For the past five years, I’ve had the privilege of occupying a spot in Church that many would consider ordinary—a seat among the members, just another place in the chapel or priesthood room. But for me, that spot has been sacred. Not because of the furniture, or the carpet, or the acoustics of the room… but because from there I’ve been able to see, hear, feel, and learn from the Spirit of God that manifests through the lives of two extraordinary people: Brother Hiatt and his wife.
It’s hard for me to write this without becoming emotional. Not because it’s sad, but because my heart overflows with gratitude. Gratitude for the way the Lord places angels on earth—disguised as ordinary, faithful, consistent men and women—and I’m convinced that Brother Hiatt is one of those angels.
From the first time I heard him speak in a Sunday School class, I knew there was something special about him. It wasn’t an exaggerated emotion or a dramatic revelation. It was more like clarity. As if my spirit instantly recognized the voice of someone who had walked closely with the Savior. Who knows Him. Who loves Him. And who, without trying to be the center of attention, teaches with the anointing of one who has studied not only with the mind, but with the soul.
His insights were never just “comments.” They were revelations. Not because he said something new, but because he said familiar truths with a depth that made them new again. He always had a scripture ready, a precise historical context, a well-placed prophetic quote—but more importantly, he always connected it to daily life. Nothing about his words was academic or cold. On the contrary, everything he said was born of experience, obedience, prayer, and above all, love.
But what moved me even more than his knowledge was his way of being. Brother Hiatt has a kind, light-filled face. You feel, just by seeing him, that you’re in the presence of someone who has learned to love like Christ. His greeting is warm, sincere, and full of the Spirit. He shakes your hand with confidence—confidence that supports, not overpowers—and often pulls you into a hug that doesn’t just wrap your body, but reaches your soul. The kind of hug that makes you feel you’re not a stranger, not even a friend—you’re family.
And then there’s her. Sister Hiatt.
For years, I sat near the piano without knowing that spot would become one of the most sacred personal altars of my spiritual life. Every time she played the hymns, something inside me quieted. The world slowed down. My problems shrank. And my spirit—without me even asking—was gently brought into the Lord’s presence.
She doesn’t just play the piano. She ministers with her hands. The notes that flow from her fingers aren’t merely musical sounds—they’re prayers turned into melody. Sitting near her, I’ve felt peace. I’ve felt hope. And many times, I’ve felt the Spirit whisper things I wasn’t even looking for, but deeply needed.
There’s a divine harmony between them. He teaches with words; she with melody. He brings doctrine like a spiritual sword; she, like balm. Together, they are a blessing to anyone who has eyes to see and ears to hear.
And the visible fruits of their lives cannot go unmentioned. Children serving missions. A unified family. Not just on the outside, but in essence. It’s clear that what they teach at Church, they live within the walls of their home. Prayer, scripture, sacrifice, faith—all of it bearing fruit. But even more than what they’ve accomplished, what strikes me most is what they’ve inspired.
I clearly remember, already in my mid-forties, watching them walk together in the evenings around the neighborhood. Without knowing it, they became a living image of something my heart yearned for. Their way of walking—peaceful, in sync, with shared steps—reflected a union deeper than what the eye can see. And more than once, seeing them, I quietly prayed:
“Heavenly Father, let me have a wife I can walk with like that someday.”
And those prayers were answered. Today, walking alongside my wife, I recognize that what I once saw in them as a longing, I now live as a fulfilled promise. The image of their marriage was, for me, a sacred glimpse of what was possible if I remained faithful. And that is exactly what happened.
There was one day that left a deep imprint on my soul. I don’t recall exactly whether it was a fast and testimony meeting or a sacrament talk. What I do remember, with total clarity, is its effect. Brother Hiatt stood and shared something from his heart. He did so with that unique combination of solid doctrine and gentle spirit. He spoke with certainty—not from emotion, but from knowledge. And those words, spoken with such authenticity, touched someone very dear to me.
My wife—who at the time was still investigating the Church—listened attentively. And I, silently, watched the subtle but profound change on her face. Her eyes moistened. Her expression softened. And later, on our way home, she said:
—“I don’t know exactly what he said… but in that moment, I felt I needed to know if this was all true.”
That was the starting point. Whatever Brother Hiatt shared that day—unaware of its impact—was the spark that ignited my wife’s spiritual awakening. There was no pressure. No forced persuasion. Just a sincere expression of true faith. And the Spirit did the rest.
Over the years, I’ve learned more about the gospel sitting in that room, listening to Brother Hiatt, than in many other places. Because he doesn’t teach from a manual. He teaches from experience. From life. From truth made flesh. And always, always, with eyes that reflect that his goal is not to show how much he knows, but how deeply he loves the Savior.
To you, Brother Hiatt, and to you, Sister Hiatt, I want to say something I may have never said in person: I love you.
I love you with that pure love that comes when one recognizes light in others. When one feels nourished, protected, inspired. When one has been quietly blessed, Sunday after Sunday, by your presence, your words, your music, your gaze, your faith.
You have been heaven’s answer to me. Not just for me, but for my wife, my home, and my faith. Thank you for being consistent. Thank you for being you. Thank you for loving the Lord the way you do. For walking with Him. For showing us what that walk looks like.
I know that one day, when you stand before the Father, He will look upon you with tenderness and say:
“Well done, thou good and faithful servants.”
And I, who had the immense honor of sitting just a few steps from the piano, of hearing your voice, shaking your hand, receiving your embrace… will quietly say:
“Thank You, Lord, for placing them in my path.”
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