I'll Swap 2 Easters, 3 Labor Days for 1 Conference

There is something about hearing the Word of God born in solemn testimony that waters my soul; it is necessary to my survival. You see, I am a remedial spirit and need a lot of help making it through this wilderness. General Conference is my watering hole. It has not always been thus.

My experiences of General Conference have been most varied. Growing up in Utah, not a member of the Church, Conference was something that drew complaints. All I knew was that it tied up the tv for two weekends of the year. When you only have 3 main channels to choose from (yes, I'm old), that takes a bite. I never watched it, even once...

Until I became a member of the Church at the age of almost 17. My close friends began to talk about Conference and it became a happenin' event. I listened on the radio as I worked Fridays and Saturday's (yes, I am old) and watched it, usually at various friend's houses, on Sunday. It was all so new to me and I was hungry. I loved it. I only tried attending it once, when my friend, Niel, took me up to Temple Square. The Tabernacle was filled and we ended up in an overflow of the old Salt Palace (yes, I'm old) watching it on a screen in the basement.

When my family was young, Conference became a delicious break of sorts. We would watch Sunday sessions in our jammies, sweaters and slippers in the new Autumn cold; capri's and flip flops in the new Spring warmth. Saturday was a catch-what-we-could day in between gardening or yard cleanup.

As Grant and I went through our testimony slump, Conference weekend became the perfect vacation weekend. We might listen as we drove to Vernal (Dinosaur Land) or through Flaming Gorge; but with kids in the van, it was a half-hearted effort at best. I didn't miss or need it at all...or so I thought.

And then life changed. Grant and I both paid the price for our testimony slump and in finding my way back, Conference became a lifeline. I began to look forward to General Conference in a way I never had before. I felt renewed, faith strengthened; a greater will to press forward. I began to hear life-changing talks; Elder Haight's teachings of how to learn in the temple, President Benson's talk on pride, and so on and so on. And, of course, there was Elder Neal A. Maxwell...a class unto himself. My looking forward to his talks became such a running joke in our family, that my kids knew how disappointed I was when he would be "wasted" on the Priesthood meeting. From the time he was twelve, Clayton would come home after every Priesthood meeting teasing me that Elder Maxwell had spoken, even when he hadn't.

When Grant and I were first separated and life was nothing but fear and stress, Conference took on an even deeper meaning. I noticed that the women in the support group I was attending all felt the same way about it as I did. We were starved for comfort and strength and would begin looking forward to it two or three weeks ahead. Returning to our Tuesday meetings the Sunday after Conference, everyone would gush, "Oh, that was the best Conference ever!" And it truly was.

Conference became a must for me, a time of renewal, a time of uplift, a time of learning. When the kids were little (and perhaps this was a mean thing), I would have them watch it downstairs while I watched it on my bedroom tv upstairs. I needed, needed, needed the quiet to hear the messages so much. I could hear their chatter downstairs and knew they always had a good time. One by one, each of them would begin to come up and watch it with me saying, "It's too noisy downstairs. I need to be able to listen." Finally, we moved downstairs and watched it as a family.

Conference took on a level of tradition. Life in the world, as we knew, it stopped. Errands were not run, housework was not done. Conference weekend became a quiet respite from the world, where we could gather as a family in a protected fort. The boys would attend priesthood with their dad and I would take the girls out to dinner. We would have conference candy (a bygone from old Conference Bingo games when they were small) and follow it all up with a Conference dinner where we would discuss our favorite talks. Wherever my children were, be it Logan or Provo; if it were possible they would come home. I have watched as my children have been strengthed by talks; comforting one after a broken engagement, fortifying others while preparing for missions.

Two of my children who were not able to attend this year, one living in Houston, one in Ohio, both called and said they missed being here with the family. I fear that the time for gathering as a family is nearing it's end. Each of my children do or will soon have families of their own. They will need to build their own traditions. And some of ours may morph into new ones, perhaps a pot-luck conference dinner... But as long as I live, some of my favorite memories will be of those times spent watching Conference with my children; learning and laughing and praying with them.

My love for Conference weekend continues to grow each year. I have especially learned to love the Brethren who wear out their lives in our service. Beloved Brethren have passed on and I still miss hearing their voices. And new ones have taken their places with new voices to be loved.

I still rely on Conference; the lifeline never fails. I am still a remedial spirit and Conference still waters my soul. It has become my favorite holiday and holy day of the year.