Letter to Stewart - Hoe to the End of the Row

Dear Stewart;

I wish my letters and email could be as motivating and inspirational as Bob Pedersen’s.  My strength is in organizing not in motivating.  But, I did want to pass along this poem to you.  It was a motto we had in our mission.  “Hoe to the end of the row”.  I might have shared this with you already, but I’ve always really liked the message it sends.  It’s for everyone - you don’t have to be the smartest, the richest, the best at speaking Spanish - you just have to work hard until the day is done (or the mission or our life her on this earth - lot’s of good underlying messages).

I don’t know if you’re seeing Jamison’s blog, but this is what he wrote about the bombing in Belgium.

"I reflected quite a bit about the recent events that have plagued our mission;  Charlie Hebdo last year, Friday the thirteenth this past November, and now the Brussels attacks, which involve people I know.  It just goes to show that you never know what may happen.  The bombings have reminded me of the beauty and delicacy of life, and that we need to treasure every moment we're breathing. God does not keep his missionaries from all harm and danger, but he always enables them to accomplish His work. I don't know why Elder Norby, Wells, Empey, and Sister Clain had to go through what they did, heck, it could have happened to me...all I know is that the Lord has granted them their lives, and we should all be thankful for that!  I am thankful for my mission, I am thankful to be at a distance from these attacks, but still close enough to receive the Lord's reminder of how fragile we are, and how important it is to make good decisions with each moment he grants us."

It’s been amazing as these injured missionaries have powerfully shared their testimonies with the world.  

Love you and miss you.  Continue to Hoe to the End of the Row.

Love,

MOM

Bill Brown made a million,
Bill Brown, think of that.
That boy you remember,
As poor as a rat.

He hoed for the neighbors,
Did jobs by the day.
And Bill made a million,
Or near it they say.

He worked for my father,
You'll maybe recall.
He wasn't a wonder,
Not that, not at all.

He couldn't out-hoe me,
Or cover more ground,
Or hoe any faster,
Or beat me around.

In fact, I was better
In one way that I know.
One toot from the kitchen
And home I would go.

But Bill Brown always hoed
To the end of the row.

We used to get hungry
Out there in the corn.
You talk about music,
What equals a horn?

A horn yellin' dinner,
And tomatoes and beans,
And pork and potatoes,
And gravy and greens.

I ain't blamin' no one
For quittin' on time.
To quit with the whistle,
That ain't any crime.

But as for the million,
Well, this much I know.
Bill Brown always hoed
To the end of the row.