I will always remember January 3, 2000. Looking back on that day, I see now it was one of those pivotal moments in life for which I thank my Heavenly father. The day before had been the Sabbath, and the fifth-year anniversary of my father's death. I had yearned to write my feelings about my father, but there wasn't a spare minute that day. I had to attend church, referee the arguments of my nine children, and prepare dinner so my husband, the bishop, could break his fast when he finally returned home from a long day in meetings—whenever that might be.

During this time in our lives my husband worked a night job running the early morning newspaper to stores and news stands. The clock on the desk said 12:30 a.m. when I finally found time to settle down in front of the computer screen. I hadn't written much poetry before then, only one or two liners just for fun. I didn't even know it was poetry I was going to write in the early morning hours. Before I began, I knelt and plead with my Heavenly Father for guidance. I told him of my desire to write my memories concerning my father. Before that day, I was never very diligent at keeping a journal, and as yet hadn't been able to bring myself to write of those days of grief.

The words flowed. Within three hours I had the finished product: "A Legacy of Love," dedicated to my father. I knew my father sat by my side and read that poem with me. I knew he wanted my mother to have a copy, and it was imperative she have it that day. My mother doesn't live very far from me, only thirty minutes, but we only had one vehicle, a Ford van on its final leg. Don had to use it for work at both jobs, and Monday night was family night, so our time was limited. By the time my husband walked through the door it was five o'clock. With a copy of poem in hand, I told him of my experience of the day and my feelings that my mother had to have it that day. In a few minutes, we were on our way to Bountiful to deliver the gift.

Jokingly, he said, "What if your mother has forgotten what today is?"

I told him there wasn't the slightest chance of that. When we arrived, I told Mom I had a gift Dad wanted me to give to her. When she saw what it was, she asked me to read it to her. With tears streaming from both her eyes and mine, I shared my words of gratitude and love for my father. It was a day I will always cherish. Through those words the bonds of the veil were loosed and I knew beyond a doubt of the love both my Heavenly Father and my earthly father held for me. I also knew of the love and concern of my father for my mother.

Since that time, I have written many words of poetry. I have written poems for my son's homecoming, my daughter's birthday, Primary talks and Relief Society socials. I've begun a collection of scripture and church history poems. At a very difficult time in my life, when my seventeen-year-old son left home, left the Church, and fo several days, we had no idea where he was, or even if he was alive, I found comfort through the gift of poetry. I secluded myself in my room to write of my sorrow in "A Mother's Prayer." When next we met him, I gave those words to my son with tears and a hug. It may have been one of the tools Heavenly Father used to bring him back to us. Next month, he will marry his sweetheart in the Bountiful Temple.

Since that first Sabbath day when I wrote of my father, I have felt that this gift of poetry was not given by chance. It has blessed my life more than I can ever say. It has given me a way to express my testimony through the written word. Through writing, I have met wonderful new friends who share the same interest and uplift me every day. Whenever I m able to share with others, I hope in some way it can bless them as well. I know I will someday be able to face my Heavenly Father, and on that day I will thank him for his love in blessing me with this talent. I hope I will be able to tell him I used it well, to bless his children and my family.

Please send email to anwa_lds@yahoo.com if you have any questions.