Sundays have always been special for our family and me.
At the corner store on the way home from a 6pm sacrament meeting, a wiggly boy and sisters got Milk-Nickels (chocolate ice cream bars @5 cents) for good behavior. (Father was in the bishopric, so Mother had to keep us quiet.)
As a teen, before the change to a three-hour block, I walked three round trips for three meetings every Sunday ... three blocks up a steep hill on the upper Avenues of SLC. (Also in the neighborhood, Kay probably got a ride. I was unaware.)
In Argentina North Mission on Sundays, I played the foot-pump organ in several small branches. (No one in the congregations had learned.)
Our first Sunday together (two days after the wedding) was unforgettable ... (let's just think Church here) ... as Kay and I felt as one, sitting in Sunday School, acting like a newlywed couple displaying too much affection for each other. Some members suspected we had recently married; they made us feel welcome.
End of the two-week stage-one of our honeymoon was conveniently in a Church parking lot in Sparks NV, where we had slept in the car ... in the right place at the right time. ( I left my triple-combination scriptures from my mission in that meetinghouse ... never recovered ... can't remember what the speakers and teachers taught – funny thing.)
A few years later, with our three little boys in mind, Kay wrote a poem we recently shared about envisioning them as handsome, righteous young men. (She sat with them on the second row behind the young deacons while I sat on the stand, watching them.)
So many Sunday memories stream through my mind ... including Sister Cannon's ministering in Michigan ... and attending her last sacrament meeting (at our alma mater, the U of U) ... I must add to this later.
With love
Roseville MI sisters – four forever missionaries
