Jump Start

A few nights ago I was up fairly late talking with a friend at my office. He was having a difficult time so we exchanged some stories and advice. When we realized that we had been talking for a couple hours, and that our wives were probably wondering where we were, we decided to call it a night. He said goodbye and left my office. A few minutes later my friend was back.

“Do you have any jumper cables?” he asked. I replied that I didn’t, at least not there. It turned out that my friend had left a light on inside his car while we had talked, just long enough to prevent the engine from turning over. After unsuccessfully considering some alternative solutions, I offered to go home and get my cables.

Rather than come with me, my friend chose to remain in his car. Home was not far away, so the return trip only took a few minutes. My suspicion that my wife would be waiting, however, was correct. I felt she was entitled to an explanation before I turned around to help my friend, so I was delayed a few extra minutes.

Not long afterward, hoods were up, jumper cables where mounted, and I started my engine. It didn’t take much to get him started. A little gas pedal and he was good to go. Sometimes that’s all a friend needs – a little boost.

We all get down from time to time. I don’t think there are many exceptions. But, during those times, it’s nice to know you have a friend. It’s good to know someone else carries a charge when you don’t. The night may seem a little darker when you lack power, but a friend can certainly turn things around. I like being that friend.

It seems easier to ask for help to jumpstart a car than it is to admit that you might need a jumpstart yourself. At least it is for me. But occasionally I’ll have a more discouraging moment when a friend is not available to lift me up. It’s on those occasions that I inevitably turn to Father in Heaven and admit that I need some cables. I need some connection to greater strength. That strength can come through prayer.

Prayer is literally the connection between us and an all-powerful Father in Heaven. He listens. He has answered my prayers and has given me strength when I’ve really needed help. Every time I have asked, He has been there for me. Sometimes, like my friend, I have to wait for Him to answer. I don’t believe it is because He is trying to make me suffer. Rather, it’s more than likely that He is helping me to refocus my attention on Him. If not I may dismount my cables too quickly and find that I can’t keep a charge. But when I stay focused on our relationship, and I’m grateful for it, there is a constant current of energy that flows into my life. It allows me to do more than I could on my own.

Most of the time when I lose my charge, it’s because I have left a light burning. I have been neglectful and I spend my energy where I shouldn’t have. Father knows our hearts. He is even patient and forgiving when our squandery is deliberate. All he asks is that we turn to him and acknowledge his hand in all things. Then, when we ask for help, he expects us to stay focused on what he has asked.

I have learned for myself that spiritual jumper cables are not meant to be used only in times of emergency. If I want to keep a charge, I use my cables daily, morning and night, and frequently in between. Acknowledging that we need His help is not weakness. It’s humility. And that is the key to a good start.

Angels Landing

I’m afraid of heights. I don’t know why but looking down from very high places has always troubled me. On one particular excursion to the state capitol, my Dad had to carry me up the front steps because I was certain I would fall to my death otherwise. Perhaps it had something to do with being pushed head first off of a stage when I was little. All the same, I have just learned to admit my fear.

A year ago I was invited to go with some young college students to Zion National Park in Utah. It was autumn and the intense summer heat was no longer present. I accepted the invitation, not knowing much about the hike they were planning.

The trail they had in mind, Angels Landing, was supposedly fairly short with an incredible view. The red rock cliffs were beautiful from below. They were so grand and tall that I hadn’t even considered we might attempt to climb them.

Half way up the trail my heart started to pound. We had just left safe inclines and protective cliffs at our sides for a terrifying view of the remainder of the trail. It was breathtaking on more than one point. I recognized that we were about to cross the top of the precipice I had been admiring from below. What I didn’t know before was that the top was really a narrow land bridge. It seemed to be about four feet wide with a 1,400 foot sheer drop on either side.

Suddenly an old adage came to mind. “Fools walk where angles fear to tread.” Yeah, I know - lot’s of people were hiking it, but it still looked foolish. Walking on a tightrope always seemed insane too. Just then a young mother with a small baby strapped on her back came bouncing across like a mountain goat. She seemed completely unaware that there was a life-threatening cliff ready to gobble her up with her progeny. I made no effort to tell her. I just watched with a strange mixture of admiration and contempt.

As the rest of my party started to pass me on the trail, I found myself faced with a difficult decision. “Should I risk my life or just wait here where it is safe?” I considered, debated, and rationalized. This was one time that I wanted to listen to the voice in my head – afraid as it was. But another part of me wanted to see the top. “You will never know what it was like if you don’t go.”

More people passed me in my state of indecision. I took comfort in the fact that I wasn’t the only one negotiating my fears. A number of people had simply sat down, content to watch the others commit suicide. In failing to make a decision, I was deciding to become one of the bystanders.

Finally a thought gripped me harder than my fear. I believed that I could not make it, but did I know? How could I know unless I had tried? If I gave up, certainly I would be safe. On the other hand, nothing prevented me from going a little further. Even if I couldn’t make it all the way to the top, I could do a little more. It was at that point that my mind became clearer. I wouldn’t stop unless something stopped me. I would do as much as I possibly could before I gave up.

The land bridge had a chain rail to hold onto, which I did desperately. After that, the top of the bridge widened and had no chain. I found myself doing a sort of crab walk with my back to the ground. I went a little further then a little further.

After I had crossed the bridge, I faced my next obstacle. At that point the trail went almost vertical with additional chains to hold onto in order to manage the ascent. I again swallowed my fear and began to climb. It wasn’t easy to block out my awareness of the drop below. The key was to keep moving. As long as I was moving I could focus on my footing rather than my fear.

Making it to the top was an amazing accomplishment. My fears kept me pretty low to the ground, but what an amazing sight lay before me! I could never imagine it had I not gone the length of the trail. It wasn’t only what I saw, but what I felt that thrilled me. I had conquered my fears.

I would be amiss if I didn’t acknowledge that I had offered a number of prayers along the way. Father heard me. He gave me the courage to keep going. Even more than courage, He gave me a feeling of persistence that kept me from quitting. Of the two, I think the latter played a greater role.

There are many parts of life that are strait and narrow. Others seem steep and treacherous. Sometimes my challenges seem too difficult to negotiate or too big to tackle. I am grateful for the occasional reminder from the spirit that I am the offspring of God. He is my father. That simple thought gives me courage to try things that seem impossible, especially if I know he is the one asking me.

No one is perfect, but I have a lot more confidence when I know I have done everything I possibly can. I know that Father will help us through difficult times if we seek Him. As the angel, Gabriel, told Mary, “For with God nothing shall be impossible.” I believe this to be especially true in our attempts to overcome our sins and weaknesses. Some may be excruciatingly difficult to attempt, but we can repent through the atoning sacrifice of Jesus Christ. He has already paid the price. It’s up to us to begin the climb.

I don’t think I will ever forget Angels Landing. In addition, I have a better mental image of the reward that is waiting if I can ignore my fears and keep going.

Kinda Hungry

Driving home the other day I noticed a little light appear on the dashboard of my car. The symbol of a gas pump was an indicator that I was running low on fuel. Knowing that many drivers are like me, the light was designed to turn on in advance to protect the driver from being stalled on the road. I’m never excited to see the light, especially with rising gas prices, but I am grateful for the warning.

Fortunately I haven’t run completely out of gas for several years. The last time I did, I was lucky to have a cell phone with me. I called my wife and she helped me on the side of the freeway.

The incident reminds me of a parable Jesus told to his disciples about ten virgins who had gathered for a wedding. They were waiting for the bridegroom, but half of them did not bring oil for their lamps. When the bridegroom finally arrived, it was later than they had expected and they were not prepared. The five who lacked oil left to buy more and were not able to attend the wedding. What a sad ending to a happy story, at least for those who weren’t prepared. (See St. Matthew 25:1-13)

I wonder if a dashboard indicator would have been helpful to the five who missed the wedding. Wouldn’t it be nice to have an appropriate warning that you are running low on fuel? Whether it is increasing dusk or an emptying fuel tank, lack of preparation is something that creeps up on us if we are not watching.

The oil referred to in the parable is a symbol our spiritual preparation. This example prompts the question, “Do I have enough faith to sustain me through sunset that may precede the wedding?” The foolish virgins had lamps but chose to ignore the lack of fuel.

Fortunately we each have a low-fuel indicator to warn us. The light of Christ is given to everyone to know right from wrong. The question is whether or not we choose to act. I believe we can recognize these spiritual warnings in much the same way that we receive physical warnings from our body when we are hungry.

My young children have a tendency to become grumpy when they are hungry or tired. Basic functions of the body are strained because the supply of nourishment is inadequate. They compensate by subconsciously diverting available but limited energy away from their good manners to more important priorities.

The older I get, the more I realize that I am no different from my children. My circumstances are more sophisticated, perhaps, but I have the same motivations for comfort and satisfaction that they do.

One difference between me and my children is my ability to recognize what my body is trying to tell me. It’s one of the things that we get with age and experience. When I get hungry, I am quicker to recognize what the problem is. I often feel a need for nourishment before it becomes critical. Quite often I am able to recognize what type of food my body is lacking, be it protein, carbohydrates, or some sort of vegetable. This is simply because I have a craving or appetite for a certain type of food.

Communication to our spirit happens in much the same fashion. Warnings come from the Holy Ghost as feelings or impressions. Instead of the calm peaceful feeling that comes when we are doing what is right, the impression may be that something is missing, or that we are running low on strength. As we learn to recognize these promptings, and act on them without delay, we can keep ourselves properly nourished.

The spiritual fuel we need is that which sustains and increases faith. It is the word of God given through revelation to his servants the prophets and recorded for our use.

The ancient Israelites were given manna daily by God to sustain them. Jesus taught that he was the bread of life and the staff that would uphold us. It is his word that we are invited to feast upon. There are junk food counterfeits that seem to satisfy for a while, but they do not sustain us. Only the word of God will satisfy us and stay with us.

I am grateful for inspired individuals who have recorded God’s word for our benefit. Like the ancient prophet, Nephi, I feel to say, “my soul delighteth in the things of the Lord; and my heart pondereth continually upon the things which I have seen and heard.” He recorded his experiences and inspiration from God so that others could feast upon them as well. Nephi stated, “And upon these I write the things of my soul…. For my soul delighteth in the scriptures, and my heart pondereth them, and writeth them for the learning and profit of my children. (2 Nephi 4:15, 16)

We live in a time when our fuel tends to run out quicker. The opposition to making good choices is increasing. I see many who are looking for a clear direction but are confused about what is right and wrong. There are also those who are quick to offer spiritual junk food in this climate of confusion. Instead, we need to be consistent in providing proper nourishment for our spirits. We need the word of God.

Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “Men have come to speak of revelation as somewhat long ago given and done, as if God were dead. It is my duty to say to you, that the need was never greater of new revelation than now. It is the office of a true teacher to show us that God is, not was; that He speaketh, not spake.”

How blessed we are to live in a time when apostles and prophets still teach us God’s word. They are not just spiritual leaders of ancient history, but are an active part of God’s plan for his children. God still speaks to his prophets and they do in fact still teach his children. One such opportunity is approaching in a couple weeks at a General Conference of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day saints.

Whether it be through scripture recorded by prophets gone before, or the word of the Lord through living prophets and apostles, the word of the Lord is sweet to me. It brings peace to my heart and light for my path.

I know God lives. I know He loves us, and He wants us to know just how much. His words will heal us. They will sustain us in difficult times and increase our gratitude in times of plenty. I am grateful for the scriptures and the words of the prophets. They always satisfy my hunger.

Ready to Run

For most of my life, I have generally hated running. I never saw the point. It seemed like boredom with a faster pace and little reward. Funny, I used to think the same thing about eating my vegetables – there was just too much too quick.

My opinions started to change a few years ago when I realized I had gained weight at an average of about five pounds a year. That was a trend I wanted to make go away. So I changed my diet and started walking.

Within a short period of time I noticed that I felt a lot better. I had renewed energy, and I even felt younger. The place I would often go was peaceful and allowed me to de-stress. Over time I accelerated my pace and increased the distance I would travel. Eventually I found myself wondering, “I could probably go farther if I started running.” Since then, I have worn out the souls of my shoes and have become an avid runner.

“Runner’s high” was a feeling I had not experienced before, but it is definitely worth the effort. I loved it. Once I pushed past the threshold of casual effort and got my “second wind,” It was as though I had achieved a new level of freedom. I felt more confidence, strength, and ability. I could do more and it felt good.

Recently I went running in a canyon not far from my home. The road wasn’t too steep, but there was enough of an incline to get my heart rate up. As I began my ascent, a fortuitous wind came from behind and assisted me up the hill. It was almost as easy as running down the slope. I wish I could figure out how to get that kind of help more often.

Besides running for exercise, I often find myself running from one appointment or task to the next. People in our culture generally do, so chances are that you can relate. Keeping a fast pace with family, work, and other responsibilities can be very tiring at times. In fact I find that I get tired for a variety of reasons that aren’t always the same.

Regardless of the circumstances, the questions I seem to ask most are, “Am I going to make it?” or “How can I do everything that is expected of me.” We all have challenges to deal with. Sometimes, what I need to face them is additional strength. The way I find it is not much different from when I go running.

Have you noticed how dramatic children can be when they have stubbed a toe or bumped their arm on something hard? Yet if you can distract them, they suddenly forget all about the problem. I don’t think I am much different.

One strategy I have used to face my problems is to zoom out and focus on someone else. If I keep looking at my problem under a microscope, it doesn’t get any smaller. The alternative is to look at someone else’s problems and offer them some help. It’s a strange paradox, but somehow it works – my problems often seem less in comparison and I get a fresher perspective. The real benefit comes when I go beyond my comfort level, and a casual effort, to provide some meaningful service.

The Savior taught, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” (St Matthew 25:40) I believe when we are on the Lord’s errand, we are greatly blessed with his help.

Jesus’ invitation to “come, follow me,” suggests that we haven’t arrived yet. We have to leave our comfort zone and become more like him. His call, however, does not stipulate a pace. He allows us to set our own speed. The important thing is to make sure our direction is constant and correct.

I know when we add service to our already busy lives, the Lord blesses us and gives us strength beyond our means. The Holy Ghost testifies to our minds and our hearts that our course is correct. He will also direct us in our thoughts and our efforts if we are listening.

There is a sweet peace that comes when we serve God, and when we serve those around us. It’s another wind that gives us strength. That special gift from the Holy Ghost makes running worth it.

I’ve Heard That Voice Before

I recently received a phone call from an unknown caller. At least that was the information caller ID told me. The conversation went something like this:

“Hey, how are you doing?” asked the voice, congenially.

I paused hoping for recognition to dawn before I was put on the spot. Unfortunately it did not. Wanting to avoid an awkward pause, I replied, “Fine. How are you?”

“Very good,” was the reply. This was followed by a few seconds of silence. “Do you know who this is?” he asked.

I thought I was really close to making a connection but decided to be honest. He turned out to be a friend who lived a couple of streets over calling to ask me for a favor. Instead of suggesting that he brush up on his phone etiquette, I just grinned quietly and agreed to help him. It wasn’t the first time I had started a call like that.

Reflecting on that moment I thought how different the conversation would have been had my mom been on the other end of the phone call. To be honest, I doubt she could disguise her voice from me if she tried. I know her so well that I would have recognized her the moment she spoke. The more I thought about it, the more I was grateful I knew her so well.

Another voice I have come to cherish is that of the Holy Ghost. While I have gotten better at listening for Him, I’m sad to admit that there are still times my recognition is closer to the call from my friend. The difference, in this case, has nothing to do with etiquette unless it is on my part. Sometimes I am simply not listening. Sometimes I allow louder voices to crowd out what the spirit is trying to tell me.

I have learned from my own experience that I sense His voice more as feelings than actual words. The feelings I get are usually accompanied by thoughts or impressions so the communication is experienced in my heart and my mind. I have found this to be a very consistent pattern. If I don’t sense it in both places, it’s usually not the Holy Ghost.

One of the ways I have learned to recognize the Holy Ghost is by asking God for help. As the apostle James taught in James 1:5, “If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.” I have prayed for guidance from my Father in Heaven and he has answered me through the power of the Holy Ghost. I have asked for spiritual guidance. I have also asked for help on issues at my work or at home. Because of His answers, I know He truly cares and is willing to help.

Sometimes His voice comes unsolicited, but it is always timely. I may not recognize it at first, but this is one case when the pause that follows is not so awkward. It’s usually needed so that I can clearly understand what it is I’m feeling.

What a blessing it has been for me to know that God lives and answers prayers. His voice gives peace, comfort, and assurance. It is unlike any other feeling. I believe he speaks to each of us. If you are ever unsure, perhaps you just need to pick up the phone.

Charity

A few years ago, my family and I were just leaving a theater when I noticed two men approaching from the other direction. I paused from our musings about the movie we had just seen and looked at the men. A quick glance informed me that they were homeless.

Sometimes In the past I have kept small change in my pocket in case a less fortunate individual asked me for money. On this occasion I was reluctant to interrupt the moment with my children. I knew one of the men was about to ask for something, so I averted my eyes and steered my children around them. We were nearly past when one muttered something about “that Mormon family.”

The man’s response was not the one I had expected. I was guilty and it hurt. What bothered me most was not the fact that I had avoided him, but that there was such a difference between us that he and I had judged each other so accurately.

I have since had occasion to reflect on the teachings of the Apostle Paul in 2 Corinthians 13:3, which says, “And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.”

When I was growing up, I would occasionally hear someone say they had given something to charity. I heard this same phrase used only a couple weeks ago. In either case, “giving something to charity” didn’t imply much of a sacrifice. What it really meant was casting off something that was excess or not needed.

The prophet Mormon taught, “charity is the pure love of Christ, and it endureth forever…. Wherefore, my beloved brethren, pray unto the Father with all the energy of heart, that ye may be filled with this love" which he hath bestowed upon all who are true followers of his Son, Jesus Christ.” (Moroni 7:47-48)

Truly following the Savior Jesus Christ means sacrifice. It means loving others unconditionally as Jesus loves them. Charity, which is his love – a purer love – has the power to change lives, and not just touch them.

When I do give more than my excess, a small miracle happens. Somehow I seem to have more, not less. I find that my heart is larger, not smaller. My capacity to love is greater and I truly become more like the Savior. Let’s face it, sacrifice is never convenient or it wouldn’t be a sacrifice. I know that God loves his children. I also know that he allows us to feel some of his love, when we share ours.

I wasn’t much of a good Samaritan that day after the movie. Fortunately, for me, there is still time to change.

Are We There Yet?

A year ago we decided to take a family vacation to Yellowstone National Park. For weeks our family gathered up the necessary supplies to enjoy a nice week-long trip in one of nature’s best parks. We made reservations, outlined an itinerary, and the kids started saving money for precious trinket souvenirs – the important stuff.

The day for our adventure arrived. According to plan, the family was inspected for last minute details. Everyone was fed, the car was packed, and souvenir money was fidgeting to be spent. With our checklist nearly accomplished, a successful early morning departure was immanent. Nothing could stop us… except for the fact that I strained my back loading up an oversized cooler with a week’s worth of food. Nice start, eh?

Once we managed to get on the road, and my back pain eased, the only thing that stood between us and Yellowstone was hundreds of miles. A daunting task with five young kids? No problem. Distance is an easy thing to endure if you have Game Boys, DVD players, or books on disc. We were set.

We had warned the kids in advance, however, that the rules would change once we got close to the national park. Electrical devices were to be stowed down below someplace where we wouldn’t see them for a week.

The idea seemed okay to everyone, but it triggered a very important question. “So where can we buy something?” they asked. The absence of one distraction makes room for another. We reassured the kids that there would be plenty of opportunity to buy souvenirs. This question was followed up by the more predictable of choices, “Are we there yet?” I think we had just left Teton National Park with only an hour to go.

My wife and I quickly realized that we needed a new management plan to keep the masses in the rear seats content. Getting there is not what Yellowstone is about. But the pleasure of being there has a whole different set of expectations. We attempted to steer their interests, with the assistance of snacks. Never underestimate the power of blood sugars.

The first day of driving in the park seemed to generate more time related questions like, “How much longer?” Though Yellowstone Lake, the Le Hardy Rapids, and some sulfuric mudpots were all fairly close to each other, it still took a few minutes time to traverse between them. Our second oldest was most unenthusiastic about the sulfur, by the way. The complaints of how things smelled seemed to lengthen the passage of time.

Over the course of the week our kids caught on that there was more to enjoy and experience along the way. In addition to seeing sites such as the Upper and Lower Falls of the Yellowstone River, Mammoth Hot Springs, and Old Faithful, we began to see elk, moose, bison, and other types of wildlife. We watched for smaller geographic interests such as steam from geysers rising up through the forest trees, or ancient craters of earlier volcanic activity. We even located all but four states in our exotic license plate search. (This added a little incentive when the wildlife was scarce.)

In a place like Yellowstone, the journey is as important as the goal. It gives meaning and accomplishment to each destination. The experience in its entirety adds richness to the memory.

Over the hundreds of miles we traveled on that trip, I couldn’t help but think of our lengthy journey through this life (a thought inspired by our return trip home.) A larger course perhaps, but there are times that I ask myself, “Am I there yet?” or, “How much longer will it take?” I find it too easy for me to focus on where I am going, and not enough time on where I am at.

I would venture that some of our trials in life are like long roads in between amazing views and sites. They can be real opportunities for understanding if we know what to look for.

In my personal prayers, I used to ask Father to help me get over a trial. I used to think of difficult circumstances as something to get past. I really haven’t changed much – I still like to get past them. But now I am a little more inclined to pass through the trial, looking for opportunities in the midst of adversity. Instead, I try to pray for needed strength. I pray for the insight to benefit from the hardship.

For me, this kind of attitude wouldn’t be possible without faith in Jesus Christ – faith that this life is worth the trip, and faith that he can see something that I can’t. It gives me hope that there is beauty all around. I just have to keep my eyes open. With a combination of faith and gratitude, I have found strength to have some amazing experiences. I have seen things that I otherwise would have missed. Not only that, I feel like I know him better because I have seen his hand in my life. Because of the road I have taken, I know God lives. I know he has a plan that will bring us joy forever and happiness while we are here on earth. It is so reassuring to know that he cares and will help us along the way.

On the way home, our kids commented to my wife and me that we had just had the best trip ever. I was glad they saw it that way. I agreed.

Can’t Stop Travis Payne

Recently my friend, Travis, told me he had two and a half months to live – or so his doctor said. I sat amazed as he still smiled and cracked jokes. Travis thinks he will live longer than that. “It’s a state of mind and your will,” he said matter-of-factly. “Your will is stronger than the doctor’s diagnosis. That’s why I try to keep a positive attitude.”

I remarked to Travis that he was a hero. He asked why and I replied, “You inspire me. I’ve never met someone with so much enthusiasm for life in spite of personal challenges.” It’s a trait Travis has exhibited his whole life.

Travis Payne was born one of two twins in Gadston, Alabama. His other twin passed away a couple hours after birth. “I guess I was just stubborn then,” he said. “I was born with challenges. I have had challenges my whole life. That’s what has made me strong.”

Born with Cerebral Palsy, Travis was unable to walk for the first eight years of his life. A corrective surgery fused his knees together allowing him to use crutches. Travis had new mobility. “I’ve never been able to take the word no or can’t.”

“I lived my life as a healthy, normal kid,” said Travis. His father insisted that Travis attend a public school and not a school for special needs. After moving to Texas, he attended high school in Dallas and was on the disabled track team. “I ran with crutches. I had to keep buying new shoes and extra tips because they wore out all the time.” I asked when Travis gave up racing. “I think I still race,” he replied with a smile.

While attending Kilgore Junior College, Travis received word that two of his brothers had been in a boating accident. By the time he reached the hospital, they were both deceased.

Travis moved to Salt Lake City in 1994 and was diagnosed with MS shortly after. He continued his college education but was forced to give up the crutches for a wheel chair. “I have to thank God I’m able to take care of myself.” He refuses to be a prisoner in his own house. When hospice started to assist him, Travis refused to let them stay for more than three hours. “I don’t have very long to live and I’m going to live it the way I want to.” Travis still gets out and about and travels long distances in his wheelchair.

About a year ago Travis was diagnosed with Cancer. It appeared to go into remission for several months but was active again by December of 2007. At that point he was told he had six months to a year to live. When asked if that made him nervous, Travis replied, “Yes, a little. I don’t want to die yet.”

Travis recently saw the movie, “Bucket List,” where two men preparing to die make a list of things they want to do first. Afterwards, Travis decided to make a bucket list with a mutual friend named Brian. “Never in my life have I gone fishing, flown a kite, learned to drive, or learned to swim.” Together he and Brian have started working on the list. Unsure of whether he will get to do it or not, Travis put skydiving on his list. “I’m not going to have it said that I wasted my life.” One of the most important items on his list is to spend one full day with a good friend.

Travis still had a smile on his face (he is not in want of a sense of humor). When asked how he had found strength for each of his challenges, he told me a story.

“I find strength from my friends. I draw strength from anywhere I can get it. I find strength when I don’t think I have any left. It has to be the Lord,” he said. “It has to be the Holy Spirit.”

Travis said he was fifteen when he went to see a good friend in Kansas. Candy Jones was the step-daughter of his father’s best friend whom he and his father would occasionally visit. On that particular visit Candy seemed happier than he remembered seeing her before. Travis asked her what made the difference. “You need to read this book,” Candy replied, and then she handed him a copy of The Book of Mormon.

Travis decided to begin reading the book that night. He read about prophets in ancient America. He read the testimony of Joseph Smith, Jr. who translated the book. After reading for some time, Travis said he felt a calm peaceful feeling come over him. The next morning he told Candy about what he had read and the feeling he had had. “That is the Spirit,” Candy said.

Feeling the influence of the Holy Ghost was something that Travis was not familiar with. Candy explained that the feelings he had felt were how God let’s us know when things are true. Travis made arrangements to learn more when he got home. Believing the message to be true, Travis was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints soon after on his sixteenth birthday.

“The gospel has given me understanding and peace in life. If I didn’t have the Lord in my life, and the belief in my life, I don’t think I would be smiling now.”

As I reflected on Travis’ story, I thought about my own experiences with the Holy Spirit. I also thought about the witness I had received concerning The Book of Mormon. I too know it is true. The word of the Lord is sweet to me as is the Holy Spirit. Like Travis, it gives me strength to keep going. The Savior, himself, told his disciples the key, “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.” (St. John 14:27)

Thank you, Travis.

Flight from Independence

On a return flight from the Kansas City International Airport, I once found myself having a very peculiar conversation. The man I sat next to appeared to be about my age and well mannered. Little did I know when I boarded the plane that our families shared a colorful story on the frontier of the United States.

We started with the usual airplane small talk. I was going home and he was leaving it. We were both traveling on business. I mentioned that I was an architect and had been doing work in Independence, Missouri. He was in law enforcement. From the way things went, I would have predicted a rather short conversation. Things changed when I mentioned that three of my relatives were also in law enforcement. With a common thread, we spent the next hour and a half sharing experiences.

In the course of our conversation, my new acquaintance told me that his family had lived in Caldwell County, Missouri, for the last five generations. That caught my attention. I, too, had family who lived there several generations back.

We discovered in a few short minutes that our ancestors had very opposing views, and they were not afraid to show it. Animosity between them and others in the area escalated to a conflict known as the battle of Crooked River. My third-great-grandfather was one of the leaders in that unfortunate battle. Fortunately, neither of our families were wounded.

I thought it unique that the two of us were sitting together, realizing that our grandparents had tried to kill each other, and we were okay with that. There were no grudges or awkward feelings, just a mutual understanding. I think we both acknowledged that there are better ways of solving disputes.

The Savior once instructed his disciples, “If ye are not one, ye are not mine.” I believe this direction goes beyond just removing barriers. It means making an effort to love and appreciate others, not just tolerate them. I find the more I know about someone, the easier it is to like them, and forgive them.

Knowing someone and knowing about them are two different things. I can learn about someone from a second hand source, but my impressions are often incorrect or incomplete. Knowing someone, however, requires direct interaction and exchange. It usually involves a little more time and effort. I feel it brings me closer to being “one” as the Savior described.

I’ve since gained a greater appreciation for looking at things from someone else’s perspective, especially if they are at odds with me. The ability to do so, and at least appreciate their view for what it is, is essential in breaking down walls that divide us. Each story has two sides, and often more. This man’s family obviously had a very different point of view from mine, but I couldn’t say that they were wrong. Our conversation certainly didn’t change my beliefs, but it did change my understanding. I had a more complete picture to reference.

Following our conversation, the man and I said goodbye and we have not seen each other again. The memory, though, is clear. I am especially glad that we found a common thread for a discussion. Sometimes that’s all it takes.

A Visit to the Mosque

I’d never been to a mosque before. It was the 6th Annual Open Mosque Day for the Islamic Society of Orange County – an event to promote a correct awareness of the Islamic faith. With the rise of public opinions informed and sponsored by the news media, I jumped at the chance to go with my cousin, Elliott.

With friendly welcomes and greetings, we removed our shoes and entered the prayer room. It was a large room where rows of individuals would face the front and prostrate themselves in prayer. A number were already gathered for the afternoon prayer observation. We were invited to sit while some were finishing their prayers. As I watched, I felt a reverence that was very familiar to me. I also felt a peaceful calm. I wanted to pray with them, and not just in my heart.

After the prayer observation, we listened to a few presentations and the Q&A that followed. We were then invited to eat food they had prepared for the occasion. It was delicious. My regret is that I no longer remember the names of the dishes they had prepared for their guests.

My experience gave me much to ponder, both there and long after we left. I reflected on the beautiful modesty of the Hijab the women wore. I noted the friendly handshake I had received from many of the men. I felt greatly impressed by their kindness.

Certainly there were some differences between their faith and mine, but I found there was much more we shared in common. Somehow, the differences didn’t seem to stand in the way of feelings I felt in my heart. I felt that we are truly brothers and sisters worshiping the same God. Their reverence and submission was inspiring. If anything, I realized there were some ways in which they were better at living my religion than I am.

Among the several lessons I learned in my brief visit, the blessing of prayer is one that was reaffirmed in my mind. I couldn’t help but feel the love of God as I watched others offer prayers to him. Some prayers may more closely resemble recitation than conversation, but I truly believe that God answers those who earnestly seek him.

I look at my own life, and I can without hesitation say that God answers my prayers daily – not just generally, but specific answers that make it clear someone is helping me. Clearly the Christian scripture teaches, “Ask and ye shall receive,” because Father will give good things to His children who ask Him.

During the times in my life when I am least selfish, and most focused on helping other people, I feel closest to Father. I feel Him guiding my footsteps and filling my heart with peace and happiness. It is during those times that I feel closer to Him in prayer, and I feel that He answers my prayers with greater rapidity.

I feel blessed to have visited the mosque this last Sunday. I am strengthened by others’ careful practice of prayer. More so now I am inclined to ask myself, “Am I as diligent as I can be in my personal prayer? How can I be more submissive, more grateful, and more sincere?”

Thank you, my brothers of another faith. As I was greeted, “Assalamu Alaikum.” Or in English, “Peace be upon you.”

For more information about the Islamic Society of Orange County, visit www.isocmasjid.com.

Seashells and Overcoats

California was an exciting first move away from home. With expectations full of sunshine, palm trees, and sandy beaches, my prospects couldn’t have been brighter. Life was good. I liked my new independence… until it got cold.

Somehow I had missed the part about paradise flying south for the winter. I thought that was only the swallows of San Juan Capistrano. With alternating days of cloud cover and fog banks, I found myself writing home within a week. I resigned some of my independence and gave a pleading description of my predicament to Mom and Dad. (Everyone deserves to have parents like mine.)

Shortly afterward I received a package in the mail. I was ecstatic, but the contents caught me a little off guard. Dad had sent me his own overcoat.

In my correspondence, I had mentioned my frustration in finding a coat I liked. The trend at that time was to adorn coats with an overabundance of straps, flaps, and buttons – much too fussy for my taste. Dad’s, however, was just the coat I couldn’t find.

After I had worn the overcoat for a while, I found an item that made this coat different from any other. Inside one of the pockets was a seashell Dad had left there. I’m not certain where the shell came from, but I guessed that it had come from one of his long ago visits to California. The last time I had seen the shell was a few years previous. Dad had been wearing the coat on that occasion. I remember him pulling out the shell to show me and then he carefully put it back.

Rather than remove the seashell, I decided to keep it right where I found it. Each day when I put the coat on, I would locate the shell, rub its worn and grooved surface between my fingers, and then put it back. I never did get homesick, but the reminder of home shortened the distance.

Years later, I’ve thought about that shell in relation to leaving another home, much further away. Like my Dad, I know I have a Father in heaven who thinks about his son. I’ve started looking for shells he may have placed in my life to remind me of where I come from. Fortunately for me I have found some. Each one holds a very specific meaning. Call me sentimental, but I tend to look at seashells a little differently ever since.