Praise to the Man

I had a humbling experience several weeks ago and I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it and its implications. And what I’ve come to discover warms my soul.

It was a normal day. I was in the Tri-Cities running errands with my two little girls while my boys were in school. I left the Fred Meyer in Richland and was stopped at a stoplight when my normal day shifted gears. There was a scruffy looking man standing on the corner holding a cardboard sign. I assumed he was homeless or in some other way in need of assistance. I attempted to read his sign and when he saw me looking he turned it in my direction. As I read his sign my heart stopped . . . and then I felt the anger well up from somewhere deep.

“Joseph Smith” was scrawled across the first line with a black Sharpie. That’s when my heart stopped. As much as I’d love to believe that a sign on a street corner bearing the Prophet Joseph’s name had something positive to say, history told me there was no chance. History was right. Society has come far since the early days of brutal religious persecution directed at the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but let’s face it . . . not nearly far enough. “Joseph Smith’s life was a lie. Need proof?” This was followed by a Biblical reference.

My thoughts swirled around relentlessly, and while not aimlessly, not following any logical progression either. “Surely this newfound interest in persecuting Joseph Smith stems from the fact that an LDS Mitt Romney is running for President.” “I should roll down my window and tell him that he might want to double check that scripture reference.” “Or maybe I should inform him that insulting a Prophet of God is not the best decision.” “Enough already. Why is he wasting his energy on this!?” I was mad. Plain and simple.

The light turned green and I drove away. Several minutes passed while I continued to silently fume over the nerve of a stranger . . . spiritually offended. All of the sudden I heard a little voice from the backseat. My little Haylee, only three years old and unable to read just yet, completely unaware of my frustration, asked in the sweetest voice, “Hey Mom, do you have ‘Praise to the Man’ on that CD?” Silence thick enough to cut with a knife.

“Do you, Mommy?”

I managed to mutter, “Why yes, baby, actually I do.”

“Can you play it? I love that song.”

I played it . . . five times per her request.

My anger quickly softened as the Spirit of God filled my car. I silently thanked my Father in Heaven for it.

My little girl may not have known what was written on a piece of cardboard on a street corner. She may not have understood what was troubling her Mom’s heart. She may not yet even understand what inspired her to request that hymn, but the point is, she was nonetheless inspired. The same Spirit that tells me Joseph Smith was a prophet tells my little girl. She can feel it like I can feel it. She loves that hymn because it allows her to feel it. And ironically, the same Spirit that teaches me the truthfulness of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ can teach that man on the street corner. The Spirit is no respecter of persons.

While the movings of the Spirit are available to all, it doesn’t mean everyone will be responsive to Him. Anyone can choose to ignore the warmth or the promptings or the declarations of truth. I can’t control that. I can’t force people to realize it or to see it or to believe it. Realizing this makes one feel momentarily powerless to make a difference in the world. But in the midst of all of this I’ve realized the power to make a difference that I do have . . . and that’s what has brought warmth to my soul.

I can feel it. I do feel it. And I can stand firmly and declare to anyone within the sound of voice that the Spirit is real that He teaches truth. I’m a wife. I’m a mother. I’m a daughter, a sister, and a friend. And everyone who knows me or enters my home can and should know that I can and do feel it. I have the power to teach my children to recognize the Spirit and respond to His promptings. I can teach my children to differentiate between truth and falsehood. I can not only teach my children to pray, but teach them to hear the answers to their prayers. That’s power . . . power that I can pass on to my children . . . power that will make a difference in the world.

I can’t make that man on the corner put down his sign. But I can declare with CERTAINTY that Joseph Smith was and is a prophet of God. He lived an honest and faithful life. He wore out his days testifying of and serving the living Christ. He literally saw God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ. He restored the gospel of Jesus Christ to the Earth. He translated the Book of Mormon that has brought clarity to Christ’s teachings. Through him, the priesthood, the very power to act in the name of God, was restored to the Earth. He sealed his testimony of Christ with his own blood. And for those reasons, in our home, we praise the man. And we will continue to praise him regardless of any and all opposition because the Spirit continually reminds us of these truths. I’m thankful for that. The feeling of spiritual offense has changed to a feeling of spiritual gratitude for all of the blessings and power I do have.