Mr. Face

We call my dad Mr. Face. It's because he has so much face. There's really no other way to describe it. The excess face is really an echo of his personable demeanor -- when he smiles, there's no doubt that he's smiling -- and when he laughs, it's like tectonic activity underneath his cheeks. There's no place that Mr. Face is more noticeable than when my dad is sitting up on the stand during sacrament meeting.

Mr. Face was released from the Bishopric today. He had served nearly 6 years. For those 6 years, he had endured his children making faces at him during talks, numerous playful accusations of falling asleep on the stand, countless interminable meetings, and staying late at church every Sunday to do the ward finances. He did it all without complaining because he loves the gospel and people of the ward.

He bore his testimony right to us, the rowdy kids in the third pew back on the right side. He reminded us of his grandparents. They joined the church in Holland before World War II. After the war, they immigrated to Salt Lake City to be where the church was strong. They arrived in this country with very little, and when they left this world, they had little more. What they did take with them, though, was their testimony of Jesus Christ, and a rich heritage of children, grand children, and great grandchildren, all raised in the Gospel. And as my dad put it, "They took with them all that really mattered."

We love you Mr. Face!

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