Mormon Life - Fathers tag

Young Women Lesson 14: Patriarchal Leadership in the Home

Fri, 23 Mar 2012 00:00:00 -0600

source: MormonLife.com

Mormon Life says: "The family proclamation gives this beautiful explanation of the relationship between a husband and a wife: While they have separate responsibilities, 'in these sacred responsibilities, fathers and mothers are obligated to help one another as equal partners.'" -Dallin H. Oaks

Discussion Questions

• How can the priesthood bless our lives now, regardless of our individual circumstances?

• What spiritual qualities should we seek in a husband? How can these qualities help him lead a family in righteousness?

• Consider your relationship with your Father in Heaven. How has He shown you His great care and love for you as an individual?

Excerpt from "Priesthood Authority in the Family and the Church" by Elder Dallin H. Oaks, October 2005 General Conference:

My father died when I was seven. I was the oldest of three small children our widowed mother struggled to raise. When I was ordained a deacon, she said how pleased she was to have a priesthood holder in the home. But Mother continued to direct the family, including calling on which one of us would pray when we knelt together each morning. I was puzzled. I had been taught that the priesthood presided in the family. There must be something I didn’t know about how that principle worked.

About this same time, we had a neighbor who dominated and sometimes abused his wife. He roared like a lion, and she cowered like a lamb. When they walked to church, she always walked a few steps behind him. That made my mother mad. She was a strong woman who would not accept such domination, and she was angry to see another woman abused in that way. I think of her reaction whenever I see men misusing their authority to gratify their pride or exercise control or compulsion upon their wives in any degree of unrighteousness (see D&C 121:37).

I have also seen some faithful women who misunderstand how priesthood authority functions. Mindful of their partnership relationship with their husband in the family, some wives have sought to extend that relationship to their husband’s priesthood calling, such as bishop or mission president. In contrast, some single women who have been abused by men (such as in a divorce) mistakenly confuse the priesthood with male abuse and become suspicious of any priesthood authority. A person who has had a bad experience with a particular electrical appliance should not forego using the power of electricity.

Each of the circumstances I have described results from misunderstanding priesthood authority and the great principle that while this authority presides in both the family and the Church, the priesthood functions in a different way in each of them. This principle is understood and applied by the great Church and family leaders I have known, but it is rarely explained. Even the scriptures, which record various exercises of priesthood authority, seldom state expressly which principles only apply to the exercise of priesthood authority in the family or in the Church or which apply in both of them.

To read the full talk, click here.

Men are hardwired to take care of their kids, study says

Tue, 13 Sep 2011 10:44:00 -0600

source: scientificamerican.com

Mormon Life says: I thought this study was really interesting - something people in a family culture would definitely find intriguing. Men may not go on a hormonal rollercoaster with their pregnant partners, but once the baby shows up, their bodies biologically transition into "daddy mode," suggests a new study finding that levels of testosterone, the "macho" sex hormone, drop in new fathers.

"Men are, to a certain degree, hardwired to take care of their kids," study researcher Lee Gettler, of Northwestern University in Chicago, Illinois, told LiveScience. "This is important because traditional models of human evolution have portrayed women as the gatherers that take care of the kids and stay behind."

The hormone drop makes sense, the researchers say, since high testosterone tends to boost behaviors linked to competing for a mate, risky activities that may conflict with the responsibilities of fatherhood.

What I learned from my dad on a long drive home

Wed, 15 Jun 2011 15:09:00 -0600

source: MormonTimes.com

Some have asked why I write so often about my dad. It's a fair question. My father and his legacy have crept into several of my novels and many of my columns. I suppose writing about my father shortens the distance between me and whatever heavenly project he’s working on today.

I don’t need a reason this week because, like you, I have Father's Day on my mind. It’s the holiday of misshapen pancakes served in bed, handmade cards, and those stapled paper and crayon books full of coupons for free hugs and back scratches. The day and the gifts are a welcome reminder from my wife and children that I'm not doing quite as poorly as I generally think I am.

A Father’s Blessing

Mon, 13 Jun 2011 11:40:00 -0600

source: segullah.org/blog/

Mormon Life says: A beautiful tribute to fathers. I sighed long as I looked out the window of my plane cresting above the Dulles airport.

My husband and I had been married five years – most of which were spent living and working in Washington DC. It had been a difficult year. Months of failed fertility attempts, and a tenuous situation that developed concerning my professional career. The company I worked for was dissolving, legal tensions had cropped up concerning a non-compete most employees had signed, and I was caught in the middle – trying to perform administrative responsibilities while also representing the needs of our staff. In short, the mental harangue over the whole predicament was a nightmare. I hadn’t slept well in weeks and I was beginning to lose weight I couldn’t afford to lose.

My Father's Birthday Scrapbook

Fri, 23 Jan 2004 08:28:00 -0700

by Sharon Palmer
source: MormonLife.com

Mormon Life says: How do you celebrate 70 years of a life full of snowy winters and brilliant springs, babies and grandchildren, tears and smiles? That’s the question my siblings and I volleyed back and forth via e-mail messages, phone calls, and holiday reunions.

We finally decided to throw our father a surprise birthday party where we would present him with a scrapbook. My vision was to make the scrapbook a photo-essay of the pieces of my father’s life, like patches in an old quilt.

I sent out the invitations early, announcing the surprise birthday party in a park near my father’s home. My invitations made a plea for photos of my father and asked his friends and family for heartfelt sentiments that might be woven into the scrapbook. Almost immediately the letters started pouring in, with postmarks from all over the country. Checking the mailbox each day became a much-anticipated event.

Many letters said, “Sorry that I can’t attend the birthday party, but I wanted to send this photo and a letter for the scrapbook.” I hadn’t realized that my scrapbook idea had given my father’s friends and family a wonderful method of honoring him from so many miles away.

Late at night I huddled over the scrapbook, marveling over shots of dad I’d never seen. There were black and white photos of him as a toddler – a chunk of blonde hair falling over his round face – donned in breeches and knee socks.

Another photo showed him as a child standing beside his mother, stoically bracing himself against a snowy landscape. Stacks of pictures placed him as a slim handsome young man, dressed in military garb, grinning proudly before he shipped out to fight in Korea. There were photos of his classic, curvy cars with my father leaning proudly against the hood. Scores of pictures washed in Kodachrome colors showed a young, energetic father with kids climbing all over his back. The pictures came rolling in, full of parties, weddings, and grandchildren’s birthdays that my father had happily attended.

Some relatives sent astonishing genealogical details with the photos. These helped me capture a bit of history in the captions. As I sorted photos into groups, I chose background papers, borders, stickers, and frames to accent them. Photos of my young father’s cross-country trip that landed him in Disneyland were mounted on vintage road map paper. I couldn’t resist fixing ‘70’s pictures of our family done up in platform shoes and bell bottoms, with my father in a powder blue leisure suit onto groovy paper with smiley faces. The vintage photos of my father’s childhood were respectfully mounted in black, cream, and mauve frames on nostalgic paper. When friends and family were thoughtful enough to write a favorite memory of my father, I clipped their handwritten words and attached them as a highlight on the page.

As the photos continued to be delivered to my mailbox, I labored at piecing the scrapbook. I was beginning to know my father better with each page. The fresh face that peered out of the paper at his bright future hadn’t even envisioned me, the daughter who would try his patience and his wallet and add gray hairs to his head.

At last the party day arrived. The salads had been tossed and the coolers had been packed with hamburger fixings. The tables were decorated with bright red, blue, and green tablecloths, balloons, flowers, and confetti. The scrapbook held a place of honor. We left ample room for pages devoted to the party and planned on including a new page with a photo and personal message from each partygoer.

We held our breath as my unsuspecting father strolled up the path to the pine trees. As my surprised father greeted his group of well-wishers, we showed him the scrapbook. His face displayed a look of deeply surprised pleasure that warmed all of our hearts.

Although the party was fun and my father was able to reunite with many of his family and old friends, the most lasting part was the scrapbook we had made. We didn’t wait until my father’s death to remember his life, we remembered it while he still had life to live.

Every Superman Needs a Dad

Tue, 27 May 2003 08:35:00 -0600

by Susan Easton Black
source: MormonLife.com

Mormon Life says: A little red, white, and blue cape helped me to learn how to be the man of the house.

Burned flags and lives of patriots cut short are too often today's remembrances of the Vietnam War. But for me, as young boy growing up in the 1960s, the war wasn't about destruction- it was about my dad.

My dad was stationed at Fort Riley, Kansas. He was a combat pilot in the Air Force. He was very patriotic and sympathetic to the war and, wanting to be just like him, so was I. My room was decorated in red, white, and blue. From the bedspread to the posters on the wall everything said, "American made" and "the American way." Model rockets and airplanes that my dad and I had built together were my prized possessions--that was, until he was called to active duty.

As much as I loved my country, I didn't want my Dad flying over war zones in Vietnam. But my wants were not to be realized. "Timmy, you are the man of the house now. Take care of your mother and your baby sister, Dorothy," he said.

"I don't want to be the man of the house," I snapped, as he reached for a package hidden between the slipcovers of the couch.

"Who could this be for?" he mused. "On the card it reads, 'This is for the man of the house.' The name on the card is Timmy Hill. It must be for you."

I tore open the wrapping paper and discarded the bright ribbon in hopes of finding a model airplane. I was disappointed to see a superman cape.

"You'll be able to leap tall buildings in a single bound and even attract Lois Lane wearing this cape," Dad quipped as he tied the superman cape around my neck. He then bid me farewell.

It seems odd for a grown man to admit that wearing a superman cape made any difference, but that's just what happened. I felt more confident. I began to spread peanut butter on my own sandwiches without asking mom for help. I wore the cape everywhere: in the sandbox, the bathtub, and at church.

Isn't Timmy cute in the cape?" adults remarked. Friends were less kind. "How's Lois?" they asked. "Are you a bird, a plane, or could you be superman?" strangers shouted, "Show me how to leap a tall building and fly faster than a speeding bullet."

As the days of my dad's absence grew into months, I wore the cape less often. However I always kept it near my pillow, next to GI Joe and the airplane models. When the house was still and my thoughts wandered to whether my Dad would come home, I clutched the cape for assurance that all was well. The day my Dad returned to Fort Riley was a day I'll never forget--it was a hero's welcome. The military band played and the Air Force officers wore their finest uniforms. I proudly wore my Superman cape. During the awards ceremony, my dad insisted that I sit on his lap.

When his name was called to step forward and receive a medal for bravery, he insisted that I come forward, too. He had the commanding officer pin the medal on my cape.

My son Timmy is the real hero," Dad announced over the microphone. "He was the man of the house while I was gone."

Years have passed since that awards ceremony. And like my Dad, I became a fighter pilot. I have flown many missions that have taken me to military bases through out out the United States and abroad. In my absence, my family raises an American flag on a flagpole in our yard. Below the flag is my superman cape for extra courage. Neighbors and curious passerby often ask my wife, "Why the cape?" She shares with them the story of my Dad, and so it has been for years.

But on September 11, 2001, everything changed. That day I raised the flag and the superman cape at half-mast in our front yard. With the Twin Towers in New York City destroyed, I knew it would not be long until I would be called into a war zone--like my dad had been decades before.

Within a few weeks, I received notice that I would be transporting soldiers to Afghanistan for an extended stay. News of the assignment was difficult for my wife and children. I knew that they needed extra emotional support. Wanting them to have the best, I visited my bedridden Dad.

I need you to take care of mother, sister Dorothy, and my own family," I said. Dad lamented. "I'm too old and sick. I can't do it." He then gave a detailed explanation of his afflictions.

I listened attentively to his rationale before handing him the wrapped package tied with red, white and blue ribbon. He brightened as his gnarled hands removed the wrapping paper to reveal its hidden contents. Inside the package was the tattered Superman cape and a note that read, "You can leap tall buildings in a single bound and even attract Louis Lane wearing this." I tied the superman cape around Dad's neck and bid him farewell.

I left for a war zone. My Dad, attired in the Superman cape, arose from the sick bed with the same courage he inspired in a younger hero many years before. He showed me once again that every Superman needs a Dad.

Just Like Dad

Sat, 28 Sep 2002 09:27:00 -0600

by George D. Durrant
source: MormonLife.com

Mormon Life says: Regardless of all the other honors we can aspire to in this life, that of Father has more meaning--and consequence--than any other.

Greetings, fellow fathers. Can you think of anything more magnificent than being a father? As far back as I can remember, I’ve longed to become a father. I dreamed of finding a beautiful wife, establishing a home together and filling it with children. One reason my desire for fatherhood may have been so strong was that, as the youngest of nine children, I didn’t have the joy of having younger brothers and sisters.

I had a friend named Herbie Pawloski, the middle child of a family of 11. Whenever I visited Herbie and his family, I'd see all the little children and become a bit jealous of him. At Christmastime, my envy would be most intense. Both Herbie and I had become too old to get toys for Christmas. But because of his little brothers and sisters, on Christmas morning his house was still filled with toys--and mine was not. I could hardly bear such inequality.

Perhaps this was one reason I had such an intense desire to grow up and beocme the father to a whole flock of small children. I could envision no greater thrill than playing with them and their Christmas toys (the ones I'd always wanted), and to hear them call me, "Daddy."

To accomplish this dream, I had to wait several long years until I was fully ready for this, the greatest of all responsibilities. As time passed, my desire to become a husband and father became even stronger.

When two rewarding years of missionary life ended, I felt ready, with the Lord’s help, to make my dreams come true. The exciting search for my future wife intensified.

I found a girl who loved me as I loved her. I asked her to marry me and she accepted. In the temple, we became eternal partners.

A few months after our wedding, I came home from work to help my wife prepare our evening meal. As I peeled the potatoes with a paring knife, she was nearby, opening a can of peas. I’ll never forget the words she spoke on that great moment in history. It was my single most fulfilling moment. She said, “I went to the doctor today. We’re going to have a baby.”

Her words put me in a state of shock. I had to quit peeling the potatoes—my hands trembled with such excitement the task became too dangerous to continue. My heart pounded within me. I jumped up and down with glee. I hugged my wife. My dream was coming true. I was going to become a father! I wanted to shout the news to the entire world.

As the time neared for the baby’s arrival, I was drafted into the army and stationed in Arkansas. I had to live on the base while Marilyn lived in town, 12 miles away.

The army doctor told us that, when Marilyn came to the base hospital to have the child, I’d be notified so I could be there. But on the night of the birth, I wasn’t notified. The next day I stood outside the army mess hall waiting for the noon meal. Someone came to me and said, “Durrant, you’re to call the hospital.” I crossed the road to a phone booth and made the call.

The nurse announced the long-awaited, magnificent message, “Private Durrant, you’re the father of a fine baby son.”

Tears of joy filled my eyes. I bounded from the phone booth with the agility of a professional athlete. I half-ran, half-jumped along as I shouted to friends who had known the even was near, “I’ve got a son! I’ve got a son! I’m a father! I’m a father!” My buddies cheered as I ran the few blocks to the post hospital. I recall thinking as I neared the hospital, “I’d like to light a new star in the sky to announce the arrival of my son.” Nothing short of that seemed adequate to express my happiness.

Dashing down the hospital hall, I saw the windows of the newborn baby room. I stopped and looked in. There, among three or four other infants, was a baby whose crib bore the name, “Durrant.” My entire soul tingled with a spiritual thrill. This was my son! I was his father!

I went to Marilyn’s room. She seemed more beautiful than ever. As we talked of the wonders of what had just happened, I said, “That little boy—he looks just like me.” She squeezed my hand and said, “I know, but let’s keep him anyway.”

Thus, our firstborn was delivered to us in an army hospital. The cost was just eight dollars. He's been worth every cent of that, and a million more.

I know that you, as a father, could tell your own exciting story about the arrival of your first child. I'm sure you'll agree when a husband and wife say, with joy, "Unto us a child is born."

Our second son was our third child. At the time, I was teaching seminary in Brigham City, Utah. It was my birthday. I was called to the phone.

Marilyn, who was nearing the time of delivery said, “I believe I have a special birthday present for you. Come home, and we’ll go to the hospital to get the gift.”

Excited, I told my students, “Teach yourselves,” and away I went. Soon we were at the hospital. She was taken away to be prepared for birth and I went to the father’s waiting room.

A half-hour or so later, I was reading a magazine when the doctor interrupted to ask, “Would you like to come into the delivery room?”

Shocked, I replied, “Well, I would—but as you can see, I’m reading this Sports Illustrated magazine.”

“Maybe you could read that later,” he kindly suggested. I stammered and said, “I’m afraid I might get a little woozy in there. I’m not too good at such things.”

Gently, he said, “Come on in. Marilyn wants you here, and I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”

Out of excuses, I followed along, praying silently that all would be well. What followed was the most unforgettable experience of my life. The doctor explained all that was happening. My heart filled with the warmth of the Spirit of the Lord. I watched in awe as the baby was born.

The doctor held him by his ankles. For a few seconds there was silence, and then the baby cried. Seeing that baby and hearing his first cries caused a sensation in my soul that was more than my emotions could bear without tears. I cried, too. I’ve never witnessed such a miracle. Birth is indeed the most glorious and wonderful of all events.

With these two births—and six others that were equally thrilling—we have been blessed to receive from heaven eight choice spirits who have become part of our family. To be co-creators with our beloved wives is an honor beyond all others, and a responsibility that dwarfs all other responsibilities. Being trusted by our Heavenly Father to receive one of his own spirit children is a most divine opportunity. To prepare that child to someday return to his or her heavenly home is a responsibility beyond description.

As I think of the honor of fatherhood, I recall that at work I was once asked to fill out a questionnaire. One of the questions was, “What honors have you received?” As I read, I though, “I’ll leave this question until later.”

After filling out all the other blanks, I returned to the words, “What honors have you received?” I could think of none. I’d never been all-state in anything, nor had I been elected to any office. Feeling slightly diminished, I left the item blank. Before sealing the envelope, I paused and then picked up my pen.

In response to the question, I wrote these glorious words, “The Melchizedek Priesthood.” My soul stirred as I considered once again the honor and thrill of being an Elder. But having written that, I knew I must write more so I added the word “husband” to the blank.

It’s an indescribable joy to be a husband, and to strive to be worthy of the honor of having a woman love and respect you. Having listed these two supreme honors, I reverently wrote the sacred word, “father.”

When seen with eyes that really see, such honors make other honors men may earn shrink and hide in the wings.

It’s a humbling experience to address all of you who share with me the sacred title of father. As someone has said, there is no word that describes a higher title, for it is by the name, “Father,” that even God has chosen to be known.

I, as you do, tremble a bit as I consider the awesome task of filling the role of father. I take comfort in two things: (1)we have to take things only one step at a time, and (2)God, our Heavenly Father and the Heavenly Father of our children, will help make us equal to the responsibility.

And so, my fellow fathers, I know that we can do it. We can receive a newborn child, and we can fulfill the responsibility of being the kind of father that child deserves. As we meet with fiath and love this mightiest of all responsibilities, we can become great. For there is none so great as he whose deepest desire is to be a good and worthy father.

Problems will arise, as they did for the great prophet and father, Lehi. Sometimes we will suffer heartache, as did he. But through it all, if we continue in our righteous desires, our children will say of us, as Lehi's did of him, "Having been born of goodly parents, therefore I was taught in all the learning of my father."