I was listening to the first session of the last general conference while I was doing the dishes this morning. For some reason, I decided to play the whole session rather than picking just one talk. That meant I got to listen to some of the parts I usually just skip (like the choir, the prayer, and President Monson's opening remarks).
I was scrubbing away at a filthy glass baking dish when, quite suddenly, the Spirit washed over me. I looked up from my work, a little confused. President Monson was describing the folkloric costumes worn by dancers at a celebration he had recently attended. I couldn't understand why I would feel so very strongly about that.
Then the Holy Ghost spoke to me in its penetrating but inaudible way. The words entered my mind with great force: "That man is the prophet of God." And I felt the witness of the Spirit, undeniable even though it is inexplicable. It feels like a burning in my chest, like a bolstering of my soul, and like a moment of clarity, lifting a haze of mortality I didn't even know was blinding me.
I know what the Holy Ghost feels like and when it speaks to me, I know that I can be as sure of its witness as I can of any other empirical evidence. And so, especially today, I know that Thomas S. Monson is the mouthpiece of God just as I know that there is snow out my window.
I am grateful for that unexpected witness, which I definitely count among the tender mercies of my Father.