By Bill Ashwell
Cambridge, Ontario, Canada

Nothing in my life has ever matched the awe and spiritual depth I experienced at 2025 World Conference.

The moment it was announced in January 2024, I knew I had to be there. When a unique opportunity opened to travel from Ontario to Independence, I didn’t hesitate. I submitted my name as a delegate for the Canada East Mission—eager to gather, for the first time in my life, with my global church family. Not just to connect in fellowship, but to seek a deeper, more personal bond with the Spirit.

Like many others, I made this a matter of prayer. I turned to the Mission Prayer and asked God—as its words so beautifully express—“…to grant me courage to risk something new and become a blessing of Your love and peace.”

In the months that followed, as I prepared emotionally and spiritually, I found myself reflecting on my life in the church and the role faith had played in my family’s story. That reflection took on deeper meaning on Father’s Day 2024, when I was invited to offer guest ministry for the 125th anniversary of the Port Elgin congregation—my late mother’s home church. I was honoured...and truthfully, a little anxious.

As I began researching the congregation’s history, I uncovered something extraordinary: a family legacy of faith spanning seven generations—including my nieces, nephews, great-niece, and great-nephew—reaching back to the congregation’s founding. History and faith were no longer abstract—they lived and breathed within me.

Nearly a year later, we arrived in Independence. My sister Pat and Vonda Den Boer, a member of the Canada East Mission’s president team, were enrolled in classes at Graceland University’s local campus. That gave my brother-in-law and me time to explore the city—but there was never a doubt where we’d go first: the Temple and the Auditorium.

We turned onto a tree-lined street, and the Temple spire appeared on the horizon. My heart raced. It was really happening. I fumbled for my camera, overwhelmed by the gravity of the moment.

“Here we are,” Rick said gently, fully understanding what this meant to me.

As we rounded the corner, the Auditorium and Temple stood before us—majestic, silent, sacred. Towering symbols of a faith that had shaped my family for over a century and transformed my own life in ways I was still discovering.

As we rounded the corner, the Auditorium and Temple stood before us—majestic, silent, sacred. Towering symbols of a faith that had shaped my family for over a century and transformed my own life in ways I was still discovering. In that moment, I forgot all about pictures.

My heart swelled. I was speechless—which, if you know me, is no small thing.

I had waited my whole life for this. And as I stood there, wrapped in the stillness of that sacred place, the Spirit swept over me like a tidal wave. I was undone—in the best and holiest of ways.

My thoughts turned to my great-great-grandparents, whose newfound faith led them to gather with others in a small Ontario town to form a worshipping community. I thought of my parents—how each, in their own quiet way, lived lives of faith, devotion, and grace.

The next day, Sunday, we attended worship at the historic Stone Church. Sitting in that beautiful old sanctuary, surrounded by the resonance of hymns played on its grand pipe organ, I was struck by the weight of history—more than 130 years of sacred community. As the service ended, the 880 miles we had traveled melted away. I was home. Among friends. Wrapped in a blanket of faith and fellowship.

The week flew by as we explored Independence and Kansas City, but it all led to one moment: the opening weekend of World Conference.

Still reeling from all I’d experienced, I found myself in a sea of over 2,000 attendees inside the Auditorium on June 1. We gathered to sustain Stassi D. Cramm as prophet-president and to honour the extraordinary 20-year ministry of President Stephen M. Veazey. It was powerful—but nothing could have prepared me for what came next.

That evening, we returned for Stassi Cramm’s ordination. My heart swelled. The Spirit surged. With love and gratitude to the late Barbara Howard, I knew: I was here, in this moment, standing in here today—present among my church family, and the Lord was leading the way.

As I expected, when Jan Kraybill struck the opening chords of that great anthem, “The Spirit of God Like a Fire Is Burning,” the Auditorium shook. So did I. I couldn’t sing—I could only cry. The Spirit had taken over. When the final verse began, I found my voice again and sang with a strength and passion I’d never known before. I was no longer just attending—I was caught up in the fire of God.

That sacred journey—one that began when my great-great-grandfather, Alexander Smith, stepped into the waters of baptism in Port Elgin—has led my sister and me to share in the sacraments of both communion and ordination.

And while I now stand on my “home and native land,” my spiritual journey is far from over. It lives on—each day building on the energy and spirit of the one before.

Hope is here.
La esperanza está aquí.
L’espoir est là.