Bishopric Message
As the air cools and the leafs begin to change into vibrant colors of red, yellow, and orange, it takes me back to my childhood memories and the joy I found at the change of the seasons. One particular memory, I hold close to me, was when I was a young 12 year old boy. I had only been a deacon for a short time when I found out about the annual Ward Turkey Shoot. I was excited for the opportunity to be able to win my family a turkey.
During this time my family had fallen on hard times financially. My father was in the construction business and in the early 80’s interest rates were in the 20% range causing construction too basically to dry up. My father and mother moved 5 boys into a home that we had build out of leftover lumber. We had no sheetrock on the walls, concrete floors, no hot water heater, and we all slept in one room near the only source of heat we had in our home, a wood burning stove. As boys we felt like we were on one big extended camp out, having to bathe in a large pot of water we heated on the stove, chipping ice out of the toilet in the morning, and living off of our food storage. Being older now, I understand the pressures of providing for a family and can scarcely imagine the fear and uncertainty my parents had to experience during this time. The uncertainty of where the next meal would come from, if we had enough wood to heat through the winter, and all of the other fears that financial doubt brings.
I believe I understood, in a small way as a 12 year old boy, that our family had needs that my parents were struggling to meet. For this reason I had the delusions of winning the turkey shoot out and bringing home the grand prize, a nice plump, juice turkey, something my family had not enjoyed the year prior. I began to beg my father to buy me some bullets so that I could participate in the turkey shoot. This in my parents mind was an expense that they could not afford. Through my persistence, and the overwhelming love my father had for his sons, he took his chain saw and pawned it so that my brother and I could participate in the turkey shoot. I did not know, at the time, of the great sacrifice he made until much later in life.
I remember the day like it was yesterday, the night before I could barely sleep. I remember praying most of the night asking our Father in Heaven to bless me with the so called “Dead Eye” gift. We arrived at the designated site and got ready. The rules were gone over, the young men ages 12 to 18 would shoot first and then the adults. We would each get 10 clays to shoot at, and the winner would receive a turkey. When my turn came around, I remember my heart beating so hard I thought it would jump right out of my chest. I cracked open my old battered single shot 20 gauge, which immediately fell into two pieces, everyone laughed at my mishap, except me. With huge tears welling up, I struggled to get my gun back together, then I felt my father’s hand on my shoulder and he calmly helped me fix my gun. He then said some words of comfort and encouragement and left me to do my best. I quickly said one last prayer and said, “Pull!” to the man throwing the clays. The clay flew far and straight. I took aim and squeezed the trigger and I hit it. The next nine were thrown to the right and the left, high and low, and when my turn was over I had hit all 10 clays. I watched in great anticipation as the last few young men would hit 8 out of 10 or 9 out of 10 but in the end I was the only one who had hit 10 out of 10.
Words cannot express the joy I felt inside, I was trembling so badly I could hardly hold the turkey that had been awarded to me. But to my surprise they had put together a box of food that would constitute they rest of a fabulous thanksgiving dinner. This box would go to the winner of the shoot out between the youth and adult winners. I went first once again. I said a quick prayer, and began the quest to win my family, not only the turkey, but all the good stuff that goes with such a fine bird. The clays seemed to be moving faster to the right and left and some went so low and fast, if you were not quick enough, they would hit the ground before you even had a chance to shoot. Once again I was able to hit 10 out of 10. My challenger stepped up and was not about to be outdone. He made quick work out of his first 9 clays. As I stood there, praying for a miracle, I saw the last clay fly straight and far. I knew he would hit this one for sure and we would have to move to a shoot out. The problem with this was that I was out of bullets. He took a quick aim and just before he pulled the trigger, it seemed as if something was said to him and he hesitated and he shot just under the clay. With tears in my eyes I not only carried the finest turkey man has ever known, I carried the finest fixings anyone could hope for, home to my family.
I am grateful for a loving Heavenly Father who hears and answers prayers. I am grateful for parents who taught me the value of sacrifice and a father who taught me importance of providing for your family. I am grateful for the brother, who I am convinced listen to the still small voice, which allowed a young man to provide for his family. I pray that during this season of thanksgiving, we remember those loved ones, who make all the difference in our lives and show our gratitude to them and to our loving Father in Heaven in the name of Jesus Christ Amen.
Brother Kelly Taysom & the Bishopric
