Pheasant Valley Saints

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Sometimes, It's Just the Little Things

(Some thoughts from March 2023)

It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal, but to someone, it was.

Last night, Cindy, my mother, and I were in the Provo City Center Temple, doing sealings. We were acting as living proxies for the dead. Cindy and I were sealed as proxies for time and eternity for married couples who have passed on so that, if they choose, they may be together as husband and wife forever. My mother had the opportunity to serve as a proxy in sealings as well with an elderly gentleman who was in the session without his eternal companion. (I assumed his sweet companion is currently on the other side of the veil, as is my father, waiting for the glorious and joyful day of reunion.) Each of us were also able to serve as proxies for the sealings of sons and daughters to parents. The sealing ordinance is the pinnacle of service in the temple, the culmination of all the work that has been done before (baptisms, confirmations, ordinations, washings, anointings, and endowments). This final, glorious ordinance is the uniting of husbands and wives and families for eternity.

It’s my favorite thing to do in the temple. And when I get to kneel at the altar, holding hands with my sweetheart, looking into her eyes… In other faiths and traditions, couples renew their wedding vows. This is something like that, only while doing so, we get to reunite other couples who have passed beyond the veil of this mortal life. It is a sweet service, and it is a joy to serve with my sweet, lovely eternal companion.

But that isn’t what I wish to share about being in the temple yesterday. (At least, not all that I wish to share.)

After we finished our first sealing session, we volunteered to do a second session. Sometimes, that’s not possible, either because the next session is full or because of our own time constraints. But we had that opportunity last night, and so we took it.

And I’m so glad we did.

In the second sealing session, there was a young man sitting alone, i.e., without his wife. I don’t know the circumstances that brought him to the temple alone last night. (As for how young he is, we found out that he was in his early forties, but, hey, almost everyone looks young to me.) He kept staring at Cindy and me and grinning.

Now, the temple is not usually a place where unnecessary conversations occur. It is a place of silent prayer, of contemplation, of communing with God. It’s not that it’s improper to talk (except during the ordinances themselves), it just doesn’t happen a lot—and rarely above a whisper.

However, after the second sealing session was complete, this young man introduced himself and said, “I was a missionary twenty-two years ago, and you had us over to your home for dinner. I remember, Brother Belt, you were reading scriptures with your children during dinner, and I was so impressed by that. And you had a parrot on your shoulder. I was going through a rough patch on my mission, and that experience really helped me through it. Thank you.”

It wasn’t a big deal. We just did what we always did. We read scriptures as a family almost every night at dinner. It’s a habit Cindy and I established early in our lives as parents. Sometimes, with six children, reading scriptures at dinner wasn’t always a spiritual experience. Sometimes, it was chaotic. Like herding cats. But we made it a habit and have carried that habit through to this day. (Though, I readily admit it is easier with just Cindy, my mother, and myself.)

It was just a small thing. An everyday thing. But somehow, it made a difference in that young elder’s life.

You never know who you are going to touch, just by your everyday, sometimes chaotic attempts to live the gospel.

It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal, but to someone, it was.