Brattle Street Elegy: Not Different from My Home

My wife led me to the news and to this website. We met while we were attending the ward in 2001. I share the sentiments of many who have left comments here. 

I clearly remember my first Sunday in the Longfellow Park chapel in August of 1998. Though I had a testimony, I was spiritually underdeveloped. I remember the trek I made with my father from the Harvard Square red line exit, past HMV Records, down the ragged brick sidewalk, into the back door of the church by the kitchen. I was a freshman at Boston University, with my major yet undecided, freshly arrived in the United States for the first time that week from Zurich. We comfortably situated ourselves in the left back corner, and the sacrament meeting convened. That week I was quite overwhelmed with the new and different world that I was about to face, including the new ward in it. Then I remember hearing a familiar opening hymn sung in a language I had never heard it in before, and right away that holy spirit lifted me. I came to a realization that, unlike all the new places I had visited earlier that week, this place was not different from my home. 

That same year I was spiritually tested, and though I never lost my burning testimony, I never came out as a strong active member of that ward. I remember those who persistently helped me through the hard times, including my home teachers, my home teaching companion, those in Boston University’s family home evening group and the bishopric. I received my patriarchal bless ing and my mission call. 

Upon returning from my mission, I was determined to give/ return as much as I could to the Lord and get as much as I could out of my Church experience. The Lord had changed me in two years, and I was determined not to let him down. The blessings I received in that ward in the next two years are immeasurable. I made some of the dearest friends that I have, gained more testimonies and memories through service, met, dated, proposed to, and married my wife in the Boston Temple in June 2003. It was one of the happiest moments of my life. 

Like many of you I recall that circular window, omnipresent during our sacrament meeting, counting how many possible pies could be conjured out of it. When I saw a picture of what’s left of that window, I could no longer contain my emotion and I wept with gratitude and sorrow. It represented everything that is dear to my heart that happened there. Even now I can close my eyes and remember the intricacy of that building and how much time I spent there. I miss all of that. I miss all that the Lord blessed me with in it.