Danish Pastries, Parishes, and People



Copenhagen, Denmark

About twelve years ago, I started researching my maternal Danish line (after some serious prompting from my Grandpa Larsen). Starting with my Grandpa's ancestor who joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (aka Mormon), I started to link families.  This week, after finding a screaming deal on plane tickets to Denmark, I went to the actual place where it all began. While in Copenhagen, I googled the parish name and came up with this church in Brarup and an address.


My honey and I drove down to southern Denmark and found this beautiful church built in the 1100s!

 

 

 

 

 

 

The door was locked, so we walked around the beautiful grounds. Then I noticed across the street a cute little house with this phone booth. (Was I in Denmark or England?)

 

Behind the greenery is a little basket of apples left for visitors to the phone booth.

I went to the door of the house, and in spite of several "BEWARE OF DOG" signs, I boldly knocked. A cute lady answered, pushing large dogs out of the way with her foot. I asked if she knew when the church was open. She gave the perfect answer: "I have a key!"

 

 The very tall part is the bell tower and they rang while we were in the church! Special thanks go to my chauffeur, photographer, and eternal travel companion.

Her husband, the caretaker, let us in. I was surprised at the rush of emotion that came over me. My hands were shaking, and my heart was pounding. Here was the place that so many of my ancestors, whom I had done temple work for, had been christened, married, and buried.

I love the painted frescoes right on the plaster walls. To the left is the baptism bowl where babies would be christened.

 

This was an original wooden cross dating back to 1100 on the wall.

 

The pastor preaches from this pulpit. Sunday services are still held in this church. Although the caretaker said few Danes attend church.

We then asked if we could see church records. He said they were closed and the office would be closed the next day as well. So we asked if he knew of a place we could stay. He said, "Follow me," and drove us to the most charming bed and breakfast about a kilometer down the road:

 

Albertsgaard Bed and Breakfast, Brarup, Denmark

 

 

The cottage came complete with thatched roof! Both this cottage and the big main house were built in the 1820s and restored. So this is what it would have looked like in my ancestor's time. At this point, I had felt a great payoff for my temple work, and if the church was what I was able to see, I was content. But when our cute host named Jytte, (sounds like Utah), saw my fistful of genealogy papers, she offered to help. When we told her the archive office was closed, she said, " I know the woman who works there. I will call and get you an appointment! I will talk her into opening it just for you!" And she did.

 

While we waited for our appointment, we looked for a neighboring parish where more of my ancestors had been christened. A Danish fog had settled in and we couldn't find the Kippinge church, but stumbled across one in Vaalse. We walked around the burial grounds, and I recognized these names! I had done the temple work for them, and remarkably, I had printed this family group sheet off and had them with me:

 

 

Throughout my journey, I had prayed that if I was supposed to find something, that I would find it, and that I would be led to where I needed to be. I didn't know what was to come next. My husband took a picture with his camera, and then, took a picture with his cell phone.
 

Elsa, our wonderful guide at the Archives, bubbled with excitement that we had come to Denmark to find our people. She told us she had journeyed to America for the same reason. She told us of the excitement she felt when she stood in Iowa and Chicago in the footsteps of her ancestors. I told her of my excitement to be in the parish church where my ancestors had stood. Elsa stands all of 5' but has a super-sized serving of the spirit of Elijah!

 

She brought us the Brarup records ledger and we started to look for Mathias Christensen Boge, the father of my ancestor, Mattias Mattiasen, who joined the church. At this point, my husband showed Elsa the pictures on his cell phone of the grave markers shown above. She put her hand over her mouth in shock. "Those are the names of my friend's parents and grandparents! She also works at these Archives. I will call her. She just got back yesterday from Thailand, but she will be upset if I don't call and tell her relatives from America are here!"

 

In about twenty minutes, we met Kate Jensen, my cousin! We both share Mattias Christensen Boge and Kirsten Hansen as great-great-great-great-great grandparents. In yet another tender mercy, I had printed off exactly the sheets that would show her connection to this ancestor, and her connection to me. Kate was very tired from jet lag, but had jumped at the chance to meet family. When Elsa had been unsuccessful in reaching her by phone, she went the extra mile and called Kate's husband at work. He had left work, driven home, and awakened his wife for her to meet us!

 

Kate also has the spirit of Elijah. As we looked at the records, I showed her Matthias Christensen Boge's death record.

I showed her how Kirsten had lost two sons, one as an infant, and one at age 4, and her husband, Matthias Christensen Boge, in one year. When I first started doing the research, I had discovered this and drew strength from this primary research. I started to understand why I was to do family history at that point in my busy life. My husband was a new bishop, and the Lord wanted me to have the opportunity to have spiritual experiences and draw strength from my ancestors while my husband was busy having spiritual experiences. I realized that my life wasn't that hard, in comparison.
 

As we looked at the records, "Cousin Kate" read in Danish the name of the farm that the family came from. She looked at me in excitement. "That farm is a big beautiful farm, and I can take you there right now!"

 

 

 



Here we are together in front of the ancestral farm. Just behind the home is the ocean. My ancestor, Mattias Mathiassen left one of the prettiest places in Denmark to join the Church. He left his parents and 13 brothers and sisters. But I am bringing them back together now.

 

Kate and I are kindred spirits! As we drove around and saw her beautiful home, she invited us to stay the next time we came to Denmark. She told me she is writing the history of her grandmother's family. I have now given her the records for her grandfather's family. She didn't know she lived three kilometers from his family farm. She said, "It is so important to share our ancestor's stories with our children." For information on the importance of family stories, click here: https://www.lds.org/callings/temple-and-family-history/sunday-lesson/stories-that-bind?lang=eng

 



Kate helped us find the Kippinge parish church built in the 1500s.

  

I helped her sign up for FamilySearch.org. She has already emailed me, looking for more information on Matthias Christensen Boge. Together we will find his parents, I am sure.  Kate has information on her grandparent's siblings that I had not been able to find. Most importantly, she said, "I have many dreams about my ancestors. They are very close to me. They want me to do something for them."

FamilySearch.org (Click here to start an exciting journey)

 

President Thomas S, Monson often says, “There are no coincidences” as he makes the point that his experiences in life have taught him to always look for the Lord’s hand.^" As I write this, I have come to realize that my Grandfather Larsen was with me throughout this journey of tender mercies. I believe he has taught these ancestors that stayed in Denmark the gospel, and they are ready for their temple work. I'm hurrying, Grandpa.




Copenhagen Denmark Temple
 

 

 

Brim with Joy

Wednesday Night: As we were packing to leave for a trip to visit Daughter #3's mission field, we received an elated email from Cassi: "I just found out the best of news!! Sue is getting her endowments out on Friday at 5!!! We have to go! That would be just amazing!"

Sue was a convert that she had found, taught, and witnessed her baptism, one year previously. Thankfully, one of the members in the Leesburg Ward had seen our daughter's Facebook post about coming to the DC area and informed her for this the night before we left Utah.

Thursday Night: We added our temple recommends to our carry on bags and headed to Salt Lake International for the red-eye to Ronald Reagan Airport in Washington DC.We landed at 10:15 the next morning and headed to the National Mall. After parking at Arlington Cemetery, we rode the metro up to start at the top of the mall going to my personal favorite: Library of Congress.


Friday Night: We ended up walking the entire mall back to the Cemetery to hurry to the DC Temple for the 6:00 session. For the first time I understood Ammon's description of joy in the Book of Mormon: "Behold my joy is full, yea, my heart is brim with joy, and I will rejoice in my God" (Alma 26:11). As we hurried into the majestic DC Temple, I was tired and my thighs were throbbing, but I was thrilled to see her convert Sue's eyes light up when she saw her missionary, our daughter. Now newly married, our daughter and her husband were chosen to be the witness couple and as result, our daughter was waiting in celestial room when Sue entered for the first time.

Easter 2015: Going Deep!

 

Going Deep!

My four-year-old granddaughter loves the water and when she is in the bathtub, she will say to me, “Mama, I’m going deep.” She grabs a big breath and dives in underwater as deep as the porcelain tub will let her. I, on the other hand, don’t like to put my head in the water. One week of swimming lessons when I was a child at the Burley municipal pool was not enough---I never made it across the deep end of the pool. But this Easter, I felt like my depth of understanding and love for my Savior became significantly greater.

In first grade, my Easter seemed to be about large bunnies.

On the Saturday night before Palm Sunday, I met with two of my daughters for cheese and chocolate fondue while we watched the Relief Society general meeting that precedes General Conference. Because our eldest was singing in her congregation the next day (in Mormon land we call that a ward), Glen and I stayed in her guest bedroom downstairs to attend church with her family the next morning.

About 11 p.m. I felt rather than saw someone looking at me. In the pitch black, our little granddaughter had slipped downstairs and stood at my bedside, silent, waiting for me to know she was there. I lifted her up, and she snuggled down between us. Around 6 a.m. she needed a drink, and in an effort to let her parents sleep longer, we showed her some Bible videos on Glen’s Iphone. I was surprised how she wanted to see the ones of the Savior over and over again.

On Palm Sunday, Christ entered Jerusalem on the back of a young donkey as prophesied and the jubilant crowd lined the path to the temple with palm leaves to carpet the way for the coming of the king.  On the anniversary of that day, our daughter sang her testimony of that king: “I stand all amazed at the love Jesus offers me; confused by the grace that so fully he proffers me.”

 

Due to eight years of fighting debilitating pain, I had not heard her sing for a long time. But that Palm Sunday she taught me about going deep as she sang, “I marvel that he would descend from a throne divine; to rescue a soul so rebellious and proud as mine.”  Christ descends---he comes down ---to rescue my proud soul.

When I am in the ocean, I know real fear because I know my swimming skills are inadequate to save myself or anyone else, so I am afraid of deep water. I can’t imagine the depth of Christ’s suffering to pay for the sins and pain of all humankind. But I’ve watched my daughter suffer and felt that pain. Knowing Christ knows her pain, helps me to go on. And that Sunday, I felt deep joy hearing her sing her testimony.

Her voice was beautiful and controlled, matched perfectly to the arrangement, and I felt an accompanying spirit crescendo with the chorus. In fact, the spirit became a welling of light and beauty that stayed with me throughout the day. Seeing her stand and sing after fighting through so much pain was a powerful reminder of Christ’s suffering for me: “I think of his hands pierced and bleeding to pay the debt, such mercy such love, such devotion, can I forget?

Recently I heard a friend say that she shied away from commitments. But I wonder: isn’t it through commitments, especially covenants, where true joy comes in? Doesn’t a real commitment to becoming a disciple of Christ involve the decision and desire to go deep?

That depth of spirit continued as I attended an Easter concert that night where the missionaries in our area taught of the Savior through music. To close the program, one elder from South Africa sang, “I know that Redeemer Lives.” When I was 17 years old, I sang that song as part of a regular closing hymn as a brand new college student, living away from home for the first time. And the spirit welled up inside of me, and I knew truth. My testimony of Christ and His gospel was new and untested, but I wanted to be a committed member at that point. I wanted to believe. Hearing this dedicated missionary---a young man who had paid for his  mission by singing at weddings---share this hymn reminded me of one of my first real stirrings of testimony. The spirit in that chapel permeated the room and let me feel deeply that testimony that started so many years ago with that hymn. Perhaps when we have sacrificed or suffered, we can really sing a testimony of the Savior.

To continue this marvelous Eastertime, we boarded a plane for Mesa, Arizona to see Daughter #2 and the Mesa Easter Pageant. Actually, we missed three standby flights before I was able to catch the last seat on a plane, and Glen would try three more flights before joining us in Mesa. While we waited for Glen, ShaLae and I went to the Botanical Gardens in Arizona. Due to the wet year Arizona had experienced, the cacti were flowering in fuschia and deep oranges. And for the first time, I saw purple prickly pear.

 
 


The magnificent Mesa Temple grounds feature deep reflection ponds, palm trees, and a cactus garden. I had wanted to see the Mesa Easter pageant for many years.

 

Each night for two weeks, over 10,000 people come to see the life of the Savior re-told. ShaLae had been volunteering at the pageant, so she knew to get us there three hours early for a good seat.

At the end of the pageant, the actor that portrays Christ rises above the angels in triumphant resurrection. In birth and in the Garden of Gethsemane He descends below all; in death He is raised on the cross and His resurrection signifies that all will be resurrected.

 

This Easter, perhaps my most memorable Easter, was feeling the depth and height of Christ's commitment to us. My little four-year-old granddaughter understands this feeling. Recently when walking in the hall of her meetinghouse, she saw a picture of the Savior. "I miss him," she said to her mother. Yes, I know that my Redeemer lives!