Same Bat-Time...Same Bat-Channel.

It takes two to speak the truth -- 

one to speak and another to hear. 

Henry David Thoreau

Ah, General Conference. I love everything about it. It's one of the most soothing sounds in the world to me, and such a distinctive one too. I'm not sure what it is, but there's some specific quality to the sound of the broadcast that makes it instantly recognizable.

When I think of General Conference, I think of springtime in Utah. I think of blossoming trees, the unfailingly beautiful flowerbeds on Temple Square, and sitting on my mom and dad's bed eating breakfast rolls on trays. I think of the sneaky few moments after the session would end when I'd try to catch a glimpse of what the rest of the world got to watch on Sunday. We weren't allowed TV on Sunday, and we weren't allowed to wear pants either, but Conference meant we could stay in pj's until noon and pj's definitely beat dresses. I think of my mother critiquing the choir's performance (too slow! enunciation!), our family chorus of the rest hymn with all four parts covered, wondering if the two hours would ever end, the low murmur of laughter at the occasional joke...and despite the creeping clock, how much I loved having an excuse to all be together. And I think of the prophet's voice.

Later, I think of having to haul my own young family to the ward building to watch the Conference broadcasts. Of trying to keep the girls busy and quiet, with a little resentment that lucky family members out west got to watch at home where Conference still felt restful and festive, rather than like too many hours on a bench in the chapel with little kids. Of loving the familiar glimpses of Temple Square and being jealous of the blossoms and the flower beds because the midwest was usually still struggling with the remains of winter. I think of homesickness. And I think of the prophet's voice.

Later still, I think of gratitude for the invention of the internet so that we could listen at home again wherever we were living, of Conference brunches with dear ward friends who had become our missing family. I think of scanning the choir for familiar faces from many years and many wards, and of my girls' good-natured critiquing of big Utah hairstyles and big polyester choir dresses. Of singing the rest hymn right out loud no matter who we were with because that's what I was raised to do, but missing having all four parts covered. Of being grateful for a week away from stressful callings. Of being interested to hear what the brethren might say about specific issues, or listening for answers to things I'd been struggling with. I think of the camera panning the expanse of the new conference center and how that shift somehow made me feel part of something much bigger. Of how much I still loved having an excuse to be together for two hours. And I think of the prophet's voice.

Different prophets. Different announcers welcoming us to a different Conference designated by a different number. Different springs, different blossoms, different questions and ages and stages. 

Same feelings. Same messages.

Different mold, same Jell-O.

My daughter Chelsea left a comment on my last post that I believe contained a perfect thought for pre-Conference consideration. She said, "We listen, we think, we pray, we choose. That's the order we are supposed to use when it comes to counsel from anyone."

Isn't that great? We are not only encouraged, but are expected to engage in the process! Listening is only the first step. 

And I think one of the things I've enjoyed most about Conference over the years I've been listening is that I have found it to be an intellectually restful place for my often troubled mind. I understand the messages there to be, in general, about big principles for Christ-like living rather than about rules or programs or the nitty gritty details of life in a ward. Those are the things that, for me, can get in the way. Conference helps me to refocus on the big picture. It helps me to think. It reminds me to pay attention to what I feel. And it helps me to continue to choose. The right, the gospel, and my Mormon-ness. 

I am looking forward to once again listening to a prophet's voice. And to remembering it all again too.

-S.