The Gospel According to Jeffrey

This morning I was thinking about something that happened to me, about eleven years ago. I had been serving as the Sunday School instructor for our ward’s 14-15–year-old class, but that morning in Sacrament Meeting, I had been released from that position and was teaching my class for what I knew would be the last time. I wanted to leave my class with a sure knowledge that I know the Church is true, so I chose from my video collection one which compiled audio and/or video recordings of the Presidents of the Church, from Wilford Woodruff through Gordon B. Hinckley, sharing their testimonies. I intended to teach an abbreviated lesson, show the video, and conclude my service to the class by adding my own testimony to that of the prophets. Everything went as planned. I taught the lesson, introduced the video, and pressed Play. I was greeted with a video that, while superficially matching the description of the one I intended to share, was definitely not the same video. It was, in fact, a

The following is adapted from a talk I gave in the Gardendale Ward (Birmingham, Alabama Stake) on 10 May 2015. Enjoy! Brothers and Sisters, aloha and happy Mother’s Day! When I was first asked to speak today, I was told I could pick any topic I wanted. But of course, since it’s Mother’s Day, I’d certainly be remiss if I didn’t choose something to do with moms. And you know what? That’s actually pretty cool, because even though there are a lot of people here that have a lot more experience than I do, being a mom, I do know a few things about moms because I’ve spent most of my life living with one. And one thing I’ve learned is moms are like the greatest thing ever, and you frankly don’t get half the recognition you deserve. As a dad, I’d love to think I’m just as good as a mom, but let’s face it: there’s really no comparison. Yes, dads are important, and the world would be a really sad place if all the dads disappeared. But when you come right down to it, a mom is so much more

I haven’t been remembering my dreams much lately, but I just awoke from one and feel it very important that I write it down. It was Sunday morning and I went to church with my family, but instead of pews, there were long tables set up for a large meal—a feast, really. Though we were a few minutes early and no one else was at the table, I sat down, loaded my plate, and began to eat. By the time others came to sit—I remember my elders quorum president, John Anderson, sitting next to me—I was almost done with my meal. A bit embarrassed, I got up and walked out of the building. My family came with me, and we drove to the home of some friends from the ward, the Joyces. (As an aside, I’ve never actually been to the Joyce’s house, so I have no idea if my dream’s representation thereof was in any way accurate.) I didn’t actually see any of the Joyces there, which is particularly interesting since they’re a family of nine. I did, however, go into their family room, which was probably about