I was the luckiest girl in town. I had a special date for our ward Daddy-Daughter Date when I was about eight years old. My father was so much fun at these church activities. He exaggerated his steps as he went around the circle playing the game “I have a little doggy and he won't bite you,” and he and I made a great team as we outraced most of the other fathers and daughters as we took part in relay games. And when the party was over, we skipped hand in hand all the way home.That evening is not a lifelong memory because I was with somebody who was a well-known professor and author. It isn't a special memory because Great Basin Kingdom was hot off the press and my father was publishing articles in professional journals at a high rate of speed. I didn't know any of that was going on. He was simply “my Dad,” and for that evening, he was my date and I had his full attention.Many of you in this congregation are familiar with Dad's life story. It is an understatement of seismic proportions to say his life is thoroughly documented. His is one of the most thoroughly documented life stories you will find in any library or archives. My intention this morning is not to share strictly a biographical sketch of my father, but rather a few stories and insights as to his faith, the source of his faith, and his wonderful and refreshing spirit that so many learned to love.In this beautiful setting this morning, it's an ideal place to remember a singular event that took place in the Arrington family's isolated farmhouse in Twin Falls, Idaho, that would have an impact on Dad's entire life, not just physically but also spiritually. It was an experience that occurred when Dad was still a baby and the miraculous story was related to him by his mother, Edna, when he was old enough to understand.To preface: Dad was one of nine children of Noah and Edna Corn Arrington. They met and married in Oklahoma and soon thereafter took a freight train to Idaho where they permanently settled in Magic Valley in 1913.Although healthy as a baby, Leonard nearly died when he was not quite two years old when the whole family came down with the influenza virus that was sweeping the world in 1918. A doctor visited their farmhouse and told them that baby Leonard would not survive this virus but the rest of the family should take every precaution to save themselves. Against doctor's orders, Edna got up off her sick bed and, together with her friend Hannah Bowen, anointed little baby Leonard with consecrated oil and prayed for his health. Their heartfelt prayers were answered.There is no doubt in my mind that this experience had everything to do with Dad having the highest respect for the women of the church. He always felt his mother's earnest and humble faith was equal to the priesthood. When Leonard was old enough to understand, Edna told him many times that she felt that his life was spared to accomplish a great work in the building of God's Kingdom.The experience was largely responsible for his interest in writing about women in the history of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints long before it was considered vogue to do so.I will let Dad describe a sacred experience he had, an epiphany if you will, that meant a great deal to him, that set the stage for a lifetime of the blending of faith and intellect. He writes: The Arrington family farmhouse was crowded with children, so I spent each summer sleeping on a makeshift bed in the orchard west of our house. I relished reading such books as the Boy Scout Handbook and The Two Little Savages and enjoyed sleeping under the stars.I could soon recognize and identify the various constellations. I began to feel an intensely personal relationship with the universe[,] with God, and with our fellow human beings. A special experience occurred one summer evening in 1930 when I was 13. I had gone through a long day of hard work and had gone to my orchard bed. I gazed at the stars and saw the blackbirds flying toward the roosting place among the cattales below Shoshone [F]alls. Suddenly I was overwhelmed by a feeling of connectedness, and intimate kinship with the world and it's human, bird, and animal inhabitants. I was on a higher or deeper level of consciousness present in an affectionate environment that seems now to have been transcendental. God was smiling on me; I had a feeling of acceptance and self[-]validation. I was having an enhancing experience of the Holy and the Holy was happy, festive, even playful, I was smiling even chuckling with pleasure. How fortunate to get this feeling of intimacy with universe!My dear friends, this is significant. Dad tells us why. He writes: There were several things resulting from this experience. I now had no doubt that Joseph Smith had mystical experiences. Not only was it easy for me to understand his experience but I felt a certain kinship with him. I felt more confidence in myself. God had acknowledged me, had given me self-assurance[,] more spirit. God would bless me as I undertook worthy tasks. Finally[,] this almost mystical illumination also made it easy for me in the years that followed to integrate personal religious experiences and institutions with the more formal affirmation and practices and ceremonies of the organized Church.One of Dad's favorite authors was Fyodor Dostoyevsky and he, too, had a mystical experience and must have experienced some criticism. He wrote: “They tease me now, telling me it was only a dream. But does it matter whether it was a dream or reality, if the dream made known to me the truth?”Dad had a number of what he called “epiphanies.” And, like the spiritual experience he had in the family orchard, they were enormously important to him. He writes: During the winter of 1949–50, my mind was filled with the research I had done in the Church Archives during the preceding summers. One afternoon early in the 1950s, sitting in a quiet alcove of the university library, I had what might be a “peak experience”—one that sealed my devotion to Latter-day Saint history. Going over my extended notes, recalling the letters, diaries, and personal histories of the hundreds of past church leaders and members, the feeling of ecstasy suddenly came over me—an exhilaration that transported me to a higher level of consciousness.The apostle John wrote that to gain salvation a person must receive two baptisms—the baptism of water and the baptism of the spirit. My water baptism and confirmation had occurred when I was eight, but now in a university library I was unexpectedly absorbed into the universe of the Holy Spirit.[Latter-day Saints] would say that I was receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost. A meaningful moment of insight and connectedness had come to me that helped me to see that my research efforts were compatible with the divine restoration of the Church. It was something like, but more intense than, the feelings that welled up in me when I listen[ed] to the finale of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony or moved by Raphael's painting of the Madonna in the Vatican Museum at the end of World War II.In an electrifying moment, the lives and beliefs of 19th century [Latter-day Saints] had special meaning—part of the eternal plan and it was my pleasure to understand and write their story. Whatever my talents and abilities—and I had never pretended that they were extraordinary—an invisible higher power has given me a commission and the experience remained and continues to remain with me.Regardless of frustrations and obstacles that came to me in the years that followed, I knew that God expected me to carry out a research program of his peoples’ history and to make that material available to others. Whatever people might say about this mortal errand, I must persevere, and do so in an attitude of faithfulness. My experience was a holy, never-to-be-forgotten encounter—one that inspired me to live up to the promises held out for those who receive the gift of the Holy Ghost.With that foundation, I'd like to share a few memories that will remind us of Dad's personality that endeared him to his family, his colleagues, and complete strangers.Dad was interested in people, not just those who crossed the plains and settled the Utah Territory, but he was interested in anyone he was sitting by on an airplane, on a bus trip, or a student who sought him out when they were experiencing a crisis of faith concerning some event in church history. His interest in others and his amazing memory frequently produced something close to the following dialogue. Perhaps you had a similar experience.While a professor at Utah State University, Leonard served on a stake high council and in a stake presidency. When he was on the high council, he would be assigned to go speak in some far-flung Cache Valley ward like Cornish or Cove or Avon. After the meeting, it seemed that inevitably some young person would come up to say hello to Leonard, and introduce him or herself. Then Leonard would often say something like: LEONARD: Oh, so your name is Utahna Lawanna Larsen. I see. . .Leonard would then pause for a dramatic moment, like a mind reader, somewhat like Carnac, and then continue with a flourish: Oh, you must be from the Sven Olaf Jenson Hanson Swenson Larsen pioneer family from Scandinavia! Their travel was financed by the Perpetual Emigration Fund!They came across the plains in 1857, and entered the Valley about August 19th, AND, [pause] . . . Let's see . . . my recollection has it that they had jerky, fried bread, and butter, for their first meal in the Salt Lake Valley [pause] . . . Oh yes! And, I believe your great-great-great-great-grandfather was wearing a brown hat at the time of that meal!By this time, the shocked young person would have their eyes wide open and their jaw on the floor as they listened to this friendly stranger accurately describe, in minute detail, their pioneer family history. More often than not, my father knew more about your family than you did.The following incident was described in a family letter Dad wrote to me and my brothers, dated April 2, 1979.Leonard wrote: Saturday I went to General Conference in the Tabernacle where I sat on the second row. Not having anybody on my immediate right or left I turned around to introduce myself to the person right behind me. He turned out to be President Larcher, the regional representative for Italy, and a native Italian whose family has been in Italy for several hundred years. We enjoyed conversing—the entire time in Italian. Immediately after meeting him[,] I of course jumped over the pew and sat next to him during the session. It was all very pleasant.My father certainly had a wonderful sense of humor. He had a playful heart. And he had few inhibitions. He found ways to enjoy his work. If you would have called him on his office phone during that first year he was the church historian, you may have heard Dad answer with, “Hello, Grover Cleveland,” or “Hello, Millard Fillmore.”Dad came home from work one day and Mom immediately noticed his pants were ripped in a very unfortunate place. Mom was incredulous. “Your pants are ripped in the back. Why didn't you call me? I could have brought you down another pair of pants.” Dad seemed calm and nonplussed. He said simply, “I thought there was an extra bit of ventilation today.”Again, we turn to Mr. Dostoyevsky for some wisdom: “If you wish to glimpse inside a human soul and get to know a man, don't bother analyzing his ways of being silent, of talking, of weeping, of seeing how much he is moved by noble ideas; you will get better results if you just watch him laugh. If he laughs well, he's a good man.”One of my father's secretaries remembers an evening when Dad had to work later than usual in his office in the Church Office Building. This secretary was staying there to help him. He came out at a certain time and said, “Could you go across the street and get me a can of Coca Cola?” (This is when a can of Coke could not be found to purchase in the entire Church Office Building.) So she went across the street, got the Coke, put it in a brown paper bag and took it into the building. Dad took it and disappeared into his office. About forty-five minutes later he came out, put the empty Coke can in the brown paper bag, stapled it shut, and (with a smirk on his face) dropped it in the garbage. A performance worthy of his son James, who is an actor—if only for an audience of one.Dad sometimes had trouble assimilating changes in the way society functioned. It was sometimes difficult to persuade him to try a new way of doing things. One BIG change was the use of computers. During the later years of Dad's tenure as church historian, he received a notification that the church was purchasing computers for virtually every office in the Church Office Building. Although the staff was excited, Dad was definitely not and had his doubts as to whether this was a good thing. The day came when everyone got their computer and for the next several days learned how to navigate these fascinating new machines. Dad was highly suspicious. Finally, one day he went out on the floor and walked up and down the various isles to see how much was getting done. He came back to his office, disgusted, saying “Everybody out there is playing Pac-Man.”Another challenge Dad faced, especially when he was living alone, was learning to cook. He must have been at the end of his rope when he sat down and hammered off this family letter that went to my two brothers and myself in July of 1982.Leonard writes: “I got a note left by the garbage man which says that they are not required to take more than six cans of garbage. What does that mean? Can I put out six cans +2 boxes or do the boxes count as cans? Can I put out six cans and two garbage disposal bags or do the latter count as cans? if I leave more than the instructions indicate . . . what happens? It's all so indefinite.”Our Arrington household had many overnight guests. We had grandmothers, uncles, strange aunts, rapscallion cousins, renowned scholars, chums, foreign exchange students, and even some surprise visitors. Some more surprising than others. The summer after I graduated from Logan High School, I moved to Salt Lake City, living with my parents and working to earn tuition money to attend Utah State that fall. I was working the late shift at a burger joint and came home late one night after everyone else had gone to bed. As I turned on the light in my bedroom, a huge man sat bolt upright in my bed.My terrified gasp brought my father quickly to the scene to clarify the situation before any violence erupted. As it turns out, the man with the dark beard was a brilliant scholar, a Korean War veteran, and a fourth great-grandson of the prophet Joseph Smith. His name was Paul M. Edwards, a distinguished scholar, distinguished member of the faculty at Graceland College, and one of the brilliant friends that my father fostered among the members of the RLDS Church.Reflecting on our family life, one of the most daunting, charming records to be found in Dad's diary are the minutes of our annual family New Year's Eve meeting that began in 1966. We held them annually for more than thirty years.One of the things we did was create revealing “favorite” lists. Dad's astonishing list of things he liked best reveals the complexity of his taste. From some of his choices he seemed very educated and cultured—even highbrow when he identifies Dvorak's New World Symphony as one of his favorite classical pieces of music and Santiago's Life of Reason as his favorite book. But the sublime list was not without the ridiculous. His favorite Beatles song was “We All Live in a Yellow Submarine,” and his favorite TV programs were wacky military spoofs McHale's Navy and Hogan's Heroes. Watching these shows Dad laughed until he cried. Go figure.In 1946, Leonard took a position as an assistant professor of economics at Utah State University. Shortly after their arrival in Logan, he and Grace learned of a stake conference to be held in the Logan LDS Tabernacle and they attended the morning and afternoon sessions. Leonard writes: “This was the first meeting I had ever attended where there was such a large congregation of Latter-day Saints. The sense of community with these Logan Saints penetrated my heart; I broke down and wept when they sang Come, Come Ye Saints. ‘These are my people’ I thought. ‘This is where I belong—where I feel at home. I hope I remain with them the rest of my life.’”Leonard commented further on this experience: I experienced the Divine in becoming part of the community of Saints. It is adopting the way of life of [Latter-day Saint] culture. The Spirit was present in this community of faith.Being a Latter-day Saint is not just the acceptance of a body of doctrine, it is being part of a community that studies the scriptures, listens to the sermons of leaders, engages in prayer and contemplation, receives the holy sacrament and joins with fellow Saints in the worship of God. It means belonging to a community that helps each other and tries to do good. Mormonism has provided [me with] intellectual excitement and inspiration.The opportunity of helping others and the deep feeling that my writing and speaking may have helped to record the story of the building of the Kingdom in these latter days brings me great satisfaction.One of Dad's most enduring and Christlike qualities was his efforts to be inclusive. Everyone is welcome. The true measure of the greatness of any person is their influence for good on our Father in Heaven's children. The stories are endless of my father's impact on the lives of the sons and daughters of God. I share the following brief notes of gratitude.Lavina Fielding Anderson has given me permission to use this touching memory she has of Leonard in which she writes of how deeply he felt for those who feel marginalized, who feel as though they are on the outside looking in. Lavina describes herself as “Someone who was excommunicated as part of what was known as the ‘September Six’ in 1993.” Leonard invited her and her husband to the History Division's Christmas party at his home and asked her to give the opening prayer and blessing on the food. Anderson explains why this was such a meaningful kindness: “Since praying in a public Church meeting is one of the things specifically forbidden by excommunication, he could not have said in stronger terms that I have a value, even a cherished place in his world.”Leonard's tent was very large. There was room for everyone. This is one of Dad's characteristics that I most admire. Here's another testimonial of the impact Dad had from Christine Rigby Arrington: Through my friendship with Carl in high school, I met his father Leonard Arrington. He learned that, since I had studied piano since the age of six, I was also a great, fast, accurate typist. So when I got to college, he hired me to be his secretary, for 20 hours per week at $2 per hour!! I loved working with him, and he seemed to value my work, as well. When I was about to graduate from college, he asked me one day, “So what do you plan to do with the rest of your life?” I said, “I don't know.” He said, “Well, what do you love?” I thought for a few minutes and then said, “Writing, literature and history.” He said, “Well then, you have two choices, a Master's Degree in Fine Arts from Columbia University or from the University of Iowa,” which I later learned were the two highest rated writing programs in the country. He said, “Which one do you want?” I thought for about a minute and then said, “Columbia.” He said, “Okay.” Then he wrote me such a glowing approval letter that I got into Columbia, and when I said, “Where will I live in New York City?” He said, “Well, it just so happens that I have a former secretary who lives at 110th and Broadway—six short blocks from Columbia—and she's looking for a roommate.” So he called her and set that up for me, too. So on about September 1st of that year, I got on a plane and flew to New York. And the rest, as they say, is history. I am so, so grateful for the difference he made in my life. He transformed it, opening up the world to me!When my mother, Grace, passed away in 1982, my father chose the phrase “Blessed Damozel” to put on her side of a grave marker in the Logan Cemetery. The last time Dad visited her grave, I was with him and I asked him, “What should we put on your side of this grave marker. It looks like we'll only have two words.” He said, “Oh, you'll think of something.” It turned out to be a real challenge to try to gather together the richness of his life to TWO words. We eventually came up with an acceptable phrase, BELOVED MENTOR. It seems to say it all.Two years ago I had a wonderful experience writing a book with my two oldest daughters, Emily Jones and Becca Thornton. The book is called Fathers of the Prophets. We did a chapter on each of the men who have one thing in common: they each had a son who became president of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Emily and Becca were given permission to interview President Nelson about his father Marion. They were charmed by the fact that President Nelson still refers to his father as “Daddy.”After about forty-five minutes of visiting with Emily and Becca, President Nelson said “before you leave there's something I want to show you.” He walked over to a nice bookcase there in his office that was filled with perhaps a couple of dozen leather-bound books containing medical records. He said, “During my career as a heart surgeon I would complete the procedure and then go to my office and sit down and write up a summary of what took place during the surgery.” All of these were carefully preserved, put in chronological order, and eventually bound.In 1984, Russell Nelson was called to be an apostle and of necessity he closed his medical practice. He writes, “They gave me one month after General Conference of April to complete the last of the surgeries to become a full-time Apostle.” “Now look at this,” he said with a smile. He walked over and took the last volume from the shelf and then he turned to what turned out to be the last report he had written up on the last surgery he completed in the United States. The patient's name was Leonard Arrington. This time it was the historian that had truly made history.Let me conclude with this thought. The Lord blessed my father with powerful and very personal spiritual experiences that he clung to throughout his life. They were his anchor and they sealed his devotion to the writing of Latter-day Saint history.And thus when the going got rough—he never gave up.He never lost faith.He never became bitter.He never sought revenge.He never jumped ship.So, when Dad arrived at the Pearly Gates, who do you think he was especially anxious to see? I like to think he owed a debt of gratitude to his mother, Edna Corn Arrington. She told him many times that she felt that his life was spared during the flu epidemic to enable him to accomplish a great and important work in the building of God's Kingdom. She knew. And because she knew, and shared it numerous times with my father, it was a guiding light in his life.And I still feel like the luckiest girl in town.