30. To My Parents

A letter to my Dad and Mom in Nampa, Idaho, written from the Ramos area of Rio de Janeiro on Monday, March 23, 1970.

Dear Mom and Dad,

Please excuse me for not writing last Monday, but there was absolutely no time available. I hope this letter finds everyone in health and happiness. Time is running away with itself; I think it must run faster here in Brazil than there in the States.

A week ago Sunday the branch we were in was divided and we are now in the new branch. A completely new branch presidency was called because the old presidency lives in the other branch. It is really great to see Zion growing here in Rio. Yesterday afternoon in our first sacrament meeting there was a larger attendance than the entire old branch was ever having when I was first transferred into it last September.

The branch president is a member of only a year and four months, a really sharp young man with a wonderful family supporting him. There are now three branches using the chapel where we meet. There are five branches now within the city of Rio itself and ten within the Rio District. Our big goal is still working toward a stake in October. When that happens there would be between five and seven wards and five branches in the new stake.

My companion and I are working with a wonderful family right now that plan to be baptized a week from Saturday. The children are: a boy aged fifteen, a girl thirteen, a boy nine, and a boy seven. They are fairly excited about it all. Saturday we took the younger kids with some of their cousins to Primary, which they completely and thoroughly enjoyed.

Last Monday I donated (for the first time in my life) a pint of blood in behalf of a member’s wife who is dying because she cannot get any blood to mix with hers. She even rejects blood of her own type. The doctors are trying all they can do, but only a miracle could save her.

Well, once again. May heaven ever bless you. I love you and pray for your welfare. Proverbs 25:25.

On the backside of the letter I hand printed this poem by Carol Lynn Pearson entitled “Point of View.”

Sun and mountain meet.
“Look,” I say.
“Sunset!”

But I forget
That far away
An islander
Wipes morning
From his eyes
And watches
The same sun
Rise.

What’s birth?
And death?
What’s near
Or far?
It all depends
On where you are.