Honorably Holding a Name

A 1992 Christmas photo with the three Davids, each wearing the colors of a team he didn't like

Yesterday, February 25, was an special anniversary for me.  It marked 18 years since the passing of my Papa, David Arthur Haycock.  For a number of reasons, I have always felt a special kinship with Papa, both before and since his passing.  Among the most significant reasons for this special relationship was the fact that I am blessed to carry his first name, David, as my middle name.  Neither of us ever went by the name of David, however.  His father was named David, so he went by Arthur to avoid confusion.  And I had a cousin (shown above) whose first name was David, and besides that I happen to really like my first name and think it suits me quite well (plus I like having the initial in the middle of my name when I present papers and stuff).  But despite the fact that I have never really used the name of David, it has been something of a sacred trust, an treasured inheritance, in my life.  Indeed, it has never been just a name that was bequeathed to me: the name has carried with it a legacy and an identity.

As a boy growing up, I knew Papa as my doting grandfather and the kind of man that made every one of his grandchildren feel like they were his favorite.  When I was a little boy, he learned that I enjoyed receiving mail because it made me feel important, so he would package up the junk mail from his office and send it to me in the big envelopes from the Office of the First Presidency.  I knew as a boy that he had been the secretary to President Kimball, but the importance of that position never transcended his role as a grandfather in my eyes.  Then as I got older, Papa would find out what subjects I enjoyed studying in school and with each visit would provide me with some new book to encourage that interest.  For me he was always Papa, a role that was even more important than being the personal secretary to, and confidant and caretaker of the Lord's Prophet.

Without question, one of the hardest days of my life was February 25, 1994.  Papa was partially paralyzed in the hospital as the result of a post-surgery stroke.  Sensing that he wouldn't be with us much longer, Mom had been in Salt Lake at the hospital, while Dad was at home to take care of us kids.  I was partially awakened around 4 in the morning to the sound of my Dad showering and then leaving the house. Because of the hour, I wasn't fully cognizant of the strangeness of the situation, and I went back to sleep until around 6, when I woke up and went up stairs for breakfast.  I suddenly realized that Dad wasn't there and that things weren't quite right.  My older sisters Jeni and Stephanie were given the unenviable task of informing us that our Papa had died and then convincing us that we still needed to go to school that day.  The rest of that day remains a blur, as do the days following it.  But the one thing that I learned through the viewing and funeral was just how loved and respected my Papa had been.  I have vivid memories of meeting men like President Hinckley and President Monson, whose presence at that funeral I would later appreciate as having been unique.

As an avid student of Church history, I still have days where I regret the fact that at the age of 12, I did not yet fully grasp the importance of my Papa's position within the Church.  I can think of at least a thousand questions that I would give anything to ask him with recorder and notepad in hand.  I would love to have long and detailed interviews with him about his life and experiences for the book that I hope to write one day.  But over the years, I have come to realize that he left for me something much greater than a tit for tat account of the history of the Church in the twentieth century.  He left me a name and a reputation to uphold, as well as a legacy of faith and devotion to God that I hope to uphold.  He left a legacy that in the words of one friend was "'totally unsullied'" and filled with loyalty and commitment "'first...to his beloved companion and children and immediately behind that [to] the servants of the Lord and the great cause over which they presided'" (Church News, March 5, 1994).

At the dedication of the Kirtland Temple, the Prophet Joseph prayed, "We ask thee, Holy Father, to establish the people that shall worship, and honorably hold a name and standing in this thy house, to all generations and for eternity" (D&C 109:24).  I treasure my name and the connection it gives me to Papa.  Through the years, it has been a reminder that I must live higher and be better because of the legacy attached to that name.  Even more importantly, each one of us has taken upon us the name of Jesus Christ.  The legacy and accompanying identity carried by that name invite us to become "heirs of God, and joint heirs with Jesus Christ; if so be that we suffer with him" (Rom 8:17).  There can be nothing more important than striving to bring honor and devotion to that most holy name.  May we ever "honorably hold a name and a standing" in the household of God, being marked and defined by the appellation of Christians, that we may ultimately dwell in God's house and kingdom forever.

Brett