THE MIKE HAYES STORY

Innercity Missionaries

My Husband and I served two years as inner-city missionaries at the St. Benedicts Manor in Ogden. It is a government-housing complex with about 100 members who deal with various disabilities. Mike Hayes gave an impressive talk in Sacrament meeting on one of our first Sundays at the Manor. His testimony was powerful. The missionaries were assigned to visit the members monthly in their apartments. Our first visit with Mike was a cherished experience. We knocked on his door and he opened cheerfully and invited us in. We spent a few minutes discussing his work and career goals. He collected bills for a nearby business; he did part time drafting and had an online business with hopes of success. We were impressed at his ambition with his obvious handicap.

Mike happened to mention that he had only been active 3 years. I asked him what brought him back into the church. He told the following story:

"I am an epileptic. I was having seizures so often my life seemed hopeless. I decided the only answer was to end it. I sat on the bed with a 32-caliber revolver. I was contemplating where the best place to shoot would be—in the mouth or at the temple. As I sat there discouraged and distraught something came over me and I dropped to my knees and prayed. I stayed there for a long time pouring out my soul, pleading for help. I glanced at the shelf by my bed. I saw a book—my old dusty scriptures. I put down the gun and picked up the scriptures. They fell open to 2 Timothy 1:7"

For God hath not given us the spirit of fear but of power, and of love and of a sound mind. Be not thou therefore ashamed of the testimony of our Lord…
"I cried and dropped to my knees and prayed again. I had my answer."

He pointed to a spot on the wall with the scripture printed out below a picture of the Savior. He said the scripture sustained him daily.
I asked him about his health. He said he got an implant to control his seizures and now only has one or two grand mauls a year. He told us he was happy and hopeful—that the gospel had given him a new life.

We left uplifted as we often did with these wonderful people who were trying to live the gospel with challenges most of us can’t even imagine.

PERFECT POTATOES AU GRATIN

My husband has an onion adversion.  The garlic was a nice replacement.  This is rich and easy to put together.  The cheese is good but not necessary. 

 4-5 largish Potatoes russett or red, Scrubbed Clean

 1-½ cup Cream
 ½ cup Milk
 2 Tablespoons Flour
 2 cloves grated garlic fried until light brown in 1 T. oil
 1 teaspoon Salt
 Freshly Ground Pepper, to taste
 1 cup Sharp Cheddar Cheese, Grated (optional)


Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
Spray a 9x13 baking dish with Pam .
Slice potatoes, chunks or slices as you like. (About 5 cups)
In a separate bowl, whisk together cream, milk, flour, garlic, salt, and plenty of freshly ground black pepper.

Place 1/3 of the potatoes in the bottom of the baking dish. Pour 1/3 of the cream mixture over the potatoes.

Repeat this two more times, ending with the cream mixture. Cover with foil and bake for 30 minutes. Remove foil and bake for 20 minutes, or until potatoes are soft, golden brown and really bubbling. Add grated cheese to the top of the potatoes and bake for 3 to 5 more minutes, until cheese is melted and bubbly. (the cheese is optional. The potatoes are so rich you don’t really need it.)

Book Review - FIRE IN THE BONES by Michael Wilcox

One Wednesday in June I sat in the swing in my Secret Garden and finished reading Michael Wilcox’s book on William Tyndale, “Fire in the Bones.” It may have been the peaceful setting I was in or simply the power of a man’s life that touched my soul so deeply I couldn’t keep from shedding tears. Brother Wilcox wrote the book because he believes Tyndale’s life is not celebrated enough. After reading the book I have to agree.

The next day I attended my book club meeting and sat with a group of women to discuss a book of no account. I had read it but felt that I had wasted some precious time in the process. It was mildly entertaining but as I sat there with these women, that I have read books with for 25 years, I couldn’t help but wonder how many had read any scriptures that week. I thought of Tyndale and his sacrifices. He gave his life because he wanted every English speaking person to be able to read scriptures in their tongue. He wanted the common man to know the words of Christ better than clergy. Is that happening?  Do we fill our minds with junk food words and miss the nourishing words of scripture?

Jeremiah is a story from the scriptures that speaks to my soul. He was a contemporary of Lehi, left in Israel to preach repentance to the rebellious Israelites, as Lehi went on to a new land with his family. Jeremiah stayed to be beaten, verbally abused and put in prison for his preaching. God wouldn’t let Jeremiah get married because He didn’t want him to bring posterity into such a wicked society. Perhaps the most poignant cry to the Lord in scripture comes from Jeremiah in chapter 20 of his book. He said:

7: O Lord, thou hast deceived me, and I was deceived: thou art stronger than I, and hast prevailed; I am in derision daily, every one mocketh me. For since I spake, I cried violence and spoil; because the word of the Lord was made a reproach unto me, and a derision daily. Then I said, I will not make mention of him, nor speak any more in his name. (then perhaps the most beautiful words in all of scripture) But his word was in mine heart as a burning fire shut up in my bones, and I was weary with forebearing, and I could not stay.”

So it was with Tyndale. So it needs to be with all of us if we are to be changed, comforted and inspired by the power of the ”word.”

On an April day in Coventry England in 1519, “7 parents were burned at the stake for teaching their children and family the Lord’s Prayer and Ten Commandments in English. “(p.1)

“To keep us from knowledge of the truth, they do all things in Latin. They pray in Latin, they christen in Latin, they bless in Latin, they give absolution in Latin, only curse they in the English tongue.” William Tyndale (P.9)

“Brought up from a child in the university of Oxford, where he, by long continuance, grew up, and increased as well in knowledge of tongues...as especially in the knowledge of the Scriptures, whereunto his mind was singularly addicted...” I believe that scriptures can addict us all because I have come to know that there is a power beyond the words in scripture.

“Now faith...is the gift of God given us by grace...I never deserved it, nor prepared myself unto it; but ran another way clean contrary in my blindness, and sought not that way; but he sought me, and found me out, and showed it me, and therewith drew me to him. And I bow the knees of my heart unto God night and day, that he will show it all other man; and I suffer all that I can, to be a servant to open their eyes. For well I wot they cannot see of themselves” (Tyndale, p. 37)

Michael Wilcox lays out all the events of Tyndale’s life from his youth. He eventually lives in exile to Antwerp in the Netherlands where he translates and publishes the New Testament. Tyndale's desire is that one-day the plow boy would know the scriptures as well as the clergy. The small books of scripture are smuggled into England by merchants who hide the books in their goods. The people are hungry for the words of Christ. They are willing to risk their lives for this opportunity and those caught with scriptures are punished, many at the stake.

This book made me aware of how certain men alter the chain of events necessary to allow God’s will. I wonder about the workings of God. It seems to me He only goes so far in order to influence but not control. He allows wicked men like Henry the VIII and his desire for a divorce to open a door for reform as Henry leaves the Catholic church. I will never feel the same about Ann Bolyn as she is converted by a Tyndale bible and sees the need for the common man to have it. She tries to influence Henry as she can. She will eventually lose her life in the evil stream of political events of Henry’s selfish life.

I have never thought much about translation before and how the choice of words can change things so much. Tyndale studied languages and knew many. He took the process very seriously and retranslated his work several times before he was satisfied. His New Testament translation changed the English language to a higher level as it became widely read. Tyndale’s lyrical and poetic phrases charm and soothe the soul. It created a desire within the people to be literate.

The political climate in England was becoming more accepting of the scriptures in the hands of the people when Tyndale was finally captured in Antwerp. (but not by the Catholic Church). He was placed in a cold and dreary castle for a year and 135 days before he was killed. If he had been in England he might have been spared. Within two years of his death Henry allowed the Bible to be read and ordered it to be placed in all the churches. The clergy were to “expressly provoke, stir and exort every person to read the same, as that which is the very lively Word of God.” (p. 225)

How did the people in the villages and towns respond to their new English Bible? As in London, they crowded the churches to read and discuss the truths they found therein. Throngs became so thick and the services and sermons so often ignored that Henry issued another edict requesting his people to benefit from the new Great Bible “most humbly and reverently,” using it “quietly and charitably every [one] of you to the edifying of himself, his wife and family.” (How things have changed. I believe the churches are largely empty in England today.) (p.225) The King James Version took as its core the Tyndale bible.

The power beyond the words in scripture is the power of love that comes through Christ. Tyndale believed this.

“Christ is the cause why I love thee, why I am ready to do the usmost of my power for thee, and why I pray for thee. And as long as the cause abideth, so long lasteth the effect; even as it is always day so long as the sun shineth. Do therefore the worst thou canst unto me, take away my goods, take away my good name; yet as long as Christ remaineth in my heart, so long I love thee not a whit the less, and so long art thou as dear unto me as mine own soul, and so long am I ready to do thee good for thine evil and so long I pray for thee with all my heart; for Christ desireth it of me, and hath deserved it of me. Thine unkindness compared unto his kindness is nothing at all; yea, it is swallowed up as a little smoke of a mighty wind, and is no more seen or thought upon.” Tyndale (Ibid. p. 113)

Tyndale’s lived these words. It is not surprising as the fire in his bones burned from his dedication to translating the scriptures. He understood that the message of Christ was love and he knew this message in the hands of all men would change them and society in consequence.
4 ½ years ago in February I took a challenge from Scott Proctor of Meridian Magazine to “Read Scriptures Every Day NO MATTER WHAT!” The no matter what has made the difference and as I am into my fifth year I am beginning to feel Tyndale’s addiction. The word is beginning to burn in my soul and I love it.

Mike and I made a quick weekend trip to LA recently and I forgot to pack my scriptures. (Which hasn’t happened since my commitment.) I felt a little panicky wondering how I was going to read. Mike came to my rescue as he brought his Book of Mormon. Yes, he did bring scriptures but they were in Spanish. So, I had a little experience in translation. For three nights Mike read to me in Spanish (which I thought was beautiful) and translated the words into English for me. Mike has a gift and love for language as did Tyndale. He has been teaching himself Spanish for 6-7 years. Tyndale taught himself Latin, Greek and Hebrew in order to do his bible translations.

Thank You Michael Wilcox for teaching me about Tyndale. I am grateful that I feel some of his “Fire in the Bones.”

INDEX OF MY POSTS

For some reason I am unable to get the "search" capability to function on my blog.  I have an old template (which I like) and unless I am willing to change it I may not be able to get it to work so for you who have looked for recipes on my blog go to the very bottom, below the paintings where I have posted an Index.  Most of the recipes are together.  Just click on what you want and it will take you there.

MY FAVORITE PIONEER STORY

B.H. ROBERTS CHILDHOOD STORY  - Taken from "Defender of the Faith" by Truman Madsen

Ann Everington Roberts was born in Norfolk England. Her parents were dead and she supported herself working in a shop trimming hats and sewing fine dresses for the ladies of the countryside. In 1848 when she was 21 she married a young blacksmith, Ben Roberts.  One night in the streets she heard the Mormon missionaries speaking.  That night she sat up reading the bible passages they had talked about. The next day she went to find them again. She was eventually baptized. Her husband wasn’t interested and they separated.


Ben sent Ann some money and she decided to use it to come to the Zion of Utah.  Mary, her 12-year-old, was left with some distant relatives to work in a china factory. The girl would work in the factory for her keep. 5 year old Henry was left with some recent converts to the church, The Toveys.

Henry's memory: As she stopped from dining table to pantry door weeping, I, with childish sympathy, plucked her gown and in my broad Lancashire dialect said, “Muther, what op?” And “Why art crying?” Mother knelt on the floor beside me and with her arms around my shoulders told me of the intended journey to America—Zion, and how I would have to be left behind with a Brother and Sister Tovey, and Sister Mary was with some distant relatives by the name of Pie. And it was only now a day or two when this separation would take place. As she held on to me telling the story, sobs and tears became more profuse; at last, folding me in her arms, she sought of me brokenly a promise that when I grew up to be a man I would come to her in “Zion.” Freeing myself from the embrace, I stood erect in the middle of the floor, and with childish solemnity promised her, “I will come.” (Truman G. Madsen, Defender of the Faith , p.8)


Ann took with her Annie and a baby boy Thomas. The baby contracted ship fever on the way over. He was sick and wasted to a skeleton by the time they started across the planes in a covered wagon. He died before she reached Utah. She could not bare to bury the baby in the dirt. The captain of the wagon train brought his breadbox and buried the little boy.


Ann moved to Bountiful after arriving in the valley. She opened a shop where she made hats and did sewing and tailoring. She needed to support herself but also save enough money to send for her children still in England. This took her three years often sewing into the night. But when she sent for the children Ben could not be found. The Toveys became tired of restrictions placed on them by the church and disappeared shortly after Ann left taking Ben with them.They wandered through the English countryside with a Bible, a violin and a little clothing. They slept in doorways and hedges and begged. Mr. Tovey was a stonecutter and he would work a little. Henry was employed carrying large buckets of mortar and stones. His bones were permanently damaged because of it.


Mr. Tovey would often play his violin in Taverns and they taught Henry to sing some old English ballads and they would entertain and pass the hat for pennies. One evening some soldiers heard their little show and suggested that Henry would make a good drummer boy for the army.  Henry was 7 when the Toveys quarreled and decided to split up. They remembered the comment of the soldiers and decided to enlist Henry in the army as a drummer boy.


He was accepted and measurements were taken. He was to return the following day but that night Ben had a dream remembering the promise he had made to his mother about going to Zion. He knew if he joined the army he would never see his mother again. He climbed out the window and ran away.


He decided to try to find the Mormon Elders that had known his mother. For many weeks he wandered about eating when he could find food and sleeping with other street urchins in empty boxes in doorways. He couldn’t find the Elders but eventually found the Toveys again.


One experience was spiritually profound and prophetic. Henry and Mrs. Tovey were traveling through the green lanes of England, going to see about some work. As they sat down to rest a breeze wafted two or three pages of newspaper close by. Henry rushed to gather them up and begged Mrs. Tovey to read them as he loved to be read to. She went to sleep in the middle of the reading. He said of this experience:

I sat alone with the paper and my thoughts, marveling at the miracle, that a paper could speak to one only if he had the power to read it. On this thought my mind dwelled and after some time elapsed I spoke out loud: “Will the time ever come when books and papers will speak to me? Will I ever read books?” Then a peculiar silence, and the soul-voice said, “Aye, and you’ll write them too.” Then all things seemed to be swallowed up in an immense and wonderful silence. I had no inclination to move or disturb the silence. It seemed as if the whole universe had become an ear, and a voice, and a slight trembling shook my frame as I listened to what might be called the very vibrations of silence. So I sat entranced a long time. How long I did not remember. But I was immersed in that silence until my old lady companion groaned, and awoke, and the journey was resumed.  (Ibid. p.21)

 
Ann had been in America 4 years and Henry had passed his 9th birthday when they found him. He could neither read nor write. But he was a keen observer. Ann had sent supplies and bedding for the wagon train ride west for the children but it had been lost. Henry slept with the men under the wagon but with only his sister’s petticoat for a covering.


During the day he wandered far afield from the wagon train in exploration. Once he was left behind and forced to swim the Missouri River before he could catch the wagons. He lost his coat and shoes. This made him sad as he remembered his mother as neat and well groomed and he hated the thoughts of seeing her in this disheveled condition, especially without shoes.

Along the trail they came upon some burning cabins. Henry stayed to investigate. Sticking out between two burned longs were the legs of a dead man with a pair of practically new pair of shoes. He pulled them off and ran to catch the wagon train. He did not wear this precious find but hid them until the time when he would meet his mother.

The wagons rolled into the city streets, and at last the great moment had come. The lad rushed to the provision wagon where his treasure was hidden. They were a man’s shoes, much too large for him—but they were shoes, and slipping his bruised and swollen feet into them, he marched at the head of the procession up Main Street to the Tithing Office, where his mother awaited him.

BH Roberts would become a great writer and church historian, quite amazing when you know his beginnings. I have often questioned the sanity of his mother in leaving 5 year old Ben with people she hardly knew but I have come to have great admiration for her faith.