I Rest Me in the Thought

in God, the Eternal Father

I'm sure we'll spend a whole year on various aspects of the First Article of Faith. Because there's so much to say and I never leave myself enough time to put even an ounce of it into a single post. And because we'd like to have some of you write on the subject as well. And you'll note that we've abandoned all structure - no more certain topics on certain weeks of the month. Just whatever, whenever. Won't that be easier?? Yes. And while we're housekeeping: we're glad for your comments on the last couple of posts! We never really thought this blog would have regular readers and so we never really thought that a comments section would be necessary - but we're so glad for the exchange! It's so refreshing!

End of tangent.

Today, on the topic of God, our Eternal Father, I've only time for two things: A song and a story.

The song (in part) - one that has been floating in my head all through this heavenly springtime; one you probably know and love, too:

This is My Father's World

Words by Malthbie Babcock

This is my Father’s world, and to my listening ears
All nature sings, and round me rings the music of the spheres.

This is my Father’s world: I rest me in the thought
Of rocks and trees, of skies and seas;
His hand the wonders wrought.


This is my Father’s world, the birds their carols raise,
The morning light, the lily white, declare their Maker’s praise.
This is my Father’s world: He shines in all that’s fair;
In the rustling grass I hear Him pass;
He speaks to me everywhere.

The story (not directly related to the song, mostly for my memory's sake, and long...are you duly inspired to continue?):

At the beginning of the month, Wes and I spent a week away from our children. Four year old Lucy had a wonderful time with her grandparents and cousins while we were gone, but since our return she has been consistently anxious. She has dreaded separation of all kinds, including primary and preschool - both of which were previously beloved.

While her feelings and behaviors seemed fairly normal to me in light of our week away, I was concerned. The crying and screaming seemed so uncharacteristic.

We talked, we asked questions, we tried to both validate and reassure, but all the while Lucy's anxiety only seemed to increase. "I don't want it to be night," she told me fretfully last Tuesday, fulling comprehending that the approaching day would bring school.

Should I even take her? I wondered. She seemed so truly distraught.

Wednesday morning came. We all piled in the car with the intention of dropping Dad off at work and Lucy off at school. We'll see how it goes, I thought.

Pulling up to the city council building, we started to wave Wes off, but before he climbed out of the car he asked, "Could we say a prayer together? To help me feel happy at work and to help Lucy feel happy at school?"

We said a prayer. Wes jumped out.  The rest of us drove off.

Several minutes down the road, I heard Lucy's concerned little voice ask from the back seat, "could we say another prayer? I'm about cry!"

So we prayed again. And then we talked. About Heavenly Father. About how much he loves us. About how he can always be with us - even though we can't see him. We talked about how he sends the Holy Ghost to help us feel better when we feel alone or sad or afraid.

I was grateful for the chance to discuss those things, but I certainly still anticipated a struggle at school. The preceding days had been so difficult.

We pulled up in the usual spot. I prepared for the usual tears. Instead, I heard Lucy unclick her seat belt. "You can stay here with Spud," she told me when I looked back.

Worried that she was being a little cavalier and that she'd melt down the moment she was out of the car, I offered: "Would you like me to walk you to the gate?"

"No," she was so sober, "You can stay."
She proceeded to open the door, but looked back at me before exiting. "Because of the prayer," she said.

I watched in disbelief as she walked to the gate with a determined stride. She looked back a few times, her face puckered and red. I wanted to run to her. But she turned and headed straight inside.

I immediately cornered another father, "Will you check on her inside? Will you come back and tell me how she's doing?" I asked.

I waited impatiently but something inside me knew: she's fine.

"Because of the prayer."

My emissary returned and flashed a thumbs up.
I started the car and drove away with tears running down me cheeks.

I was so grateful for that glimpse of my daughter's emerging faith - that glimpse of her growing confidence in Heavenly Father's care. And I realized: of all the things I hope to teach her - such faith, such confidence is paramount.

"Why" will have to wait for another day.
I want, simply, to say:

I believe in God the Eternal Father.
We live in His beautiful world.
And we are all, truly, His beloved children.