back at him
Her eyes, vulnerable and scared
Have tears falling from red rims
He knows without words why she cries
And his heart aches to heal her pain
Family, friends, and home sacrificed
So her dear Joseph she could gain
He sweeps her up and holds her close
Wonders what is left for him to do
He marvels at the price she has paid
To defend what she knows is true
He holds her as her shoulders still
She gently pulls away
She looks at him with such determination in her eyes
He knows she’s here to stay

Gifts for Him

The wise men took Him gold and myrrh,
The drummer boy took him beats,
In Paraguay, it's pakova,
They bring to Him as treats.
I, with empty hands and full heart,
Have little to give a King,
How could I match the gift He gave,
When He took away death's sting,
His birth, marked by a bright new star,
Brought hope to a darkened night,
His death, foretold by prophets of old,
Saved us from our sinner's plight.
I could give Him riches, wealth, or worlds
Could gift Him all I have to give
But I think His Christmas wish for me is that
A life like His I'll live.
After all, His most precious gift,
Is used most when I repent
His mercy makes me Homeward-bound
His love, so heaven sent
Beneath the boughs of my Christmas tree,
Sits no gift that bears His name,
But in my chest, a broken heart reads,
From Jesus:  I took away your blame.
Merry Christmas

A Story About Soles

I'm serving a mission because the gospel of Jesus Christ makes me so, so happy, I can't help but want to share it! I want everyone to have a chance to experience the joy that comes from knowing that families are forever, that our Heavenly Father loves us, and that Jesus Christ has made a way for us to repent. 

So, enjoy my little poem I wrote about why I want to serve a mission. :) 

A Story About Soles 

I'm made of shiny black leather,

Not quite cute, but functional

Flat with no heel

(For any sister missionary shoe worth her tag

Knows heels aren't for hiking)

I am straight-out-of-the-box, new, SO ready 

To tread on foreign soil 

through foreign territory.

Each day at 6:30, my day begins, I

Seek out fellow soles with a vigor 

That hides my clunkiness, that disguises

My shoe's awkward fit.

I follow a well-marked path, a path

Trailblazer by the Master Shoemaker

I know the destination, but only He

Can show me the way

So I follow in His footsteps, each of my steps

Not quite fitting into His, but that's '

Okay, because the Master Shoemaker 

Can always fix the size difference. 

Every day on the path

I pass soles and shoes of every shape and size. 

I see shoes in a hurry, shoes

Running, racing for an unmarked finish line. 

A nonexistent finished line 

I point out a better running trail, but they 

Aren't interested. So I move on

I see sharp soles, pointed soles

That have purposeful, no-nonsense steps

That don't have time for little old me

And my well-worn path

I see worn soles, smooth soles

That have seen places the world over

I stop to talk to them 

Before going on my way 

I see humble soles, ragged soles,

Riddled with holes, wanting some new feet

To follow

They join me on the path

And together, we talk to every sole we meet 

Day by day, we tread, 

Treading wear and tear into 

Our flimsy soles. 

At the end of our path, we stop

Examine ourselves

We realize that we're torn and broken 

And kind of smelly

Maybe not worth keeping...

But then

We come to the Master Shoemaker 

He smiles and says,

"I can fix you, for every shoe is worth keeping

And every soul is worth saving."