A Little Taste of Change

Walking into the Windermere chapel was like ripping a page out of my missionary journal and living it over again. Many of the people I knew and loved in the nine months I served in that ward were still there, however, there were many people who were noticeably absent. From the time I walked in the building to the time I left, the memories of the past were battling with the memories I was presently forming in order to take front position on the stage of my current thought. Out of all the thoughts in my head today, there was one in particular that I wanted to share. Forgive me for a nostalgic moment.

The Flores family moved into the Windermere ward a few months before I moved out. Brandon Flores, then eight years old, was preparing for his long-awaited baptism when I was helping my investigator, JaCouri Bell (also eight years old), prepare to be baptized. Thankfully, Brandon willingly allowed us to share his baptism day with our investigator, JaCouri. Both were baptized and both entered into the very same important covenants.

Today I noticed Brandon was one of the dozen deacons who helped pass the Sacrament. In the four years Brandon has been a member of the Church, he has stayed the course and progressed.

There were several people who were just as faithful and excited about the gospel four years ago as Brandon was on his baptism day, but who, for whatever reason, have not stayed the course or progressed. They were not there today, but they needed to be and they should’ve been. The reason for the absence is not important. What matters is what reason they will have to come next week, and forever after that.

There was another young brother in the ward today that I didn’t know, but who was baptized only yesterday. If I came back to the Windermere ward in four years, I would want him to pass the Sacrament to me. Then I will know that he has stayed the course and progressed like my good buddy, Brandon. And I hope that I would see all of the friends I saw today, and perhaps several other families who should have been there but were not. And I hope that four years from now they would still recognize me as “Elder Farmer,” and welcome me back as if I was still one of them.