Gospel Story Finder

My mind goes back to a day when I was approaching my eighteenth birthday. We were all very fearful. World War II was still being fought, and every young man knew that he had to make a choice. There was not much latitude to the choice: he could choose to go into the army, or he could choose to go into the navy. I enlisted in the navy.

Forty-four of us young men stood there in the recruiting office. I shall never forget the chief petty officers coming up to us and presenting a choice. They said, “Now, you young men must make an important choice. On one hand, you can be wise and choose to join the regular navy. You can enlist for four years. You will receive the finest schooling. You will be given every opportunity because the navy looks upon you as its own. If you choose not to follow this direction, you can go into the naval reserves. The navy does not have much interest in the naval reserves at this stage of the game. You will receive no schooling. You will be sent out to sea duty. No one knows what your future might be.”

Then they asked us to sign on the dotted line. I turned to my father and said, “What should I do, Dad?”

In a voice choked with emotion, he replied, “I don’t know anything about the navy.” That was the position of every father who was there that day.

Forty-two of the forty-four enlisted in the regular navy for four years. The forty-third one could not pass the regular navy physical, so he had to enlist in the reserves.

Then they came to me; and I confess to you that I sent a prayer heavenward, earnestly hoping that the Lord would answer it. And he did. The thought came to me just as clearly as though I had heard a voice, “Ask those chief petty officers which they chose.”

I asked each of those veteran petty officers: “Did you choose the regular navy, or did you choose the reserves?”

Each of them had chosen the reserves.

I turned and said, “With all the wisdom and experience that you have, I want to be on your side.”

I chose the reserves, which meant that I enlisted for the duration of the war, plus six months. The war ended, and within a year I was honorably discharged from the service. I was able to continue my schooling. I had the privilege of serving in many Church capacities. Who knows how the course of my life might have been changed had I not taken that moment to call upon my Heavenly Father for guidance and direction in what might appear to some to have been a minor decision!

By Danelys W. Rodriguéz, Dominican Republic
One Sunday at church I realized that my time with the Young Women program was almost over and I would soon be with the young single adults. I was sad because I knew that things would never be the same. After Sunday School, I tried to cheer up, but I just couldn’t do it. I tried to tell myself that Heavenly Father did not want me to feel sadness but rather joy (see 2 Nephi 2:25).
I was just about to cry on my friend’s shoulder in the hallway when the ward clerk came up to me and said, “Sister Danelys, here’s the mail!” He handed me a white envelope with only my name on it. I was curious to know what it was, so I asked the clerk who had sent it. As he walked away, he told me it was from the patriarch and that it was a copy of my patriarchal blessing. I did cry, but my tears were tears of joy because I knew God had seen my sadness and had provided a way for me to find joy in my sadness. My patriarchal blessing had finally arrived in writing, at the precise moment when I needed it most.
When I got home and read it, I cried again and prayed and thanked God for it and for helping me to remember how fortunate I am to be His daughter and to have the light of the everlasting gospel in my life.

“Our family home was on the foothill of a solitary mountain that was a moving force all of my young life. I could see it from my bedroom window and felt a certain security in its closeness. I had climbed its bald dome with my family, with Church groups, and with a gang of kids. Then one day—driven by desire to go to the mount, like Moses, to commune with God, to consider who I was and what I was going to do about it—I set out alone to climb that peak. I was 16, and this day my aloneness on that mountain was exhilarating. It was a most spectacular spring morning at sunrise when I made my way to the top.

“With fascination I sat looking down at the houses I knew so well and at their people beginning to stir with the sun. I watched the achingly familiar scenes as an extension of myself. I followed the paths of my life from home to a friend’s house, to the church on the corner and the school down the hill and to the neighborhood store. Finally, I let myself look upon our own house, the scene of my most tender times, my most important learnings. Almost in panic and with a wrench of my heart, I felt childhood slipping from my grasp.

“Everywhere I looked was someone who had touched my life. At 16 I was the sum of them—parents, school friends, storekeeper, Church leader. My heart flooded with a new awareness. Suddenly I realized I had some debts to pay. I vowed that I would try to be useful. I knew I needed the help of God, and when I turned to him, my soul filled with an awareness that he lives, that he cares even about a little person sitting on a mountain thinking she can make a difference in the world. When I came down off the mountain the world seemed beautiful, and I was glad to be alive.”

A few years ago, our family started going through some trying times. Our daughter, who was two at the time, had received a cancer diagnosis that required ongoing rigorous treatments. We also had a baby who had her own medical complications requiring frequent monitoring and visits to specialists. Life was not going quite as we had planned!
Based on our circumstances, we needed to make a few changes—and do so quickly! Upon the cancer diagnosis, I quit my job, dedicated my time to my children’s health-care needs, and started traveling out of state frequently for my daughter’s treatment.
As a six-year stretch of various cancer treatments for her began, I didn’t know that I was going to get an intensive course on how to be ministered to and in turn how to minister to others.
I’d like to share a few of the lessons that personally helped me when I was the one being served:
Say yes to help—if it actually is helpful. It can be hard to be on the receiving end of service. It is humbling since it can bring up vulnerabilities and weaknesses. But if someone offers something that would be helpful to you, say yes! Some offers may not be helpful, and in those cases, it is appropriate to politely decline. Maybe in that case you can suggest something they could do instead. In the future, you can offer to serve someone else.
Reach out. I am grateful for the organization of the Church because there are people in the ward or branch who are responsible to minister to each one of us. We are not alone. If you are in need, humbly reach out. Speak up and let others know a way that they can help. So many struggles are not public knowledge and not shared, so it might be hard for others to know how to help you if you don’t tell them. One example is that we had a few unexpected treatment appointments come up, and we had not yet arranged childcare. I asked a few friends to have my youngest daughter over for playdates to help ease the burden on Grandma, who was primarily caring for her. They were so kind and willing but would not have known I needed that help if I did not ask.
Be graceful in response to people’s well-meaning comments. No one but our Heavenly Father and the Savior can know exactly what you are going through. Be generous in accepting people’s comments or words of sympathy. We all have been in the position of wishing we could take back something we have said. On the rare occasions when people said something that came across the wrong way, I would try to focus on their good intentions and move on.
When able, share your thanks! When you are in the trenches of your trials, thank-you notes or expressions of gratitude might not be a possibility. In those times, it can feel overwhelming to notice and receive any gifts of generosity or love. If you missed an opportunity to share your thanks, remember there is no expiration date for gratitude. You can always reach out later and let them know how much their service meant to you at the time.
During our daughter’s first few months of treatment, our time and energy were filled with the daily grind of our children’s health-care needs. Normally, I like to give people thank-you notes but didn’t make the time for that. Instead, I kept a list on my computer of some of the gifts and acts of service we received, both to remember to thank later and to remind us of the wonderful people watching out for us. This is a list I hold dear to my heart, and it serves as a reminder on how I can help those around me.
To follow Jesus Christ, our ultimate example of being a minister, includes being “willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light” (Mosiah 18:8). I have received many Christlike acts of service, making my burdens light. Being on the receiving end of this kindness is humbling, and I am grateful to have learned more about our Savior’s love by being ministered to by His disciples.

They met in the kitchen for the priests quorum lesson. John sat in the back row and idly played with a set of keys while his adviser gave the lesson. He never volunteered any answers; it was a practice he had acquired early in school.
Brother Stewart came into the kitchen and interrupted the lesson. He had a large bald spot that made his head look like an eagle’s nest. John never did know what calling Brother Stewart had, but he always carried a clipboard.
“We need some help with the ward welfare project next Saturday,” Brother Stewart announced.
John hunched over in his chair, trying to make himself as small as possible.
Seconds of silence passed. Finally one of the priests cleared his throat: “I can’t next Saturday. That’s when we’re going to practice for the roadshow.”
“That’s right!” another remembered happily. “I can’t either.”
Brother Stewart waited, his pen ready to pounce on a name.
“John,” his adviser asked, “are you in the roadshow?”
“Are you kidding?” John scoffed, “No way.”
“Well, could you work for a couple of hours next Saturday?”
“I don’t know anything about the welfare project,” John complained.
“No trouble,” Brother Stewart replied, already writing down the name, “we’ll show you what needs to be done. Anybody else?”
Before he left, one other priest had agreed to work.
On Friday night John was involved in his usual TV marathon when the phone rang. His father answered it, took the message, and relayed it to John. “It was Brother Stewart. He just wanted to remind you about working on the welfare project tomorrow.”
Since his father now knew about the assignment, John realized that he wouldn’t be able to conveniently forget it.
“I guess that means you’ll need the car,” his father said.
“Yeah,” John brightened, “I guess I will.”
John stopped by Saturday morning for the other priest who had volunteered to work. On their way out, they stopped at a drive-in and had a milk shake.
They arrived a half hour late.
The welfare project was honey production, and the ward had 50 hives. The efforts on that February day involved building new hives for the coming season. John was given the job of collecting nine newly assembled wax frames from the assembly line of ten people making them. He put the new frames into a newly constructed box that people called a “super.” Then he carried the new super to a storage area.
On the second that the two hours he’d been assigned to work had elapsed, John was heading for the door. Before he made it out of the building, he was intercepted by Brother Stewart.
“Where are you going?”
“Home,” John answered. “I’ve worked my two hours.”
“But you’re not smiling.”
“So?”
“When I see someone leave here who isn’t smiling, I get concerned.”
“Oh wow,” John cynically thought to himself.
“Aren’t you happy that you worked here today?”
“Sure, and I’m also happy to be going home.”
Brother Stewart thrust his arm around John’s shoulder. “You can’t go home yet.”
John felt himself being escorted back to the assembly line.
“Why not?”
“You haven’t worked here long enough to catch the vision of Church welfare projects. You need to work here until you do.”
John stopped and squared off, facing Brother Stewart.
“You can’t make me stay.”
“I know, but please stay. Working on welfare projects is supposed to bring you blessings. It’s supposed to make you feel good. Stay here just a little while longer. I’ll even give you a different job.”
John was given a hammer and a place in the assembly line.
“Work with Brother Mattson. Ask him about bees.”
Brother Mattson was at least 70 years old. He had worked with bees all his life and helped the ward start its honey project two years ago.
“If you’re going to work here, you’d better learn how to build the frames right. Next summer, each of these frames will hold 20 pounds of honey. They’ve got to be built right so they won’t fall apart.”
Brother Mattson showed him each step in assembling the plastic laminated sheet and wooden frame together.
The first frame that John built needed some work by Brother Mattson before it was good enough. On the second frame, John had to pull out one of his nails and redrive it.
Finally, after 15 minutes, John showed Brother Mattson a frame that was built exactly the way he had been told. Brother Mattson examined it carefully, and then smiled and said, “I couldn’t do better myself. Now all you need to do is work on speed.”
At what seemed a short time later, his friend from the priests quorum came over to John.
“Let’s go. I finally got away from Brother Stewart. Let’s get out of here before he puts us back to work.”
“I think I’ll stay,” John said.
“Are you crazy? We’ve already been here three hours.”
“Can you get a ride with someone else? I’m staying.”
Sunday morning during their quorum lesson, Brother Stewart came again with his clipboard.
“We need to build some more frames next Saturday. We didn’t finish yesterday.”
Two of the quorum members began to tie their shoes.
“I’ll go,” John said.
“You went last week,” his adviser said.
“That’s okay. I don’t mind.”
“We need two crews, one to work in the morning and one to work in the afternoon. When do you want to work?”
“I don’t mind working all day,” he said. The priest next to John looked at him strangely.
On Monday morning John faced the ordeal of school and, much worse, American History and Mr. Lattimer, who had a theory that the more uncomfortable a student was in class the more he learned.
John was gazing out the window, coveting the cars in the parking lot, when Mr. Lattimer confronted him.
“You seem bored by our discussion.”
“No,” John answered. He had learned long ago that you never tell a teacher that you’re bored—even when you are.
“Maybe it’s because you already know about the Civil War. Let’s see, can you tell me when the Civil War began?”
“No.”
“Can you tell me when it ended?”
“No.”
“Can you explain the extent of foreign intervention in the war?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know,” Mr. Lattimer derided. He had a habit of repeating what a student said and making it sound ridiculous. “Did you read the assigned material?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know. There must be a better reason than that.”
“I don’t like to read,” John confessed.
“You don’t like to read. If you don’t like to read, then why don’t you pay attention in class? Do you think that might help?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know how important an education is today? What kind of a job do you think you can get if you don’t read?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you know? Let me tell you. I might as well give you a broom and let you practice using it because that’s all you’ll do in life unless you show a little interest in school. Do you read anything?”
“No.”
“I bet you watch TV though, don’t you?”
“Sure.”
Mr. Lattimer then went on about how TV was wrecking the education system. John sat quietly in his desk, outwardly quiet, but inside furious and embarrassed.
The winter months passed slowly. John’s grades that year were even lower than they had ever been before, which prompted several discussions between him and his father.
“How do you expect to go to college on these grades?”
“I don’t. I’m never going to school again after I graduate.”
“What will you do to make money?”
“I’ll work.”
“You need an education to get anywhere today,” his father said.
“Okay,” John exploded, “I won’t get anywhere!”
The next time the ward built new frames was in May. Again John volunteered to work. By then he was almost as good as Brother Mattson in assembling frames.
While he was working, Brother Stewart escorted a girl over to the assembly line. “John, this is Cathy Barker. Her parents just moved here a few weeks ago. Cathy’s just come back from BYU, and she’s here for the summer. Will you show her how to build frames?”
Cathy stood next to John and observed as he put a frame together. He found it hard to concentrate on his work. Her pale blonde hair flowed gently around her face. Once as she leaned over to see where he placed a nail, he could feel her hair brushing against his arm.
John knew guys at school who had clever sayings that could start up a conversation with a girl, but John didn’t remember what they were. The more good-looking a girl was, the less he could say to her. With Cathy he couldn’t say anything at all.
“How old are you?” Cathy asked.
“Seventeen.”
“I’m 19,” she said.
“Oh.”
Several minutes passed as they both worked silently.
“You must be the strong silent type,” she said.
“Why?”
“You don’t talk much.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“How about, ‘Tell me about yourself.’”
“Okay.”
“Okay what?”
“Tell me about yourself.”
Cathy talked about where her parents had lived before they’d moved, and about BYU and her roommates, and how she didn’t know anybody in the ward.
“How about yourself?” Cathy asked. “Tell me about you.”
“There’s not much to tell. I’ll be a junior in high school next year. That’s about it.”
“That’s not much.”
“No.”
At noon they walked outside and ate their sack lunches together.
“John, would you consider … no, forget it.”
“What?”
“Well, I’m going to go crazy this summer unless I get out of the house. Could we go roller skating or fishing or something this summer?”
“Me take you out?” John asked. “There must be plenty of guys who want to take you out.”
“Well, there’s a 26-year-old returned missionary I met last Sunday in church. But I’m a little wary of him. He keeps talking about how much he wants to get married and about the rising price of houses. He says if he waits any longer, he won’t be able to afford a house. I think he’d marry me just to avoid spiraling inflation. Anyway, he makes me nervous.”
“I can take you fishing, but I still don’t see why you’d go with me.”
“I’m waiting for a missionary who gets back in 18 months, and I don’t want a romance, but I could use a friend. Okay?”
“Okay,” John agreed. Before John left that day, Brother Mattson asked him if he’d go out with him next Saturday to work the hives. “I’ve got to install some new queen bees. The ward has a bee suit you can wear. How about it?”
“Okay,” John said.
A week later Brother Mattson picked John up about 10:00 in the morning. They rode in his old battered pickup.
“Sweet clover looks real good this year, don’t it?” Brother Mattson remarked as they bounced along a gravel road toward the ward’s beehives.
John looked out the window. It was the first time he’d ever noticed the tiny yellow flowers on what he thought were just weeds along the side of the road.
After they arrived at the site, they put on their bee suits over their clothes. By the time John got on the white coveralls, the veil, the long gloves, and put elastic bands around the cuffs of his suit to keep bees from crawling up his leg, he felt like an astronaut about to set foot on the moon.
Brother Mattson opened up a hive and examined each frame to find the old queen. When he found her, he killed her and set a small cage with the new queen carefully into the super.
“See that plug there,” Brother Mattson said, pointing to a plugged hole in the cage. “It’s made of candy. The worker bees will go to work clearing the plug, and by the time they get it open and get the new queen free, they’ll be accustomed to her and they’ll accept her.”
As they worked, Brother Mattson pointed out the drone bees, the larva cells, and explained about beekeeping. Even though there was a cloud of bees around them, John felt his fear leaving and being replaced by deep respect.
After they got back to town, Brother Mattson loaned him two books about beekeeping. John read the books in two weeks.
From that time on, he went out with Brother Mattson every chance he got.
A few weeks later in priesthood meeting opening exercises, Brother Stewart announced that a local beekeeper wanted to sell his 50 hives. The ward was going to buy 20 of them, but any members who wanted to buy any of the other hives should contact him.
As they were leaving to go home to get the family for Sunday School, John told his father, “I want to buy ten hives.”
“What for?”
“I can provide the family with honey for food storage and sell the rest.”
“I don’t know,” his father said. “The last project you started and didn’t finish was selling Christmas cards. That cost me $20.”
“That was four years ago. Besides, this is different.”
“Let me think about it. Okay?”
On Monday night after family home evening, the family talked about John’s plan. Finally they decided that John would borrow $500 from the bank on his father’s signature, and he’d also throw in $200 of his own savings to buy 15 hives.
By Wednesday, John found a place to put his hives. It was in the middle of an alfalfa field in a small valley whose hills were covered with sweet clover.
He took Cathy fishing a couple of times a month. She was easy to please, she could bait her own hook, and she seemed happy just to be with him without feeling pressure about getting serious. But John felt himself falling in love, although he didn’t tell her because he knew it would upset her.
Once that summer he took her out to see his bees. As he helped her get her bee suit and veil and gloves on, she half-seriously threatened, “If I get stung, you’re in real trouble.”
“Don’t worry. Bees don’t hurt anybody unless they’re being hurt.”
He took off the top hive cover, and pulled out a frame of honey, covered with bees. He gently brushed them off with a small brush. A cloud of bees surrounded them. He showed her the pattern of eggs laid by the queen, and, after some searching of some frames from another super, he showed her the queen.
“You love it here, don’t you?” she asked him thoughtfully.
He nodded his head. “I really do.”
After they were through, they moved several hundred feet away from the hives, took off their veils, and sat down and ate lunch. John looked up from his sandwich, and it seemed that his mind etched the scene forever into his memory. Cathy, her hair the color of ripe wheat, talked happily about the Church; her voice was like a pleasant song. The field of alfalfa was a sea of purple blossoms. Further up on the hill, the yellow sweet clover blanketed the ground. John watched a steady stream of his bees returning to the hives, each one carrying a small bead of pollen. Small puffs of clouds hung lazily in the sun-drenched sky.
It was a moment that lasted forever.
“Are you listening to what I’m saying?” Cathy asked.
“Cathy, you’re so beautiful.”
“Oh sure,” she said with embarrassment, “in a pair of coveralls.”
“Really you are.” He thought about telling her that the sun made her hair look like a tan flame, and that he loved her, and that the moment seemed perfect, as if all nature had contrived to give him one moment when all his senses would come alive and record forever in his mind one instant of his life, and that no matter how old he got he’d never forget this one moment.
“It’s real nice out here, isn’t it?” was all he said.
The next Sunday the bishop called him to be an assistant beekeeper for the ward welfare project. John learned as quickly as he could. When Brother Mattson applied powdered antibiotic mixed with powdered sugar to the church bees, John helped him and then hurried to his bees and did the same thing. When Brother Mattson split some hives, John split some of his hives.
By the end of the summer, he had extracted 1,800 pounds of honey from his hives, sold it for $900, paid off his loan, and put $100 dollars in the bank.
From that time on, John knew what he’d do with his life. He’d be a beekeeper.
A day before Cathy was supposed to go back to BYU, he took her out fishing. As they sat in a small rubber raft in the middle of a lake, he finally got the courage to say it.
“Cathy, I think I love you.”
“Do you? I think a lot of you too.”
“If I were older, and if I’d already been on my mission, I’d ask you to marry me.”
She touched his cheek. “I guess our timing’s not too good, huh?”
“I guess not,” John said.
“But you’ll always be one of my best friends,” Cathy told him.
The next day Cathy left for the Y.
The next summer, John set aside $2,000 for his mission from money he’d earned from his hives.
That November John worked with Brother Mattson to winterize each hive. They reduced the entrance holes and wrapped tar paper around each hive to cut down the flow of cold air. The hives were then two supers high, giving the bees just enough honey to survive the winter.
In January of that winter, Brother Mattson died. John learned about it from his father when he got home from school one day.
“It was a heart attack. It came in the night when he was asleep. Maybe he never even woke up.”
John didn’t cry at the funeral or out at the burial site. The graveside service took place in a snowstorm as the prairie winds whipped across the cemetery, slowly drifting over the flowers set there by friends.
The next day John drove out to the ward’s hives. Walking ankle deep in fresh snow, he trudged across the barren fields to the hives. It was too cold to open up the hives, and he didn’t really have a purpose to be there, but he just stood for a long time, his hands in his pockets, looking at the black, tar-paper-covered hives standing alone in the middle of the cold white field. It’s like the bees are in mourning, he thought, seeing the blackness covering each hive. And then the memories of Brother Mattson flooded into his mind, and he heard himself sobbing loudly, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself for a long time.
Two weeks later John was called in to talk with the bishop. “John, you’re the only one in the ward now who knows the details of beekeeping. We’d like you to take Brother Mattson’s place and be the ward’s beekeeper. You’ll work with the priesthood quorums when you need help. Will you do it?”
“Nobody can ever take Brother Mattson’s place,” John said.
“I know, but he’d want us to continue on, wouldn’t he?”
“He would,” John agreed.
“He told me once how proud of you he was, and how much you’d learned. He said that you knew as much as he did. After we cleaned out his apartment, we found a couple of books about beekeeping. I think he’d want you to have them.”
They were the same books Brother Mattson had loaned John after the first time they’d gone out together to work the bees. John handled the worn books with care.
“Bishop, I’ll be glad to accept the calling.”
“I knew we could count on you.”
“There’s just one thing. I’ll need to train someone who can look after the bees while I’m on my mission.”
“Who would you like?”
“My dad.”
“Okay, we’ll call him to be your assistant.”
That winter John spent an hour a week with his father, training him. It brought them close together again.
In April John received a wedding announcement from Cathy, who was getting married to her returned missionary. John attended the reception in the ward cultural hall. She and her husband looked radiant.
“I gave you some honey for your honeymoon,” he told Cathy in the reception line.
“How sweet,” she countered, kissing him lightly on the cheek.
“Have you met my cousin yet?” she asked. “She’s going to be staying with my parents this summer. I’ve told her all about you, and she wants to learn about beekeeping.”
He looked four places down the reception line where a girl with long blonde hair smiled back.
“She’ll be 19 when you return from your mission,” Cathy said with a scheming smile.
The last semester of his senior year, John took an elective course from Mr. Lattimer. It was a class in which each student could specialize in some aspect of American history. John chose to write about beekeeping in America.
“You’re the last person in the world I would have thought would take another course from me,” Mr. Lattimer remarked one afternoon.
“People change,” John said.
“You have. You seem like a different person. You seem to know what you want from life.”
“I do,” John answered, proceeding to outline his plans for a mission, marriage in the temple, and becoming a professional beekeeper.
“What’s made the difference to cause you to change?”
John thought back over the past two years and finally answered, “I guess it all came because I agreed to work on a Church welfare project.”

This story happened in the USA.
“Dad, can I get baptized when I am eight?” Keaton asked.
Dad looked up from the game they were playing. “It’s a big choice. Would it be better to wait until you’re 18?”
Keaton thought about it. “But I’m almost eight now. And 18 is so far away!”
Dad was quiet for a moment. He moved his game piece. “Why do you want to be baptized?”
“I love Jesus,” Keaton said. “And I want to follow Him.”
“That is a great reason to be baptized,” Dad said. He smiled. “I will support you if that’s what you choose. Whether you are eight or 18.”
Keaton wrapped his arms around Dad. “Thanks!”
Dad wasn’t a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. But he still went to church with Keaton and Mom sometimes. And when Keaton gave talks or sang with the other Primary kids in sacrament meeting, Dad always came.
After their game ended, Keaton found Mom in the kitchen.
“Dad said I can be baptized when I am eight,” he said.
Mom grinned. “That’s so exciting! Have you thought about who you want to baptize you?”
Keaton set plates on the table. “Do you think Grandpa can?” Grandpa and Grandma were serving a mission in another city.
“We can ask,” Mom said.
After dinner, Keaton video called Grandpa and Grandma on Mom’s phone. After a few rings, their smiling faces filled the screen.
“Hi, Grandma! Hi Grandpa!” Keaton said. “Guess what? I’m going to be baptized for my birthday this year.”
“That’s wonderful!” Grandma said.
“Will you baptize me, Grandpa?” Keaton asked.
Grandpa’s smile got even bigger. “I would love to.”
When his baptism day came, Keaton was ready. Mom and Dad drove him to a small chapel near where Grandpa and Grandma were serving their mission.
Keaton and Grandpa were dressed in white clothes. They sat together while everyone sang. Then Mom said a prayer.
Next, Dad gave a talk. “When you are baptized, you promise to follow Jesus Christ and keep His commandments. He taught us to love one another. Love is the best way to live,” he said.
Keaton looked at the picture of Jesus Dad was holding.
“When we love others, it makes them feel cared for. It also helps us to be happy and have peace.” Dad looked straight at Keaton. “I’m proud of you today for promising to follow Jesus Christ. I hope your baptism always reminds you to love God and love others.”
Keaton gave Dad a big hug. Then he followed Grandpa into the small font. Keaton put one hand on Grandpa’s arm and the other in Grandpa’s hand. Grandpa said the words for the baptismal prayer. Then he helped lower Keaton into the water.
When Keaton came out of the water, he smiled. He did it! He had followed Jesus Christ. Soon, he would also be confirmed and receive the gift of the Holy Ghost. Then he would be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Keaton was excited to keep his promise to remember Jesus and keep His commandments.
Keaton followed Jesus Christ’s example by being baptized! What’s one way you follow the Savior’s example?
Illustration by Alyssa Tallent

Growing up, I was the kid you didn’t have to worry about. I had been active in the Church all my life. I had been the president of my priesthood quorums and seminary classes. I went to every youth conference, temple trip, Scouting event, and Mutual night. I also had a testimony of the gospel. Yet when I became a member of my priests quorum, I struggled, though no one knew it. After all, I was the kid you didn’t have to worry about.
Those first few weeks and months in the quorum I did what I always did: I went to church, Mutual, and Scouting activities. Inwardly, however, I was battling. I didn’t feel that I was a part of the group or that the other young men wanted me there. I wanted desperately to belong.
As time went on, I had questions and doubts about whether I wanted to be a part of the quorum. But I remained active, silently suffering and hoping that something or someone would help me feel welcome.
My father and I had just finished fixing up my first car, a beautiful 1967 Ford Mustang. Brother Stay, my Young Men president, asked about it from time to time. I thought his questions showed his interest in a classic car—not in a young man.
All this changed one rainy evening after Mutual. Because of the downpour, Brother Stay drove us all home from the church, dropping me off last. When he saw my blue Mustang in the driveway, he again asked about it. I offered to let him see the engine I had spent hours and hours repairing.
Brother Stay knew little about cars, and he had a wife and young son at home waiting for him. Yet there he stood in the dark, in the rain, looking at a barely visible car engine. At that moment I realized that he wasn’t doing what he was doing to see a classic car—he was doing it because he cared about me.
Because of that minute and a half standing in the rain, I found what I needed. I finally felt welcomed. My silent prayers had been answered.
Since then I have been to the temple, served a mission, graduated from college, and tried to keep my covenants. Brother Stay may not remember that moment, but I will never forget it.

Let me tell you of a man Diane and I met in a small village outside of Hyderabad, India in 2006. This man lived by covenant. Appa Rao Nulu was born crippled. His society taught him that his potential was severely limited. Likely, he could only become a beggar in the streets. However, as a teenager he met missionaries of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They taught him of a greater potential, both in this life and in the eternity to come. He was baptized and confirmed a member of the Church. With significantly raised vision, he set a goal to become an elder in the Melchizedek Priesthood and a full-time missionary. In 1987, he was ordained an elder and called to serve in India, which was then part of the Singapore Mission. Walking was not easy; he did his best using a cane in each hand and fell often; but, quitting was never an option. He made a commitment (a covenant) to honorably and devotedly serve a mission; and he did.

When we met Brother Nulu, nearly 20 years after his mission, he cheerfully greeted us where the road ended and led us down an uneven dirt path to the one-room home he shared with his wife and three children. It was a very hot and uncomfortable day, about 110 degrees Fahrenheit. He still walked with great difficulty, but there was no self-pity. Through personal diligence, he has become a teacher, providing schooling for the village children. When we entered his modest house, he anxiously took me to a corner and pulled out a box that contained his most important possessions. He wanted me to see a piece of paper. It read "With good wishes and blessings to Elder Nulu, a courageous and happy missionary; June 25, 1987; Boyd K. Packer." On that occasion when [then] Elder Packer was visiting India and speaking to a group of missionaries, he affirmed to Elder Nulu his potential. In essence, what Brother Nulu was doing was telling me he was living true to his covenants.

On this visit to the Nulu home, we were accompanied by the mission president. He was there to interview Brother Nulu, his wife and his children; for the parents to receive their endowments and be sealed, and for the children to be sealed to their parents. We also we able to present them with the financial arrangements for them to travel to the Hong Kong Temple for these ordinances, a gift made possible by generous members of the Church. They wept with joy as their long awaited dream was to be realized.

Weeks later, they arrived in Hong Kong; it was the first airplane ride that any member of the family had ever taken. Their excitement quickly turned to disappointment when immigration officials would not let them enter Hong Kong. Although they had secured visas, a judgment was made by these officials that this family may not return to India. After six hours of being held in a secured room at the airport and repeatedly being told they could not stay in Hong Kong and that they would immediately be sent back to their home country, the Nulus' prayers were answered. An official finally called our Church headquarters in Hong Kong and verified the purpose of the family's trip and a guarantee was made that they would return to India. They were allowed into Hong Kong based on the goodwill the Church had established. Imagine the emotion of working so hard to reach a goal and then to have it seemingly denied; only then to have it granted.

With that backdrop, the next day the Nulus entered the temple. In the Lord's divine management, Diane (the only person they knew in Hong Kong besides me) was working in the temple that day. When Sister Nulu unexpectedly saw Diane, she tightly embraced her and sobbed with joy. Diane was able to serve as Sister Nulu's escort during the endowment and she observed the sealing of this faithful couple and then the children to their parents. Their happiness was unspeakable. This represented an accomplishment of deep and abiding significance.

I remember an experience our family had while on vacation at a resort area. Because the period of our stay included a Sunday, we made arrangements to attend a sacrament meeting at a nearby chapel. So did hundreds of others staying at the resort. The chapel was filled to overflowing. Before the meeting started, the bishop invited any attending deacons who were worthy and properly dressed to participate in the passing of the sacrament. An adequate number, dressed in white shirts and ties, came forward to receive instructions on how to handle such a large congregation. The ordinance was administered reverently and efficiently. As I observed the congregation, I saw that many were deeply moved by the spirit of the meeting.
After we returned to the resort, there was an obvious difference in the Sabbath-day activities compared to that of the weekdays. Boats remained tied at the dock; the lake was almost free of swimmers; and the dress for the Sabbath day was very appropriate. Those families saw the fulfillment of the Lord’s promise: by going to the house of prayer on His holy day and renewing their covenants to obey the commandments, they were able to keep themselves more fully unspotted from the world (see D&C 59:9).

My journey through life has included medical studies, during which a connection between faith and medicine became evident to me. One time while training in cardiac surgery, I assisted in a heart operation. A patient was to receive a coronary artery bypass. Preparatory steps included connecting a heart-lung machine to ensure that vital blood and oxygen supply would be in the body’s circulatory system.
Using a special liquid solution, the surgeon temporarily stopped the heart so he could perform the procedure without the heart moving. I carefully watched the surgeon’s hands and saw him slightly lift the heart in front of him in the chest. At that moment he turned to me with a subtle movement of his head. He asked me to carefully grasp the heart with my right hand so that it could be stabilized for the bypass procedure.
When I held the patient’s heart in my hand, I immediately felt an enormous responsibility, as well as a deep sense of awe. The following words from Doctrine and Covenants 101:16 came to my mind: “Be still and know that I am God” (see also Psalm 46:10).
I associate this image of a calm heart with the spiritual realization that Jesus Christ, as our Savior, takes our heart in His hands and heals it.

But there was a time of darkness, a time when her light was in danger of being extinguished. Sasha had trained from an early age to become a professional dancer. Several months after her baptism, she was accepted in a modern-dance company. Most of the other dancers were adults. None were LDS and none lived Church standards.
The company started preparing for a tour in Switzerland. “Every day I danced for about eight hours,” she says. It was the chance of a lifetime, but her devotion to dancing was taking her dangerously far from her mother, her schoolwork, and the Church.
Fortunately, the mother of an LDS friend said, “Sasha, stop! Do you think you can remain clean in that environment? Those people don’t keep the Word of Wisdom or the law of chastity. Do you think the Holy Ghost can remain with you?”
“I suddenly realized I was surrounded by a spiritual darkness,” Sasha says. She and her friend fell to their knees. “After our prayer, there seemed to be a light around us. I knew I must leave the dance group.”
And she did, even though it was hard.
Today, Sasha is 20 years old, a member of the Kupchino Branch. She has served in Young Women and been a branch Relief Society president. She has brought many people into the Church. But she still remembers her choice between darkness and light, and the joy she felt when she turned to the gospel.

One of my favorite stories illustrating our stewardship over earthly blessings comes from the experiences of Joseph B. Wirthlin. In the April Conference of 2001, he shared the following:

"How well I remember my father, the bishop of our ward, filling my small red wagon with food and clothing and then directing me—as a deacon in the Church—to pull the wagon behind me and visit the homes of the needy in our ward.
Often, when fast-offering funds were depleted, my father would take money from his own pocket to supply the needy in his flock with food that would keep them from going hungry. Those were the days of the Great Depression, and many families were suffering.
I remember visiting one family in particular: a sickly mother, an unemployed and discouraged father, and five children with pallid faces, all disheartened and hungry. I remember the gratitude that beamed in their faces when I walked up to their door with my wagon nearly spilling over with needed supplies. I remember how the children smiled. I remember how the mother wept. And I remember how the father stood, head bowed, unable to speak.
These impressions and many others forged within me a love for the poor, a love for my father who served as a shepherd to his flock, and a love for the faithful and generous members of the Church who sacrificed so much to help relieve the suffering of others.”

That upward reach, drawn from a knowledge of divine doctrines, transforms souls! May I share an illustration with you? Once, Sister Nelson and I were invited to the humble home of Polynesian Saints who had relatively recently joined the Church. By walking carefully on wooden planks, we approached their house, built on wooden piles emerging from the floor of the sea. We climbed a ladder to enter their little one-room dwelling. As we were invited to be seated on freshly woven grass mats, we could peek through holes in the floor and view sea water below. That home was starkly devoid of furniture, except for a used sewing machine provided by sisters of the Relief Society. But the love and warmth of this special family were apparent as our visit continued.

“We would like to sing for you,” the father said through an interpreter. He put one arm about his wife and the other about the children, as did his wife. Five little ones, dressed in newly sewn clothing, joined their parents in singing songs the father had composed.

Concluding, he said: “These songs express our feelings of deep gratitude. Before we joined the Church, we had so little. Now we have so much!”

While wiping tears from our moistened cheeks, Sister Nelson and I looked at each other, comprehending that the gospel brings spiritual wealth which may bear little relation, at first, to tangible abundance. Conversely, people with plenty can be spiritually poor. Yet the Lord is concerned for them all!

I would like to introduce my subject by relating a brief experience from my days as a student.

I loved basketball, but I took it much too seriously. And, sometimes, I became too competitive. You should know that in medical school I was given the “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde Athletic Award” by my classmates two years in a row. Submissive, meek, and kind, are not adjectives that would have sprung to your mind watching me play basketball—or any other sport. One evening, in a hotly contested basketball game, I was leveled by a vicious elbow to the chest by an opponent. That time, thankfully, I simply walked away and sat on the bench until I had cooled off. The game went along. A priesthood leader who happened to be watching the game came up to me after and mentioned to me that he was impressed with the amount of self-control that he had seen on my part. Fortunately, he had not witnessed some of my earlier games. In this instance, the difference was simply good, old-fashioned self-control.

Early in our married life, when Sister Nelson and I lived in Minneapolis, we decided to enjoy a free afternoon with our two-year-old daughter. We went to one of Minnesota’s many beautiful lakes and rented a small boat. After rowing far from shore, we stopped to relax and enjoy the tranquil scene. Suddenly our little toddler lifted one leg out of the boat and started to go overboard, exclaiming, “Time to get out, Daddy!”
Quickly we caught her and explained: “No, dear, it isn’t time to get out; we must stay in the boat until it brings us safely back to land.” We had a hard time convincing her that leaving the boat early would lead to disaster.

Let me tell you about one of my recent experiences. I was assigned to a stake conference to release the stake president, who had served for many, many years. It was a difficult stake to administer. The stake had been losing population. It was located near one of our major city centers. Industry had moved in. With the growth of industry, many of the members had moved out to the more suburban areas. Because of his assignment, he had stayed in the area to shepherd the flock. He had not found it to be a hopeless situation. Through his energy, effort, and great enthusiasm, the stake started to grow once again.
As the weekend progressed, his children came by auto and air, returning home to pay tribute to their father for his years of faithful service. I found a special spirit in this home. They were a very close family. How they enjoyed being together!
As I stood to address the conference in its final session, there seated to my left sat his entire family, tears streaming down their faces as they honored their father on this grand occasion.
Following the conference session, I had been invited to stay for family dinner before leaving for the airport to fly home. As the family gathered around the table, the father requested that we kneel in family prayer. Kneeling in prayer, I discovered their strength. This family understood their relationship to God, their Eternal Father. They understood their relationship to their earthly father and mother, to their brothers and sisters. The brotherhood and sisterhood existing in this family unit made it easy for them to stretch beyond their borders to friends and neighbors.
Being a guest in so many different homes over the last few years has certainly convinced me that a special spirit is clearly evident when a family prays together.

As the Saints arrive in the Salt Lake Valley, they begin to find happiness in the fertile and untouched basin. They plant crops. They sing songs and dance. They have found a home where none will come to hurt or make afraid. Or have they?
The chipper of crickets comes from above and behind the audience, and then the pioneers on stage begin to stomp wildly, threshing their arms and feet to kill the two-inch black insects. Louder and louder the sounds come until the Saints fall on their knees and pray for deliverance. Finally the calling of sea gulls fills the air—relief is near and the balcony chorus changes the shushing and finger clicking of cricket sounds to a song of thanksgiving.

After young Gordon had been ordained a deacon, his father took him—somewhat unwillingly, he recalls—to a stake priesthood meeting. While his father as stake president took his place on the stand, Gordon sat on the back row. During the singing of the opening hymn, “Praise to the Man,” his attitude changed. “As I heard them sing that hymn with power and conviction, there came into my heart a witness of the divine calling of the boy Joseph, and I am grateful that the Lord has sustained that witness through more than seventy years since then” (Ensign, Nov. 1993, p. 51).

When I was older I found work in a dressmaking shop, and learned how to make nice clothes for myself and for Mama and my little sisters too. Soon after this Jody, my childhood sweetheart, asked me to marry him. Looking closely at the temple-sawdust pincushion one day, I knew I wanted to be married in the temple. But after nearly forty years in building, the temple still was not completed, so Jody’s father solved the problem by giving us railroad tickets to Logan. On a beautiful June day we were married in the Logan Temple for time and all eternity.
The pincushion made from temple sawdust traveled with us to our home in Salt Lake City. It went with us wherever we lived. And it has been a reminder to each of our eight children that the temple is a sacred and important place. Papa was right. It has, indeed, been “a fine thing to have a pincushion made with temple sawdust.”

This is it—the big one! Six young men and three adults have just registered with the National Park Service for a summit attempt on Mt. Rainier, the mountain monarch of the Northwest. White and majestic, it rises 8,000 feet above the surrounding ridges of lesser mountains, its summit flanked by 26 named glaciers. It is a paradise for the students of nature. At different elevations can be found both beautiful seasonal flowers and unreal ice sculptures common to the Arctic.
The teachers, priests, and adult leaders of the Seattle Washington North Stake’s Tenth Ward have been preparing for this attempt for a long time. We have had weeks of expert instruction in mountaineering. We’ve learned about (and worked for) proper physical and mental conditioning. We have studied proper body chemical balance. We have studied potential hazards, such as avalanches, dehydration, hypothermia, and crevasses (fissures in a glacier). We have learned about proper clothing and equipment and quick energy foods. We have gone to nearby mountains and practiced such things as foul-weather camping, stopping a fall with an ice axe, and rescuing a fallen climber from a crevasse, as well as many other aspects of first aid and mountaineering safety. We capped it all off with a climb to the summit of picturesque, 9,677-foot Mt. St. Helens. We have done everything we can to prepare. Now comes the test.
The weather forecast indicates a high pressure ridge aloft, deteriorating with low clouds forming to the south and cooling temperatures for tomorrow with possible rain. Not good, but not especially discouraging.
We set out, each carrying his share of the gear, plus his ten essentials (extra clothing, extra food, sunburn protection, sun goggles, first aid kit, flashlight, extra batteries, compass, map, matches, fire starter, and knife).
It is just over three miles and about a 1,400-foot elevation gain up a beautiful forest trail to Glacier Basin. There are bare places to set up camp amid snow drifts and avalanche lillies. We prepare supper during intermittent rain at about 5,700 feet.
Each night we will have an evening devotional before we retire. Our theme this evening is “Know Thyself.” We discuss what we have learned and experienced the last several months in preparation for this endeavor.
Next morning, after a good breakfast, we start our ascent of Inter Glacier, a climb of about 4,000 feet in two miles. A full pack, including climbing ropes and other climbing and emergency equipment, makes this a real physical challenge.
Near the top of Inter Glacier, which forms the “foredeck” of Steamboat Prow, we are rewarded by a spectacular view of the upper mountain. The initial summit route among numerous crevasses is obvious. The upper route appears more problematic. There is an ominous summit cloud cap on the mountain. We descend the ridge and arrive at Camp Schurman at the foot of the Prow about 4:00 P.M.
We will have supper by 5:00 P.M., be in bed at 6:00, and up at 12:00 midnight. Since climbing at higher elevations must be done when the surface is stabilized by freezing temperatures to avoid weak snow bridges over crevasses, shifting seracs, and other potential hazards, it is standard climbing practice to start a summit ascent at midnight or soon after at this time of year.
After a quick breakfast we will try to be climbing by 1:00 A.M. Will the weather hold? Will the summit be clear? Will there be route problems? winds? illness? Is our physical and mental conditioning adequate? This is where the training all comes together! Everyone works together now. We’re a team. Everyone is busy preparing food or melting snow, lots of it. We need two quarts of water each to take up the mountain, plus up to two quarts each for supper and breakfast. We have to avoid dehydration. The air is already thin. What will it be like at 12,000 feet? 14,000 feet? The mountain looks inviting. The summit looks ominous. Anxiety is high.
A team of four climbers is coming down. It will be good to get their report. We must eat whether we feel like it or not—high energy food, lots of carbohydrates.
It’s 5:00 P.M., time to get packs with the ten essentials ready for the summit so we can survive the night up there if necessary. We must also get the ropes ready, knots tied, prusiks in place. Everything will be easier now than later when it will be dark and the temperatures freezing.
The descending four arrive. They appear to be in their mid-20s and strong. They look tired. The effect of their experience is etched in their faces. Their report: a good climb. Frozen snow turned to ice at about 12,000 feet requiring crampons. They took 2 quarts of water each, but could have had a gallon (they felt dehydrated). The summit? There was a whiteout, and they had to use wands to find their route back down. The wind was moderate (20 to 30 miles per hour). They didn’t check the temperature. The chill factor was probably zero or below. They will complete their descent this afternoon. Our anxiety is now higher. Whiteouts can be bad news, more of a challenge than we’d really like to have.
We’ll stay in the hut instead of pitching tents. It will be nice to get out of the rising wind.
At 6:00 P.M. we are ready for bed. The theme of our second devotional is “Control Thyself.” We have a good discussion. It helps reduce the tension of anticipation. Sleep is fitful. Some can’t sleep at all, but even a little rest is welcome.
The alarm finally goes off at midnight. No one speaks. Groan, groan. Is this for real? Okay! Now or never! Everybody’s up and dressing for the climb. Don’t dress too warmly. The climbing will be hard; the body will generate a lot of heat. An insulated undershirt, wool shirt or light wool sweater, and wind breaker is enough. After a quick, cold, high energy breakfast, we’re ready to go.
The sky is full of stars. There is very little wind, but it is cold.
The group climb leader takes the lead. Crunch, crunch—the snow is frozen, but not very hard. There is nothing below us but blackness. There must be a heavy cloud layer down there to completely obscure everything. In three hours it will be twilight—in four to five hours, sunrise. The thought of light and warmth is comforting. Six or seven hours should be the turning point. In eight or nine we will be at the summit!
Two hours later the climbing has become labored. The heavy exercise has overcome the cold. Rests are only momentary relief. At 11,500 feet the team reverses position and Scott Capener takes the lead.
(He later said: “Being third man on the rope team, I felt secure. All there was to do was follow, but when we reversed positions, it seemed like the whole world reversed. It was pitch black in front of me, broken only by my headlamp, which wasn’t much benefit. Before, I was reassured by two lights ahead of me. Now I was alone, navigating between crevasses. I didn’t want to begin to think of how deep they were. I was trying to pick a route up a mountain I’d never been on before. The closest person to me was 50 feet behind me, out of hearing or talking range. There were people behind me, but I was alone.”)
We are no longer able to “kick steps” so we put crampons on to enable secure footing. The moon rises, a meager orange-red slit where you imagine the horizon should be.
At 12,500 feet the lead team again reverses position. We’ve now crossed several crevasses, but you never feel comfortable about them. Climbing has now become an ordeal—a real test, hour after hour.
Several of the team are now suffering one or more symptoms of acute mountain sickness (headache, nausea, vomiting), but there are no complaints. It is now twilight, and delayed sunrise is both welcome (it will soon turn to blinding, burning light reflected by the ice in every direction) and disappointing (it’s very cold when you stop to rest). There is no in-between up here. While you hike you sweat; when you stop you shiver.
The terrain is now steep, about 60 degrees in places. Two have tender Achilles tendons. The strongest of the group are calling for rest, which is welcome to all. Soon we are climbing again. You sink in your ax spike, take two steps, and repeat, breathing hard and deep several times in between. Over and over, on and on! Seems like it will never end. You feel lightheaded because you are breathing so hard that you are almost hyperventilating in spite of the thin air at 13,000 feet. But you can’t faint; you can’t fall; don’t even close your eyes or you might doze and slip. On this hard ice and steep angle, it would be almost impossible to stop once you started sliding. You recall accident reports in which fatalities occurred under similar conditions. Stomp those feet down hard!
The wind has started to blow down the mountain. It is bitter cold. There are clouds over the upper mountain. We start wanding to mark our route. We’ve now crossed many crevasses. Some we cross on snowbridges; some we climb around until we can step across.
At 13,500 feet we are climbing into the cloud cap. The wind is about 20 miles per hour. Maybe it will blow the cloud cap away. At 14,000 feet there is intermittent snow falling, with higher gusts of wind. At times visibility is ten to fifteen feet. Sometimes the ridge is visible for a few seconds. At 14,200 feet we are now higher than Liberty Cap or Point Success, two of the mountain’s three summits. Hoar frost forms on eyebrows and clothing. Although spirits are high, the condition of the group is not good. They are approaching fatigue. The advisability of continuing seems questionable.
Belden Durtschi, the climb leader’s second in command, has been here before. He is called up for consultation. Other members of the team are consulted. Not a negative word is heard. Belden takes the lead with his rope team. Soon exposed rock of the crater rim is showing. The terrain is not as steep.
At 9:30 A.M. the altimeter indicates we are at Columbia Crest at last! We scramble to the left side of the crater wall and collapse. Three fall asleep still in their packs. The rest take some food and drink and rest. The rocks feel like pillows.
After about 20 minutes it doesn’t look like the weather will clear, so we start our descent. We are soon out of the cloud.
The descent is fast, and we arrive back at Camp Schurman at about 1:30 P.M. for a well-earned rest.
In blinding sunshine, with a heavy cloud layer several thousand feet below, we spend an enjoyable afternoon exchanging thoughts of our experience. Since some retire early, the third element of our devotionals is held the next morning—the theme, “Give Thyself.” Our devotional themes “Know Thyself” (Socrates, 450 B.C.), “Control Thyself” (Cicero, 100 B.C.), and “Give Thyself” (Jesus Christ) are a formula for success suggested by Elder Paul H. Dunn in his book Discovering the Quality of Success. If we follow these concepts, we will truly succeed!
After breakfast we rope up again to descend the Emmons Glacier to where we can traverse the ridge to Inter Glacier. The lower half of Inter Glacier is free of crevasses and presents a beautiful glisade where we lose nearly 2,000 feet in a little over a mile. It is a fast trip and quite a thrill!
As we descend, the summit, shining brilliantly in the sun, is sometimes visible through the clouds. It’s hard to believe we were really there.
But we were, and it has made a difference.
In retrospect one of the fellows commented, “I learned a lot about self-discipline. It stimulates your thinking with challenging decisions.” Another said, “it was a spiritual, beautiful experience.” We discovered a lot about the qualities of success.
Into a cloud sea far below,
I lonely watched the red sun go,
Then turning, miracle of glad surprise,
Enchanted saw the full moon rise.
—C. Schurman—