An acquaintance of mine left a small southern Utah town to travel east.
He'd never traveled much beyond his little hometown and certainly had never ridden a train,
but his older sister and brother-in-law, now living in the East, needed him under some special
circumstances and his parents agreed to free him from the farmwork in order to go. They drove
him to Salt Lake City and put him onto the train, new Levi's, not-so-new boots, very frightened, and
18 years old. There was one major problem and it terrified him. He had to change trains in Chicago.
His sister had written, carefully outlining when the incoming train would arrive and how and when
and where he was to catch the outgoing line, but he was still terrified. And then his humble,
plain, sun-scarred little father did something no one in this room should ever forget. He said, "Son,
wherever you go in this church there will be somebody to stand by you."
And with that he stuffed into the pocket of his calico shirt the name of a bishop. If the boy
had troubles or became discouraged or afraid, he was to call the bishop and ask for help.
Well the train ride progressed rather uneventfully until it pulled into Chicago,
and even then the young man did pretty well at collecting his luggage and making it to
the nearby hotel room which had been pre-arranged by his brother-in-law.
But then the clock began to tick and night began to fall and faith began to fail.
Could he find his way back to the station? Could he find the right track? Could he find the right train?
What if it was late, what if he was late, what if he lost his ticket, what if, what if, what if.
That big, raw-boned 18-year-old flew across the room, nearly pulled the telephone off the wall,
and, fighting back tears and troubles, called this bishop. Alas, the bishop was not home. But
aha, the bishop's wife was. She spoke long enough to reassure him that absolutely nothing could
go wrong that night. He was, after all, safe in the room, and what he needed more than
anything was a night's rest. Then she said, "If tomorrow morning you're still concerned,
follow these directions. You can be with our family and other ward members until train time.
We will make sure you get safely on your way. She then carefully spelled out the directions,
had him repeat them back, and suggested a time for him to come. With slightly more
peace in his heart, he knelt by his bed as he had every night of his 18 years
and he waited for morning to come. At the appointed hour next, he set out. A long walk, then catch a bus.
Watch for the stop, here it is, let me out of this bus. It worked just like she said it would.
Then his world crumbled crumbled before his very eyes.
He stepped out of that bus only to see the longest stretch of shrubbery and grass he had
ever seen in his entire life. S he had said something about a park,
but he thought a park was a dusty acre in southern Utah with a netless tennis court in the corner.
Here he stood looking in vain at the vast expanse of Lincoln Park with not a friendly face anywhere
in sight. It struck him that he had no idea where he was or what combination of connections
with who knows what number of buses would be necessary to get him back to the station.
Suddenly he felt more alone and overwhelmed than any moment in his life.
As the tears welled up in his eyes he despised himself for feeling so afraid, but he was and
the tears would not stop. But as he stepped away from the noise, fighting to control his emotions,
he thought he heard something hauntingly familiar in the distance.
He moved cautiously in the direction of the sound. First he walked, then he walked quickly.
The sound was stronger and firmer and certainly it was familiar.
Then he started to smile, a smile which erupted into an audible laugh,
and he started to run. He ran as fast as those cowboy boots would carry him.
Though hard to you this journey may appear, grace shall be as your day.
The sounds were crystal clear and he was now weeping newer, different tears. For there, over
a little rise, huddled around a few picnic tables and bundles of food, was the bishop
and his wife and their children and most of the families of this little ward. The sound?
A slightly off-key a cappella rendition of lines that even a boy from southern Utah would recognize.
Gird up your loins, fresh courage take. Our God will never
us forsake. And soon we'll have this tale to tell -
all is well, all is well.