Letter from my missionary daughter in California.

Hello Everyone!

I'm sure some of you must be getting tired of me saying how much I love being a missionary, but I will un-apologetically say it again: I LOVE being a Missionary!!!

It's been so much more than I ever imagined it to be. Some days are hard when I feel like nothing I do makes a difference, but the payoff is when we find more people to teach about Jesus Christ and his restored gospel, and then see how it changes their lives always for the better. It's a gift to watch someone you care about, come to love and know the Savior. 

Every first Sunday of the month we have what we call a Temple Music Devotional where missionaries from the mission and members put on musical performances at the church building near the Newport Temple, and then they invite people to walk around the temple grounds afterwards. Yesterday was a special one though, as it was Easter Sunday. There was a woman named Katie Luther who was a Broadway singer, that came to sing and tell her story of how she found hope and comfort through Jesus Christ. She also came with her husband ( who has a bomb voice) and her son. It was very powerful, and her story was so touching. What I got most out of it was this: Miracles always always come, but only AFTER the struggle. And only according to our faith. This woman had suffered abuse as a child and hadn't ever dealt with it, until her mid-twenties. She found that her only option for personal and lasting peace and happiness was through the Savior Jesus Christ. It's because He literally suffered for each one of us, so He knows where we've been. It took this woman a while to really come to trust that the Savior could make her whole again, but with a lot of work she did. There are days where it's still a fight, but she takes great comfort in the fact that her Savior walks with her each day. She allowed Him to take away her pain, and shame, and anger. What a testimony! I feel that what she said is true. The Atonement of Jesus Christ is real and it's powerful, and it's for you, and me and everyone. There's no way I could be a missionary if I didn't 100% totally believe that. I couldn't be a missionary if I didn't know that this church is the true church of Jesus Christ; it is His church established on the earth today. He is at the head and leads and guides us through a chosen living prophet of God. How miraculous is it to have someone on Earth who can warn us of spiritual dangers and tell us more of what our Heavenly Father wants us to know. 

We just had General conference, which is where the leaders of our church like the Apostles and Prophet speak to us over satellite broadcast from Salt Lake City to the whole world, and encourage, inspire and uplift us with their words. I look forward to it every year, twice a year :) There were so many powerful and inspiring talks, and I definitely had some questions answered. Something I that really jumped out to me was when Lynn G. Robbins talked about success and failure. He said: Success is going from failure to failure without losing enthusiasm! Then he goes on to explain that God lets us fail more than a few times because He wants us to 

1. Learn that everything will be for our good and benefit in the end

2. Know the bitter from the sweet in life

3. learn to trust that God knows better than we do, every time

At the end he says that repentance (the process of changing your heart, turning away from sin and turning to God) is not a back up plan; it IS the plan! When God sent us here He knew we would fail sometimes, but He also knew that we would learn to become like Him in the process and would help us as much as we asked for it. There's no limit on repentance, and the benevolence of god has no bounds either. He always welcomes us back with open arms, ready to receive us. He wants each one of us to return to Him, and He has made a way possible through Jesus Christ. 

There were so many more good things that I learned from Conference, so I encourage each of you to watch all the sessions if you haven't had the chance to already. We are so blessed to be able to know that we have a living prophet and apostles and other church leaders who help us know the will of the Lord for us and what we need to be reminded to do in our individual lives. I know the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints is true, no doubt whatsoever. We invite all to come join with us, and add to the faith that they already have. Jesus is the Christ, the Savior of the world. God is our loving Father who joys in our successes and weeps with us when we sorrow. Miracles happen only after the trial of our faith :) So hang in there, your miracle is coming! 

I love you all so much, I am sustained by your love and support each time I hear from you. Have an absolutely wonderful week! He lives and love you!

Love, 

Sister Torkildson

From the Wall Street Journal. Monday April 2 2018

The Trump administration’s commitment to coal

is under its stiffest test yet after an Ohio energy

company made a plea to favor that power source

over its many rivals, including oil and natural gas,

in a clash that could end with higher costs for consumers.

When coal is the love of your life,

There’s bound to be somewhat of strife.

If you make a pass

at oil or at gas

You might find your back holds a knife!

Reporter Bruna Dealtry was left stunned

after she was kissed live on-air by a shirtless

man at a soccer match at the Sao Januario

stadium in Rio de Janeiro on Tuesday.

From Kicker Daily News

A soccer fan kissed a reporter

During a lively first quarter.

Such lack of decorum

Would lead any quorum

To snap his athletic supporter.

. . .  a growing body of research over the past decade

shows that a healthy diet—high in fruits, vegetables,

whole grains, fish and unprocessed lean red meat—

can prevent depression. And an unhealthy diet—

high in processed and refined foods—increases the risk

for the disease in everyone, including children and teens.

So ‘comfort food’ is but a myth?

I’m sorry, but I must insith

That burgers and fries

Make my spirits rise --

Besides, they’re so hard to resith!

And, on the subject of push alerts:

I always get a push alert when in my Subaru;

But there’s no autopilot so I don’t know what to do.

I’d like to give the story the attention it deserves,

Without a near collision when I’m going round the curves.

But when I’m in a meeting at the office that’s a bore,

A push alert keeps me awake so that I never snore.

The boss is getting wise to these divertissements, alas,

And has installed a tabletop that’s made of see-through glass.

I never seem to get a push alert at Starbucks, where

I have a lot of caffeine and long hours I can spare.

Instead they act as sort of an unpleasant morning goad

While I’m busy thinking on my porcelein commode.

Thou speakest hard things against us

Thou speakest hard things against us.

First Nephi. Chapter Sixteen. Verse 3.

I do not like hard words when spoke by anyone but me.

They are cruel and unrefined and silly as can be.

But if I’m moved to speak them, they are kindly meant, you know --

To guide the wayward soul so ev’ry line they now will tow.

So if I yell and scream at you, tis only for your good.

But if I’m yelled at it must mean I am misunderstood!

white and blue expand

white and blue expand

to limitless new prospects 

far from numb winter

Easter Song

The mortal press is unrelenting;

Causing birth to be repenting.

And the universal sigh

Is to toil and then to die.

Futile is this cycle ending

In resigned and sad pretending;

Still, we struggle for a sight

That predicts the end of night.

But a single dawn decreed

Long ago that my great need

Has been answered by the Son,

And redemption has begun.

This prison of mortality

Is broke, and I have been set free.

Oh, shall I not exalt and sing

The Christ, my only loving King?  

From the Wall Street Journal. Saturday March 31 2018

Palisades Collection was in the business of purchasing debts from

creditors at pennies on the dollar with the hope of fully collecting

on the debt, according to the lawsuit. That is a common practice

in the debt-collection industry, and collection agencies

regularly use court systems to try to collect debts.

For pennies on the dollar they will make your life a hell;

They’ll drag your name right through the mud and sue your butt as well.

The debt collection agency has scruples so minute

You could fit ‘em all inside a bacilluses’ snoot.

Why don’t we sic these monsters on ol’ Putin or Jinping,

So they can vex our enemies in Moscow and Beijing?

CERTAIN WINES have reputations tarnished by the

connotation of “cheap.” They’re usually the

lowest-priced offerings on a restaurant wine list

and shelved near the floor in a wine store. Often

described by unpromising adjectives like “affordable,”

“drinkable” or simply “fun,” they include wines such as

Beaujolais, Chianti, Pinot Grigio,

Chilean Sauvignon Blanc and Muscadet.

I never drink wine that is cheap;

Good wine has a price that is steep.

I pay it because

Next morning the fuzz

Inside of my head ain’t so deep.

On Thursday and again on Saturday, Mr. Trump

on Twitter blasted Amazon over its business practices

and economic impact, saying the company should pay

more in taxes and is “putting many thousands of retailers

out of business.”

I think Mr. Trump is so mean

To Amazon cuz he has seen

How they deliver

Without a quiver --

While his pledges aren’t worth a bean.

New Yorkers flush the toilet millions of times a day,

creating 1,200 tons of biosolids, or treated sewage sludge.

Privately owned Big Sky Landfill in Adamsville, Ala.,

has permits to take nearly all of that from New York’s

five boroughs.

The Big Apple has more BS

Than anyone else, so I guess.

It’s shipped to Dixie,

Which might be tricksy

When it’s used to grow watercress.

While the U.S. doesn’t legally restrict women from

occupations, it scores particularly low on the leave

policies. The U.S. is one of just seven nations that don’t

require at least 14 weeks of paid leave. The others are

Suriname, Papua New Guinea, Micronesia, the Marshall Islands,

Palau and Tonga. Overall, the U.S. ranks 121st out

of 189 economies on this dimension.

In Tonga new mothers must toil,

Burning the hard midnight oil;

Before we critique

We might as well speak

Of how it’s the same on OUR soil.

the bright rising sky

the bright rising sky

brushes her lips against me

wanton yet loyal

hope is the yellow

hope is the yellow

floating above the green stems

near the lonely tomb

From the Wall Street Journal. Friday March 30. 2018.

But when they get the chance, grandmas and grandpas still do

what they’ve done across the ages—turning the attention

of children to the very important business of telling

stories and singing songs.

I tell the grandkids stories -- never mind if they are true;

The purpose of my narrative is giving broader view

To cousin Robert’s follies or aunt Ruby’s failed romance,

And why their uncle Jimmy wore a dress instead of pants.

Of course I brag a little when it comes to my exploits;

How I joined the circus and then slew some mean dacoits.

My memory grows bolder as I embellish history;

What’s the use of lifeless branches on the fam’ly tree?

I figure that my grandkids will be sick of boring rote

Teachers are determined to stuff down their little throat.

So I give them all the fantasy and nonsense that they crave

Before my magic carpet whisks me down into the grave . . .

In some cases, government officials curb grazing to protect

natural resources from damage caused by cattle, and create

preserves for threatened species. In others, officials close land

to ranchers to give more access to the public for hiking and

other activities which fuel the fast-growing recreation industry.

Pardner, lemme tell you what; these prairie ranges shrink

Whenever jumped up dudes out East begin to plot and think.

Them varmints out in Washington think cows are critters best

Penned up like some desperadoes while they hold inquest.

Of course they eat up all the grass, and stir up all the mud;

But that don’t mean they’re causing global warming no way, bud!

If you folks want your hamburgers and steaks at decent price

You gotta let them doggies roam, not cage ‘em up like mice!

And why the sam hill do they close my water holes today,

Just so tourists can come out and fish and swim and play?

I’ve seen the elephant, old pal, and so I will vamoose;

You can get your meat, like oil, from some guy in burnoose!

The Terrible Antones

One spring morning, in the year 1962, Jimmy Antone was in a terrific butting mood. Something had got his goat, ruffled his feathers, waved a red flag, and he was rarin’ to start butting. This was his standard reaction whenever he got mad. I was there, and saw it -- and narrowly missed being butted in the stomach myself. I have no idea what set Jimmy off. All I know is it wasn’t me. When Jimmy missed me by a hair’s breadth he backed up, made a deep gargle sound that he fancied mimicked an Evinrude outboard motor, and took off for the side of his parent’s car. Bang! His noggin left a dent in the side of the passenger door. Not satisfied with a probable concussion, Jimmy backed up again, gargled some more, and roared into the rose trellis next to the front porch. It fractured without impaling Jimmy with any wooden lathes. Then Mrs. Antone stuck her head out the living room window, screaming at Jimmy to stop messing around or she’d call his father home right this instant. Jimmy desisted, looking around him with smug satisfaction at the carnage he had already caused. Then we got back to spinning our Duncan tops on the cement sidewalk in front of his house -- a sidewalk that was cracked and uneven from elm tree roots. It made for rotten skating.

The Antones lived two doors down from us on 19th Avenue Southeast, in Minneapolis. Their home was notable for once belonging to Hubert H. Humphrey when he was Mayor of Minneapolis back in the Forties. Mr and Mrs Antone came from Lebanon, and they never let a chance go by to proudly mention their quasi-connection with a political bigwig like Humphrey. This did not sit well with my dad, who hated Humphrey with a passion rare in one of his usually phlegmatic (read: hungover) nature. It turns out that during his campaign for Mayor, Humphrey had stopped in at Aarone’s Bar & Grill, where my dad worked, and had a beer. He paid for it and left, without the customary tip to the bartender. This enraged dad, and he never let it go. One day Mr. Antone mentioned their connection with Humphrey once too often in the presence of my dad at a neighborhood barbecue. Dad fixed his beady red eyes on Mr. Antone and said, in a voice usually reserved for cursing Earl Battey at Twins games, “That Humphrey is so cheap he wouldn’t pay a dime to see Christ ride a bicycle!” The ensuing shocked silence was broken only when my mother sternly said “Don, it’s time to go home.” The look of murder in her eye would have cowed John Wayne. My sisters and I were told to stay at the barbecue and have another Oscar Mayer weiner before coming home. For once we were smart enough to obey our parents implicity, and thus avoided an undoubtedly gruesome domestic foofaraw at home.   

The Antones were Mr and Mrs, with four children: Judy and Rose, and Ronnie and Jimmy. Rose was the oldest; she was practically out of the house by the time I grew conscious of the female species -- having gone to beauty college and set up her own beauty salon in Nordeast Minneapolis. Judy I recall as a certified little angel -- always smiling and speaking politely. I’d like to say she grew up to be an axe murderess but in all fairness I don’t remember anything  else about her.

Ronnie, as the oldest boy, was expected to be rock solid and protective of his family. He and Mr. Antone got into some epic fights in their screened  back porch on summer evenings that reverberated throughout the neighborhood, and were listened to with keen interest from open windows back in those days when air conditioning was for movie theaters and not for private homes. The gist of these loudspeaker discussions was that Ronnie had better settle down and stop drinking beer and playing cards with his cronies down at the factory -- to which Ronnie always replied he would do whatever he damn well pleased and would the old man kindly take a bleeping leap into the nearest lake. After one stormy session Ronnie finally moved out and the family didn’t see him again for several years, by which time Mr. Antone had become the victim of several strokes which left him scrawny and hesitant in speech and gait. When Ronnie finally did come back home for a visit he brought with him his blue-eyed Swedish bride, and no one was more fond of her than swarthy old Mr. Antone -- who liked to hold her hand when she took him out for his daily walk around the block.

The pride and joy of the Antones, and the envy of the entire neighborhood, was the twenty-five foot Chris-Craft boat that Mr. Antone bought with the settlement money he got from the railroad when he was injured on the job and lost his right index finger. That was some fine boat, lemme tell ya.

And it was the only boat of such magnificent proportions in the entire area. Oh sure, nearly everyone had a dinky little aluminum punt that you could put a motor on and putt around on Lake Harriet -- but the Antone boat was made to battle the waves of an inland sea like Lake Minnetonka. Or even tow up to Lake Superior for the whiting run.

And the hell of it was, the Antones never invited anyone ever to sail with them. Never. Ever. It was for family only. Didn’t matter how much you tried cozening up to them. I gave Jimmy my Lionel train set, tracks, locomotive, and water tower, as a gesture of sincere friendship -- but do you think that entitled me to a ride on the Antone yacht? No way, Jose! My mother shared her recipe for watermelon rind pickles with Mrs Antone -- something she would not do with anyone else, not even his sister Ruby -- but that cut no ice with the Antones; she stayed as landlocked as ever.

Once the ice was out of the rivers and lakes, Mr Antone got the boat out of storage and parked it in front of their house, where he polished it with marine wax until it sparkled like the Kohinoor diamond. Jimmy and I would clamber all over it, shouting nautical and piratical phrases at each other, like “Avast, ye landlubber!” and “Shiver me timbers, matey!” We took turns standing behind the wheel and sailing her to as many far away places as our anemic geography could supply.

Then early Sunday morning, when the rest of us peons were getting ready for church, the Antones would hook the boat up to their truck and roll majestically away for a day of fishing and hobnobbing with the other moguls afloat. I have no doubt that many in our neighborhood, as they gathered at their various places of worship, harbored a half-formed wish that the Antone’s boat would be caught in a cyclone and go down with all hands. I know I did.