Sometimes I wonder what other people think we Mormons learn in church. If you're interested, here's a little taste.
Today the teacher shared this story. If you've ever seen or heard of
The Other Side of Heaven, the man that shared this is the man that movie is based on. I was just going to paraphrase, but I can't capture what I want to say without the full story. The background is that he was a missionary from Idaho serving in Tonga and dividing his time between several islands. When someone wanted him to teach them, he often had to sail between the islands to get to them.
Those familiar with sailing know that to get anywhere, you need wind. Sometimes there are good breezes without storms and heavy seas, but often they go together. Sailors do not fear storms, for they contain the lifeblood of sailing—wind. What sailors fear is no wind, or being becalmed.
Time passed. The sun got higher, the sea calmer. Nothing moved. We soon realized that unless something changed, we would not arrive by sundown. I suggested that we pray and plead with the Lord to send some wind. What more righteous desire could a group of men have? I offered a prayer. When I finished, things seemed calmer than ever. We continued drifting.
Then one of the older men suggested that everyone kneel and all unite their faith and prayers together, which we did. There was great struggling of spirit, but when the last person opened his eyes, nothing! No movement at all. The sails hung limp and listless. Even the slight ripple of the ocean against the side of the boat had ceased. The ocean seemed like a sea of glass.
Time was moving, and we were getting desperate. This same man now suggested that everyone kneel again in prayer and each person in turn offer a vocal prayer for the whole group. Many beautiful, pleading, faithful prayers ascended to heaven. But when the last one finished and everyone opened their eyes, the sun was still burning down with greater intensity than before. The ocean was like a giant mirror. It was almost as though Satan was laughing, saying, “See, you can’t go anywhere. There is no wind. You are in my power.”
I thought, “There is a family at the harbor that wants to hear the gospel. We are here in the middle of the ocean and want to teach them. The Lord controls the elements. All that stands between us and the family is a little wind. Why won’t He send it? It’s a righteous desire.”
As I was so wondering, I noticed this faithful older brother move to the rear of the boat. I watched as he unlashed the tiny lifeboat, placed two oars with pins in their places, and carefully lowered it over the side.
He looked at me and softly said, “Get in.”
I answered, “What are you doing? There is hardly room for two people in that tiny thing!”
“Don’t waste any time or effort. Just get in. I am going to row you to shore, and we need to leave now to make it by sundown.”
I looked at him incredulously, “Row me where?”
“To the family that wants to hear the gospel. We have an assignment from the Lord. Get in.”
I was dumbfounded. It was miles to shore. The sun was hot, and this man was old. But as I looked into the face of that faithful brother, I sensed an intensity in his gaze, an iron will in his very being, and a fixed determination in his voice as he said, “Before the sun sets this day, you will be teaching the gospel and bearing testimony to a family who wants to listen.”
I again objected, “Look, you’re over three times my age. If this is to be, let me row.”
With that same look of determination and faith-induced will, the old man replied, “No. Leave it to me. Get in the boat. Don’t waste more time talking. Let’s go!” At his direction we got into the boat, with me in the front and the old man in the middle, his feet stretching to the end of the boat, his back to me.
The glazed surface of the ocean was disturbed by the intrusion of this small boat and seemed to complain, “This is my territory. Stay out.” Not a wisp of air stirred, not a sound was heard except the creaking of oars and the rattling of pins as the small craft began to move away from the sailboat.
The old man bent his back and began to row. Dip. Pull. Lift. Dip. Pull. Lift. Each dip of the oar seemed to break the resolve of the mirrorlike ocean. Each pull of the oar moved the tiny skiff forward, separating the glassy seas to make way for the Lord’s messenger. Dip. Pull. Lift. The old man did not look up, rest, or talk, but hour after hour he rowed and rowed and rowed. The muscles of his back and arms, strengthened by faith and moved by unalterable determination, flexed in a marvelous cadence like a fine-tuned watch. It was beautiful. We moved quietly, relentlessly toward an inevitable destiny. The old man concentrated his efforts and energy on fulfilling the calling he had from the Lord—to get a missionary to a family that wanted to hear the gospel. He was the Lord’s wind that day.
Just as the sun dipped into the ocean, the skiff touched the shore of the harbor. A family was waiting. The old man spoke for the first time in hours and said, “Go. Teach them the truth. I’ll wait here.”
(Find the full talk
here.)
He goes on to say that the family eventually got baptized, but the part about this story that I love is the part where he says "He was the Lord's wind that day."
This spawns a whole bunch of thoughts for me. First, the idea that Heavenly Father doesn't always or even usually answer prayers with miracles, big or small. Sometimes instead of giving us the wind, He gives us the strength to accomplish things the hard way. Why? Well, which way is more beneficial to you in the long run?
In my church, we look at ourselves as Heavenly Father's children. In my life, I would be a failure as a parent if I did everything for my kids, because then they would have no idea how to do for themselves. It might be faster for me to tie their shoes every single time, but if I always tie their shoes, then someday they'll go out into the world, trip on their shoelaces, and face plant. I think God works the same way with us; he allows us to do hard things so that we're prepared for whatever we've got going on after this life.
The second thought that I had was that sometimes we are the wind for other people. How often, as Christians, do we pray and then sit back and wait for God to bless everyone we prayed for? "Please comfort so and so," when they're just a phone call away? "Please provide for so and so," when we have the means to make and deliver them a meal or babysit or whatever else? We could be the blessing that we're praying for.
I also wanted to share an analogy that someone made today. One of the core beliefs that separates us from other protestant religions is that faith without works is dead. I've understood that for a long time, but today I learned that works without faith are also dead. A lady in Relief Society pointed out that "works" (as in ordinances, like taking the Sacrament or going to the temple) are like a car and "faith" is like the gas. We need the car to get where we're going, but it isn't going to run without the gas. If we go to church without believing in it, we aren't getting anywhere.
I also think that the faith/works thing can be summed up in the saying "Put your money where your mouth is," but that's a slightly different tangent and this post is already super long.
So if you ever wondered what Mormons learn in church, there it is. Work hard, serve others, and the relationship between faith and ordinances ("works") is symbiotic.
