BECAUSE OF YOU, I KNOW HIM.

“I can’t believe it.”

My snort echoed in the empty room, chilled orange juices burning my forearms as I collected them from the breakfast table. “Really?”

Never in million years would I be able to gain my mother’s astonishing generosity. Who else provided fifteen cranky teenagers with breakfast every morning?

Looking up to meet her eyes with my face of disbelief, I found her also just as busy, gathering her notes from this morning’s lesson into a somewhat cohesive pile. “You really can’t believe he didn’t want to get up this morning?”

My completely warranted assessment was met by a glare coming from the half-awake boy in the corner. Unfortunately for him, years of practice against such a look had left me immune to them.

“No.” My mother distractedly replied, completely missing the laser show. “I can’t believe I cried again!”

Grimacing, I turned back to the nearly demolished box of donuts to hide my tell-all face. She did cry a lot.

“Oh, well.” She laughed in good humor, always on the hunt for the positive. “There’s nothing I can do about it now.”

Nodding in agreement, I threw the last of the unopened waters into the basket and rushed outside to the car. That irritated boy was not about to make me late.

We did indeed make it to school on time, where the brother and sister who were not yet best friends parted ways with a grumble and a half-hearted wave.

The normal thoughts of the day filled my mind as I walked into the building that was accented with bright orange. Homework, unwanted assignments, running for “fun” in the New Mexico heat. The usual.

However, there was one thing from that morning’s Seminary lesson that stuck with me throughout the day, and for a lifetime to come.

“How does she know Him?”

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Though I’ve made up by telling her now what I should have told her then, I do not think my mother will ever understand how much of an impact those tear-filled testimonies she gave of her Savior had on me.

Of course, I’d seen her speak of the Savior before, and she certainly acted like Him, as many mothers do. However, there was something about her words spoken to us in those early morning hours, fought hard for through the emotion.

They were lasting. They were changing. They were powerful.

They proved that she really knew Him. Which, in turn, gave me the desire and drive to do the same. To get to know Him.

It didn’t happen right away, and honestly, it still appears to be an ongoing process that will never reach completion.

That high school girl did not immediately begin to turn to her Savior, the hustle and bustle of track metes and unrequited crushes taking up much more of her free time.

The impression never left her, though. It was always in the back of her mind.

When she went to college and thought her world was ending, the memory came back in a whisper, pushing her towards Him.

It’s importance was made manifest when she returned home early from her mission, embarrassed and humiliated, but at peace. Filled with His peace.

The joy that accompanied such a journey radiated through her the day she recognized that through the gifts He’d given her, He had a course for her to pursue. A course she could not wait to step foot on.

The promises He had made to her were proved sure the day her grandfather passed away, leaving her with the testimony that families truly could be together forever. His loving sacrifice had made it possible.

And finally, as she watched all her hard work crumble around her, and finally became humble enough to give it all to Him, she began to see herself as He did. She began to recognize the love He held for her, a love that changed everything.

All of this. All of the miracles, all of the truths I hold dear, my newfound confidence, and my true and lasting friendship with the Savior came because of her.

Through her compassion and kindness, it became clear that she was acting as He would have her. As He would.

Through her contagious smile and happy outlook, I began to finally see that joy was what He wanted for me.

Through her encouragement to do hard things, her never wavering belief in me, and her challenges that came when most needed, I knew I could withstand any trial, as long as He was by my side.

Through her testimony, through her unwanted tears, through her hard work and effort and whatever difficult trials had met her along the way, Christ became real to me. He became a person I could trust, I could lean on, I could turn to.

He became my Savior.

It all started on a most likely windy morning in the Seminary Room/Nursery of our building. My relationship with Him.

So mom, again, do not be frustrated by your tears or your fumbled words or lessons that did not go as well as planned. We needed them. But especially, I needed them.

Because of you, I know Him. And that is a gift I can never repay you for.

P.S. When the Primary Children rise to sing their Mother’s Day song on Sunday, know with every fiber of your soul that those words are exactly how I feel about you.