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!

Hero of Heroes (Special Extended Edition)

This is a re-release of one of my favorite posts. And truth be told, there is actually nothing extended about this edition. In fact, this is a condensed version of the original. My posts have varied in length. The podcast audio versions range anywhere from 22 minutes (this one--my shortest) to almost 50 minutes (Surgeon of Surgeons--although that one is also one of my favorites, the sheer length has scared away most would-be listeners).

But this re-release truly is a special edition. Why? Because this edition captures the essence of what I was trying to communicate better than any other medium. Why? Because it incorporates not only the audio from the movies that inspired me but the video as well. True, I had to cut down the length a bit to make a video people would actually sit through--that and YouTube has a 15 minute limit on uploaded videos. As I tried to get my message down to bare bones, I was still sitting at about 16 minutes without seeing anywhere else I could cut without robbing my message of its core. Lucky for me, I found out that YouTube accounts in good standing can apply for a time limit increase which let me keep this version intact.

I hope you enjoy watching this as much as I enjoyed making it. Jesus Christ truly is my Superman. I know that it is only through Him that I can return to my Heavenly home once more. Yes, he expects me to do my part; but without Him I might never get more than ten feet off the ground. And so I again thank my Hero for His endless patience, His matchless mercy, and His infinite goodness in carrying me when I cannot carry myself and for taking me where I cannot take myself. Here is one natural man who knows that he needs saving and hopes that He can be worthy of that saving but ultimately knows that nothing he can do will ever be able to earn or serve as repayment for that amazing act of grace. How sweet the sound!

Of You it is Required

This is the country: The United States of America. It’s a country of crime. Nearly three hundred and twelve million people live here. Eighteen percent of them are between the ages of five and sixteen. Sometimes one of these children is hurt and offended. That’s when I go to work. I carry a grudge.

My name is Laudie—I’m not a cop. The stories you are about to hear are true. The names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent.

October 3, 1986, Blue Springs, Missouri – Marcus O’Mally, otherwise known as “The Totter Trotter”, struck again at the local school playground. His unwitting victim? Little Michael Laudie, a newcomer onto the playground scene. Adolescent eyewitnesses, who had already taken turns being conned by the Totter Trot, anxiously stood by watching as little Michael climbed aboard the teeter-totter opposite The Trotter. Michael pushed high, The Trotter went low. The Trotter held low for a moment before his infamous Trot. Michael came crashing down on that wooden seat and the iron bar underneath. As the other children snickered, Michael rubbed his bruised tailbone and ran off in shame. The Trotter has yet to be brought into custody where it is anticipated that he will repay his debt to the kindergarten society.

November 3, 1987, Olathe, Kansas – After 10 minutes of wrongful incarceration along “The Wall” during 2nd recess, Michael Laudie, 1st grade, Mrs. Young’s class, tearfully asserted once more his innocence in the incident at the spiral slide. Miss Wilhelm, the head of the Black Bob playground police, provided the following statement: “We are deeply troubled by today’s misunderstanding at the slide. We pride ourselves with our impartial execution of justice in maintaining peace and order during recess. Our attendant on duty witnessed a skirmish on the slide stairs, approximately 10 steps up. To her, it appeared that Michael, in an attempt to cut in line, was elbowing past Andrew Chipman. A whistle was blown, the punishment was carried out, and Michael, a first-time offender, was sentenced to spend the duration of recess at The Wall. The boy was mortified with shame and refused to speak with anyone about the incident. A classmate, who wishes to remain anonymous, blew the whistle on the other boy, who as it turns out had been the one guilty of the line-cutting. Incidentally, Andrew had scaled the outer side of the staircase, passing 3 other protesting children, including the eventual whistleblower, and hopped over the railing in front of the wrongly accused boy, who attempted to defend his position in line with an elbow or two. Though we are upset about today’s wrongful incarceration, we will continue to prosecute playground misconduct and uphold a standard of order fitting of our recreational facilities.” Independent reporters have confirmed that Michael and Andrew were friends prior to the slide squabble. Eyewitnesses report seeing Michael tearfully remove a friendship bracelet from his wrist as he returned to the classroom following recess.

February 15, 1989, Olathe, Kansas – Ms. Higgins, 3rd grade, filed an inquiry today with the Briarwood administration regarding a lunchroom incident involving two of her students, including Michael, who reportedly failed to observe the mandatory quiet time after eating lunch, prior to lining up for recess. Excessive lunchtime rowdiness and other infractions such as this, when the lunchroom lights are dimmed and children are required to silently put their heads down on folded arms, are punished by sending the offender to the “Quiet Table” where the child will be isolated from all other students and inmates for both the remainder of lunch and the following recess break. The offender is required to return to the Quiet Table the following day to complete his or her sentence. Where there are several regulars at the Quiet Table, Michael was a first-time visitor who pulled up his jacket hood in shame so that none of his peers would recognize him. Ms. Higgins’ inquiry provided further details that were unnoticed by the lunchroom attendant on duty who had caught the boy frantically whispering to another boy sitting across from him. Higgins claims that the other boy, Jason Whistler, also one of her students, had goaded Michael out of silence by stealing his lunch box when the lights were dimmed and taunting Michael with the stolen goods. Michael purportedly demanded it back through upset whispers and was caught “red lipped” in the act. Higgens’ petition does not propose any punitive action against Whistler but requests relief for the shamed boy who, she feels, does not need to spend a second day at the Quiet Table. Her petition notes that these boys are close friends who associate with each other both in and out of the classroom, and she fears that this friendship may be damaged by today’s misunderstanding. She hopes that a reduced sentence might help to preserve the relationship. The principal, who will have the ultimate privilege of granting a stay of the sentence should the appeal fail, was unavailable for comment.

July 10, 2002, Provo, UT – An adult, male truck driver, age 42, who was driving south on University Avenue near Lavell Edwards Stadium…

**********

Actually, we better stop now before I share too many of these experiences and lose my resolve to do what I’m about to do. My name is Laudie… As I said before, I carry a grudge. The stories you’ve just heard are true. And, though the names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent, I have not forgotten the real names of those individuals. And, until now, I’ve refused to let go of those names and the slighted feelings and grudges I’ve harbored against them for upwards of twenty-five years.

Though I’ve only shared three stories, I could have continued to finish a 4th, and a 5th, and probably many others. These cases are not “unsolved mysteries”, but rather are “unresolved mysteries”. For years, I’ve hung onto these memories. But today I find myself asking, why? If I were to run into one of these boys from my distant past tomorrow, what would I say? I have not thought on these memories every day since thy occurred, but I’ve thought on them enough to remember names, places, and other details. I’ve used these memories to illustrate, though in jest, my long memory and my begrudging vindictiveness to others when reminiscing about the past. But, again I ask myself, why? If these mysteries are “unresolved”, what resolution do I hope for? Though I bear a few small emotional scars, no lasting damage was done. The shame I felt was not lasting. Those experiences did not define or shape me for the worse. So why hang on?

I’d like to believe that I’m not the only man in history who has ever held onto a petty grudge or felt victimized when no heart-felt offense was truly intended. In fact, I have it on pretty good scriptural authority that I’m not the only one. That is, unless the Lord saw fit to inspire countless verses of holy writ related to the doctrine of forgiveness solely for my benefit. I guess I’m also pretty good at teaching the principle of forgiveness to others by giving plenty of cause for it, so perhaps these scriptures were inspired primarily thanks to me after all.

In our dispensation, Christ gave us a glimpse into the sufferings he endured for us as a part of His atoning sacrifice, “…how sore you know not, how exquisite you know not, how hard to bear you know not. For behold, I, God, have suffered these things for all, that they might not suffer if they would repent. But if they would not repent they must suffer even as I; which suffering caused myself, even God, the greatest of all, to tremble because of pain, and to bleed at every pore, and to suffer both body and spirit – and would that I might not drink the bitter cup…” During his mortal ministry, Christ gave a powerful sermon from a mount where he taught, “Blessed are the merciful for they shall obtain mercy.” In that same sermon, Christ provided an example of prayer with the following, “Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.”

Can you see the pattern in these three gems? In effect, Christ is teaching us the Law of the Harvest as it applies to His Atonement. We sow what we reap… or we grow what we plant. Plant an apple seed and grow an apple tree. Sow lettuce plants and reap salad. Show mercy and be shown mercy. Forgive others and be forgiven of God. Repent of your sins and have them removed… or don’t repent and suffer as Christ suffered.

The principle is simple. You might say it’s “golden”. Do unto others as you’d have them do unto you… or more importantly: do unto others as you’d have Christ do unto you. Now contrast that with Christ’s parable of a servant who was forgiven his debt of 10,000 talents but turned around and had another man thrown into debtors’ prison for failing to repay a loan of 100 pence to this forgiven debtor. Now I don’t know the monetary relationship between one talent and one pence, but whether the two sums might relate as $10,000 to $1 or $10,000 to $100, the hypocrisy remains and Christ’s teaching is clear. If we wish to be forgiven, we must be willing to forgive others.

Now this parable implies a conditional relationship between our willingness to forgive others and Christ’s promise to forgive us. However, Christ made our obligation with respect to forgiving others a little more clear in both ancient scripture and modern revelation. In response to Peter’s question Christ replied that we should forgive our brothers till seventy times seven times. In another one of my Sermons of the Heart, I explored scriptural symbols including numbers and found that the number seven represented perfection or completeness. So Christ’s answer implies that we must completely forgive our brothers their trespasses against us each and every time we find ourselves the victim of injustice or any other form of sin. To this end, Christ directed through the prophet Joseph Smith, “I, the Lord, will forgive whom I will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men.” In other words, the conditional aspect of forgiveness remains with Christ in regards to our trespasses against Him. We, however, are commanded and required to forgive all men.

I’ll be honest. There are times where that just doesn’t seem fair. Shouldn’t I be able to take some time before being willing to forgive someone who has greatly wronged me? Even more so than the playground and lunchroom bullies of my past? Eventually I will need to become more like Christ and forgive all men their trespasses against me, but that should be between them and me, right? And shouldn’t they have to earn my forgiveness rather than have it freely given without any merit because of Christ’s command to me?

According to Christ? No. And according to many saints living today and in the past who are much more Christ like than me? No. Take for example a humble and devout group of Amish men and women whose community was ravaged by a violent unprovoked shooting of 10 schoolgirls. The gunman, a quiet milkman who had suddenly lost all reason and control, took his own life in the act. Rather than harboring bitterness toward God or toward the man who had violated their peaceful lives, these humble men and women rallied to the family of the milkman. Not only did this people extend their sympathy, their forgiveness, their help, and their love to this family, but over half of the mourners at the shooter’s funeral were Amish and the milkman’s family in turn was invited to the funeral services of the victimized girls. One of the Amish mourners said, “We were all speaking the same language, and not just English, but a language of caring, a language of community, [and] a language of service. And, yes, a language of forgiveness.” The family of the milkman, in response, said the following, "To our Amish friends, neighbors, and local community: Our family wants each of you to know that we are overwhelmed by the forgiveness, grace, and mercy that you've extended to us. Your love for our family has helped to provide the healing we so desperately need. The prayers, flowers, cards, and gifts you've given have touched our hearts in a way no words can describe. Your compassion has reached beyond our family, beyond our community, and is changing our world, and for this we sincerely thank you.”

Take for another example a 44-year old woman who was more interested in salvaging the life of her 19-year-old assailant than in seeking revenge. This young aggressor, along with his buddies, had stolen a credit card for entertainment one evening, purchased a frozen turkey, and thrown the 20-pound fowl from a speeding car into the windshield of an oncoming car. The victim underwent hours of surgery to reconstruct her face and still faced years of ongoing therapy before fully recovering from the senseless act. The woman’s response? She pestered prosecutors for information about the boy and his background. She insisted that the boy be offered a plea deal, turning a probable 25 year prison sentence into 6 months and several years probation allowing the boy the prospect of a real and reformed future. In the courtroom, tears and a heartfelt hug were exchanged between the victim and the accused. The woman was heard to say, “It’s OK. I just want you to make your life the best it can be.”

This brings to mind and to heart the Christ like mercy and kindness shown by a man of God to a dirty thief and fugitive in Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables. After being caught with stolen candlesticks and promptly being forgiven and gifted the valuable goods, the escaped prisoner asks, “Why are you doing this?” The priest answers, “Jean Valjean my brother you no longer belong to evil. With this silver, I have bought your soul. I've ransomed you from fear and hatred, and now I give you back to God.”

What is the power of forgiveness in the lives of those that stand accused? And what is the power of forgiveness in the life of him who would accuse? I recently heard that forgiveness is choosing to not hold something against someone to their detriment. In other words, forgiveness enables the victim to let go of any feelings of bitterness or need for vengeance. This does not mean that justice is not sought. Justice is a necessary eternal principle, as is mercy. The victim, however, chooses to leave the question of justice or mercy in the hands of the judge. Our Eternal Judge will forgive whom He will forgive. We are simply asked to forgive and leave the eternal forgiving to Him. And what freedom can we, as a forgiver, feel when we unload our backpacks of those heavy rocks, those grudges and bitter feelings? What freedom can we, as one forgiven, feel when Christ unloads our backpacks of those sins and misdeeds that require His loving forgiveness?

I believe that there are those who would follow Christ’s counsel and injunction regarding forgiveness who often confuse forgiveness and trust. Forgiving another is not the same as restoring trust in another.

Take a simple scenario for example: A neighbor is asked to babysit my child. The neighbor is distracted by a television program. My son wanders off and gets lost outside. The neighborhood searches for my boy for some time before finding him. My wife is shaken up by the whole incident. I choose not to press charges or file a report. I hug my neighbor and assure her that she is completely forgiven. I also choose to not employ her services as a babysitter anymore. She is confused. But you forgave me! Why won’t you let me babysit your child again?

The reason? This neighbor has not regained my trust. She does not have to earn my forgiveness. I chose to no longer harbor any bitterness or hostility toward her for her negligence. But I did not forget her negligence. I remember this and don’t trust her with my child. She may regain my trust in the future, but she will have to earn this. And my lack of trust in her does not make me any less Christ like.

In my case, I can choose to not get on the teeter-totter with the Trotter again. I can choose to sit by someone else at lunch who might not take my lunchbox. But I can still be friends with those boys by letting go of the bitterness, the need for retaliation or justice, and the feelings of victimization. The oft-used expression forgive and forget carries both truth and fallacy. In forgiving and letting go, we forget these feelings of bitterness. But we don’t have to forget the lessons learned that might enable us to create boundaries, protecting us and our families from future hurt until trust is restored. These boundaries should not be walls distancing ourselves from those we’ve “forgiven”. But healthy boundaries are those guidelines and standards we employ to allow us to maintain friendships and associations with those we’ve forgiven while creating an environment where trust can be fostered once more.

The Lord, however, will truly forget our trespasses against Him. We may need to regain His trust. But His perfect forgiveness carries the promise that “he who has repented of his sins, the same is forgiven, and I, the Lord, remember them no more.” Where Christ may forget our misdeeds, we, for good cause, do not always forget them. We remember the pain we have caused Christ, those we’ve hurt, and our very own selves so that we can strive to not repeat our misdeeds.

But where forgiveness does not require forgetting, where forgiveness does not require future trust, forgiveness does require letting go, not holding anything against anyone to their detriment, and not dredging up past sins at some future point when being victimized again.

Forgiveness is a language of love. It is the language of Christ. Some argue that Mandarin Chinese, Finish, Navajo, Russian, and many others are among the most difficult languages of this world to learn. I learned to speak and write Estonian. And it was difficult. But the language of forgiveness is both the most difficult and the easiest to learn of all languages. I’m not close to being fluent. But they say the best way to learn a language is to open up your mouth and speak it.

And so, to Marcus, to Andrew, to Jason, and to many other name-changed, not-so-innocent brothers and sisters from my past with whom I carry grudges today, no matter how petty or small, I want to say that I’m ready to hand in my badge and retire from the force. I have learned from my past. I will continue to learn from my experiences, both positive and negative. But I will let go of grudges and be more forgiving, more like my elder brother. I love you. I hope the best for you both in this life and in the next. Just don’t ask me to sit on a teeter-totter with you unless you really want to ride.

My name is Laudie – I’m a son of God and a striving exemplar of my Savior. I no longer carry a grudge.

Be Thou Humble

I can't understand it. I have accomplished so much in just over 30 short years. Though I wasn't high school valedictorian, I was "Star of the Week" in 1st grade, 2nd grade, 3rd grade, and 5th grade. Though I didn't make the cut for the football team, I set an All-Ward record for the most “Mississippi’s” counted out loud by a defensive back in a Turkey Bowl—and, yes, Mississippi’s are more impressive than actual sacks. I even played a round of golf and managed to keep the same ball for all 18 holes while navigating past three water hazards.

In high school, rather than being voted for something superfluous like Best Smile, Best Hair, or even Most Likely to end up on a cover of Time Magazine, and though I didn’t get the highly coveted distinction of Most Likely to Succeed, I was voted Most Likely to be driving around a Minivan full of kids in 5 Years. Honestly, that’s a pretty tall order for any high school graduate, let alone a guy with plans to serve a two-year mission. But six months ago we finally purchased our first minivan. Even though it took me 12 years instead of 5, I consider that purchase a smashing success! So, let’s be honest… who really was Most Likely to Succeed?

I beat the game The Legend of Zelda in 2 hours and 15 minutes. I’ve watched every episode of Lost, Prison Break, and Arrested Development, and I’m well on my way to completing The Cosby Show, Magyver, and Cheers. Four of my videos have the distinguished honor of being shown on YouTube, and my channel has one follower. Speaking of followers, I have over 100 Facebook friends and nearly 200 connections on LinkedIn.

Given my decorated past, I can't understand why the biographers aren't climbing over one another for the chance to write me up. That's okay, here's one budding writer who doesn't mind putting on his autobiographer cap for this month's heart-sermoned gem. Where to begin?... Where to begin? Let’s see…

Chapter One

I walk down the street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I fall in.

I am lost… I am helpless.

It isn’t my fault.

It takes forever to find a way out.

Chapter Two

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I pretend I don’t see it.

I fall in again.

I can’t believe I am in the same place.

But it isn’t my fault.

It still takes a long time to get out.

Chapter Three

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I see it is there.

I still fall in… it’s a habit.

My eyes are open.

I know where I am.

It is my fault.

I get out immediately.

Chapter Four

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I walk around it.

Chapter Five

I walk down another street.

I think that about sums things up… short, concise, and a perfect summary of my life. And only 157 words! Now this fact should be a red flag to those of you familiar with my Sermons of the Heart. As you know, I tend to be wordy. A quick statistical analysis of my Sermons would result in an average of over 4400 words per topic. My college admissions essays were a nightmare to write—not because of the 1000 word requirement, but because of the 1000 word limit.

On the topic of limits, Lindsey has officially limited me to one page (front and back) for my annual Christmas letter—and I’m not allowed to take too many liberties with margins and fonts, the minimum font size being a 10pt Arial. She has promised to reconsider these restrictions if we ever have more than six kids, but she’s also informed me that there’s no way in purgatory that we’re having more than six children. So unless God blesses us with quadruplets, I’m stuck to that one page. And having a little more literary breathing room is not worth the cost of having to change four stinky diapers at the same time—let alone the monetary considerations of said diapers. Lucky for me, Lindsey has no jurisdiction in the world of my blog, and I can muse and ramble all I want!

If you’ve seen the movie Contact, you might have caught this great line about government spending. Says one character, “First rule in government spending: why build one when you can have two at twice the price?” I think there are a few politicians in Washington who subscribe to this line of thinking (see my Sermon to Uncle Sam). My personal mantra has nothing to do with government spending but follows the same logic, “Why say something in ten words when you can use one hundred to say the exact same thing, only in a slightly wittier and more creative way?”

So, given my wordiness (for example, the 283 words I’ve just used to explain my tendency to be wordy), you’ve surely worked out that there is nothing auto about this 157 word autobiography. This beautiful piece, however, is entitled An Autobiography in 5 Short Chapters, written by Portia Nelson. But I still contend that Ms Nelson was in fact writing a biography about me in 5 short chapters. As I said before, this biography represents a perfect summary of my life… perfect in so far as the first two or three chapters are concerned. By the end of my decorated life, I hope to live up to the final two or three chapters.

Now on the surface, this story of mine might evoke mixed reactions:

• The spend-happy politician in Washington would simply respond, “Sounds like we need to redirect a few million in Stimulus funds to take care of a few potholes. Heck! While we’re at it, let’s spend a few billion more to rip out the road and replace it with a bridge to nowhere!” 
• The sue-happy lawyer? “Do you have representation? If you’ll come see my doctor, I bet he can find some other bodily or emotional injuries beyond that skinned knee…” 
• My wife? “What a dork! Get out of the hole and find another road!”
• You? I don’t know you well enough yet to put words into your mouth, but if you’re still with me 1000 words into a possible 4400 (although I promise to try to keep things shorter this time), I’m betting you might also be able to relate to Portia’s supposed autobiography if you take a deep enough look at yourself.

This autobiography can apply to anyone who has ever struggled with sin, bad habits, addictions, or even failed in achieving a New Year’s resolution. The reality is that we are all creatures of habit. No matter how hard we try to seek change, we often find ourselves once again mired in the morasses of our past—those deep holes and pits that are so black and frightening—the ones we worked so hard to free ourselves from before. And yet, whether out of habit or laziness, a seemingly cruel twist of fate, or a blatant decision to return to the pits of our past, we find ourselves becoming far too acquainted with the environs of that deep black hole.

I’ll be honest. My autobiography would likely have comprised more than just 5 short chapters. Without changing the contents of chapters one and two, I might republish both chapters a few dozen times each in my autobiography to more accurately depict my life story. If there were a simple solution to instantly repair all the pits in the roads of my life, I would immediately spend any sum of money to order that As Seen on TV miracle product. I think Barbara Barrington Jones understands my sentiment in her book Feeling Great, Doing Right, Hanging Tough:

“‘Ladies over 1000 pounds, are you fat? Are you taller lying down than standing up? Do people gather on your shady side? When you come on the scene, does the scene disappear? Is your dress size junior missile? Were you born on the 8th, 9th, and 10th of March? When you step on the dog’s tail, do they have to call him beaver? When you sit down, is the person sitting next to you, you? If so, you need the new, amazing Flab-off. Just $4.98. Act now!’

“We all have seen familiar ads in newspapers and magazines. ‘Watch your eyelashes grow overnight!’ ‘For longer, thicker hair, just send $7.95.’

“At times all of us wish we could send off for pills, creams, and charms that would change everything bad in our lives. But it is not that simple. If something sounds too easy and effortless to be true, it probably is. The price we have to pay to reach our positive goals has very little to do with money. We must be willing to… sacrifice and work hard to obtain the results we’re after.”

Isn’t that profound? The truth is that money cannot be used to buy our positive goals. There is something of much greater worth that must be sacrificed if we wish to obtain the results we’re after in life.

A few months ago, I needed the new, amazing Flab-off. I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I was 50 lbs overweight, thanks to a snack pantry at work and a year or two of unaccountability to a bathroom scale. With the holidays last December, I added to the damage and thoroughly overindulged on everything within eyesight that listed glucose, fructose, or sucrose as an ingredient. In the afterglow of my sugar-induced high, New Year’s Eve dawned and I took pen and paper in hand to write out my resolutions. I didn’t have to look in a mirror or step on a scale to know that I had some weight to lose. On the other hand, I didn’t want to join the rest of the world in setting a weight loss resolution that I would likely break when I could focus on areas of greater spiritual and emotional significance in my life. Besides, my birthday was a month off, and I am the king of getting birthday freebies. If I was going to diet, I’d have to wait until after my month-long birthday freebie jubilation.

So what happened? I deliberately avoided my bathroom scale, feeling that I didn’t have to be accountable for an overweight problem as long as I couldn’t quantify exactly how overweight I was. February 1st came and went, and my well-meant intentions of beginning the diet then were forgotten. By then, all of my other New Year’s resolutions were broken or in the process of being broken. I’m awful. I’d like to say I’m a chick magnet, but I’d more truthfully call myself a pit magnet. But I eventually did find my way out of that particular pit, even if it did take a long time.

Some friends at work initiated a Biggest Loser competition later that month. Given an external stimulus, the possibility of a prize, I sucked in my pride and my fear and I stepped on that scale. What I saw was pretty scary! I knew that I was heavier than I’d ever been before, but what I saw came as a surprise when I finally created some accountability for myself. Indeed, the first step of repentance is to admit you have a problem, to recognize where you might be wrong or misguided in your thoughts and actions. As the Savior described so well in the case of the Prodigal Son, I came to myself when I stepped on that scale. My vision was clear. My goal could now be defined.

But I’ve been here before. I recognize this deep hole. How am I going to get out and stay out? I once heard that you can form a good habit in 21 days. Where I do believe that consistent activity over a 21 day period can go a long way to rewiring our behavior, the reality is that some habits take much longer to form. And the other somber reality is that, where a good behavior can be painstakingly formed over days and days of diligence and, as J.K. Rowling’s Professor Moody would say, constant vigilance, that same habit can be broken in a single day. Just like that, you can find yourself back in the pit. This is true whether you don’t see the hole in the first place, whether you pretend it’s not there, or whether you try so hard to avoid in that falling in becomes inevitable.

In my case, overshooting 21 days, I set up a four month weight-loss program, complete with calorie counting, fruits and vegetables, a household ban on sugar, daily exercise, and, most importantly, accountability. I turned down seconds at dinner. I refused sugary treats when offered. I even froze the cinnamon roll I received for Father’s Day at church, hoping it would still taste delicious a month later—it did! Above all this, I stepped on that scale daily. I tracked my progress. I felt joy in my success. And I did everything in my power to hit my goal of 50 lbs, ultimately not caring whether that goal would earn me a prize in the work contest or not. I didn’t lose 50 lbs in the four months… I lost 55. And, thanks to my workout regimen, I was more physically fit than I’ve ever been in my adult life.

At the end of the four months, I raided my freezer for that cinnamon roll, I ate my first peanut butter sandwich in months, and I eased up on the exercise for a bit. Today, I’m asking myself if I’m on a collision course with another pit. I haven’t had to loosen my belt, but my future relationship with my bathroom scale is yet to be determined. Given my history with pits, it is crucial that I maintain accountability and ultimately find another street to walk down.

Superman’s weakness was Kryptonite. Achilles had that gimpy heel. Sampson couldn’t handle a haircut. I wish I could limit my weakness to just one tangible thing like an oddly colored rock, a body part, a color, or the mispronunciation of my last name. Unfortunately, my weaknesses are many and are not that easily defined. I may have a tendency to overindulge in scrumdiddlyumptious foods, but that is far from my greatest weakness. I wouldn’t last three seconds in the ring with the devious Lex Luthor or the cunningly beautiful Delilah.

There are days when I’m sitting at the bottom of one of my deep pits and crying out to my Father in Heaven—as perhaps you have—as certainly other, more righteous souls less prone to my personal weaknesses have. Perhaps you recognize their, and my, words, “Why?!? Why am I so weak? And why should I yield to sin because of my flesh? Yea, why should I give way to temptations that the evil one have place in my heart to destroy my peace and afflict my soul? Why am I angry because of mine enemy? Where art thou? And where is the pavilion that covereth thy hiding place? How long shall thy hand be stayed, and thine eye, yea thy pure eye, behold from the eternal heavens the trials and temptations of thy servent?”

If I listen carefully enough there in those pits of my fears and human weakness, I might hear the response of my Father through the gentle reminders of the Holy Spirit directing me to words of comfort that you might also recognize.

“My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment; And then, if thou endure it well, God shall exalt thee on high.”

“And if thou shouldst be cast into the pit… if thou be cast into the deep… if the billowing surge conspire against theee; if fierce winds become thine enemy; if the heavens gather blackness, and all the elements combine to hedge up the way; and above all, if the very jaws of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good.”

“In a little wrath I hid my face from thee for a moment; but with everlasting kindness will I have mercy on thee… For the mountains shall depart, and the hills be removed; but my kindness shall not depart from thee, neither shall the covenant of my peace be removed.”

“There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man; but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.”

“And he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities.”

“In every condition, in sickness, in health, in poverty’s vale or abounding in wealth, at home or abroad, on the land or the sea, as thy days may demand, so thy succor shall be. When through fiery trials thy pathway shall lie, my grace, all sufficient, shall be thy supply. The flame shall not hurt thee; I only design thy dross to consume and thy gold to refine. Fear not, I am with thee, oh be not dismayed! For 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.”

I could go on. But there are two verses of scripture that provide the greatest comfort to me when I find myself in the pits of my soul and when I find myself looking for other pit-free streets. First, said Paul, “My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ’s sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong.”

Is Paul crazy? He glories in his weaknesses? He’s not only mining for Kryptonite but he’s handing it out to his enemies! Why? Because Paul has learned firsthand, perhaps through the experiences chronicled in his autobiography of 5 short chapters, that the experience of falling into pits, clawing his way out, falling in again, and learning to find other temptation-free roads provides a hands-on lesson on the Atonement of our Lord, on grace, and on the power of redemption through Christ. It is through Paul’s weaknesses that he finds his greatest strengths.

The prophet Mormon further explained this principle in the other verse of scripture that provides comfort to me in the pits of my life. Said the Lord through Mormon, “And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.”

Here is this same notion that weaknesses evolve into strengths. Now I’ve read this scripture many times over many years since I was a young man. But until facing some of the pit-filled streets I’ve travelled in my adult life, I did not understand the doctrine and the principle behind these words. When I first memorized this verse, the simple takeaway was that God gives us weaknesses to strengthen us. However, where this may partially be true, the doctrine presented here teaches something quite different.

Why does God give men, and women, weakness? So that we may be humble. Not so that we can be strong. So that we may be humble. Now I don’t play chess. At least, I don’t play chess well. But if I’m playing somebody even worse than me, I don’t play for a quick checkmate. Once I’ve crippled my opponent by taking his queen, I will proceed to take out the bishops, the rooks, the knights, and each and every pawn before making the opposing king squirm about hopelessly before eventually surrendering. That’s humiliation, right? That’s forcing the weaker competitor to be humble, right? Is that what God is going for when He says that He gives us weakness to humble us?

What is humility? Sitting at the bottom of a deep, dark pit, the humility I’m feeling could well be described with words such as shame, worthless, guilt, hopeless, helpless, wretched, sinful, weak, unable, afraid. Indeed, the scriptures often refer to the homeless, the penniless, the poor, and the destitute as the humble. That means that if God wants me to be humble, he is taking out my queen, my pawns, and every other defense I have so that I will ultimately have nothing and be forced to my knees to grovel at his feet, feeling a sense of the nothingness that Moses felt after being shown the whole of creation, right?

Somehow, I can’t see this as the driving force behind a loving Heavenly Father who told us that everything He does, His work and His glory, is to bring to pass the immortality and Eternal Life of each of His children, including me. In fact, this worthless, hopeless definition of humility seems more like the way that Satan would have me view myself.

So, again, what is humility? What is this thing that God wants me to achieve so badly that He places horrible deep holes and pits in the roads of my life that are at times so difficult to avoid and escape? Recently, I was in a lesson where humility was defined as an honest assessment of oneself. In other words, the truly humble man will see himself as he truly is, or as God sees him. This humble man will recognize both his weaknesses and his strengths. He will not think he is better than his peers because of his strengths, but he will recognize them nonetheless and will praise God for those good things about him and seek to use them for righteous purposes even as he calls on God for help and grace in tackling those character weaknesses that beset him.

In returning from a mission where he was instrumental in bringing many souls to God, the humble Ammon said, “I do not boast in my own strength, nor in my own wisdom; but behold my joy is full, yea, my heart is brim with joy, and I will rejoice in my God. Yea, I know that I am nothing; as to my strength I am weak; therefore I will not boast of myself, but I will boast of my God, for in his strength I can do all things!”

There is nothing wrong with feeling joy in our strengths when God uses them to further His work and His glory. There is nothing wrong with boasting of our God and His goodness or feeling that we can do anything and everything through Him that so loves us. The problem arises when we forget that it is through Him that we are able to do all things. The problem arises when we begin to contrast ourselves to others and to allow ourselves to judge others in relation to us.

I will never volunteer myself to play a violin solo in church, but I am happy to do so when called upon. I have been blessed with a musical talent. I play well. I am not a concert violinist. I am not a professional. However, I do play better than many other violinists I’ve encountered. I struggle to play highly technical classical symphonies and must practice a great deal to learn a part. On the other hand, I can usually sight read the music I would play in church and need little or no practice to be able to play a beautiful, Spirit-inviting hymn.

In comparing myself to other violinists as I have done here, I am not feeling any pride. This is simply an honest assessment of my abilities. I know where my talent has come from. I know how God would have me use it. I try to maintain my abilities by playing regularly in various groups. This is my humble view of a wonderful talent that God has given me.

Now let’s rewind to a Sunday of the past when I played in church and when I didn’t quite understand humility. The hymn I played was especially meaningful to me. As I was playing, I shut my eyes, and I thought the words of the hymn. I felt the Spirit so strongly that it came as a surprise when I finished because it didn’t even feel like I’d been playing. This had been a special experience, and I knew that the Lord had especially blessed my talents that day. As I packed up my instrument and went to Sunday School, I wanted others from the congregation to tell me how they felt about the number. I wanted to hear that the experience had been special for them, too. And I was approached by several. However my response to one sister, who told me that my playing was absolutely beautiful, was, “Oh, it was nothing. I missed a note or two, and I’m not that good, but I’m glad you appreciated it.”

My response to the others was similar. I was trying to be humble. But in my attempt to be humble, I was downplaying what the Spirit had gifted to me and the congregation that day. I was denying my talent and, in so doing, was chasing away that Spirit. A truly humble reaction would have embraced my strength and my talent, in a spirit of gratitude and joy for what was accomplished through it rather than any feeling of self-importance or self-degradation.

One other example: on my mission, I had a companion who spoke the Estonian language better than any other missionary hands-down. He worked his tail off every morning studying, he refused to speak English, he prayed very hard for improved ability to communicate in that language, and he was richly rewarded for his diligence. However, this Elder’s prayers bothered me. His prayers often went like this: “Heavenly Father, please help me speak this language better. I am so bad at it and am angry that I can’t speak it better. Please help me.” The more this missionary saw the areas where his ability fell short, the angrier I saw him get as he felt frustrated and inept. What he couldn’t see when he looked in the mirror was what I saw when I looked at this young man whose talent with the language I envied. He was blessed. And in answer to his prayers, his talents improved. But he never saw that improvement. He only saw the shortcomings and the holes in his abilities.

Since then, I’ve had time to think about what my humble prayer might have been if I’d been in his shoes. “Father, I thank thee for the help that I’ve received in learning this language. I’ve made such great progress with thy help. And with this gift, I am trying to accomplish thy purposes in this country. I know that I have much still to learn. And I know that this added ability will enable me to better serve thee and these people. Please help me improve my abilities as I do everything in my power to study and learn.”

It’s easy for me to think of how this companion might have shown more humility in his prayers. But what other areas of my life feature either strengths or weaknesses where I am just like my companion, struggling to be humble, but showing more pride than humility in my prayers. How is it possible to be prideful when we are belittling ourselves in an attempt at humility? Spencer W. Kimball defined pride as follows, “The central feature of pride is enmity—enmity toward God and enmity toward our fellowmen. Enmity means ‘hatred toward, hostility to, or a state of opposition.’ It is the power by which Satan wishes to reign over us. Pride is essentially competitive in nature. We pit our will against God’s. When we direct our pride toward God, it is in the spirit of ‘my will and not thine be done.’”

Did you catch those words? Enmity, hostility, hatred, state of opposition? As we seek to strengthen our talents, do we find ourselves in opposition to or feeling enmity toward our fellow man, judging them or allowing ourselves to feel puffed up in our strengths? As we seek to tackle our weaknesses, we might seek to overcome them our way on our time table. That, however, is shows enmity toward or an opposition to God’s will. He gave us weakness so that we might be humble, so that we might learn to rely on Him and His will. He gives us strengths so that men can see our good works and glorify our Father in Heaven.

As we seek to climb out of our pits and avoid those that lie in wait before us, we must beware of pride. The pits are there to teach us humility. The promised reward is that those weaknesses can become strengths, only when we have shown faith and become humble, seeing ourselves, our flaws, and our strengths as God sees them.

Now if you’re on a different road than me, you might not see quite so many pits before you. Does this mean you have no longer have weaknesses? No. Through Mormon, the Lord told us that if we ask Him, He will show us our weaknesses. He can help us come to ourselves, as did the Prodigal Son, so that we can find the next thing to work on. There is no shortage of areas that we might improve, and it is part of our life’s purpose to find these and work on them through the power of the Atonement and the grace of our Master. One day we will find a road without pits, without temptations or trials. We will become perfect as Christ, or our Father who in Heaven is perfect. But this will only be possible because of the many roads and pits we’ve traversed that helped us to become humble so that we might see ourselves as He sees us, and as Moroni wrote of Christ’s second coming, “that when he shall appear we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is; that we may have this hope; that we may be purified even as he is pure.” How can we hope to see him as he is if we can’t first see ourselves as we are.

And so, like Paul and Mormon, I, too, will glory in my weakness and in my infirmities, knowing that when I am weak, then am I strong. And as I learn humility through my weakness, I am learning to see myself as I am so that I can one day see Christ as He is and join Him in a heavenly home on high.

Be thou humble in thy weakness, and the Lord thy God shall lead thee,

Shall lead thee by the hand and give thee answer to thy prayers.

Be thou humble in thy pleading, and the Lord thy God shall bless thee,

Shall bless thee with a sweet and calm assurance that he cares.

Be thou humble in thy calling, and the Lord thy God shall teach thee

To serve his children gladly with a pure and gentle love.

Be thou humble in thy longing, and the Lord thy God shall take thee,

Shall take thee home at last to ever dwell with him above.