Walking on Holy Ground

This was a great week.  Valentine's day was wonderful!  Even though I would rather have been spending the day with Julianne, I enjoyed the 75 degree temperatures and sunshine in Texas.  And even more than that, I enjoyed receiving a thoughtful card and a package from Julianne, as well as a nice little note from my parents.  Julianne spoiled me, sending me both a box of cherry chocolates and a box of milk chocolate sea foam (chocolate covered honeycomb).  They are both my favorites and I've had to try to keep my consumption at acceptable levels so as to make the chocolate last longer.  It is hard to believe that February is over half-way over.  I couldn't be more excited because it means that Spring is coming soon with flowers, blossoms, and consistently warm temperatures!

The Garden Tomb in the Spring

This morning when I woke up, I started thinking back about one of my favorite stories that my grandpa used to tell.  It was about President Kimball and a trip that my grandparents took to Jerusalem with President and Sister Kimball in 1979 for the dedication of the Orson Hyde Memorial Gardens.  Because it was such a memorable event to have the President of the Church traveling in the Holy Land (up to that point, trips like this had been infrequent), BYU decided to send a photography crew to capture the occasion.  Understandably, they wanted candid shots of the President of the Church walking where the Savior had walked.  And they didn't really want his secretary in these pictures.  But just prior to this trip, President Kimball had had an operation to relieve the effects of a subdural hematoma and he was still recovering from the the effects of this operation.

During a fireside years later, my grandpa recalled, "Everywhere we went, I held his arm because he was a little unsteady....We went to the Garden Tomb. And President and Sister Kimball and my wife and I sat in there on that stone bench.  We read the scriptures and President Kimball gave a prayer.  He commented on [the scene] and we meditated.  And then he said, 'I really believe this is where they laid our Lord.'  We stepped out into the bright sunshine....The flooring is uneven because it is made of stone.  I was afraid the President would trip and fall, so I was holding him by the arm.  But again, [the photographers] wanted to take his picture, and without me in it.  And so, reluctantly I let go of his arm.  And as I stepped away I said, 'Now, President Kimball, be careful.'  He turned to me and he smiled and quietly said to me, 'Don't worry Arthur, I'm used to walking on holy ground.'  So I stepped away and they took the picture."

Over the years, I've thought a lot about President Kimball's response, "Don't worry Arthur, I'm used to walking on holy ground," and particularly with regards to this situation.  By this point in his life, President Kimball had spent years walking the halls of Temples and other places of holy ground.  He knew how to recognize holy ground by the way that it felt and the thoughts it inspired him to think.  And this was holy ground!  The fact that the pathways were uneven and even treacherous for one who was still recovering from the effects of a major surgery did not make this ground any less holy.

In this story, my grandfather was right to be worried.  But at the same time, President Kimball was right to be confident.  Each of us will, from time to time, find ourselves upon holy ground that might also be rocky and potentially dangerous terrain.  Our own homes are perhaps the holiest ground most of us tread in this life, but as we all know, family life can be uneven and challenging, and it can be easy to slip and fall if we are not careful.  Our wards and stakes are holy ground where we can be lifted up and edified.  But we also know people who have been offended and deeply hurt by uncaring comments and hurtful remarks.  Just as the dangers of an uneven path did not stop President Kimball from walking on the path at the Garden Tomb, so the rockiness of these terrains should not prevent us from walking on these paths.  The key for us is to do what President Kimball did and focus upon the holiness of the ground and not the unevenness of the paths that cover it.  If, from time to time, someone is a little insensitive or unkind (or even downright mean), we can still know that we are on holy ground, seeking to do the will of our Father in Heaven.  The benefits and blessings of standing on holy ground deeply outweigh the dangers of the uneven paths we must sometimes walk.

Brett

(Hopefully this makes some sort of sense.)

Enjoy more fully the sunlight!

John C. Hafen, "Girl Among the Hollyhocks," LDS Church History Museum

I can honestly say that this has been one of the least memorable weeks I can think of.  To be honest, other than knowing that I went to my classes, read a book about Mexican consumer culture, and talked with Julianne each night, I'm not entirely sure what happened this week.  Sometimes that is a good thing though!  It is always a tell-tale sign that the semester is in full swing when the gap between Sundays begins shrinking.  Weeks come and go and you are certain that you participated, but you just aren't sure how.

One thing that I do remember from this week, however, is a profound lesson that I picked up in my scripture study.  I have been in Mosiah 14 (Isaiah 53), one of the great chapters on the Savior's atonement.  I never cease to be impressed by the power of Isaiah's description of the atonement in the words: "Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we did esteem him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted.  But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities; and the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed" (Mosiah 14:4-5).  Isaiah's juxtaposition of pronouns referring to us and to Him is powerful and leaves most readers in amazement at what the Savior did for us and just how unfair the whole procedure actually was.  It struck me that way, as I considered my many sins and imperfections, and the fact that "the chastisement of my peace was upon Him."

But I noticed something in this reading that I hadn't seen before as I read, "He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he opened not his mouth; he is brought as a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearers is dumb so he opened not his mouth" (Mosiah 14:7).  It struck me how remarkable this all was.  I have a hard time not complaining at even the slightest pain, not to mention injustice.  But in the midst of the greatest injustice of all eternity--the One Being who was wholly pure paying the price of humanity's long litany of sins--He didn't complain.  More than that, Isaiah informs us, "Yet it pleased the Lord to bruise him....He shall see the travail of his soul, and shall be satisfied" (Mosiah 14:10-11).  The Savior not only didn't complain about his pains and struggles, He rejoiced in them and found satisfaction that by this act He would "justify many; for he shall bear their iniquities" (Mosiah 14:11).

Thinking about all of this, I couldn't help but think about my blog entries and my life in general.  I have a tendency to complain, to focus on things which are unhappy or frustrating, when the reality is that I am so very blessed.  I was reminded of President Hinckley's counsel: "I come this morning with a plea that we stop seeking out the storms and enjoy more fully the sunlight.  I am suggesting that we 'accentuate the positive.'  I am asking that we look a little deeper for the good, that we still our voices of insult and sarcasm, that we more generously compliment virtue and effort....What I am suggesting and asking is that we turn from the negativism that so permeates our society and look for the remarkable good in the land and times in which we live, that we speak of one another's virtues more than we speak of one another's faults, that optimism replace pessimism, that our faith exceed our fears" (Gordon B. Hinckley, BYU Devotional, 29 October 1974).

In that spirit, may I just say how truly blessed I am.  I have the most wonderful family that I could possibly ask for.  They have been as supportive and encouraging as anyone could ever ask a family to be, and they are constantly there whenever I need them.  I have a beautiful and thoughtful girlfriend who shows me so much of life's beauty and also of its kindness.  Every night I am blessed to be able to talk with her.  I have so many wonderful friends who bless my life in different ways.  And I am blessed with opportunities that I know others only dream about.  Most of all, I have been blessed with a testimony and witness of the Gospel of Jesus Christ and with a knowledge of His redeeming love and grace.  Recognizing all of these things, it is so much more easy to enjoy the sunlight!

Brett

Believing in Good Things to Come

This morning as I realize that the Superbowl is tonight and that my once-beloved San Francisco Forty Niners are in it, I can't help but think back to 1989 when I was seven or eight years old.  That year the Forty Niners played the Cincinnati Bengals in the Superbowl.  At that time I was at least as devoted to the Forty Niners as I was to BYU, and as is still often the case, I was nervous and fidgety before my team had a big game.  Not wanting to miss any of the game (which wasn't even going to start until well after Church had ended), I actually feigned illness at Church that day so that my Dad would take me home from sacrament meeting.  Looking back I'm not proud of that moment, but it does make me smile.  In the years since then, my love for the Forty Niners has sharply declined while my commitment to the Church and my realization that a big game is not an acceptable reason to miss Church have increased.  Gratefully I've grown up a little.

I just had to throw that little anecdote in for fun.  What I really wanted to write about today has to do with some news that I received this week.  For a long time I have dreamed of being able to teach religion at BYU.  It's a position that I would be excited about and one that I think I could do pretty well in.  In order to make yourself known to the faculty and to help them see if you would be a good fit or not, they often bring in adjunct professors during the spring and summer months when the regular professors want time off to enjoy their summers.  This year I received an email inviting me to apply for a position teaching Doctrine and Covenants at BYU this summer.  I was ecstatic.  Not only was this an opportunity to get started towards my dream job, it came with pretty good summer pay (which is something that is always needed).  I applied at the beginning of November and finally heard back from them this week, informing me that I had not been selected and that they had chosen other candidates who were further along in their doctoral programs.

I must admit that I was quite disappointed when I received this email, even though I knew it would afford me more time to prepare for my comprehensive exams that I will be taking in September.  It seemed like I was missing out on something that I have wanted so badly--and as is usually the case in moments of disappointment, it felt like I had lost my opportunity.  I couldn't help but wonder if I had just wasted my time pursuing a job that was never going to come.  Gratefully I had sympathetic ears from Julianne and my family who knew how disappointing that news was for me and let me vent a little while still encouraging me to keep going.

Nana and Papa and the Family in 1954

In the middle of my frustration, I thought about my Papa Haycock.  He had grown up during the Depression and had not been blessed with the opportunity to attend a university or a college.  To compensate he had taken a few extra business classes in high school, hoping that these would allow him to gain a secretarial position.  Shortly after he had finished high school, he was called on a mission to Hawaii where he had the opportunity to be present when President Heber J. Grant came to establish the first stake in the Islands.  President Grant brought his able secretary, Joseph Anderson, with him on the trip.  As my Papa watched Brother Anderson take the minutes and do other things for President Grant, he was impressed with the idea that he would like to do something similar, and Brother Anderson encouraged him to apply for a position at the Church when he returned home from his mission.  Upon returning from Hawaii, my Papa took a couple of low paying jobs at a hotel and at the Salt Lake Tribune and was miserable at both.

He wrote, "It was then that I remembered the visit of President Grant and President Clark and Joseph Anderson to the islands, and I decided I would pursue my desire to get a job at the Church Offices.  So every Monday at noon, on my lunch hour, I would walk up to the Church Offices and apply for a job....Finally after a six month period of regular visits, I was offered a job at $100.00 a month.  The same day, I was offered a job by the FBI to work in the office and then become a special agent at $150.00 per month.  I decided to take the job at the Church Office and began there September 8, 1938."

As I thought about this short little story, I realized that my Papa had not immediately gotten the job he wanted.  For six months he had gone to the Church Offices every Monday to apply until they finally took a chance on him.  Eventually he was blessed to be able to perform a similar role as that he had watched Elder Anderson perform.  I am convinced that it was my grandfather's persistence that allowed him to get the job he had dreamed about.  And even when the job offer finally came, it also came with a decision as he was obliged to choose between working for the Church and working for the government with a higher salary.

Too often we give up on our dreams too quickly.  We let a setback here or a failure there keep us from realizing our dreams.  Sometimes all we need is just a little bit of patience and persistence, followed by commitment to those dreams when it seems like a better offer may have presented itself.  On the days when it seems like our dreams are failing, it will help us to remember Elder Holland's words to himself as he remembered a discouraging day in Kanarraville, Utah.  "In that imaginary instant, I couldn't help calling out to [myself]: 'Don't give up, boy.  Don't you quit.  You keep walking.  You keep trying.  There is help and happiness ahead--a lot of it--30 years of it now, and still counting.  You keep your chin up.  It will be all right in the end.  Trust God and believe in good things to come.'"

Brett

"Ye are no more Strangers and Foreigners"

Ephraim Hanks, by Clark Kelley Price

A couple of months ago as I met with my bishop in the YSA ward for tithing settlement, I had brought up the issue of my age.  Since turning 31, I had felt somewhat out of place in the YSA ward, which seemed to be getting younger by the semester.  I told my bishop that I had been thinking of moving over to the family ward, kind of expecting him to say "That isn't necessary yet."  His response, however, was that it was time for me to make that switch and he thanked me for having been in his ward.  I must admit this kind of took me by surprise.  It is a peculiar feeling.  There are, of course, two main reasons for leaving a YSA ward, and everybody hopes that they will leave because of marriage rather than be invited to leave because of their age.  But luckily it had been something that had been on my mind for awhile and I had initiated the conversation, so at least I was somewhat in agreement that the move was a good thing for me.

This last Sunday was my first Sunday in the family ward.  I must admit that the sound of children crying was startling.  Even more startling, however, was the feeling of being alone in a place where I was supposed to feel like I was at home.  This was the first time in my life that I have gone to a Church meeting where I didn't know anyone else.  All throughout my life I have had at least one person that I knew in the Ward I was attending.  Even if I didn't know anyone else, I knew that one person.  Last Sunday I was on my own.  And as the single man sitting by myself, I must confess that for the first hour and a half of Church I did feel like "a stranger and foreigner" (Ephesians 2:19).

This was a unique experience for me because for the first time I can remember, I understood a little bit of what it must be like for investigators and new converts to come into the Church.  Being alone in a new place where everyone else seems to know each other is an uncomfortable feeling.  Of course I should probably have gone and introduced myself to random people and started making friends on my own, but anyone who knows me knows that that isn't really a strong aspect of my personality.  In new places I tend to be quiet and introverted rather than outgoing and social.

Half-way through Sunday School, something interesting happened.  A guy named Mark came and sat down next to me and introduced himself.  We talked about my studies and a few other things and then he proceeded to introduce me to a few people around me.  And suddenly I felt what I've been accustomed to feeling all my years in the Church: a sense of belonging, a sense of being at home.  It was a small act, but it made a world of difference to me.  In that small way, Mark was reenacting a scene that has been played out thousands of times--probably millions of times--throughout the history of the Church: he was rescuing a struggling Saint that he didn't really know.

On October 5, 1856, as Brigham Young stood before the congregation at October Conference, his message was simple: "Many of our brethren and sisters are on the Plains with hand-carts, and probably many are now seven hundred miles from this place, and they must be brought here, we must send assistance to them.  The text [of my sermon] will be to get them here!...That is my religion; that is the dictation of the Holy Ghost that I possess, it is to save the people.  We must bring them in from the Plains, and when we get them here, we will try to keep the same spirit that we have had, and teach them the way of life and salvation; tell them how they can be saved, and how they can save their friends" (Brigham Young, October 5, 1856, Complete Discourses of Brigham Young, 2:1177).  When Brigham gave this discourse, it is likely that few if any in that congregation had ever met a single member of the Martin and Willie Companies that they were being asked to sacrifice and risk their lives for.  All they knew was that those on the plains were members of the Church and were therefore brothers and sisters in the Gospel.  They were family.

Our text has never changed from that uttered by Brigham that October day.  We are to reach out and we are to lift up.  And often that takes little more than an effort to sit down next to a stranger and welcome him or her as a new friend.  In doing this we remember the words of Paul: "Now therefore ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God; And are built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ himself being the chief corner stone" (Ephesians 2:19-20).  They share with us a witness of the Gospel, a witness of the truthfulness of the Restoration, a witness of the divinity and saving power of Jesus Christ.  With a little effort, we can bring them in as fellowcitizens and members of the household of God.

Brett

"He saw them toiling in rowing"

Mt. Timpanogos Temple, 2008 by David Jolley

My last semester of coursework has begun and I couldn't be more excited for May to come!  It is strange to think that after this semester I will never take another college class again.  I have now been in college for approximately 11 years, a full third of my entire life.  Strangely enough, by the time I graduate, I will have been a college student for at least as long as I was a student in the public schools.  I could only wish that all of that study and training carried with it a large income and immediate job offers, but as we all know, life hardly ever offers us just what we would wish for.  Perhaps, however, there is some great wisdom in never getting exactly what we hope and wish for.  Perhaps no mortal experience could be more challenging and dangerous than to always get what we want, how we want it, when we want it.

Along these lines, I have thought a lot about an experience I had in the Mount Timpanogos Temple a couple of weeks ago when I went to do some ordinance work for the dead.  The wait was fairly surprising for a weeknight and so I found myself with ample time to sit and read in the scriptures before they were ready for me.  From time to time, I just open the pages and read wherever it lands.  This was one of those times where that approach actually proved to be a blessing rather than an exercise in reading about various Levitical practices surrounding the Old Testament (my apologies if anyone is extremely excited by the book of Leviticus).

One of the places I ended up reading was Mark 6:45-51.  In these verses I found an important message for me and perhaps it is worthwhile to others as well.  It is the story of the Savior walking on the water. Whereas Matthew emphasizes Peter's simultaneous experience with walking on the water, Mark's account (which most seem to believe came from Peter) is uniquely focused on the Savior.  The context of the story is interesting.  The Savior had just fed the five thousand and after everyone had eaten, He commanded His disciples "to get into the ship, and go to the other side before Bethsaida" (Mark 6:45), and to then wait for Him there.  When they had left and gotten out onto the Sea of Galilee, "He departed into a mountain to pray" (Mark 6:46).

It is here, with the Savior on the mountain and the disciples on the sea that the story became applicable to me.  While He was there on the mountain communing with His Father, a storm arose on the Sea.  Not long before this event the disciples had found themselves in a similar storm with the Master asleep on the boat, prompting their worried petition, "Master, carest thou not that we perish?" and His subsequent rebuke of the storm with the simple words "Peace, be still" (Mark 4:38-39).  But now they were alone in the ship and the Savior was not readily available to calm the storm for them.  What we read, instead is "And he saw them toiling in rowing; for the wind was contrary unto them" (Mark 6:48).  He was not unmindful of their plight.  He saw them and watched over them.

The reaction of the disciples during this storm was so different than the last.  When an immediate miracle was not available for the asking, they found the strength to keep rowing against the wind.  It's doubtful that they made much progress, for the wind was indeed "contrary to them."  But given the option between rowing and sinking, they continued to row.  The Savior sat there on the mountain watching them for some time.  "About the fourth watch of the night [somewhere between 2 and 4 in the morning], he cometh unto them walking upon the sea, and would have passed them by.  But when they saw him walking upon the sea, they supposed it had been a spirit, and cried out: For they all saw him, and were troubled.  And immediately he talked with them, and saith unto them, Be of good cheer: it is I; be not afraid.  And he went up unto them into the ship; and the wind ceased" (Mark 6:48-51).  He let them struggle and row against the wind for several hours.  And even when the time came for Him to come to them, it was necessary for them to hail Him before He came into the ship and the winds calmed down.

I believe that the Lord does this for each of us from time to time.  It sounds harsh and uncaring, that He would watch us struggle and row against strong winds when the power is in Him to calm the winds with a simple phrase.  But the disciples grew by struggling against the storm.  As painful as it can be to contemplate, we all grow by doing hard things, by drinking bitter cups, by rowing against the storm.

The part of the story that I love is that the record does not say that the Savior calmed the winds.  It says that "the wind ceased."  Life holds all kinds of storms for us.  Some of these are long and violent and cause us to wonder if they will ever end.  But storms end, winds calm down, and life goes on.  Indeed, life not only goes on, it gets better and better in the process.  We don't need a miracle to calm every storm.  Sometimes we just need to batten down the hatches, be patient, and keep rowing with faith that the Lord is watching over us and will never give us more than we can truly handle.  Indeed, often the words "Peace, be still" are meant not so much for the storm as they are for us.  If we will trust God, He will give us the strength to keep rowing and moving forward throughout the storm.

Brett

"I Knew Thee"

Much to my dismay, the time finally came for me to go back to Texas this week after a long and refreshing Christmas break.  I flew back on Thursday and it seems like I have been back here for a month already.  No matter how old I get, I suspect that it will always be hard for me to leave my home and those that I love.  But in some ways I find this refreshing.  It means that I am loved and more importantly, it means that I love others--particularly my family.  I suppose if you have to have a hard time with something in this world, there are worse things to have a hard time with than struggling with homesickness and missing one's friends and family.

I had such a wonderful time at home.  In addition to being able to see my own family, I was blessed to be able to see Julianne each day and to spend part of my holidays with her and her wonderful family.  She gave me a beautiful briefcase that I am looking forward to using this summer if I get a position teaching a Doctrine and Covenants class at BYU.  It looks really sharp and hopefully will disguise the fact that I don't look all that professorial on my own.

This is a little later than age 4, but just in case you don't believe that
I was a blond little boy, here is proof.

The last day or two before I flew home, I also reacquainted myself with a favorite past time of mine: digging through old boxes at my parents's home in search of family treasures (old letters, diaries, photographs, etc).  I'm certain that this sounds absolutely boring to most people under the sun, but I wouldn't make a very good historian if I didn't love finding old documents and trying to find something of value in them.  Luckily for me, my parents have a house filled with treasures like these and I am as giddy as a child in a candy store when I am looking through them.

This week I found a copy of a diary that my Nana Haycock wrote in 1985.  While I was reading through some of the entries, I was struck by just how well my Nana knew each of her grandchildren and how up to date she was on our lives.  One entry in particular stood out to me.  On Thursday April 18, 1985, she recorded a small birthday party that she and my grandfather had had with my family celebrating my fourth birthday (which would take place on the 21st).  Then my Nana wrote a few lines about me.  "He will be 4 years old on the 21st--and is such a handsome little blond, blue-eyed little fellow [I'll take such compliments wherever I can get them :)].  He loves books, lots of "papers"--pencils, etc, etc--a bit more on the serious side than many little boys; still loves lots of trucks, cars and such, however.  He and Lynley make quite a pair--she likes to follow Brett closely--a "me too" and needs to be included in all his activities--between them they can make life interesting."

I smiled as I read this little description of myself.  I'm sure my Nana was being polite in merely saying that my sister Lynley and I could "make life interesting."  But what stood out to me in this little diary entry was just how well my Nana knew me by the time I was four years old.  Somehow, by this point in my life--before I could read or write on my own--my Nana had understood that books and papers and a certain measure of seriousness (whether for good or for bad) were important parts of who I was as a person.  As I thought about this, I was reminded of my patriarchal blessing.  Although Patriarch Meryl Hymas is a close friend of my parents, I didn't spend much time around him while I was growing up.  Yet the things he said in my blessing were spot on and identified parts of my character and personality that I was just barely beginning to realize at the time he uttered them.

These two small examples were vivid reminders of the fact that our lives do not begin here when we are born.  The Lord told Jeremiah, "Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee; and before thou camest forth out of the womb I sanctified thee, and I ordained thee a prophet unto the nations" (Jeremiah 1:5).  So it is for each of us.  We may not have been called to be Prophets like Jeremiah, but we were nevertheless there, in the presence of the Lord before we came here.  And in coming here, we bring with us characteristics and personality traits that are thousands of years old, shaped by experiences and choices that we no longer recall.  One day the curtains will be pulled back and we will remember those experiences and choices and we will see that so much of who we are and what we love was shaped in the presence of our Father and His Divine Son.  What a wonderful experience that will be!

Just as my Nana knew me by the time I was four, I know that our Father in Heaven knows each of us perfectly.  He knows our likes and our dislikes; our fears and our struggles; our triumphs and our tragedies.  He knows us perfectly and He loves us perfectly.

Brett

A Tribute to a Wonderful Man

President and Sister Bawden

Yesterday while I was at the Church History Library in Salt Lake, I learned of the death of my Mission President, President William D. Bawden.  I was taken by surprise because he has always been such a pillar of strength to me.  He was a friend, a confidant, a wise counselor, and an example of righteousness in my life, and I will miss him dearly.

Every now and again we come across someone who blesses our life for eternity; who shows us the way of the Master not by lofty speeches or high-sounding sermons, but by love, meekness, gentleness, and godliness.  President Bawden was one of those men.  I don't remember many of the things he said, but I will never forget the way that he made me feel.

When I first arrived in Arkansas, I was lonely and scared.  All during my growing up years, I had been labeled as "shy," and I didn't know how I would possibly be able to fulfill my calling as a missionary.  President Bawden believed in me, encouraged me, and taught me that I had something to share.

I will never forget the first day that I met him.  Two things stand out about that day.  Back in those days, you could go to the gate to wait for those who were arriving and so President and the Assistants to the President were there to greet us (the arriving missionaries) at the gate.  As we walked through the airport, I remember President Bawden telling us how much we would love the people of Arkansas, that we would learn so much from their love of the Savior.  That statement was so very true, and has never left me.  I knew right then that I had a Mission President who loved the people and who could see their goodness even as baptismal numbers were relatively low.  The second thing that impressed me was our first interview, later that day.  I was self-conscious about my Spanish and I assumed that if there were Spanish elders in Arkansas, then my Mission President must also speak Spanish.  As he greeted me for our interview, he asked me to offer a prayer.  Still thinking that he spoke Spanish, I asked if he wanted me to offer it in Spanish--assuming that he would want to see just how much this young elder had picked up in the MTC.  President Bawden chuckled and said that he would like to know what I was saying and so he requested that I pray in English.  It wasn't embarrassing or humiliating, just good light-hearted humor that set a young self-conscious elder at ease in this new and frightening situation.

I don't have the words available to pay a proper tribute to President Bawden, but I pray that my life will be constantly guided by the principles he taught me and the kindness and love he demonstrated to me.  My life will be forever blessed by my association with William D. Bawden, Jr.

Brett