David Orrock's talk: First of all, on behalf of the family, I'd like to express our appreciation to all those who have come to be here today, to witness of your love and respect and honor to our father. We appreciate that. As we were in the Relief Society room prior to the closing of the casket, the laying down of his body `for the last time, it reminded me of another story I was going to tell. But as I looked at him in the casket, dressed in the clothes of the temple, I remember a few years ago when he told me this story, (I'm not sure I even shared this with members of the family). Many of the family were in the temple on the event of Krissy Pruett's ordinance work. And then as he sat in the Celestial room, he told me as he looked over in the corner of the room and saw a young lady, he said she looked very much like Krissy, his granddaughter who passed away in the car accident many years ago. He said she looked very much like Krissy would today had she continued to grow. He said, "I looked over there and thought to myself, is that Krissy?" He looked up later and she was gone, but he knew that she was there. As I looked at my father I knew that he is here with us and that we will have many occasions where we will feel his spirit and at some point we will have a reunion with him and other family members who have passed. Eighty years ago, Fanny and Joseph Orrock had son. He was born in Richfield, a town that seemed to me, to be misnamed. I was aware that despite hard work my father's family never got rich on their fields. At least they were never rich monetarily, but in another way they were rich beyond measure. They had a rich faith that included the knowledge that their little baby Scott was an eternal being, one who had recently been in the presence of a great and good Father in Heaven. William Wordsworth, while reflecting on immortality put it this way: Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, Half had elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar: Not in entire forgetfulness, And not in utter nakedness, But trailing clouds of glory do we come From God, who is our home. (William Wordsworth, "Ode on Intimations of Immortality") President Hinckley, who Dad knew to be an inspired and clear thinking prophet, talked about the same subject while paraphrasing Job from the Old Testament. He said, "We are not chance creations in a universe of disorder. We lived before we were born. We were God's sons and daughters who shouted for joy.” (See Job 38:7) We knew our father; He planned our future. We graduated from that life and matriculated in this. The statement is simple; the implications are profound. Life is a mission, not just the sputtering of a candle between a chance lighting and a gust of wind that blows it out forever." Though times were tough for him growing up in the depression years in Richfield my dad maintained the strong faith of his father’s; a faith in the gospel of Jesus Christ and in the goodness and potential of all of God's children. He was comfortable talking about how God's hand was evident in the important events in his life. For example, just a few weeks ago he talked about how two events, one while he was just a child and got behind a year in school, and the either, having to do with an illness, combined to effect the entrance into the World War II; the result of which was to spare him from battle. I think he also felt the hand of providence in his ability to serve a mission, an event which had a profound influence on him and on his future family. My father knew that his life had a purpose. Once, a few years ago when we were talking about his close brushes with death, he stated quietly that there was still something that had to happen before his life's mission was over. I often wondered what he thought that thing was maybe a family event, or possibly the accomplishment of a personal goal. Whatever it was must have been accomplished. I do believe that a righteous person does not pass before his or her time. When our family was young and Dad was in a plane that crashed on the highway in Spanish Fork Canyon, it was not his time. Later in life when he was in a serious car accident, he survived. It was not his time. He had heart problems and surgeries, but those did not take him. Complications associated with diabetes and other health problems did not end his life. There was even this one time when (I guess he was about 70 years old and lived in St. George) he stood on his trash can to smash it down and it started rolling down his driveway and dumped him over the rock retaining wall. He survived that as well. But, finally last week, a seemingly random event, involving a tiny insect and a virus, ended his life and sent him back beyond the veil. As a family, we realize that it was a blessing for him to go as he did. We have faith that the time was right. We know where he is. We know that he is happy. We know that he was welcomed there by familiar faces. But, of course, we will miss him. Elder Nelson, of the Quorum of the Twelve, explained the sadness that accompanies death in this way: "Irrespective of age, we mourn for those loved and lost. Mourning is one of the deepest expressions of pure love. It is a natural response in complete accord with divine commandments”; 'Thou shalt live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die.' (D&C 42:45)" But then he went on to assure us: "Our limited perspective would be enlarged if we could witness the reunion on the other side of the veil, when doors of death open to those returning to home." "Moreover, we can't fully appreciate joyful reunions later without tearful separations now. The only way to take sorrow out of death is to take love out of life." My dad had a strong faith in the hereafter. He knew it included joyful reunions with loved ones, but still he had some fears about his own passing. I guess, like all of us, he wondered if he was worthy. Even the Apostle Paul lamented about his personal, as did the prophet, who expressed his feelings of failure soon after his father died leaving Nephi the leader of a dysfunctional and sometimes fighting family. Apparently Nephi sometimes lost his temper. He said, "0, wretched man that I am! Yea, my heart sorroweth because of my flesh; my soul greiveth because of mine iniquities. I am encompassed about, because of the temptations and the sins which do so easily beset me. And when I desire to rejoice, my heart groaneth because of my sins;" But then his tone becomes more optimistic: "Nevertheless, I know in whom I have trusted...My God hath been my support; he hath led me through mine afflictions in the wilderness.” (In Richfield, in Tuba City, in Page, Arizona, in St. George, and even in Utah Valley.) Nephi continues with these beautiful words: "0 Lord, wilt thou redeem my soul. May the gates of hell be shut continually before me, because that my heart is broken and my spirit is contrite!" I think these would be the sentiments of my father. Those of you who knew him well knew that Dad sometimes struggled with patience. When he was under duress or pain, or felt some anxiety, he could be prickly and had a pretty loud bark. I know those outbursts bothered him. He did not want to be defined by behaviors that he later felt ashamed of. When I was young we were working together building our house and putting in our yard. Sometimes something would break, or a plant would die for lack of water, or one of his tools would mysteriously disappear, and I witnessed my dad's bark at close range. I would be hurt and upset, but most of the time, before the day ended, my dad would apologize to me for his behavior, and assure me that whatever happened was his problem— not mine, even if it probably was my fault that the plant died and the tool disappeared. At those times, I knew as I know now that my dad had a "heart that was broken and a spirit that was contrite." As was said in the opening prayer, he had a tender heart. In recent years he seemed more in control and realized his impatience and was quick to apologize. Over the years I have come to know my father better, I do not define him by his weaknesses, I define my father by the goodness of his heart, by the way he desired to change and be a better person. By the love he felt for others and his honest desire to lift and help and serve them, especially to those who he thought might be in pain or suffering in some way. Just one example: As many of you know, he was a big fan of BYU football. He was living in St. George and he was aware of one of the young football players, who was a young freshman and he was not a member of the LDS church and was having a hard time adjusting to life at BYU. He got into some trouble. My dad happened to be in Provo on a visit and he decided to go up and talk to that young man. It's embarrassing to me to know that he would do this kind of thing. So he went into the coach's office and said, "I understand (a certain young man) has been having some struggles. I'd like to talk to him." The coach said, "Well, sure, he's right here. Come on in." They sat down together in a room, my dad and this young 18 year old football player. There my dad tried to console him, told him what a great person my dad thought he was, and how he admired him for coming to school there, he admired his talent, he thought he was a wonderful person, and he just tried to lift his spirits. And really, that shouldn't seem so strange to us. When he was a counselor at BYU he must have done that hundreds and hundreds of times to young men and women who were struggling, who were home sick, who had other problems in their lives. That was his role, to counsel and comfort. My dad also had a very tender heart for children. There was an event I didn't know about. We were traveling together and he told me this story. Every year in Page, Arizona, they have a lighting of the Christmas tree in the city park. It was the honor and privilege of the mayor to switch on those lights on that annual event with members of the community gathered around. On this one particular year, I don't know whether the mayor was out of favor or just out of town, but my dad, being the vice- mayor had the opportunity that one time to switch on those lights with the community gathered together. As he went to switch on the lights he looked down and saw a little Navajo girl standing there. He has a lot of love for the Polynesians as well as the Navajo people. He looked at her and he thought this would be much better for her to turn on the lights instead of me, so he said to her, "Would you like to switch on the lights?" And of course she &id; she came up and she switched on the lights that year and I imagine that's the only time the mayor hasn't done it. My dad didn't do that for votes, he did it because he really cared and wanted to do something special for that child. (Grandma said that the girl's family was very touched by this. There was a picture on the front page of the town newspaper of the little girl being held up by Grandpa as she switched on the Christmas tree lights.) So, even though I know my dad had some anxiety about the time he would leave this life, I am confident that he was ready. If my dad had a voice to speak to us today, I believe that he would say, "All is well." Then he would most likely quote the scriptures that teach about Christ and his atonement. Like this one: "Behold, He (referring to Christ) offereth himself a sacrifice for sin, to answer the ends of the law, unto all those who have a broken heart and a contrite spirit...." Although my dad didn't often sing vocally, he loved to hear the songs of the Gospel. In addition to the scriptures, Dad might also turn our attention to a song to express his current feeling and experience, like the one I sang last Sunday. Dad passed away Sunday morning just before 8:00 a.m. I had gone to the hospital until 1w was taken away about noon. I knew our sacrament service was at 1:00 p.m. and felt a strong desire to attend and take of the sacrament. As I sang the sacrament hymn, I sang the first verse OIL. It went like this: (Hymn 172, In Humility, Our Savior) "In humility, our Savior, grant thy spirit here, we pray, as we bless the bread and water in thy name this holy day. Let me not forget, O Savior, thou didst bleed and die for me when thy heart was stilled and broken on the cross at Calvary." But then I really couldn't sing the second verse as I heard my dad and thought of him as these words were sung. "Fill our hearts with sweet forgiving; teach us tolerance and love. Let our prayers find access to thee in thy holy courts above. Then, when we have proven worthy of thy sacrifice divine, Lord, let us regain thy presence; let thy glory round us shine." I needed to take of the emblems that day to have those words run through my mind and feel that confirming spirit that those words belonged in a special way to my father, particularly in that very hour. I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.