"You never know who you will save." Bronson, Miriah and Brittons games Wins, Ties, Loss, we had some of each this week.

 Bronson's game LP vs Riverton.   It was a blow out LP 44 Riverton 15

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  Bronson calling for the ball.

 

 

 Dad took lots of pictures!

 

 Miriah's scored one goal, her team tied. 2-2

 

 

 

 

 

 Britton did a great job again this week.  He made the first touch down running the kick off back to the end zone.  You won't be able to tell from the pictures, but he zig zagged back and forth down the field to get away from the AF players.  He was pretty excited.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Touch Down!

Second half he became the water boy. We were already up by three touchdowns.

 

 

 The last kick off of the game, they let Britton kick.  It was a pretty good kick.

 

 

 

Story for the week.  Marin called on Saturday night wanting a story Brady used when he came home from his mission.  Brady and Brody had a soccer game, so I could not get them on the phone. So I set a text to the family to find the story.  Uncle Ty replied with the link.  I sent the link to all of you already, but because I want to be able to remember it and not have to look for it again I am putting the story here.

“And ye are called to bring to pass the gathering of mine elect; for mine elect hear my voice and harden not their hearts.” (D&C 29:7.)

This is a gigantic task for all those involved in building our Heavenly Father’s kingdom. But I have heard so many remarkable testimonies about wonderful men and women that have been brought into the Church that I would like to say: “You never know whom you will save.”

To illustrate my point, I would like to go back in thought to my native Holland where six generations of my father’s ancestors lived in the little village of Scheveningen at the seashore. They were fishermen or had other related vocations, like fishing-boat builders, sail makers, or fishing-net repairmen. Many of them were also involved in the voluntary but hazardous task of lifesaving. They were stouthearted, experienced men who always were ready to man the rowing lifeboats to go on a rescue mission. With every westerly gale that blew, some fishing boats ran into difficulties, and many times the sailors had to cling to the rigging of their stricken ships in a desperate fight to escape inevitable drowning. Year after year the sea claimed its victims.

On one occasion during a severe storm, a ship was in distress, and a rowboat went out to rescue the crew of the fishing boat. The waves were enormous, and each of the men at the oars had to give all his strength and energy to reach the unfortunate sailors in the grim darkness of the night and the heavy rainstorm.

The trip to the wrecked ship was successful, but the rowboat was too small to take the whole crew in one rescue operation. One man had to stay behind on board because there simply was no room for him; the risk that the rescue boat would capsize was too great. When the rescuers made it back to the beach, hundreds of people were waiting for them with torches to guide them in the dreary night. But the same crew could not make the second trip because they were exhausted from their fight with the storm winds, the waves, and the sweeping rains.

So the local captain of the coast guard asked for volunteers to make a second trip. Among those who stepped forward without hesitation was a nineteen-year-old youth by the name of Hans. With his mother he had come to the beach in his oilskin clothes to watch the rescue operation.

When Hans stepped forward his mother panicked and said, “Hans, please don’t go. Your father died at sea when you were four years old and your older brother Pete has been reported missing at sea for more than three months now. You are the only son left to me!”

But Hans said, “Mom, I feel I have to do it. It is my duty.” And the mother wept and restlessly started pacing the beach when Hans boarded the rowing boat, took the oars, and disappeared into the night.

After a struggle with the high-going seas that lasted for more than an hour (and to Hans’s mother it seemed an eternity), the rowboat came into sight again. When the rescuers had approached the beach close enough so that the captain of the coast guard could reach them by shouting, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called vigorously against the storm, “Did you save him?”

And then the people lighting the sea with their torches saw Hans rise from his rowing bench, and he shouted with all his might, “Yes! And tell Mother it is my brother Pete!” Oct 1976

Jacob de Jager