Shoulders Wet With Tears

February 5th, 2026 Scott
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TheDiscipleMD

I really can’t explain it but it happened.  In 2002 my mother passed away and I thought I was handling her loss very well.  Then, one Sunday, a few weeks after my mother died, a fellow church member came up to me and gave condolences regarding my loss.  I felt tears start to swell in my eyes as I thanked him for his kindness.  Then, the flood gates opened up and I started to sob.  I mean sob right there in the middle of the chapel with all sorts of people in close proximity. As my tears flowed this kind man put his arms around me and when he did I laid my head on his shoulder and sobbed till I had nothing left. I was so embarrassed.  Yet, there I was, crying uncontrollably while being held in the arms by this good brother. He never pushed me away nor did he make me feel uncomfortable about my behavior.  In fact, I will say that it felt, at that moment, as though the Savior himself was holding me in his arms.  I have never forgotten the love and concern I felt from this man.

I have not seen this good brother for many years, as we both have since moved from the area.  But just this past summer I happened to see him at our old church building. We were both visiting. I went over to him and we hugged and caught up on each others lives. I mentioned to him about this experience. He remembered. I told him how special that experience was to me.  He humbly brushed it off as nothing.

Great are the words of an ancient prophet:

“…he said unto them: Behold…as ye are desirous to come into the fold of God, and to be called his people, and are willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light; Yea, and are willing to mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort, and to stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places that ye may be in, even until death, that ye may be redeemed of God, and be numbered with those of the first resurrection, that ye may have eternal life— Now I say unto you, if this be the desire of your hearts, what have you against being baptized in the name of the Lord…” (Mosiah 18)

What a wonderful and beautiful blessing it is to have brothers and sisters of the church who are willing to bear our burdens, and who mourn with us while trying to comfort us in our darkest hours. That is the true essence of Christianity; the pure love of him who we worship.

I have had many experiences with members of Christ’s church who, like this good brother, are willing to share my burdens and offer words of encouragement when I have needed them.  My hope is that I am found to have the same, ‘pure love of Christ,’ so that when others darkest hours descend upon  them, I might also be there for them.

When the day comes and the Lord asks us if we are our brothers keepers, may we be able to say, “Why yes, we are. ” And we will know where our brothers are, because our shoulders will still be wet from their tears.

It Must Have Been A Friendly Ghost!

February 4th, 2026 Scott
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TheDiscipleMD

It seemed like every other day, one of us kids were breaking something, forgetting to turn off something, or not cleaning up behind ourself.  When my Mom would inquire of us as to who was responsible, all of us would respond collectively or individually, “It wasn’t me!”   My Mom would get frustrated and say, “Well, it must have been a ghost!”  I don’t think any of us were purposely lying to her, I just think that among her ten kids, we really didn’t know who was responsible.  Who was the last one out of the room and didn’t turn off the television? None of us were paying attention.  Who left the light on?  Don’t know!  The milk never seemed to return to the fridge, but none of us were the last one to get it out. It really seemed that the house was “haunted.”  A ghost really was responsible for all the “misdeeds” that were happening.  As a kid I was fine with “Casper”  taking the rap!

To my Mom’s credit, even though she could have lost her temper with us, she too was fine with using “Casper” as the fall guy.  And I guess that is what I most remember and cherish about the most repetitive question of “Who done it?” It was the manner in which the response was handled by my Mom.  She had every right to be mad, or even accusatory, but she wasn’t.  She wouldn’t lose her temper and create bad feelings in the home, for sake of an iron, the milk, or the lights.  And she could have! Some might even say, “She should have” in order to have taught us ten kids the principle of accountability.   Well, maybe, but, looking back, I think she handled it best by throwing “Casper” under the bus.  I learned a lot from how my Mother handled stress and pressure.  She knew that having an atmosphere of love, instead of contention, was more important than “sweating over the small stuff.” And most of what happens on a daily basis is “small stuff.”

If you have kids, they will try your patience almost every day. But, on days like that, do like my Mom so often did, make an enemy of “Casper” and love your kids! Your kids will always remember the spirit that enveloped their childhood home and no matter how many times you throw Casper “under the bus,” he will forgive you because after all, he is forever “friendly.”

The Healing Power Of Saying ‘I’m Sorry!”

February 3rd, 2026 Scott
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TheDiscipleMD

My second grade teacher was a tiny elderly woman named Mrs. Wells who despite her size held a commanding presence in our classroom. She carried a foot long wooden ruler, almost at all times, and wielded it freely in order to get the attention of the class. It was not uncommon for her to strike the top of the desk nearest to her, which often was mine as I sat in the front center row. Needless to say I was never found slumbering in class and she always had my undivided attention. Although she was stern, she also was fair.

One school day after my class had returned from lunch Mrs. Wells came into the class and slammed her ruler on my desk. She had a very angry look on her face and she proceeded to tell us that the first grade teacher, Mrs. Mayer, had informed her that someone from our class had torn down much of the 1st grade bulletin board display that was up in the hallway. Mrs. Wells then demanded to know who from the class had done it. She folded her arms and waited for someone to come forward. But no one did. The seconds seemed like minutes as the classroom was now silent. Mrs. Wells repeated herself and waited again for the guilty party or parties to confess. It was obvious that no confession was forthcoming. The silence became so uncomfortable that  I raised my hand and told her that, although I had not done it, I would be happy to clean up and repair the damage done to Mrs. Mayer’s bulletin board. Mrs. Wells accepted my volunteerism and assigned another young man to help me. As I walked down the hall to repair the bulletin board, I felt proud of myself for being willing to clean up the destructive act of someone else. You could say I was skipping down the hallway to the bulletin board which was directly across from Mrs. Mayer’s classroom.

The door to Mrs. Mayer’s class was closed but the door had a small window in it and I could see Mrs. Mayer in front of her class writing on the board. As my buddy and I started to clean things up, Mrs. Mayer must have seen us through the window and came out. I had barely turned around to see her when she angrily started to scold me. I never had a chance to explain myself because she never gave me an opportunity to speak. She pointed her finger in my face and derided me for being a bad boy and how could I have done such a thing. I don’t remember what the other boy was doing but Mrs. Mayer clearly had singled me out for the verbal thrashing. She finished her tirade and told me to go back to class. I turned and ran down the hallway with tears beginning to flow. As I entered my class Mrs. Wells inquired why I was back so quick and I burst into tears and blubbered out what had happened. I seated myself as Mrs. Wells flew out the classroom toward the first graders room. I don’t know what transpired next but I know that Mrs. Wells and Mrs. Mayer exchanged some heated words. Next thing I know Mrs. Mayer was in front of our class talking to us about responsibility and not being destructive. Even as a little boy I could see and feel that Mrs. Mayer was embarrassed by her actions but that she was not about to apologize to me and the other boy for her misplaced anger. When she left the room I still remember thinking to myself that I didn’t like her because she wouldn’t tell me that she was sorry. She never did, and I never liked her after that experience. I have long since forgiven Mrs. Mayer, but I find it interesting that I have never forgotten the experience. Perhaps it is because of the feelings that rush back into my mind when I relive it. I am sure that the ugly interaction I had with Mrs. Mayer could have been replaced with another; one that could have included an apology and a moment of forgiveness. Instead, I am left with the former, not the latter.

Is it hard for us to say, “I’m sorry?” We certainly don’t say it enough. I find it interesting that throughout my life when I have heard these words, I have always accepted them. Don’t you? In fact, there is a bond that exists with parties that have shared such an interaction.  Marlin K. Jensen of the told this short story:

“Once my father, in the heat and frustration of a humid July afternoon, overreacted to my youthful farming blunders and administered punishment which I felt was in excess of the crime. Later he approached me with an apology and a much-appreciated expression of confidence in my abilities. That humble expression has remained in my memory for more than 40 years.” (Liahona, July 2001, “To Walk Humbly with Thy God”).

As we go through life, let us be humble enough in liberally saying “I’m sorry” and kind enough to say, “I forgive you!” As you can see, the memories of Marlin Jensen towards his Father are sweet, while my memories of Mrs. Mayer still are left unsettled some close to sixty years later.

Answers To Our Unasked Prayers

January 30th, 2026 Scott
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TheDisicpleMD

My wife has always been a “Love a Lots” bear, and I have seen myself as a “Champ” bear when it comes to parenting. As a father of five, I have, on occasion, found myself doing things beneficial for my kids, even though they have not asked for it. By experience, I can see problems in advance that will cause uncalculated misery and unhappiness in their lives. Long before the problem presents itself and its consequences, I have taken steps so that they are able to avoid such tragedies. They don’t know of my actions and concerns. I am giving answers to their unasked prayers. Prayers that are never said, because well…they are not needed. And they are not needed because the problem never presented itself to them. Such actions are done by all parents who love and have concern regarding the welfare of their children. I am not unique in answering my children’s unasked prayers.

With time, I am hopeful that my children will recognize that I have been there, watching over, and trying my best to make their lives better and full of joy. And although it is important that they learn lessons by their own experience, all loving parents do their best to help lighten the load of their children.

Perhaps we too have been the recipients of ‘answers to unasked prayers.” We pray to our Father above for many things we are in need of, but have we ever contemplated that our ‘unasked prayers’ are simply petitions that we never make because, well…we have no need to pray for what we already have. The Lord certainly knows of our needs and said to his followers:

“ Therefore take no thought, saying, What shall we eat? or, What shall we drink? or, Wherewithal shall we be clothed?…for your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things.” Matthew 6: 31-32)

So, too, He knows of our needs, and, like any loving Father, He proactively answers our unasked prayers. So the next time we feel He isn’t listening, perhaps we need to remember to thank Him for answering our unasked prayers and remember that He is always “championing” good things in our lives.

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