Back in the Game

Man oh man, being back on the softball field again is the best! The thing is I didn't think I'd ever be able to play again. Sharp pain and subsequent right shoulder surgery pulled me off both the basketball court and softball diamond and landed me in the operating room in 2020. 

When friends ask me what caused the tears in my shoulder, I tell the the same thing: "Throwing too many guys out at first base over too many years."

I thought surgery would solve my physical issues and restore me to what I was. But even after the doctor repaired multiple tears in my labrum and months of rehab with two different physical therapists, the pain persisted. Painkiller shots didn't make a difference either. A full series of x-rays then revealed I had arthritis inside my right shoulder joint. There would be no more throwing over the top like I had since I started playing in the Wichita more than 40 years earlier. 

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I grew up watching my Dad play softball. And he could really, really play! Dad was a switch hitter. I remember one game when he jacked a home run batting right-handed. The next time up, he pivoted around to the other side of the plate to bat left-handed. (Actually, he did that quite often.) I heard somebody on the other team make some kind of cat call about it. Dad then hit a base-clearing bomb over the right fielder's head. Yeah, Dad was a heck of a player. And he was a pitcher. And not only a pitcher, but was a surprisingly good fielder. I only say that because of the glove he used - a four-fingered, pro design Spalding with a Jerry Lumpe (1956-1967 in the major leagues) signature in its palm (see photo below). To this day, it fits my hand as well as an oversized garden glove. It's just not very big. But dad knew how to use it. He would knock down line drives or hard ground balls and gun down runners at first base.  

I played a couple years of little league baseball when I was in third and fourth grade but started playing softball in the Wichita men's city league when I was 15. I was a little guy - maybe 5-feet 8-inches or so and probably not weighing more than 125 pounds. But I could slap the ball and run pretty fast. I saved up some money from my part-time job, went to the store and bought a glove of my own. It wasn't name brand or anything but it was a "Mark Holyoak Pro Player" model, thanks to our wood-burning set. It served me well for several decades before I passed it on to my son, Jace, who used it until it basically fell apart after a 40-year life. 

In 1981, I got a letter while attending Ricks College. My teenage buddies back home picked me as our softball coach. When I got home, I signed up our team to play in the same city league division that the men from our church had played in for years. I was our oldest player at the age of 18 and our youngest was 14. 

We got off to a 3-0 start on the season but when we played the men from our church, we seemed to be psyched out. Maybe it's because we had always been their backups. Then in church that Sunday, the father of one of the men's players was at the podium and said something like, "Well, I guess the seniors (top and bottom in photo below) showed the juniors how to play ball last night. 

When the rematch rolled around, it was our tenth game of the season. We were 4-5 overall but this was the big one. We were mad and wanted revenge. I was 0-for-4 at the plate but caught three line drives and threw out five others guys from third base. The juniors were clinging to a 4-3 lead in the bottom of the seventh inning. With two outs, they had runners at first and third and their power hitter at the plate. He hit a one-hop shot right at me. I shoveled it in and threw him out. We were jumping around and yelling while the seniors had their heads down. It was glorious! The next day, John Bazzelle happened to be speaking in church and told the congregation how the rematch went down. Ah yeah!

We went on to win three of our final five games including a victory over a team that was unbeaten at 11-0 and an 8-7 season-finale victory against a team with a cocky, loud-mouthed shortstop who was talking it up with us all game long. That win denied his team of advancing to the state tournament. 

That's our team in the middle photo. Top row - left to right: Dean Orr, John McCurdy, Larry Hooper, Matt Merrill, John Bazzelle and Jeff Voran. Bottom row kneeling - left to right: Doug Corbett, Scott Hooper, Vaughn Swink, me and Darren Swink. 

A final record of 8-6 for a bunch of teenagers playing in a men's league - not bad. Not bad at all.

I continued to play softball throughout my college years and, of course, each summer when I was back home in Kansas. That included a trip to the state tournament in Hutchinson, Kansas, which was pretty cool because they had scoreboards and a public address announcer that announced your name and position each time you went to the plate, as well as several church tournaments including one in Lincoln, Nebraska.

When I started my career in broadcast journalism, I played a few seasons here and there but it was difficult because I worked second shift and was often shooting games or stories in the evening. However, when I transitioned from television sports to television news and moved to Montana, I suddenly had a dependable dinner break. And that opened the door for a full-time return to the softball field. 

In 2003, our newly-hired weather guy, Russ Thomas, wanted to put a softball team together so several of us started recruiting friends and friends of friends. He landed an annual sponsorship from Taco Johns and we began a successful run over the next 15 years of highly competitive and even dominating  softball including several trips to the state tournament. I have man fond memories of these teams. Among them, I got to play a couple of seasons with Jace - one before his mission to Australia and one when he returned home. But most of all, there's nothing like playing with good teammates who are good guys and good players.

Russ Thomas - teammates in 2003 and still teammates in 2022

Taco Johns founders: Travis Munden, Me, Russ & Jay Allen

That one time I tried to stretch a single into a double but got gunned down at second

Father-son teammates

With my buddy Devin Huntley

Over our last three seasons, we finished with an overall record of 40-4 including three first-place finishes. 

Back to 2022. Since my long-time team, Taco Johns, disbanded before COVID-19 shut down the 2020 season and shortened the 2021 season, I didn't have a team to play for anyway. However, I received an invitation to play but I couldn't throw the ball with any kind of force and without a jolt of pain so I declined to play in '21. A longtime teammate and former co-worker, Russ Thomas, reached out before the 2022 season and asked me to give it a go. 

"Sure, I'll show up to a practice," I promised Russ. "We'll see if I can still swing the bat and go from there."

Well, I never made it to a practice due to crummy weather and conflicting schedules. And I knew my shoulder wouldn't let me play in the outfield or make any long throws across the infield. So, I showed up for the first game of the season with no real expectations. Our manager, Matt, put me in at catcher. It felt so, so good to jog back onto the field with teammates.

I also pitched a few innings and played a couple more at first base. I didn't have to make any overhand throws. And at the plate? Matt put me at the bottom of the order, which is exactly where I'd put an old guy who hadn't played a game in three years. How did it go? Just a bit of a surprise - good, solid swings, hard ground balls and line drives in the gaps. It was a 4-for-4 night in a season-opening victory.  

My first at-bat in three years

As I drove home, I was just tickled. I thought, "Mark, you can still do this. You can be productive. You can still swing the bat. You can play where your shoulder allows you to play. And, most importantly, you can contribute and help your team win!"

I didn't know most of the guys on the team but the others, I certainly did. They were the leftovers of the old Taco Johns team - Russ, Mitch, fast Russ, Jay, Scott and me. All great guys. All older guys (not as old as me, except for Jay) but all good guys and good players who know how to win.  

As the season got going, I continued to be a bit surprised. I consistently kept hitting for a high average like I hadn't in years. No deep drives to the fence or anything like that but looping line drives, seeing-eye ground ball singles to all fields and occasional extra-base hits. 

I guess Matt liked what he saw because three games in, he had me batting second in the lineup where I stayed the rest of the year. Our leadoff guy was speedy. He'd get on base. Then I'd follow with base hit and we'd both come in to score as we hit the meat of the lineup. I ended up batting about .700 on the season.

Here comes the pitch...(with my granddaughter Lexi cheering me on)

...there it goes...

...base hit into center field

On the field, Matt asked me to start the third game or so on the mound and kept me there as pitcher for much of the rest of the season. I really never pitched until about five years ago. Maybe it's just an "old man" kind of expectation, I really don't know. But I like it! It's fun having the ball in your hand on every play when on defense. We had one game about a third of the way through the season where the other team must have hit the ball at me like 12-15 times in one game. It was crazy! Ground balls, line drives, pop ups, dribblers, you name it. We even turned a double play. 

Back on the mound for a beautiful Montana summer evening of softball

Now, throwing the ball to first base was anything but graceful. I was sort of slinging it sidearm or underhanded - just however I could get it over there as quick as I could to get the runner out without causing too much shoulder pain.

I don't know where we finished in the standings - probably third or fourth or so but my understanding was it was a good improvement over the year before. It was such a great, great time!

So what's next? After all, I turn 60 years of age this offseason. Mic drop and walk away? Heck no! This old guy is playing basketball in the winter months and lifting weights (where my shoulder allows) to gear up for next season. After all, we've got more games to play and more games to win! 

Taking off the cleats for the final time in 2022. Bring on 2023!

"Girls Camp" Isn't Just for Girls

It's always fun when you discover something you've always known, but now you're actually a part of it. My wife, Lori, has a leadership position working with the older girls in our church (the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints). Anyway, because of that she is involved in all of the girls' activities, and I often get to go along too.

Let me tell you a little about Girls Camp. It's a three to five-day "girls only" campout for those turning 12 years of age during the year to those who just graduated from high school. That's right, only girls and adult female leaders, however they usually ask a couple of men to serve as security and do other things to help out. I was asked to go along in 2021 and after that experience, I said "I'm definitely in for next year too."

The girls, their leaders and a photo bomber (to the left)

We just got home from the 2022 camp up Petty Creek in western Montana. Camp leaders referred to 2022 camp as "Plan B" because rising river levels left the planned campsite under about a foot and a half of water so they made a last-minute decision and we ended up on private property in an absolutely beautiful setting in the mountains surrounded by the Lolo National Forest. Leaders and girls alike rolled with the punches and had a great time. 

We had three great meals a day served under a large tent, slept in small tents and the girls took part in a wide array of activities including orienteering, bear identification and safety (I was asked to lead that one), fire building, first aid, herbs and edibles, devotionals, camp songs, flag ceremonies, polar plunges, rock painting, hair tinsel, personalized lantern bags, volleyball, glow stick night games and other activities. 

Lori and I accompanied two of the four groups up in the mountains to a small spring-fed waterfall that shot out of the rock. It was a short hike - only a little over a mile - but it was a little rugged, which everyone seemed to like. First we walked through a nice grassy meadow and then headed through thick brush, crossed the stream several times, made our way across a rock scramble of loose flagstones of all shapes and sizes, and then had to climb single file to hike across a steep rock face and then drop into where we got a nice view of the waterfall. Even though it was 90 degrees that day, the temperatures were really cool by the spring. And the water was oh so wonderfully cold and delicious!

We started in a meadow...

...ascended to the high country...

...and made it to the waterfall...

...where more photo-bombing took place.

Cornhole showdown

While there were a lot of activities, our job (Adam Smith, Ronan Stake president, and I) was just to wander around in the background. Although when we were publicly challenged three different times to cornhole showdowns in front of the entire camp that cheered against us, we pulled out three hard-fought victories. 

I also brought along my fly rod so when one of the leaders said, "Okay Mark, time to create your own personal lantern bag," I took that as a cue to grab my fishing pole, thrash through the streamside brush and hop in the creek. The water was really cold since it's snowmelt runoff but the fish cooperated. I ended up catching seven of them in an hour or so even though number-eight, the largest of the batch, spit out my fly and got away.

Camp cornhole kings

Right after I got back, one of the camp leaders asked if I'd get some bird's eye view photos of the campsite for the property's owner. "A bird's eye view?" I asked. "From how high up?" "Yeah, climb up the mountain and get some good photos, okay?" Because of the heights of the ponderosa trees in the forest, then meant a bit of a hike to get high enough above them that I could get a view of most of the camp, or at least the portion where we all camped. The rock facing was pretty steep but that made it kind of like climbing a ladder in spots so getting up was much quicker than getting down. But once up there, the view of the entire little valley was pretty spectacular.

A bird's eye view of Girls Camp 2022

Where I took the photo

The best part of everything was getting to know these fun, quality young women. They're all just so wonderful in their own ways. I even met a cousin with the same last name and with a name like Holyoak, that just doesn't happen. Apparently they just moved here a little while back and something like her great, great, great, great grandfather and my great, great, great grandfather were brothers. How about that?!

So my third girls camp experience was such a good time. And of course, it rained the last night there so everything was soaked.

Girls camp experience number-two took place in August 2021 on the banks of the Flathead River near the National Bison Range in Moiese. It was hot, hot, hot and fun, fun, fun. 

This time, Lori and I borrowed our son-in-law's camper that sat in the back of his pickup. And this time, I was the only adult male for most of camp. One night while we were sleeping, we got a knock on the door at about 1 or 2 o'clock in the morning: "Mark, Mark, we need you to come out. We think there's a bear in the camp," they whispered with a sense of urgency. This was a 50-50 proposition. Chances are it was a black bear but we were camping in grizzly bear territory too so I hoped for the former. Out of the tent, I shined my flashlight into the tents and across the river. And then I heard it. It came from across the river and sounded kind of like a mew. I recognized it immediately. It was a cow elk. In fact, from the noise across the river, I could tell it was a herd of elk. "Are you sure that's an elk? How do you know?" I just laughed since I work at the Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation and I'd just gotten home a couple of days earlier from the RMEF World Elk Calling Championships, plus I'm a hunter. I told them I had a pretty good idea what an elk sounded like. I walked throughout camp, assured them everything was okay and we all went back to bed.

Like the 2022 version, the 2021 camp was a great time as well. In addition to a bunch of activities, the girls and leaders navigated a mud obstacle course. They were all a grimy, mucky mess. I was stationed toward the end of the course behind one of those large agricultural sprinklers so, of course, I manned it like a water cannon and soaked any and all girls that came within range. From there, the girls loaded onto a flatbed trailer attached to a tractor and I drove them through fields of crops to the edge of the Flathead River so they could jump in, rinse off and swim their way downstream to camp. 

Mud obstacle course = conquered!

Heading upstream on the beautiful Flathead River

One morning, I got up early and paddled my paddleboard upstream about a half mile or so to an island in the river for some early morning fishing. I wasn't there very long but it was so peaceful, fun and yes, successful. On one of my first couple of casts I hooked a smaller fish. As it got closer to me, I could tell it wasn't a trout. In fact, I couldn't tell what it was until I pulled it out of the water. It was a smallmouth bass - the first bass I'd caught since my teenage days back in Kansas. Then on the next cast I pulled in a 20-inch rainbow. Man, it was a nice, big, pretty fish. 

The highlighted activity was a 10-mile raft float on the Flathead. We piled into trucks and cars and headed upriver. Each raft held eight to 10 girls and a couple of leaders. They pumped up their rafts and one by one, launched into the river. I was asked to be the mobile security guy so I floated along on my paddleboard which was perfect since I could float downstream or pivot and paddle upstream if needed for whatever situation. One of the rafts did get stuck on a rock for a few minutes so we had everyone move to a part of the raft not on the rock. Then they all rocked and bounced as I pushed with both feet. Eventually they popped off of it and were on their way. We pulled off about halfway through the float and ate sack lunches. Back on the river, more girls jumped into the water as temperatures heated up. I was getting steamy too but never had to leave my paddleboard. They were all tethered to their rafts so they would float alongside them. I couldn't afford to have my paddleboard float away so instead of jumping in, I made my way alongside several of them, yelled "Attack!" and started splashing them with water by slapping my paddle on the river. All of them were armed with water soaker guns and they just punished me with water. I'd yell, "Ha missed! Missed again! You're all awful shots!" Of course I was doused with water that felt oh so good. And somewhat surprisingly, even though the river was large and deep in places, the water was really, really warm. Anyway, I carried out several attacks along the way and got wonderfully soaked each time.

The 2021 crew. (Yeah, they clean up well.)

My first girls camp experience was 42 years earlier as a 17-year-old just out of high school and, no I was not invited. A group of us teenage guys decided to hit the drive-in theater while the girls, a few of which we were dating, were at girls camp near Augusta, Kansas. My buddy John got the family van and a whole bunch of us piled in for the all-night Pink Panther movie-a-thon at the local drive-in theater. After watching a couple of them and eating a bunch of burgers and junk food, it was around 1 a.m. or so. That’s when we came up with the idea to crash girls camp. The goal was to somehow find the girls we knew, hide in the bushes and jump out and scare the brains out of them. After sneaking around for a while, we still couldn’t find our girls but at one point a group of other girls found us as we hid in high grass. The beams from their flashlights were right on three of us. Then they said, “There’s some men!” and ran off. About an hour later I asked John if he had his keys to the van. He said he left them in the ignition because he thought we would make a quick getaway. As we started back to the van, we saw a car drive close to us so we dove into a ditch. After the driver left, we snuck up to the van but it was locked. We’d been caught so we stood out in the open and the camp leaders came and balled us out. 

The head lady wanted to call the bishop (my dad at the time) at 2:30 a.m. and tell him to come get us. She and her husband treated us like we committed some sort of terrible crime or something. The lady’s husband made us write down our names, ages and other information. They said we needed to apologize to church leaders, write a letter, do all-night labor and other stuff. The only thing that kept us from getting killed was a man from our church unit who had been one my youth leaders when I was younger. He knew we were good kids and calmed down the camp leaders. They determined our punishment was we had to tell the bishop what we’d done. I thought that was really unfair because my dad was our bishop. What about the other guys telling their parents, too? We drove back to Wichita and crashed in John’s living room. Later that day, all the guys came over to my house. Dad talked to us a little and agreed with us that the whole thing got blown out of proportion.

So I guess I'm a bit of a girls camp veteran. Can't wait for 2023!

 

Where God Puts a Period, Don't Put a Question Mark

"Where God puts a question mark, don't put a period." Those words came out of my brother's mouth as he spoke to a grieving family member on the phone. They were words of peace, comfort and faith, and words that had me dwell on them again and again.

Mid-May 2022 was hard, really hard. My brother Alan called us during an early evening. As soon as he spoke, we could tell something was not right. With a cracking voice, he struggled to let us know that his wife, Kathrine, of some 33 years had suddenly and unexpectedly passed away. It just did not seem to be real.

As this horrible news set in, my mind took me back to similar feelings I experienced more than four decades earlier. I was a student at Ricks College in Rexburg, Idaho, in late 1981. There was a small group of us that spent a lot of time together - me and my roommates Lans and Sohn, and two of our Family Home Evening (FHE) sisters Kathy and Allison. We went to sporting events, movies, the nearby sand dunes, all across campus and just plain hung out a lot together. We were great friends.

For the Thanksgiving break, the three of us guys sent to Sohn's cousin's place in Blackfoot, Idaho, while Kathy and Allison returned to their home of Star Valley, Wyoming. Below is an excerpt from my journal.

We returned to Rexburg where we met some startling news. Allison had died in a car wreck when returning home. It really shocked us and we couldn’t concentrate on studying or anything else. We went to our sisters’ apartment and we all just sat there with nobody saying anything. Just a lot of tears by everyone. I called home and talked to my parents but I was pretty shaken up too. We talked to the bishop and set up a trip to Star Valley for the funeral the next Monday. Allison’s death really messed up Kathy and we weren’t sure she would return to school after she heard the news. On Monday, we skipped classes and traveled together to Star Valley. It was kind of a snowy, dark and gloomy day as we traveled but as soon as the funeral started, the sun broke through the clouds with sparkling snowflakes falling. It turned out to be a beautiful day! The funeral helped put our minds at ease. Allison’s family took the events very well and accepted what happened. They gave us words of encouragement which really helped. After the graveside prayer, a power feeling of peace came over me. We returned to the church house with the family for a luncheon. We ate and ate and ate. Lans, Sohn and I spent a lot of time with our family home evening sisters. We often stayed up until 2 or 3 a.m. as we all sorted through our feelings of losing Allison. We became much closer not only as a FHE group but as friends.

I had been raised with an understanding of death and how it was part of our natural and eternal existence. I believed we lived in a different realm before coming to Earth, as spirits. We would eventually be born with a body, live a life here and when we died, our spirits would continue to live without our bodies, and then we go to a place of comfort and rest with those who passed before us. Eventually, the day will come that we will be resurrected or, in other words, that our spirits will be reunited with our bodies, yet they will be glorified and perfected. In that state, we will then live eternally. This Plan of Salvation, as it's called, makes total sense and I believe it to be real and true.

The thing is that even though others somewhat close to me had passed away, like grandmothers and grandfathers, and despite my personal and religious beliefs, this seemed different. I was still in my teenage years and Allison was so young and had so much of her life left to live. Her passing was the first time someone so close to me had died. The bottom line is this was the first time my beliefs were really put to the test - and it was a hard test. Yet, I could see in the faces of Allison's family members that they knew the Plan of Salvation was real. They showed that in their behavior and in their words. And their faith strengthened mine. That was a defining moment in my young life.

Fast forward to 2018, I had the opportunity to spend a month in Wichita, Kansas, to help care for my Dad over the final month of his life as the Christmas season approached. He had been diagnosed with cancer just a few months earlier. That, too, was a hard thing watching his body deteriorate, yet he handled it with patience, faith and courageous endurance. Even though it was physically, mentally and emotionally draining as my Mom and I and eventually other family members cared for him at all hours of the day and night during his final days with us, it did not alter or affect my spiritual beliefs. I knew where Dad was going. When he passed on December 1, he was relieved of his earthly pain and went to be with his father and other family members who passed before. I was sad knowing he would no longer be an active part of my life but I know that I will see him again one day down the eternal road.

Grandpa Al reading a book to 
grandson William 

I also understand and feel assured of Kathrine's destination according to the plan but the suddenness of her passing made it difficult. I arrived at Alan's house about 18 hours after his original call. I just wanted to be there to offer whatever help and comfort I could. Instead, I feel that I came away the benefactor. What I witnessed was faith, strength, compassion and graciousness. Despite being devastated and heartbroken, Alan was simply amazing! As his children and other family members arrived, he is the one comforted each of them. As neighbors stopped by to drop off cinnamon rolls, flowers, lunches, cards, dinners and condolences, it was Alan who thanked and reassured each of them. He's the one who offered words of comfort and gratitude. I always knew he had a big heart and a calm demeanor but his actions given the situation were just so inspiring! 

Putting yourself in his shoes, it would be so easy to strongly question God's will, dwell on what just happened, become bitter and seek to point fingers and assign blame. Instead he was calm, confident, welcoming and believing, and a source of faith and strength to all, including his little brother.  

Alan addressing everyone at the pre-funeral family gathering

Below are a few of the words Alan shared with an overflow congregation at Kathrine's memorial service.

I will miss her every day, but at the same time I know she is happy knowing that I will look for and find beauty, joy and happiness each day. That's what she wants for me, and that's what she wants for each of us - her family. I want you to know I have a firm conviction and confirmation that when Kathrine passed away, her spirit rolled sweetly and gently into the waiting arms of her heavenly parents and her loved ones on the other side of the veil. I look forward to the day we will be together again. And I hope we can all live in the same heavenly cul-de-sac. What a time that will be!

Where God put a period, Alan did not put a question mark. He placed an exclamation mark of love, discipleship and peace. Thank you Alan for your example and God bless you and your family!    

Alan in his favorite habitat, overlooking the ocean

Revering Mothers on Mother's Day 2022

In my church, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, it is the individual members of the congregation who are asked to give the weekly sermons. On May 8, 2022, Mother's Day, along with three youth and a young mother, I was asked to speak about mothers at the Frenchtown Montana Ward. Below are my remarks, links to scriptures and other historical information, interspersed with personal photos. 

A MOTHER’S DAY QUIZ

The Lord told my husband in a dream that Jerusalem would be destroyed. My sons later went back to Jerusalem to obtain the brass plates. Who am I?

-Sariah, mother of Nephi, Sam, Laman & Lemuel, & husband of Lehi

I promised the Lord that if I had a son, he would serve the Lord. My son grew up in the temple & became a prophet. Who am I?

-Hannah, mother of Samuel

I had nine children. One of them saw Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. They called him by name. Who am I?

-Lucy Mack Smith, mother of Joseph Smith

I did not have any children until I was very old. My son baptized Jesus Christ in the Jordan River. Who am I?

-Elisabeth, mother of John the Baptist

My husband was commanded by the Lord to sacrifice my son. Who am I?

-Sarah, mother of Isaac & husband of Abraham

I saved my baby son from pharaoh by putting him in a basket in the river. He later led the Israelites to the promised land. Who am I?

-Jochebed, mother of Moses

Our sons, all 2,060 of them, fought valiantly and kept the faith because they had been taught by us. Who are we?

-mothers of the stripling warriors

My son had a coat of many colors and a lot of brothers. They threw him in a pit and sold him into Egypt, but he later saved their lives. Who am I?

-Rachel, mother of Joseph

I was called “blessed” by an angel of the Lord. My son became the Savior of the world. Who am I?

-Mary, mother of Jesus Christ

My husband and I were the first inhabitants of the earth, lived in the garden of Eden and had the first offspring. Who am I?

-Eve, the first woman and first mother

I have many, many children. How many? They are as numberless as the grains of sands on the seashore yet I know each of them all by name. Who am I?

-Heavenly Mother

THE FAITH & GOOD WORKS OF MOTHERS (according to modern-day prophets)

As adults, the Prophet Joseph Smith and his brother Hyrum became ill with cholera. As they lay near death, Hyrum suddenly leaped up, saying, “I have had an open vision, in which I saw mother [Lucy Mack Smith] kneeling … asking God, in tears, to spare our lives. … The Spirit testifies, that her prayers … will be answered.” Both brothers soon got well.

While on the trail, the oxen belonging to young Joseph F. Smith and his mother, Mary Fielding Smith, wandered away from camp. Joseph F. searched for hours with no luck. When he returned to camp, he found his mother praying to find the oxen. Immediately after her prayer, she was guided by the Spirit and found the oxen 

Heber J. Grant’s mother, Rachel Ridgeway Grant, came from a wealthy family. After she was baptized, her family offered her a large sum of money to leave the Church. She refused. After her husband died, she worked hard sewing clothes and taking in boarders to provide for Heber.

During the Depression, when many people had no money, men often knocked on the Monson’s door, begging for work and food. Thomas S. Monson’s mother, Gladys Condie Monson, never turned a man away. When Tommy repainted his family’s picket fence, Tommy’s mother instructed him to leave one slat unpainted. It was a sign to any passing men that there was work to do at their home.

The fam in the early 80s

Elder Jeffrey R. Holland said, “No love in mortality comes closer to approximating the pure love of Jesus Christ than the selfless love a devoted mother has for her child.”

That is something I never really comprehended growing up. I knew I had a mother who cared for and loved me. She helped teach me right from wrong. Along with a righteous father, she helped raise me in the gospel. She shot baskets with me in the driveway, came to my ballgames, was a second mom to my buddies and supported me as a full-time missionary. The bottom line is she was always there, always there to support me and my siblings.

Me & baby Aubs

She and my dad showed up at our apartment shortly after our first child, Aubrey, was born with some health issues that required around-the-clock attention. Lori and I were exhausted. Aubrey eventually gained her full health and strength. One day as I held her, my mom said to me, “You know how much you love that little girl? That’s how much I love you!”

It was a personal epiphany. “Wait, she loved me as much as I loved this little girl of ours?” My finally eyes were opened in a big way that day to how much she loved me.

So as sons and daughters of mothers, what is our duty? What is our call regarding our mothers? If we’re younger, it is to honor, stand up for and respect our mothers. It’s also to learn about our moms. Okay, kids & teenagers, what do you know about your mothers? What were they like when they were your age? What did they do for fun? Do they have cool, even legendary stories while growing up? Let me share a little about my mother.

Illena Robinson was born on November 14, 1932. That’s right, if you do the math, she’ll turn 90 later this year.

When she a little girl was in grade school, she and her classmates were playing baseball on the playground. Her team was up to bat. When it got to be her turn, a boy came out of the schoolhouse and said it was his turn. Illena said, “No, it’s not. I’ve been waiting in line with my teammates and now it’s my turn.” The boy insisted, cut in front of her and said it was his turn to bat. Young Illena didn’t like it, punched him in the face which sent him back in the schoolhouse with a bloody nose. The game continued. Later in the game, Illena’s team was again up to bat and she was in line. When she got up to home plate to bat, the boy came out of the schoolhouse and again insisted it was his turn to bat. Young Illena said no. He persisted, “Yes, it’s my turn!” She punched him in the nose again and sent him back into the school – a classic tale from Holyoak family lore.

Illena was an athlete. She played basketball in high school, could really smack a softball and was also good at volleyball.

She grew up during the Great Depression days in a small town of Glendale in southern Utah with three sisters. She also had four brothers. One day, one of her older brothers, playing the role of a taunting big brother said, “I dare you to punch me in the stomach as hard as you can.” She refused. He continued to pester and pester her until she finally relented, wound up, slugged him in the stomach and laid him out on the ground. He never did that again. Apparently he didn’t know about her playground incident several years earlier. Or he didn’t learn from it.

More tales from Mom, in her words: When I was young, we didn't have electricity in Glendale but our house had been wired for it. When it got dark, mother would light the coal-oil lamp with its tall chimney and many nights she would read to us. My mom and dad had an extra bed in their bedroom where we would sleep if we were ill. I was sleeping in that bed, probably 9 years of age, when all of a sudden the electricity came on for the first time ever. Probably the only room in the house where the light switch was turned on. The rest of the family was in the kitchen eating supper when suddenly the power came on. I remember calling out, "I see a light!" After that time, mama didn't read nearly as much since we became involved in playing family games and listening to the radio in the evenings. Played checkers, monopoly & we would wear out a deck of Rook cards nearly every winter. It was fun.

In the winter Farris (her younger sister) & I would hurry upstairs quickly crawl into bed, cuddle up together to keep warm. Had so many quilts on the bed it was hard to roll over. Sometimes, we took a 2-quart fruit bottle filled with hot water wrapped up in a towel and put it in the bottom of our bed to get our feet warm. Had to remember to take it back downstairs the next morning so it wouldn’t freeze.

My grandpa and grandma Robinson, my mom’s folks, had an old ranch house on some family land about 20 miles from town – a place I loved to visit a lot over the years, especially as a teenager.

The Ranch - with the outhouse just to the left of the house

Again, my mom’s words:  The ranch house had no running water or bathroom. Quite primitive or pioneer-like. It was a really fun place to spend time.

It had an outhouse out on the hill with a Sears or Wards catalog to use for toilet paper. The indexes were always used first since it had the softest paper. Every time I went out there, I would check around the outhouse for rattlesnakes before going inside. After I got inside the outhouse, I would look down through the potty holes to make sure there were no snakes underneath.

I will never forget one time we were hunting rabbits at the ranch. My brothers wanted me to shoot a rabbit with a shotgun. This shotgun had two barrels and 2 triggers, one for each barrel. I had my finger on the first trigger and my next finger was between the two triggers. Here came a rabbit so I pulled the first trigger which pushed my second finger to fire the second barrel also. That gun recoiled into my shoulder then flipped up in the air. I had a very painful bruised black and blue shoulder for days. Never shot a shotgun again.

In 1953, my Dad was giving serious consideration to marrying Mom. His words: At that time, Illena Robinson was 20 years of age, approximately 5 feet 6 inches tall, with greenish gray eyes, dark brown hair and medium complexion. Illena was pretty, and possessed a calm, cheerful personality, a nice face and figure, and one of the most radiant smiles I have ever seen, a smile that seemed to come straight from her heart and to permeate her whole being.

Mom was receptive to the Spirit and paid attention when it spoke to her. Her words:  In mid-May 1994, I had a strong feeling that I should not go to the farm in southern Utah but stay here in Wichita so Dale hurriedly got his clothes, packed up and left for Utah.

Mark and Lori were living in Topeka, Kansas, at the time. They were expecting their 3rd child due in June. I knew Lori had close friends there so I felt she would probably be okay and have the help needed. I still had this strong feeling that I should stay home.

Mark, Lacey, Aubrey & Lori

After I had been home for 2 weeks, I began to wonder why I needed to be here at home. I knew there was a Hopkins cousins reunion scheduled to be held in St. George and it would be fun to attend so I went to a travel agency and checked on flight schedules and flight prices. The schedules and flight prices were both good but I just couldn’t make myself buy a ticket. As I drove back home I wondered why I needed to be here. Within half hour after I got home the phone rang and it was Lori. She asked me what I was doing. I told her, “Nothing.” She began to cry and told me she had just come home from her doctor’s visit and she had been put on bedrest. I told her I could come right up there and help. She said for me to come before noon the next day since that was the time that Mark would leave for work.  Aubrey and Lacey were little girls so help was needed. I went up and stayed for 2 weeks taking care of Aubrey and Lacey plus preparing meals. Then went home for the weekend and while I was gone Jace was born. Went right back up and stayed helping.

I would also add that Lori was again placed on bedrest three years later before our fourth child was born – for something like 4-6 weeks and Mom was there again to help take care of us.

Mom faithfully served in many callings including helping with Cub Scouts, Relief Society, Seminary, young women’s and many others including 16 years with my dad as temple workers in the Oklahoma City Temple.

I just had the opportunity to spend the last several weeks of one-on-one time with her in Wichita, Kansas. My dad passed away a few years ago and she was now at a point to begin the next chapter of her life by moving in with my younger sister in Texas. First, we had go through her home of 47 years -the home of my teenage years- empty it out, put it on the market and sell it. We worked hard. We got COVID together a couple of weeks ago. We slogged through it and got it done and now she is in Texas.

Mom with her guitar in the living room

Killing time pounding down salad & break sticks while the house was being shown

Disposing of old documents (Man, does she like to burn stuff)

The van is packed & ready to go

 

My childhood home...sold!

Either this past Christmas or the one before, Lori and I gave her a book of memories so we could learn more about my mom. It is filled with questions like “describe what your home life was like,” “write about a favorite family vacation,” “describe a happy or scary experience,” etc.

So as sons and daughters of mothers, what is our duty? What is our call? If we’re older, it is learn about and record their personal histories if they’ve not done so, and to look after our mothers just as they looked after us. Jesus gave us the ultimate example how to do so even as he hung on the cross of Calvary.

John 19:25–27 says…

Now there stood by the cross of Jesus his mother, and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Cleophas, and Mary Magdalene.

When Jesus therefore saw his mother, and the disciple standing by, whom he loved, he saith unto his mother, Woman, behold thy son!

Then saith he to the disciple, Behold thy mother! And from that hour that disciple took her unto his own home.

My mother recently wrote, “My deepest blessing is being a
daughter of my Heavenly Father, being a daughter of my earthly parents and being a wife, a mother, a grandmother and a great grandmother.”I am grateful for my mother.

I am grateful for the mother of my children.

I am grateful for many other mothers who helped raised me – Primary teachers, school teachers, mothers of my friends, YW presidents & youth leaders, and so many others who were and are good examples to me, my kids and friends.

(Close with personal testimony)