Cemetery of Beloved Memory: Meeting Paul Escamilla at General Conference

I once heard Paul Escamilla give a sermon

in which he talked about a family cemetery in the Southwest borderlands.

It was so rich that I felt I was walking the grounds with him,

lingering over memories and sensing a deeper Spirit,

one that binds us together across boundaries of time and space.

Yesterday I met Paul in the hallway off the concourse,

heavy with the weight of decisions and divides.

I hadn’t known I needed to see him.

We talked about teaching and the possibilities of doing something new.

I hadn’t known I needed to talk with him.

But we met

and the warmth of that cemetery of beloved memory came rushing back

along with just a hint of Spirit

blowing across the wide-open plains.