I have often wondered why my dad was never called to be a Bishop. To me he was spiritual giant, I remember hearing him talk about, the gospel, his Savior and the temple with such love and conviction. I remember walking in on him in his room at night only to find him kneeling in prayer. I remember him arguing with my mom on how they couldn’t afford NOT to pay their tithing or why he wouldn’t go to the store on Sunday to get his whining family ice cream. I remember him bearing his testimony and feeling the spirit testify to me about what he was saying was true. He was an avid home teacher, a hard worker, a real example of what a son of God should be. I remember all of the healing blessings he gave to those who were sick or hurting.
I have often wondered what it was that kept my father from holding a high position in our ward. I know my dad did not do anything without consulting the Lord first. His relationship with his Heavenly Father was so strong. Sometimes Bishops can seem unapproachable and many might be afraid to see them for advice. There was nothing unapproachable about my father. He was welcoming and down to earth.
My father knew no strangers, everyone was a friend he just hadn’t met yet. Much to my mother’s chagrin he could strike up a conversation with anyone, while we waited in the car to drive us home, but he always left an impression on those that he met. Everyone loved him and still does.
No, my father was never a bishop but he was a missionary every moment of the day. I believe he did more good by having the freedom to become a friend to those who might have otherwise stayed strangers.