Weeds

This morning as I was fixing breakfast for the kids and trying to get them out the door to school on time, John mumbled something in the kitchen.  It sounded like this "He wasn't there for the needs." 

"What?" I asked him. 

"Nothing," he reponded.

Then, later on this morning, I was doing some laundry in the basement, and he came down to get some clothes.  Again, he mumbled something.  I couldn't understand it, but it sounded an awful lot like "I don't like weeds."

"What?" I asked him.

"Nothing," he reponded.

At this point, I was beginning to wonder if it was my hearing, or his slurred speech.

Later on today, he emailed me a talk by President Henry B. Eyring that he had read early this morning.  The entire talk was fabulous.  Here was the story that caught my attention though.

Let me encourage you by telling you a story. It was told to me by my father. He told it with the intent to chuckle at himself. It was a story about his trying to do his duty, just the way you try to do your duty.
 
Now you have to know a little bit about my father. His name was Henry Eyring, like mine. He had done some of the things students of this university are preparing to be able to do. His work in chemistry was substantial enough to bring the honors some of you will someday have, but he was still a member of a ward of the Church with his duty to do. To appreciate this story, you have to realize that it occurred when he was nearly eighty and had bone cancer. He had bone cancer so badly in his hips that he could hardly move. The pain was great.
 
Dad was the senior high councilor in his stake with the responsibility for the welfare farm. An assignment was given to weed a field of onions, so Dad assigned himself to go work on the farm.
 
Dad never told me how hard it was, but I have met several people who were with him that day. I talked to one of them on the phone the other night to check the story. The one I talked to said that he was weeding in the row next to Dad through much of the day. He told me the same thing that others who were there that day have told me. He said that the pain was so great that Dad was pulling himself along on his stomach with his elbows. He couldn't kneel. The pain was too great for him to kneel. Everyone who has talked to me has remarked how Dad smiled, and laughed, and talked happily with them as they worked in that field of onions.
 
Now, this is the joke Dad told me on himself, afterward. He said he was there at the end of the day. After all the work was finished and the onions were all weeded, someone asked him, "Henry, good heavens! You didn't pull those weeds, did you? Those weeds were sprayed two days ago, and they were going to die anyway."
 
Dad just roared. He thought that was the funniest thing. He thought it was a great joke on himself. He had worked through the day in the wrong weeds. They had been sprayed and would have died anyway.
 
When Dad told me this story, I knew how tough it was. So I said to him, "Dad, how could you make a joke out of that? How could you take it so pleasantly?"

He said something to me that I will never forget, and I hope you won't. He said, "Hal, I wasn't there for the weeds."

So that was it then.  "I wasn't there for the weeds." 

It is a topic that we have talked of often these last few months and weeks as we continue our job search.  Why did we come here?  What job does Heavenly Father want John to do?  I don't know that answer, but I do know why we came here.  It was because Heavenly Father wanted us to come.  We're not here for the weeds, or the job, in our case.

And I have decided that that answer is good enough.