Fear Not

Happy Hobbit-days! Merry Middle Earth-mas!

Honestly, I’m not sure what the appropriate holiday greeting should be. But I offer it nonetheless as we celebrate a momentous holiday today. For eight long years, I've sent letters to the North-most Pole of Hollywood. I've been especially good. I've picketed alongside the elves. I even sat on Peter Jackson’s lap and told the not-so-big-guy what I wanted for Christmas. And yet, MGM and Time Warner could not pull together a compromise to allow production of The Hobbit to move forward. But, at long last, my holiday wishes come true, and I plan to be in the theaters tonight at midnight.

There are three other times in my life when I've entered a cinema with as much giddiness and excitement as I feel right now. To understand my past feelings, you have to first understand my history with JRR Tolkien.

As a boy, I wanted to be as smart as my best friend Christopher. Christopher had just discovered a book called The Hobbit, a story full of wizards and magic, spiders and dragons, and goblins and good guys—those things that set my young imagination into overdrive. As he told me about what he was reading, I knew I had to get my hands on a copy of that book. To my surprise, I found a copy on the family bookshelf. To my further surprise, it was a fat book. And there were no pictures! The greatest surprise of all was that the words I started to read, given my 3^rd grade vocabulary, did not translate into the exciting tale that Christopher had thus far related to me.

Determined to not be shown up by my friend, I kept at it. I skipped over Tolkien’s songs and poetry. I skimmed the lengthy descriptive passages. Eventually, I was able to pull out enough of the story to become a fan of Tolkien’s fantastical world. As I grew older, I read The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings trilogy many times, increasing in comprehension and appreciation of that incredible world with each additional reading.

I discovered the animated film adaptations of these stories, and those helped to further fuel my zeal for all things fantasy. At one point—when our play culminated in a jousting tournament in front of our house, complete with plastic baseball bat javelins and mounts that looked more like bicycles than noble steeds—my mother had to ban me from returning to the magical world of my imagination for a time. I have to admit that I learned an important lesson in physics that day. An object in motion—say, a bicycle—will tend to remain in motion, even if a javelin is jammed into the flanks—or spokes—of the rival horse. Despite the many times prior to that moment that my younger brother had unsuccessfully tried to complete a flip on the trampoline, he successfully completed one in his not-so-acrobatic dismount from his horse that day. Luckily, no stitches were needed!

Fast forward eight years. I was half a world away in a small, under heated apartment in a rundown part of a small city of southern Estonia. My companion and I were invited to come in out of the cold winter night. I think the goodly man was afraid to act too interested, for fear of being bombarded with a call to repentance, including threats of hell fire and damnation. So, to maintain a healthy buffer between himself and the Spirit, the man refused to comply when we politely asked him to turn off his television. We quickly realized that the noise of the TV was going to be louder than the still, small voice of the Spirit; and we gathered our things to leave, even though the relative warmth of that apartment seemed so much more desirable than the cold of the winter night.
 

And then it came on. As I saw it, I instantly recognized it for what it was. The hairy, half-sized, human-looking creatures clearly had to be Hobbits. The pointy hat and long wizard robes looked just like I’d imagined in my private world of fantasy. The elves were beautiful. The Orcs looked hideously perfect! Since that day my mom had ended our “street fencing,” I had read Tolkien’s books several times. I had watched the animated movies again and again. I had even heard rumors of a live-action adaptation of those stories on the silver screen. Now, as much as I enjoyed Willow, Dragon Heart, and some of the other early live-action fantasy films, I felt that Tolkien’s tales might be ruined for me if they were not done perfectly—if the costumes, the music, and the special effects did not capture the essence of my imagination’s version of Middle Earth. But I had not realized that these rumors had any truth, and this television movie trailer came as a complete shock to me on this cold night.

I was unable to tear my eyes away from the television, even though I was normally strict about avoiding such things as a missionary. My companion elbowed me as the ad ended, and we quickly made our exit. For the duration of my mission, I can proudly say that I did not think about The Lord of the Rings movie once as I again lost myself in the work. Returning home, I felt strong reservations about watching any movie—let alone the one that had captivated my attention so vividly for 30 seconds that night—for fear that reverting to the media and other pleasures of “Babylon” too quickly might be a sign that my mission had somehow been less meaningful to me.

Almost one month after coming home, I finally allowed my older brother to drag me down to the dollar theater to see this movie that, according to my brother, was the best movie he’d ever seen. “You might know it,” he said. “I think it’s called The Fellowship of the Ring.” When the credits came to an end, the music faded, and the lights came up, I wiped a tear from my eye and turned to my brother. “I don’t know what you have going on right now,” I said, “but I’m using this dollar to go buy another ticket.” I settled for stopping by Wal-Mart on the way home to buy a CD of the soundtrack, and I listened to that music around the clock until I had an opportunity to go see the movie again a few days later.

A little more than a year later, I truly was as giddy as a little child on Christmas morning when Christmas came a few weeks early and the third movie installment, The Return of the King, premiered. And, yes, I was there at the midnight premier showing, despite the fact that I had a final for one of my classes the following morning. But neither the satisfaction I felt after watching The Fellowship of the Ring the first time nor the anticipation that encompassed me prior to the midnight showing of The Return of the King came even close to the giddiness that I felt for weeks prior to the release of the middle movie, The Two Towers.

Why? The Two Towers contains an epic battle sequence that captured my imagination as a youth. Tens of thousands of Orcs surround a fortress that stands as the last defense of a vastly outnumbered good against an overwhelming evil. In my mind, that epic battle represented the war to end all wars, the ultimate contest between good and evil. And the teasing glimpses of this battle that the movie trailers provided did not disappoint. When I finally got to see the movie, the emotions I felt during that war of wars were even more powerful than I imagined possible. Let me tell you why.

As a missionary, in reading the Old Testament, I discovered a story about a nameless man, a “servant of the man of God.” In reality, I’m not sure what this servant looked like; but, to this day, I can imagine his pointy ears and features that are more elf-like than human. In this story, Saruman, the leader of the Orcs (Syria), conspires to lay a trap for Theoden, the king of the humans (Israel). With the counsel of Gandalf—or the man of God, the prophet named Elisha in the scriptures—Theoden is able to avoid the trap. Saruman is furious that his plans have been foiled. From his spies, he learns that the man of God, a seer, is able to see inside his private chambers and know of his secret plans—probably using a magical palantir. So he sends an enormous army to take and capture Gandalf in a place called Dothan, otherwise known as Helms Deep.

The “servant of the man of God”—we’ll name him Legolas—arises early in the morning. From here, the Old Testament brushed over some of the more important story elements. So I’ll exercise a little literary license as I continue. Legolas climbs up to the upper ramparts to look out over the valley below the fortress. Aragorn, the commander of the Israelite garrison stationed at Helms Deep, asks, “Legolas, what do your elf eyes see?”

Legolas senses that all is not right. “The stars are veiled. Something stirs in the East. A sleepless malice…” His uneasiness grows. “The eye of the enemy is moving. He is HERE!” Suddenly the fog lifts and Legolas can see that a vast host compassed the city both with horses and chariots. 

Gimli, an especially short soldier who is unable to see over the wall, asks, “What’s happening out there?”

Legolas: "Shall I describe it to you?"

Gimli: "Hmm?"
Legolas: "Or would you like me to find you a box?"  

Humor aside, Legolas grows serious and, after surveying the small garrison that would stand against this adversary that was too vast to number, turns to Aragorn. “Look at them. They’re frightened. You can see it in their eyes.”

As the soldiers look in his direction, Legolas begins to speak in Elvish so as not to be understood. “And they should be. Three hundred… against ten thousand! Aragorn… they cannot win this fight. They are all going to die!” 

Aragorn speaks in a loud voice that can be overheard by those in his command, “Then I shall die as one of them!” 

Gimli steels himself for the battle to come. “Never thought I’d die fighting side by side with an Elf.”

Legolas answers his companion, “What about side by side with a friend?”
Gimli grasps his ax. “Aye. I could do that.” 

Just then, the man of God comes upon the ramparts and Legolas’ courage begins to crumble. He turns to Gandalf his master in fear, “Alas, my master! How shall we do?”

Gandalf looked upon Legolas with compassion and said, “Fear not: for they that be with us are more than they that be with them.” 

The Old Testament then clarifies that wizards sometimes pray rather than relying solely upon their magic. Elisha, also known as Gandalf, prays, “Lord, I pray thee, open his eyes, that he may see.” 

Gandalf urges his servant to “look to the East.” In that moment, the eyes of the servant named Legolas are opened, and he saw: and, behold, the mountain was full of horses and chariots of fire round about Elisha.

From here, the Old Testament is more clear on the details of the Battle of Helms Deep—I mean Dothan—and I can take less literary license. Gandalf prays to the Lord requesting that the host of enemy Orcs be smitten with blindness. The confused and blinded Orcs are then led by Gandalf away from the fortress to Samaria, a stronghold defended mightily by King Theoden. Gandalf again prays, this time asking that the Orcs eyes are opened. The enemy army now realizes that it is surrounded and vastly outnumbered by Israel. Gandalf then urges Theoden to feed and provision his captives before sending them away to their own lands without bloodshed. The scriptures provide the following conclusion to this story, “So the bands of Syria came no more into the land of Israel.”

Now, my Tolkien-esk version of the story had a bit more fighting to it than the one told in the scriptures before Gandalf rides in from the East at first light of the fifth day with his heavenly host of angelic reinforcements made of fire. In fact, there’s enough fighting for Legolas and Gimli to have a friendly contest over who can kill more of the enemy. Legolas wins.

This isn't the only story from the scriptures that my imagination has been able to twist into something more suited to the fantasy bookshelves of the library. But as a story like is able to plays out in my imagination, and on the big screen, the spiritual significance deepens and the message is able to take root in my heart.

So what is Tolkien’s sermon to my heart in his epic retelling of the scriptural Battle of Dothan? It is a simple sermon, characterized by two words: Fear Not! We can find these two words together 87 times in the scriptures as good men and women like Paul, Mary, Daniel, Abraham, the servant of the man of God, and many others including you and I are counseled to not fear.

Now I have a young daughter who sometimes wakes up in the middle of the night after an especially vivid nightmare. As I scoop her up in my arms and hold her close, I tell her there’s nothing to be afraid of. I tell her to fear not. As a father, I've learned that it’s not enough to simply tell her to fear not. As a heavenly father, God has learned this as well. Each time that He tells one of His children to fear not, he provides additional comfort and reasons to not be afraid. Fear not, for ____ (fill in the blank).

Some examples? Fear not, for: 

God shall be with you forever and ever; with me thou shalt be in safeguard; I am thy shield and thy exceeding great reward;  [thy enemies] are in mine hands; if ye are built upon my rock, [thy enemies] cannot prevail; God will deliver… all those who stand fast in that liberty wherewith God hath made them free; thou has found favour with God; thy prayer is heard; it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom; in me your joy is full; the Lord will do great things; ye are of more value than many sparrows; I am the first and the last; I will help thee; I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name, thou art mine; it shall be well with you; I will do to thee all that thou requires; you are mine, and I have overcome the world, and you are of them that my Father hath given me; whatsoever ye sow, that shall ye also reap; I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people; I am thy God and will still give thee aid, I’ll strengthen thee, help thee, and cause thee to stand upheld by my righteous omnipotent hand; they that be with us are more than they that be with them.

How’s that for a scriptural security blanket? Doesn't that make you want to just curl up in your Heavenly Father’s arms for a while? If so, you simply need to open up your scriptures. Curling up in a warm blanket is optional.

I have to admit that much of my life is governed by fear. Gordon B. Hinckley would have the following to say to me regarding my fears:

Who among us can say that he or she has not felt fear? I know of no one who has been entirely spared... Some are able to rise above it quickly, but others are trapped and pulled down by it and even driven to defeat. We suffer from the fear of ridicule, the fear of failure, the fear of loneliness, the fear of ignorance. Some fear the present, some the future. Some carry the burden of sin and would give almost anything to unshackle themselves from those burdens but fear to change their lives. Let us recognize that fear comes not of God, but rather that this gnawing, destructive element comes from the adversary of truth and righteousness. Fear is the antithesis of faith. It is corrosive in its effects, even deadly. 

“For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.” 

These principles are the great antidotes to the fears that rob us of our strength and sometimes knock us down to defeat. They give us power.

I like that. The attributes Paul described to Timothy of power, love, and a sound mind are the antidotes to our fears. John added emphasis to one of these antidotes in saying that perfect love casteth out all fear. From all of this, we learn that fear is the opposite of faith. So, simple faith in Jesus Christ and in our Father in Heaven is perhaps the greatest antidote of all.

There will be times when we feel trapped by our fears and pulled down by it, even to the point of defeat. Our Elven eyes may, like those of Legolas, spy an incredibly vast army of the adversary standing at our gates. What our Elven eyes are unable to see is what Elisha prayed for his servant to see. When we exercise perfect love, a sound mind, and faith in God and pray for a loftier vantage point from which to survey the scene of battle before us, then are our eyes opened. Then can we see spiritual evidence that they that be with us are more than they that be with them. But until our eyes are opened and we can see the heavenly host with our own eyes, we must place our trust in our Father—that He truly is with us and stands ready to help us in every way.

Very few of the armies we face in life can be confronted with sword, bow, or ax  But we are not left without instruments of war. We have Paul’s sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God, to use as our only offensive weapon. And we have the whole armor of God wherewith to defend ourselves: the breastplate of righteousness; iron boots of the preparation of the gospel of peace; loin coverings of truth; the helmet of salvation; and, above all, the shield of faith. After equipping us from the armory, what is Paul’s pre-battle speech? Pray always with all prayer and supplication in the Spirit, and watch thereunto with all perseverance and supplication for all saints. Peace be to the brethren, and love with faith, from God the Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Grace be with all them that love our Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity. Amen.

Aragorn, Tolkien's once and future king provides the following pre-battle speech that stirs my soul and moves me to draw my sword in defense of all that is good: "Hold your ground, hold your ground. Sons of Gondor, of Rohan, my brothers. I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day. An hour of wolves and shattered shields, when the age of men comes crashing down, but it is not this day. This day we fight! By all that you hold dear on this good Earth, I bid you 'stand, Men of the West!'"

These are the kind of words that awaken that boy inside of me who proudly brandished his Wiffle Ball bat  as he held his cardboard shield high. No fear was allowed to dwell in this young heart, as this child full of courage, faith, and hope for a bright and heroic future schemed to conquer the most fearsome of dragons, the most hideous of giants, and the most evil of sorcerers.

It is the worries of the world that wax heavy with age and turn a heart to fear and to a lack of confidence. But as we hear the call to battle and raise our banners alongside the titles of Aragorn, Paul, Moroni and countless other commanders in God's Army, in memory of our God, our religion, and freedom, and our peace, our wives, and our children, we may come forth in the strength of the Lord, knowing that we have good cause to fear not--for the Lord will fight our battles for us as we stand still and see the salvation of God.

When I go to the movies tonight, there may be some at the theater who literally suit up in armor and other Middle Earth paraphernalia in their excitement and giddiness for the long-awaited movie. My personal fandom only extends so far, and I will not be among them. I will, however, be wearing my spiritual armor as I venture out into the enemy’s domain tonight. No, I don’t believe that the movie theater or any other public facility is inherently evil. But the Lord has taught that our homes are temples, where we can control who and what comes in. Any time we leave the safety of our temples, we should suit up. Perhaps we would do well to leave our armor on, even when we are safely at home, given the outside influences that are seeking to find a way in through technology and the media.

So will you join me and suit up in the whole armor of God, knowing that God will fight our battles for us and be with us every step of the way? As we enlist in the army of God, we can overcome our fears. We can also be assured that we are on the winning side, because there is no question of which side will be triumphant in the last day.

Onward, Christian soldiers! Marching as to war,
With the cross of Jesus going on before.
Christ, the royal Master, Leads against the foe;
Forward into battle, See his banners go!

At the sign of triumph, Satan’s host doth flee;
On, then, Christian soldiers, On to victory.
Hell’s foundations quiver at the shout of praise;
Brothers, lift your voices, Loud your anthems raise.

Like a mighty army moves the Church of God;
Brothers, we are treading where the Saints have trod.
We are not divided; All one body we:
One in hope and doctrine, One in charity.

Onward, then, ye people; Join our happy throng.
Blend with ours your voices in the triumph song:
Glory, laud, and honor unto Christ, the King.
This through countless ages men and angels sing:

Onward, Christian soldiers!
Marching as to war,
With the cross of Jesus
Going on before.

The Faith of an Engineer (Special Extended Edition)

When I first began writing my Sermons of the Heart, my goal was to simply have an outlet to share ideas and inspiration that cross my path in everyday life. Over time, I've realized that my thoughts and writings are mostly for one person, and that is me. Yes, my words may mean something to my children or grandchildren someday. They may even mean something to one of you, if you've stumbled across my writings. But, in very large part, I have been richly blessed by my Heavenly Father to feel inspiration from the most ordinary of sources and to have words fill my mind and my heart that demand to be set free into writing.
 

I've also learned that those words of inspiration that I am blessed with sometimes need to be expressed in other ways. When writing about the Latter Day Saint or Mormon pioneers, I was touched by a song that shared the simple truth, "God gave us voices, but we make them sing." As I wrote about some pioneer stories that were meaningful to me, I couldn't help but wonder what melodies and lyrics comprised the songs that those faithful men and women gave voice to through their faithful and inspirational lives. At the same time, I knew what melodies and songs came to my mind when I read their stories. And I felt that my words and message in sharing their stories was incomplete unless I coupled those stories with those powerful melodies that inspired me.

This presented me with a dilemma. I needed my words to be recorded so I could do some audio engineering and put those words to this music. But who could I convince to record these words? This was just a simple project that meant something to me, rather than anyone else. And I didn't have the spine to ask anyone. So I bit the bullet and recorded my own voice. This was especially difficult for me, because there is little that I despise more on this earth than the sound of my recorded voice. But putting my words into a format that made my message feel complete, the way they felt in my mind and my heart was important enough to me to record myself anyway.

As I completed that project and put music with the words, I experienced something of a miracle, or a tender mercy as David Bednar might say. The music seemed to swell and grow with the words of those stories at just the right places, in ways that I didn't design or engineer. The message brought entirely new meaning to me as I listened to something that I had written, recorded, and engineered, but something that didn't feel like it came from me at all. It felt like it came from a much loftier source. It was indeed a tender mercy.

For my next sermon, I determined to try again and see if I might experience that same tender mercy of having the words and feelings of my heart played back to me in such a Spirit-enhanced format. I wasn't disappointed. Since then, I've created audio versions, or podcasts, of most of my sermons. I still loath the sound of my voice. But hearing such a complete and authentic representation of the contents of my heart is such a neat experience that I keep at it each time I feel inspired to write.

A few months ago, I was again listening to one of these podcasts, one that compared Jesus Christ to Superman, entitled Hero of Heroes. But as I listened, as with my experience with the pioneer-themed sermon, I felt that this one was also incomplete. Something was missing. Since the message involved dialogue from several Superman movies, my audio version used actual audio from those movies. But, as I thought about it, I now felt that my message was not complete without also including the video from those movies. So I began a new project to learn about video editing and to turn my message, that had evolved from written words to audio, into video as well. The project was a fun one for me, and it turned out beautifully, representing my heart perfectly.

In looking forward to Christmas, many things have been on my mind. But the thoughts that seem to dominate my mind and heart relate to my Christmas-themed sermon from last year, entitled The Faith of an Engineer. As with Hero of Heroes, I felt that my words, based in large part on several scenes from the Christmas movie The Polar Express, were still incomplete in written and audio form only. 

And so, I've created a video version of my message, simplified and edited to focus on the powerful message of faith from that movie. After finishing my editing and publishing my video, I watched it in its entirety for the first time. Although I knew exactly what was in the video, even my exhaustive efforts in creating the video did not prepare me for the rush of emotion and the Spirit that I felt as I watched.

So as my Christmas gift to you, I would like to share this Special Extended Edition of The Faith of an Engineer. Feel free to let me know how the message of The Polar Express touches you. I hope it does. And if you enjoy this, I simply ask you to share this with a friend as well.

Merry Christmas! May your hearts be touched by Him whose birth we celebrate as you more fully allow yourself to Believe.

Thanksgiving of Thanksfeeling

 

Beep. Beep.

My wristwatch marks the hour and my eyes snap open. Prior to today, I didn't know it was possible to sleep while standing up. I guess I wouldn't call that sleeping. Dozing? Yes. Who wouldn't be dozing at 4 AM? Why am I not at home in my warm, soft bed?

Good question. My wife, who is across the store trying to land some Christmas PJ's and a train set, knows the answer. And so do the 50 others crowded around me. 4:01. My watch is three minutes fast. But the feeling of anticipation is thick in the air. It's so palpable, it's impossible not to feel.

I shrug off the drowsiness that I've been fighting for two hours. This is it. Game time. My rivals are just as focused now. All eyes are on the prize--a giant cardboard box in the middle of a crowd of 50 wild-eyed shoppers. There's no turning back now. Bodies are pressed up against me on all sides. There's barely room to shift. I have good position. Only five people stand between me and The Box. The guy on my left starts to jockey for position, looking to box me out with his elbow. I hold my ground, which is no easy task, as a wave of the other guy's body odor hits me like a brick wall. He obviously didn't shower this morning. Then again, neither did I. I steel myself and try to tune out my overwhelmed sense of smell. I will my own BO in his direction in an attempt to fight back.

All of a sudden the store's chime sounds the hour, and complete chaos ensues. I get violently shoved from three different directions at once as I see the store clerk cut the ties on The Box and hit the ground as if in a fire drill. The lid of the box is hurled 20 feet into the air as $2.50 DVDs are grabbed by the handful and shoved into overcoats, pockets, and handbags. I don't want to imagine where some people are stashing the DVDs they get their hands on. There certainly aren't any shopping carts here. Only cheerful holiday shoppers, who are probably a little more full of donuts and caffeine than cheer.
 

As I desperately reach out to try to grab a DVD from The Box, I'm pushed back by the same odorous, elbowing guy who has somehow gotten past me and is grabbing handfuls of DVDs. Apparently there is no picking and choosing at The Box. Black Friday shoppers, more experienced than myself, know to grab what you can and to later find a corner of the store to sort through your booty to determine what you will actually buy. I wonder if I'll get my hands on a single DVD. Watching the old lady behind me swing her cane about aggressively, I doubt it. I wonder if there's a Black Friday Black Market located down some obscure aisle of the store for those who end up with excess doorbuster goods in their carts. I wonder what the donut to DVD exchange ratio is. I guess it doesn't matter as I have neither in hand at present.
 

My reeking rival finally shoves away from The Box box, retreating with his loot, and I see an opening to The Box. I take it. I scan The Box in an instant; it's almost empty. I see one of the five titles I was looking for. I grab it and decide to retreat for safety, clutching that DVD as tightly as I would a fumbled pigskin on a desperate game winning dash into the end zone. As I fight the crowd that's still pressing in and rush forward to the goal line, I see the store clerk curled up on the floor in the fetal position. I know exactly how she feels.
 

I juke one defender and stiffarm another defensive lineman and break free, crossing the pylons in a burst of energy as the crowd roars! Only then do I look back at the pile of players behind me; the angry mob is now ripping the cardboard box apart in a desperate attempt to find any lingering digital doorbusters. Ducking down another aisle, I run into my pushy friend from earlier. As a peace offering, he hands me two more of the titles I was looking for from his stash without requesting a single donut in exchange.

Eventually, I meet up with Lindsey. She had more success than me, scoring everything off her list.  But as for me? Seven dollars and fifty cents and three movies summed up an experience I hope to never repeat again.

*****

Black Friday. I'm not sure what the color black means to every other holiday shopper. I know what it meant to me several years ago when I braved the wilds of Wal-Mart on that adventurous Friday. In the years since, that blackness has crept into Thursday as well. No longer do the Black Friday doorbuster sales begin at 6 AM, 4 AM, or even at the chime of midnight. I heard that many stores will begin their shopping madness this year at 10 PM on Thanksgiving Day. The truly zealous Black Friday'ers are already camping out. I imagine they're settling for turkey sandwiches rather than the full turkey and stuffing feast. I don't think any shopping deal in the world could be good enough to make me miss out on my wife's pumpkin pie!

I'm afraid that over the next few years the Thanksgiving holiday may disappear altogether in the eyes of the retail industry. As it is, we see Christmas decorations and merchandise decking the halls of many major retailers as fast as store managers can relocate all of the unsold Halloween paraphernalia to the clearance racks. But the merchandisers are not alone in their holly, jolly rush to Christmas. More than one local radio station began its Christmas season merry music marathon just one week into November.

Now I love the Christmas holiday. And I was really frustrated when I was in school at BYU and final projects and exams ran my academic stress right up until only a few days before Christmas. I found it very difficult to catch the spirit of Christmas as strongly as I would have liked those years. Since graduation, I've fully enjoyed the entire month of music, lights, decorations, devotionals, holiday baking, and gift shopping and making. It's the most wonderful time of the year!

But as much as I love this season, I find the earlier and earlier beginning of the season in the eyes of retailers, broadcasters, and the populace as a whole a little bothersome. What's happened to turkey and stuffing, turkey bowls and gridiron grapples, pilgrims and cornucopias, and, of course, prize-winning pumpkin pies? I think the answer lies in the pocket books of retailers and consumers. There's little doubt that money makes the world go round. And, truth be told, there's not a lot of money in Thanksgiving outside of the grocery and fowl-farming industries. I imagine there's enough money in Halloween to keep Christmas retailing from creeping too much into October, but there may come a day when Thanksgiving all but disappears in the eyes of most Americans. Wouldn't Ben Franklin be sorely disappointed in that truly-noble-bird-barren nation?

Because of all of this, I was truly impressed when I learned about Nordstrom's Thanksgiving policy. Posted throughout their stores last year were signs that read, "We won't be decking our halls until Friday, November 25. Why? Well, we just like the idea of celebrating one holiday at a time. From our family to yours, Happy Thanksgiving." This year is no different at Nordstrom. Now isn't that wonderful? Not only is the store closed on Thanksgiving, but no Christmas decorations or merchandise will be seen until the day after Thanksgiving. How's that for a celebration of Black Friday that allows for a truly Brown, Orange, and Gold Thursday?

Of gratitude, Cicero, a Roman orator, said, "Gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues, but the parent of all others." Gordon B. Hinckley seems to agree with Cicero in his book on the ten most neglected virtues, gratitude being one of these ten--a virtue which he labels as a sign of maturity:

"Although we acknowledge that far too many people live at the edge of survival, still we must admit that never before in the history of the world has a nation or a people enjoyed such riches and liberties.

"For all this and much more, we should be grateful. And we ought to express our gratitude daily in countless ways--to each other, to our parents and other family members who have contributed so dramatically to our lives, to friends who have given us the benefit of the doubt again and again, to colleagues and associates who motivate and inspire us to reach higher and do better, to prudent leaders who serve selflessly, and, particularly, to a Higher Power from Whom all ultimate blessings and goodness flow."

I've been married for over eight years now. And there are two lessons I've learned more strongly than any of the other many, many lessons I've been obliged to learn. Lesson one: you can't say "I love you" too many times. I repeat this lesson with a caution. The words "I love you" don't carry as much power as the words "I love you because..." Sometimes "just because" may be acceptable, but specificity rarely goes amiss in sharing our feelings of caring for those we love.

Lesson two: you can't say the words "Thank you" too many times. Again, specificity carries added value. Thank you for... "Thank you for dinner darling. I appreciate all the effort you make to have dinner ready when I get home from work. I know how stressful your day can be with the kids, the house, and everything else you juggle. Thank you for helping me feel so special by doing everything you do for me." We all probably feel gratitude more often than we express it. But the holiday is called Thanksgiving, not Thanksfeeling. You can't express gratitude too many times when it is heartfelt, sincere, and specific.

Easier said than done, we must learn to share the feelings of our hearts. Yes, God knows our hearts. He knows of my gratitude to Him. But the Psalmist urged, "Sing unto the Lord with thanksgiving [not thanksfeeling]; sing praise upon the harp unto our God: who covereth the heaven with clouds, who prepareth rain for the earth, who maketh grass to grow upon the mountains."

King Benjamin also spoke on gratitude, intoning, "If ye should render all the thanks and praise which your whole soul has power to possess, to that God who has created you, and has kept and preserved you, and has caused that ye should rejoice, and has granted that ye should live in peace one with another--I say unto you that if ye should serve him who has created you from the beginning, and is preserving you from day to day, by lending you breath, that ye may live and move and do according to your own will, and even supporting you from one moment to another--I say, if ye should serve him with all your whole souls yet ye would be unprofitable servants."

In other words, we cannot repay or earn the grace and blessings that are our rich inheritance from a loving Father in Heaven. No amount of thanksgiving can merit that cornucopia of kindness. But it is a good start.
 

Gordon B. Hinckley continued his thoughts on thankfulness:

"Gratitude is a sign of maturity. It is an indication of sincere humility. It is a hallmark of civility. And most of all, it is a divine principle. I doubt there is anything in which we more offend the Almighty than in our tendency to forget His mercies and to be ungrateful for that which He has given us."

As a child, I was taught how to pray in four simple steps, which were reinforced through a well-known primary song: I begin by saying Dear Heavenly Father. I thank Him for blessings He sends; Then humbly I ask Him for things that I need, in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen. In my childhood, I was probably better about spending time on step two in my prayers. As I've grown older and feel more worries and pressures in life, I have to admit that my prayers are more focused on asking than thanking.

I began by sharing my feelings about Christmas and Thanksgiving. I love Christmas. In many ways, Christmas traditions stand out so much more prominently in my memories than Thanksgiving traditions. But I wish to share one Thanksgiving tradition that I've enjoyed since I was a teenager. A New Testament seminary teacher gave my class a challenge one day to go home that night and completely omit step three from our bedtime prayers--in other words to make our prayers one of gratitude only, not asking for a single thing. That seemed simple enough. I determined to try it, though I wondered how short that prayer might be.

Beside my bed, I fell to my knees and began to pray. I prayed out loud to deviate from the norm and to add to the special feeling I was seeking this night. It was easy at first but quickly became more difficult. Thank you for my family, our house, our abundance of food and other necessities, the gospel, Christ's Atonement... After about 30 seconds, I ran out of things to say--the standard set of thanked for blessings from which I usually pull was all used up.

But I didn't want to end my prayer that quickly, especially since this was supposed to be a special prayer of gratitude. I paused for a full minute to gather my thoughts and to truly think about my blessings. During this minute, I broke the rules and asked for one solitary thing--I asked for an open heart and mind so that I could be more mindful of my blessings, those things for which I could offer thanks. Then words began to flow. The more I spoke, the more thoughts came to my mind and my heart. I remained on my knees for almost an hour, and tears filled my eyes before I was done. It felt a little strange to end my prayer, thanking my God for one final blessing and then skipping straight to my standard closing, In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

I remained on my knees for a minute or two more, something I often neglect to do, hearing the call of my pillow more loudly than any still, small voice. I don't know what revelatory response I might have anticipated since I was not asking for one this time. But I did receive a response, a gentle and warm outpouring of the Spirit which conveyed two words very clearly, "You're welcome."

Every Thanksgiving since that night as a teenager, I've made this prayer of only thanksgiving part of my personal traditions for this holiday of gratitude. With a little help from the Spirit, it is still easy to find words to speak. Though my prayers have never rivaled that of Enos, time seems to stand still and lose its importance as I spend an hour in true gratitude of Him who has blessed me beyond measure.

And so, this Thanksgiving, regardless of when you begin to listen to your holiday music collection, when you plan to do your holiday shopping and baking, and when you see your first magical snow, I invite you to join me in rising above your thanksfeeling and spending a few minutes on your knees in pure thanksgiving, asking for nothing in return and simply enjoying a moment of true gratitude to your Maker.

There are not many Thanksgiving carols or songs. But one sung by Josh Groban sums up my feelings: there truly is so much to be thankful for. (You may listen by clicking here.)

Some days we forget to look around us.

Some days we can't see the joy that surrounds us.

So caught up inside ourselves,

We take when we should give.

Look beyond ourselves, there's so much sorrow.

It's way too late to say, “I'll cry tomorrow.”

Each of us must find our truth,

We're so long overdue.

Even with our differences,

There is a place we're all connected.

Each of us can find each others love.

So for tonight we pray for

What we know can be.

And on this day we hope for

What we still can't see.
It's up to us to be the change.

And even though this world needs so much more,

There's so much to be thankful for. 

A Day in the Shoes of a Shepherd

 I hope they call me on a mission when I have grown a foot or two…

Unlike most teenagers, I was still singing this classic primary song when I was in high school. Why? I was a shorty. I still harbored secret hopes that I might grow to be as tall as Shawn Bradley. I didn’t expect my 7 foot 6 height to make me any better of a basketball player than I then was, but I imagined that with such height my technical balling skills would be far less important than my ability on the defensive end to keep track of the three second window in the paint, to step in to take a charge, and to simply keep my arms up, since no shot would be able to get past my massive reach. In fact, the only problem I’d face on the court would be to make sure my underarm hair wasn’t too horrendous and to remember to use clear deodorant rather than the powdery white, clumpy stuff.

Unfortunately, as a junior in high school, I was still waiting for the two and a half foot growth spurt I would need to get the pro scouts to start lining up at my door. Even as my professional basketball hopes waned, I was still determined to hit six feet. But no amount of Wheaties seemed to help. It seemed that I was destined to a life of looking up at the rest of the world. Still I hoped that I might be called on a mission having grown a foot or two. I even made a bet with a friend that I’d hit six feet. And I’m happy to say that I did enjoy a steak dinner at the expense of this friend a year or two later. I outgrew three or four pairs of jeans over the course of six months, but grow I did.

And serve a mission I did, too. But of the two accomplishments, I am far more proud of one than the other—although I think that the delayed Wheaties-inspired growth spurt was quite the feat. I had the privilege and opportunity to spend two years among the quiet-natured, but faithful people of Estonia and will always look back fondly on the experiences and relationships that were forged in that distant land.

Yesterday, in the opening session of General Conference, President Thomas S. Monson announced that young men will have a little less time to grow a foot or two before they set off for distant lands to serve in the ranks of God’s army. Young men may now leave for missions at the age of 18 rather than 19, and young women may leave as early as age 19.

The announcement came as a huge surprise to me and perhaps many other members of my church. It remains to be seen how the new age standard might change expectations and patterns in mission preparation. As the well-known song continues, I hope by then I will be ready to teach and preach and work as missionaries do. Will most young men plan to begin their missions shortly after high school, shifting the norm from the 19^th birthday to graduation? Will only some young men leave that early and others leave sometime in the year afterward as they feel sufficiently ready and mature? Will priesthood leaders look more closely at spiritual readiness and maturity in each young man individually, helping to raise the bar even further?

Personally, I feel that I gained a great deal from my freshman year at BYU. Academically, I learned to study and work harder than ever before. I believe this helped me with the language learning I received in the MTC. By moving away from home, I learned how to care for myself, wash my own clothes, and cook for myself—if you can call Ramen and “Yellow Death” cooking. I learned to interact socially with roommates and handle conflicts. Finally, I simply had the experience to survive emotionally, away from the safety and familiar environs of the home I had lived in for the past 18 years. I strongly believe that all of this prepared me to board a plane and fly to a land 9 time zones and over 5000 miles away. But was it necessary?

My birthday falls in late January. And I was faced with a decision to either finish my freshman year at BYU, leaving on my mission in late spring, or to put my available date as my actual birthday. My mother felt that I would benefit from the additional semester at school, perhaps for many of the same reasons I’ve already mentioned. My older brother was to get home from his mission in May, and I know Mom liked the idea of having her whole family together again for a short period, perhaps a family photo or two. Regardless of her reasons, she encouraged me to choose the latter. I, however, felt excited about suiting up and serving and wanted to go as soon as I could. Ultimately, I decided to put my mission available date as my birthday. My mission call, however, assigned me to enter the MTC the following June, so I went ahead and registered for spring classes and took advantage of the time to further prepare myself to serve.

I hope that I can share the gospel with those who want to know the truth.

I want to be a missionary and serve and help the Lord while I am in my youth.

While maturity is very important, it is the desire to serve that qualifies a missionary for the work. Therefore, if ye have desires to serve God ye are called to the work; for behold the field is white already to harvest. The greatest readiness is found in the desires of a young man’s heart. But, ultimately, hoping to be ready to serve when the call comes is not enough. I believe this momentous announcement will put the fire under priesthood leaders and priest quorums to further raise the bar and prepare young men to serve, helping them to mature and grow, increasing in wisdom and stature, and in favour with God and man.

Even with a full year of growth and maturity following high school under my belt, was I ready? Not really. I certainly wasn’t as ready as I could have been. But I did have a desire to serve. And that desire to serve never waivered. Was I scared at times? Did I feel homesick? Were there difficult days? Yes, yes, and yes. Did I have the best experience of my life up to that point? One that I look back to even now with some longing to return to those distant shores? Yes and yes!

On one of my preparation days—the day each week set aside for laundry, shopping, some physical activity and sightseeing, and letters home—I sat down and penned a story that captured some feelings I’d been facing about the difficulties and joys of service and the vision that I tried to carry as my banner and Title of Liberty each day as I rose from my knees with my companion and left the apartment to go about doing good. My thoughts about the announcement yesterday and the missionary-themed talks made me think back to this story, one that I would like to share with you. I entitled my story A Day in the Shoes of a Shepherd.

*    *    *

Beep… Beep… Beep… The alarm cut through the chilly morning air. Elder Samson reached over, switched it off, and wrapped up tightly in his blanket. Allowing a frustrated grumble, he slowly sat up in bed. He peered through the darkness toward his companion, Elder Brown’s bed. Like usual, it was empty.

From the other room, he could hear a faint, “One… two… three…” His companion was doing his daily morning exercise routine.

Why can’t I be more like Elder Brown, the young missionary wondered as he had done many times before. Energetic, happy, positive… He let out a sigh, threw his pillow across the room, and stood up out of bed. Trudging to the small window, he glanced out indifferently. Across the already dark sky stretched an even darker line of clouds. Rain… miserable rain again. If only the sun might come out today, he prayerfully thought.

Elder Samson saw the clock. 6:35: Time for companionship study. ‘Oh Boy!’ he thought sarcastically. In the other room, he found Elder Brown covered in sweat, reading from the Book of Mormon.

Elder Brown glanced up, smiled, and exclaimed, “Good morning, Elder! You ready for an awesome day?”

Awesome day?!? Today would be just like yesterday and the day before and the one before that. Tracting. They hadn’t taught a discussion in over three weeks. This area had been pronounced “dead” by every missionary who had ever served here, excepting Elder Brown. The members weren’t very friendly or supportive, there weren’t any investigators, and the only new member was the 10-year old daughter of an inactive couple. Already she had joined her parents in the ranks of inactivity. Elder Samson had been a little less than thrilled to be transferred to this area a month back. And he was looking forward to the next transfers.

“Yeah,” he answered his companion with as little energy as he could muster.

“All right,” Elder Brown responded. “Let’s get started. We’re on page 118: Charity.”

As Elder Brown began reading, Elder Samson’s thoughts wandered off again. Just great! Preach My Gospel always seems to mention the topics that I’m struggling with the most. When was the last time I felt charity for these people? I pray for it; I want to love these people; but I just can’t show it. Elder Brown can. You can see it in his smile and his friendly countenance. I try to do these things too, but it all seems fake, like I don’t really mean it. Maybe I don’t…

Elder Brown finished reading the section and asked, “So what is charity, and why is it important to us as missionaries?”

Elder Samson mumbled a reply. Elder Brown jumped in, “You’re right, Elder! Charity is…” Great, thought Elder Samson. Here goes Elder Brown into one of his great sermons. Elder Samson began staring at the clock. Fifteen minutes left… His eyes felt heavy, and he started drifting off. Elder Brown noticed and said, “Let’s turn to Moroni 7. Would you read?”

Elder Samson jerked awake, grabbed his scriptures, and fumbled through the pages. The end of companionship study came none too soon for Elder Samson. They offered the morning prayer, and then he sped off to the bathroom. Maybe a nice shower would help to wake him up. The water came out brown and rusty as usual, but at least it was hot. That was one advantage to this apartment… a personal water heater. A few weeks earlier, the temperature was hovering around zero Fahrenheit. Snow had piled up everywhere. Elder Samson’s prayers for warmer weather so they could more effectively do the work had been answered. The temperature warmed up to the freezing point, and the snow turned into slush, mud, and rain. This weather was worse, and Elder Samson found himself now praying for the drier snow again. It was early February, and there was still a lot of winter left.

Why was I called to Estonia, he thought. Why not somewhere warmer like Florida or California? Then I wouldn’t have to learn this crazy language, be in this crazy weather, and try to teach these hard-hearted people. Estonia… Who’s ever heard of Estonia? I certainly hadn’t when I opened up my call. I must have slept through that geography lesson. And this language has to be the hardest one in the world… They say Finnish is harder, but I’m not sure if any language could be harder than this one. Maybe I’ll know enough by the time I go home so that I can bear my testimony in Estonian at my homecoming.

Suddenly the water began coming out cold. That brought a quick end to his shower as Elder Samson shut off the water and grabbed his towel. The pilot light must have gone off on the heater, he muttered angrily. He grabbed a tie and his shirt and began to dress, huddled close to the floor heater in the bedroom. He glanced out the window. It was still just as dark as it had been earlier. The sun usually didn’t come up, if at all, before 10:30 and would set by 3:00 in the afternoon. Just one more thing he had added to his list of complaints.

As he cinched up his favorite tie, he noticed a wonderful smell coming from the kitchen. Elder Brown must have fixed himself a nice breakfast today. As he walked in, Elder Brown asked, “Is the water warm today?”

“The pilot light went out,” Elder Samson replied.

“I’ll go start it up again,” Elder Brown said. As he left, he remembered, “Oh… Your plate is there on the counter. Sorry, but it’s probably a little cold now.”

My plate? Sure enough, there it was. He grabbed it and saw pancakes, bacon, and eggs, just the way he liked them. “Uh… Thanks!” he called down the hallway. Elder Brown was always doing things like that. Shining his shoes, making his bed, doing the dishes… And he never complained. Why can’t I be more like Elder Brown? He was loving, charitable, and happy. This was the second time today that this thought had crossed Elder Samson’s mind. Only this time his question was answered by a thought that came to mind. Why not? You could be if you wanted.

He pondered that thought for a few minutes as he forked the delicious food into his mouth. But that would be so difficult… to smile after rejections, to find good in the bad, to be charitable… Charity. The word rang in his head. He grabbed the Book of Mormon he had left on the table after companionship study, and he flipped back open to Moroni 7. “But charity is the pure love of Christ,” he read softly, “and it endureth forever; and whoso is found possessed of it at the last day, it shall be well with him.” It was obvious that charity was necessary for the work. That much he had learned. Racking his memory, he’d never once had a success in times of frustration, complaint, or anger. But one phrase struck him: the pure love of Christ. To be charitable, he must simply see people and love them through the eyes of the Savior… like he should be doing anyway… like Elder Brown already did every day.

For so long, he’d been jealous, even angry, with his “perfect” companion. His companion’s warm smile always irritated him because he knew it was so hard for he himself to smile. But the question puzzled him. If my companion’s so righteous, faithful, obedient, and charitable, why aren’t we having more success? Shouldn’t his faith and love make up for my weaker faith and love? The gentle prompting of the Spirit once again brought to his mind the thought, Maybe he is ready to experience success, but maybe you aren’t yet… but if you would both prove to me that you have faith enough to succeed and to show true love for these precious children of mine, who I truly want to lead to the truth, then your success would meet no bounds.

This powerful thought brought tears to Elder Samson’s eyes. It had never occurred to him before that he was not ready to succeed. He didn’t believe they could find investigators. Even if they did, he wouldn’t teach them out of true love. Am I an instrument in the Lord’s hands? Or is the Lord waiting for someone with more faith and charity to teach his chosen children?

His last few bites of pancake sat uneaten. Elder Samson could hear the shower starting. How could he be filled with love like Elder Brown has… like Christ has? He truly desired it for the first time in such a long time. If he could be like Elder Brown, they’d be an unstoppable team. But he’d have to first humble himself and find some way or other to develop charity. His eyes wandered back to that blue book in front of him. One phrase seemed to be bolded and bright… “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.” He had read this same spot earlier that morning. But now the meaning took on new significance.

Elder Samson fell to his knees. And he began to plead with his Father in Heaven in a sincere way that he hadn’t before done. Heavenly Father, I have sinned by being stubborn, prideful, hard-hearted… At least I understand that now. I think that’s the first step to humility, Father. I truly want to love these, thy children. They are precious. Help me to love them and see them with new eyes and a new understanding. Help me to be more like my older brother, Jesus Christ. His eyes watered as he literally pled his Heavenly Father’s mercy and help. He’d wasted so much time… The time of change was at hand, he promised himself and the Lord. One gentle thought touched him, My son… I am well pleased in your confession and change of heart.

As Elder Samson cried in joy, a clear picture came into his mind. He recognized two of the seven individuals. He and his good friend and companion, Elder Brown, stood with a family of five. And all were beautifully dressed in white. Elder Samson’s heart was filled with excitement and an overwhelming love for those people he momentarily saw. Who were those people? He didn’t recognize them. And was there such a thing as a family of five in Estonia who’d accept the gospel? Earlier today, he might have laughed at the thought. But now… His faith had taken root. He’d had a change of heart. He wouldn’t be surprised if Elder Brown had this vision every morning to give him such a drive. Elder Samson didn’t know these people, but one thing he did know. They were waiting for him to bless their lives with the gospel message. And if he didn’t have the faith to find them, another missionary would. The Lord had chosen these people. And how much of an advantage would it be to find them today and not to delay?

His companion walked into the kitchen as he climbed from his knees. Elder Brown shot him a flashy smile, not cheesy or fake, but sincere. “Elder Brown…” Elder Samson stammered. “What makes you so happy every day?”

Elder Brown looked puzzled, “With such great people as these Estonians are, what’s not to be happy about?”

Elder Samson tried to test him, “But really… Most people don’t keep their meetings, most don’t want to even say hi to us, they smoke they drink…” Elder Brown’s loving gaze stopped him.

After a moment of silence, he gently replied, “But they are children of our Heavenly Father. And I truly love them as such. They are the greatest people on Earth, and there’s some great family out there waiting to hear the gospel message… We are going to find them.” He smiled again and slipped out of the room.

So it was true. His companion’s motivation was sincere love. And just from his companion’s example, his own love was growing. He no longer looked at Elder Brown in jealousy or anger, but in admiration and respect. He actually loved his companion. Now that was a start, a beginning to this change of heart. He looked at his watch. 8:30… There was a full day ahead of him… still time to change… time to find that family in white. He felt ashamed for wasted time, but still he felt grateful for the opportunity to change. He pledged to himself that today would be different. Today, Elder Samson would spend a day in the shoes of Elder Brown… a day in the shoes of a shepherd.

But how should I start? He looked around, and his companion’s black rainy-weather boots caught his eye. He grabbed them and began to polish while practicing his discussion memorization, something he had not done for some time. He paused to look out the window into the dark morning air. Yes it was still dim, but he noticed something. There wasn’t a cloud in the darkened sky. And that meant that in about two hours he would be seeing sun. Yes! His heart rejoiced! Today would be quite the day. Hopefully it would be so good that he’d try it again tomorrow.

*   *   *

In one of my prior sermons where I shared a story I’d written, I went to the mailbag for a brief Q&A with my fans—yes I do have fans, pretend and otherwise. I thought I might try that again here. Let’s see what we have here…

Are you Elder Samson? No.

Are you Elder Brown? No.

Are these missionaries based on real people? Yes.

Companions of yours? Not exactly… You see, there’s a little bit of Elder Samson and a little bit of Elder Brown in every missionary. In some missionaries, there’s a lot of Elder Samson; and, in others, there’s a lot of Elder Brown. For me, it wasn’t just during my adjustment to a strange land, language, and people when I felt like Elder Samson. Throughout my entire mission, I experienced days when I was an Elder Samson, struggling to maintain a higher and more divine perspective on my service and struggling to rekindle a Christlike view of those I served. On days like this, it was easy to feel rejected and focus negatively on external frustrations. On the other hand, there were many days when I was able to lose myself in hard work and Christlike service, seeing my brothers and sisters of Estonia perhaps the way my Father in Heaven and my Savior see them. Those were wonderful days, the kind of days that made my mission.

I’ll take one more question… Do the names have any significance? Indeed they do. I couldn’t think of a more common, ordinary last name than Brown. I purposefully didn’t pick a notable church name, like Kimball, Young, Smith, or Edwards, that might just be perceived as a little more spiritual and righteous than another. Elder Brown could be a simple farmer from Idaho, the son of a truck driver from Wyoming, a seminary class president from Vernal, or any of 60,000 other missionary profiles. There is nothing special about this young man other than his unrelenting zeal to serve as Christ would serve, to follow in the footprints of a shepherd.

As for Elder Samson? Perhaps we all remember the jawbone-swinging, long-haired, muscle-massed judge of Israel who had a weakness for pretty eyes. With his God-given strength, Samson had such great potential! What a mighty hero he should have been! But Samson, like his gospel-preaching namesake, struggled to live up to his promise by getting caught up in the world around him and failing to appreciate his divine call. Elder Samson also had a lot of pent up strength, just waiting to be unleashed in a righteous cause. But unlike his Biblical namesake, he experienced a life-changing glimpse of his righteous potential. I hope that he made this day the pattern and the norm for those that were to follow through the duration of his two-year service.

Last night, President Monson pleaded with every man of the priesthood to suit up and lace up the shoes of the shepherd. He said, “There are countless individuals, who have little or no testimony right now, who could and would receive such a testimony if we would be willing to make the effort to share ours and to help them change. We must develop the capacity to see men, not as they are at present, but as they may become when they receive testimonies of the gospel of Christ.”

I believe that Elder Brown has to place a special order for his unique eyeglasses prescription that allows him to see men in this way. Although Elder Brown may be a fictional character from my mind, he is based upon the lives of many who have suited up and placed the black name tag over their left breast. President Monson shared the following story in his talk last night.

“Back in the year 1961… N. Eldon Tanner, who was then an assistant to the quorum of the twelve, had just returned from his initial experience presiding over the missions of Great Britain and Western Europe. He told of a missionary who had been the most successful missionary whom he met in all of the interviews he conducted. He said that, as he interviewed that missionary, he said to him, “I suppose that all of the people whom you have baptized came into the church by way of referrals.” The young man answered, “No. We found them all by tracting.”

Brother Tanner asked him what was different about his approach, why he had such phenomenal success when others didn’t. The young man said that he had attempted to baptize every person whom he met. He said if he knocked on the door and saw a man smoking a cigar and dressed in old clothes and seemingly disinterested in anything, particularly religion, the missionary would picture in his own mind what that man would look like under a different set of circumstances. In his mind, he would look at him as clean-shaven, wearing a white shirt and white trousers, and the missionary could see himself leading that man into the waters of baptism. He said, “When I look at someone that way, I have the capacity to bear my testimony to him in a way that can touch his heart.”

We have the responsibility to look at our friends, our associates, our neighbors, this way. Again, we have the responsibility to see individuals, not as they are, but rather as they can become. I would plead with you to think of them in this way.”

Given Laudie genes, my younger brothers might need till their nineteenth birthdays—like I did—to grow that foot or two before there time to serve comes. But if they choose, and their bishop feels they are ready and worthy, to serve when they are still eighteen, I have every confidence that they will be like Elder Brown and this baptizing missionary from 1961. They will be able to serve as Christ would serve, to proudly wear His wonderful name upon their chests, and to proudly don those shiny, black shoes of the shepherd as they walk those spiritual paths that He trod during His mortal ministry and after, doing His work in His way.

But President Monson’s call came to each and every one of us who bear the Holy Priesthood of our God.

“Brethren, to each of us comes the mandate to share the gospel of Christ. When one lives in compliance with God’s own standard, those in our sphere of influence will never speak a lament. The harvest is vast. The summer is ended. We are not safe. The perfect shepherd of souls, the missionary who redeemed mankind, gave us his divine assurance. ‘If it so be that ye should labor all your days in crying repentance unto this people and bring but one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy with him in the kingdom of my father…’

I pray that we will have the courage to extend the hand of fellowship; the tenacity to try, and try, and try again; and the humility needed to seek guidance from our father as we fulfill our mandate to share the gospel. The responsibility is upon us brethren.”

President Monson, I hear your call. I understand the powerful lesson you are teaching. It applies to each of us, not only in our missionary efforts but also in our gospel service as home teachers, fathers, husbands, and brothers of our fellow men. We need to do a little less judging of our brothers and sisters and a little more loving of them regardless of their outward or inward appearance. We may not wear shiny, black shoes each day as we go to school, to work, to the store, or to the gym. But whether we wear Doc Martens, Sketchers, red polka-dot stilettos, Old Navy flip-flops, slippers, ratty sneakers from DI, or even go barefoot, ours is the opportunity to walk a day in the shoes of the shepherd, doing His work in His way, loving His children in His way.

And those, whose lives we influence for good, will look upon our feet as they would Christ’s in joyous gratitude, “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace; that bringeth good tidings of good, that publisheth salvation; that saith unto Zion, Thy God reigneth!”

God bless you as you join me in lacing up and answering the call. Shall we not go on in so great a cause? Come, help the good work move along; put your shoulder to the wheel! We are all enlisted till the conflict is o’er; happy are we! Happy are we! Who’s on the Lord’s side? Who? Now is the time to show! Hope of Israel, rise in might with the sword of truth and right. O youth of the noble birthright, carry on, carry on, carry on! Go forth with hope and courage strong to spread the word abroad that people of all nations are children of our God! God our strength will be; press forward ever, called to serve our King!