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!

The Faith of an Engineer

Believe. What a powerful word, especially at this time of year when we turn our hearts to the Savior of the World in celebration of the advent of his miraculous life. We sing Noel and Hallelujah in praise of Him whose birth we remember. We eat candy canes and remember the Good Shepherd's purity and the bloody stripes He endured for us. We put a star upon evergreen trees and remember the immortal and eternal light that points us to our heavenly home. We give and receive presents and open up our hearts, seeking to emulate the charity that He so abundantly possessed and shared through every word and deed. My purpose here is not to enumerate and explain all of the symbolic Christmas representations of Christ and of our love and devotion to Him. Rather, my hope is to take a few minutes to explain my faith and belief in Him and in His gospel.

Dr. Henry Eyring was one of the leading scientists of the 20th Century in the field of chemistry. His work with the transition state of chemical reactions led him to some of the most important developments of 20th century chemistry. I will not profess to understand the smallest portion of his findings… in fact, I received my lowest grade for an engineering core class in Chem105 at BYU. So anyone who can actually understand that gibberish already earns my respect. Dr. Eyring earned a great deal of respect from other, more notable sources. It is felt that, if the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences had fully understood his theory at the time, he would have certainly been the recipient of a Nobel Prize.

There are some who feel that Dr. Eyring was not given that honor because of his religion. Now, these claims are unsubstantiated and may not have any truth, but Dr. Eyring’s faith was integrally tied to his scientific understanding. On many occasions, both private and in national public settings, Dr. Eyring sought to share how his faith and his scientific knowledge together led him to a greater understanding of the world around him. Whenever he found conflicts between the two, he sought to reconcile these through a careful study of science and a careful study of the scriptures.
Dr. Eyring stated, "Is there any conflict between science and religion? There is no conflict in the mind of God, but often there is conflict in the minds of men."

When I studied the New Testament at BYU with Stephen Robinson, my favorite quote from the professor concerned this very subject. After sharing one of Christ’s miracles that showed His power over the elements and over time itself, Steven Robinson said, “Whenever two people are arguing over science and religion, more than one of them is an idiot!”

Now, Dr. Eyring did not seek to prove the creation or the existence of God. He did not attempt to prove his faith to anyone on a scholarly level. He did, however, write a book that showed some of the scientific parallels and conclusions that helped support his belief in God and helped to show how his scientific and religious beliefs could coincide and lead him to greater light and knowledge than either could have alone. His book was titled, The Faith of a Scientist. I’ve only read portions of this book, but I’ve always been inspired by the book’s title. I’ve often thought about my own faith and how my academic studies have either supported or led me to question my faith. As an engineer, I have learned a fair amount about technology that is built upon fundamental laws of nature and science. Currently, I am more of a programmer than an engineer, but since my diploma identifies me as an engineer, I will claim that title here. And as I attempt to explain my faith in Christ this Christ-mas, I will borrow from Dr. Eyring and entitle my thoughts “The Faith of an Engineer”, albeit an engineer who has a great deal of room to add to his modest knowledge of the scientific world and of religious truths.
In the Book of Mormon, we read the words of Alma, a prophet who was contending with a philosopher and an Anti-Christ named Korihor, who contended that there is no God and demanded proof of the Creator of all. Alma patiently questioned the man and, after being asked to provide a sign, Alma proclaimed, “Thou hast had signs enough; will ye tempt your God? Will ye say, Show unto me a sign, when ye have the testimony of all these thy brethren, and also all the holy prophets? The scriptures are laid before thee, yea, and all things denote there is a God; yea, even the earth, and all things that are upon the face of it, yea, and its motion, yea, and also all the planets which move in their regular form do witness that there is a Supreme Creator.”
This blunt proclamation sums up my faith as an engineer better than any other that I could compose myself. In my years of spiritual and secular study, I have found countless accounts testifying of a divine Creator, I have discovered his fingerprints all over the beautiful canvas of His creation, and I can see His intricately ordered patterns throughout nature and the cosmos.
In high school Physics, I watched a documentary that took us on a journey away from Earth to the outer reaches of our universe, or at least as far as we then understood our galaxy to extend. A narrator accompanied us on our expedition, and we learned about solar systems, black holes, gravitational pulls, solar flares, orbits, and more. On the return trip, we overshot our landing in a park and zoomed in on the right hand of a picnicker. As we zoomed past hair follicles, skin cells, blood vessels, atoms, ions, and quarks, the narrator explained what we were seeing as he had in our extraterrestrial voyage. When we finally returned to our proper frame and size, I was left reeling with a sense of nothingness in the vastness of cosmic creation but also a sense of wonder at the detail and order that went into the construction of one simple form of life in the immenseness of the universe. Even after this incredible journey of discovery, I had little desire to become a molecular biologist or an astrophysicist. But I still remember to this day the strong sense of conviction that settled over me that there must be a Creator who set this all in motion, and I’ve been looking for his fingerprints in my scientific studies ever since.

There are those who claim that life began in a swampy pool or that miniscule particles, accelerating at incredible speeds, collided and released such massive quantities of energy that life, the universe, and everything was officially able to begin. I dare not throw in my hat with Dr. Eyring and hold a scholarly discussion with any man on such topics. After all, for good reason, I am an engineer and not a scientist. But when I think about one of these theories, the Big Bang Theory, I focus on the term “Bang”. When I think of an explosion, I envision chaos, disorder, and destruction. Again, I don’t dare to defend or attack these theories, but I do know that life, as I understand it, is all about patterns and structure, order, and construction which are the antonyms of those ideas that come to mind with the word “Bang”. However it was accomplished, the faith of this engineer is that there is a glorious plan behind creation and that there was indeed some Creator involved in setting everything in motion.

I can best summarize my feelings in this matter by borrowing from Spencer W. Kimball’s powerful dissertation on Absolute Truth. He asserted:

“The watchmaker in Switzerland, with materials at hand, made the watch that was found in the sand in a California desert. The people who found the watch had never been to Switzerland, nor seen the watchmaker, nor seen the watch made. The watchmaker still existed, no matter the extent of their ignorance or experience. If the watch had a tongue, it might even lie and say, ‘There is no watchmaker.’ That would not alter the truth.“If men are really humble, they will realize that they discover, but do not create, truth. The Gods organized the earth of materials at hand, over which they had control and power. This truth is absolute. A million educated folk might speculate and determine in their minds that the earth came into being by chance. The truth remains. The earth was made by the Gods as was the watch by the watchmaker. Opinions do not change that."

I can appreciate what President Kimball means when he says that men do not create truth but in fact discover it. My entire education can well be described as one discovery after another. I’m not talking about the kind of discovery where the scientist with the stringy, disheveled hair, the long white lab coat, and the thick German accent cries out “Eureka!” My second-hand (or one-millionth-hand) discoveries were all of a nature where I was able to finally understand how something works when I had, beforehand, had to accept that principal or theory on faith. Let me provide an example.

In junior high Algebra, I learned a formula called the Quadratic Equation. My teacher taught us to remember this by singing the following to the tune of Pop Goes the Weasel:

x is equal to negative b
plus or minus the square root
of b squared minus 4ac
ALL over 2a

As I worked on those first homework assignments, I wasn’t sure why we were using this equation, where it came from, what a root was, or why eating Alpha-Bits cereal for breakfast didn’t give me Mighty Math Powers on Algebra test day. I did, however, get my homework answers to match those in the back of the textbook, and I did struggle to get that horribly catchy tune out of my head once we moved on to the next unit.

It wasn’t until years later, when I was working as an engineer and volunteering as a MathCounts coach at a local junior high, that I truly discovered the Quadratic Equation. I was helping one student on a problem that could easily be solved by completing the square, a mathematical trick I won’t endeavor to explain here. As we worked through the problem, a light bulb went on in my little brain, and I hypothesized that the Quadratic Equation was originally discovered through a similar process. As I drove home that afternoon, I drew variables and equations with my finger on my steering wheel and got from ax2+bx+c=0 to the infamous weasel-popping formula learned by Algebra students everywhere.

As a junior high student, I wasn’t equipped or prepared to understand all of the who’s, what’s, why’s, and how’s surrounding this mathematical construct. It was enough for me to learn when and how to use the formula. I didn’t need to recreate the formula from scratch and prove its validity. I trusted in McGraw-Hill, the textbook publisher, and the mathematician authors, and simply didn’t question the truthfulness or accuracy of the equation. Even when I rediscovered the formula years later, it wasn’t doubt in the accuracy of the formula that led me to finally prove the widely-used equation.
When I took Math 113 in college, Calculus 2, my professor had an interesting approach to teaching Calculus. At 8AM, as a college student, I had to drag myself out of bed and tape my eyelids open so as to survive the brutal hour of instruction that was to come. I collapsed into my seat in the lecture hall, pulled out my notepad and began to busily copy down those numbers, variables, and formulas that the professor was feverishly scrawling across the blackboard. He didn’t talk much. He mostly wrote. Throughout the lecture, if I tried to follow along in the book, I would hopelessly fall behind and miss some important step of the derivation being unveiled before us. So I learned to simply copy down what he wrote with the hopes of deciphering my notes later with the help of the Rosetta Stone. With a minute or two left before the end of the period, the professor’s progression of mathematical scribbles would inevitably arrive at an equation that I would recognize, one from the textbook, usually “Formula 1A”. In frustration, I would realize that the professor had spent 55 minutes deriving or proving the validity of the first formula we would be using in our homework assignment. In that entire lecture, I had not learned the purpose of the formula, how it was to be used, why the topic was pertinent to the section we were studying, or how these formulas might be applied in real-world applications. In disgust, I would close my notes and book and head to the library to read the textbook and begin to answer these questions. Over the course of that course, I had to teach myself Calculus. And when the semester ended, I was never more proud of an A in my whole life!

During this Calculus course, as with junior high Algebra, I was less concerned with the origin of formulas and equations as I was with the use of them. I found that through the using of mathematical formulas and principles, my faith and trust in them grew to a point where they were of value to me in my life, even when I knew not from where they had come.

As an engineer, I am less concerned about understanding exact principles of science than understanding how to manipulate and employ them for practical application. Scientists and engineers might butt heads over who is the smarter of the two. I’ll happily cede this distinction to the scientists. But I am happy to be numbered among the engineers who have helped to harness electric and magnetic fields to produce computers, mobile devices, cellular communications, and most of the modern technological devices that top Christmas lists for Santa each year.

Alma, the Book of Mormon prophet who defended his belief in a Creator to the Anti-Christ Korihor, gave a powerful sermon on faith. He used a seed as a metaphor for faith, claiming that faith begins simply as a desire to believe. Alma said,

“Now, we will compare the word unto a seed. Now, if ye give place, that a seed may be planted in your heart, behold, if it be a true seed, or a good seed, if ye do not cast it out by your unbelief, that ye will resist the Spirit of the Lord, behold, it will begin to swell within your breasts; and when you feel these swelling motions, ye will begin to say within yourselves—It must needs be that this is a good seed, or that the word is good, for it beginneth to enlarge my soul; yea, it beginneth to enlighten my understanding, yea, it beginneth to be delicious to me.”

There is truth out there. As an engineer, every project I worked on was a series of experiments and failures, tests and trials, and endless sessions of debugging and refining. My goal was to get something to work. I could take all the time in the world to study the principles and theories and to speculate on whether they would work as expected. But an engineering design remains a design unless tested, implemented, and refined. Sometimes, for me, the planting of a seed was a big risk. And sometimes it was not a good seed and did not sprout. But I would never know until I actually planted the seed. The faith of this engineer is that I must experiment upon the word. And I have learned to recognize a good seed, because a good SEED is one that will always Swell, Enlargen, and Enlighten, and one that is truly Delicious.

There is a well-known expression that says that “Seeing is Believing.” The well-known counter to this claims that “Believing is Seeing.” I know many people whose belief shrinks as their vision expands. I think that Korihor would have found some logical explanation for any sign from the Creator he could have been shown in answer to his demand of Alma. Where I see signs around me daily that point toward a Supreme Creator in whom I entrust my faith, those Korihor’s of the world will only find ammunition that justifies their lack of faith. That is why I believe that Believing truly is Seeing. We must first have that desire to believe, and then we must act according to that desire.
Now I’ve deviated quite far from the Christmas theme of belief where I began. As a family, we have a Christmas Eve tradition of curling up on the couch in pajamas left by Mrs. Claus to watch a Christmas movie as we indulge in fudge, caramels, cookies, hot chocolate, wassail, and any other sugary treat we can get our hands on. This year, our movie was the Polar Express. This animated Christmas feature has surpassed Home Alone, A Christmas Story, and several others to be my all-time favorite. Every year I look forward to watching it.
The central theme to this story is one of belief in something that isn’t always seen. Now, as an engineer, I’ll not attempt to defend Santa Claus and the supposed 108 million homes he’s to visit in the 31 hours of Christmas that Santa has to work with thanks to time zones and the rotation of the earth. In fact, if I fall on board with most mainstream engineers, we would be talking about a sleigh capable of moving the required 650 miles per second (3,000 times the speed of sound) and, for comparison, the Ulysses space probe that clocks in at a relative snail’s pace of 27.4 miles per second. We’d be running tests on the land speed of arctic reindeer. We might be discussing the 500 thousand ton payload (assuming a 2 pound per child weight allotment) and the relative impact on air resistance, centrifugal forces, and energy absorption and the likelihood of sonic booms. The inevitable conclusion is that all of these factors would combine to create four million pounds of force pinning Mr. Kringle to the back of the sleigh and effectively reducing him to a quivering blob of pink goo. Therefore, most engineers would sadly concede that, if Santa did exist, he’s dead now.

But, as I watch the Polar Express each year, the logic of such calculated arguments falls on deaf ears as I join Hero Boy (as he is named in the credits) on a locomotive ride designed to restore my faith in those things that are not logical, in those truths that are not plainly seen, and in those hopes that I keep safely locked away deep in my heart.

The story begins with Hero Boy lying awake in his bed. “On Christmas Eve, many years ago, I lay quietly in my bed. I did not rustle the sheets. I breathed slowly and silently. I was listening for a sound I was afraid I'd never hear. The ringing bells of Santa's sleigh.”

As he lies there, he hears his father returning his distraught sister to her bed.

Sarah: “He said Santa would have to fly faster than light to get to every house in one night. And to hold everyone's presents his sled would be bigger than an ocean liner.”
Father: “Your brother said that? He was just kidding you. He knows there's a Santa.”
Sarah: “He said he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure if Santa was for real.”
Father: “Of course Santa is real. He's as real as Christmas itself.”

When the house is quiet once more, the boy reaches for his encyclopedia and adds to his doubts by browsing the entries on reindeer and the North Pole. Suddenly the house begins to shake as if in an earthquake and an unbelievable train thunders to a stop outside on the snow-covered street. The train’s conductor steps down from a boxcar and hollers out:

Conductor: “All aboard! All aboard! Well? You coming?”
Boy: “Where?”
Conductor: “Why, to the North Pole, of course! This is the Polar Express.”
Boy: “The North Pole?”
Conductor: “Is this you?”
Boy: “Yeah.”
Conductor: “Well, it says here… no photo with a department-store Santa this year… no letter to Santa… and you made your sister put out the milk and cookies… Sounds to me like this is your crucial year. If I were you, I would think about climbing onboard.”

After boarding the train, making some new friends, enjoying some hot chocolate, and venturing out onto the top of one of the boxcars, Hero Boy runs into a mysterious drifter who is looking for a free ride on the roof of the train. The drifter asks him:

Drifter: “What exactly is your persuasion on the big man? Since you brought him up.”
Boy: “Well, I... I want to believe. But...”
Drifter: “But you don't wanna be bamboozled. You don't wanna be led down the primrose path. You don't wanna be conned or duped… have the wool pulled over your eyes… Hoodwinked. You don't wanna be taken for a ride… railroaded… Seeing is believing. Am I right?”

I don’t care who you are or what your personal belief system is. There is a little bit of this Hero Boy inside each and every one of us, and we resist the idea of blindly believing in something that we do not understand or something that we can’t see. Later on, the conductor is relating an experience that sparks a desire to believe within the Hero Boy’s heart and he struggles once more with the logic and doubts that have chased away his childlike Christmas faith. The conductor explains, “Years ago, on my first Christmas Eve run, I was up on the roof making my rounds when I slipped on the ice myself. I reached out for a hand iron, but it broke off. I slid and fell. And yet, I did not fall off this train.”

Remembering the ghost-like bum he had encountered earlier, the Hero Boy anxiously inquires,

Boy: “Someone saved you?”
Conductor: “Or something.”
Boy: “An angel?”
Conductor: “Maybe.”
Boy: “Wait, wait! What did he look like? Did you see him?”
Conductor: “No, sir. But sometimes seeing is believing. And sometimes the most real things in the world are the things we can't see.”

Even after arriving at the North Pole and seeing toy workshops, elves, and reindeer, the Hero Boy is still striving to chase away lingering fears and doubt. Unlike his friends, he is unable to hear the sleigh bells echoing around the main square where the reindeer are being harnessed. His friend asks, “Aren’t those bells the most beautiful sound?” The crowd of children and elves erupts as Santa apparently enters the square. But the boy still can’t see him and still can’t bring himself to believe.

Friend: “He's here! He's here!”
Boy: “Where?”
Friend: “I see him. He's over there.”
Boy: “I can't see him. I can't see him. I can't see him!”
Voice inside his head: “Doubter. Doubter!”

In the excitement and the energetic prancing of the reindeer, one solitary sleigh bell breaks off the harness and lands at the feet of the boy. All other noise is tuned out and the boy focuses solely on the bell. He shakes it and still can’t hear the magical sound. Finally, he realizes that his faith must precede the confirmation he has so desperately been seeking. As the Book of Mormon prophet Mormon wrote, “Faith is things which are hoped for and not seen; wherefore, dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith.” The boy now understood this truth and finally let his doubts and fears go.

“Okay, okay. I believe… I believe.” He then shakes the bell one more time. This time, however, the magical, crystal clear ring reverberates loudly in his ears.

“What was that you said?” He looks up to see the magical man he had stubbornly doubted and yet fervently hoped for so strongly all night.

“I... I believe. I believe." The conviction grows in his voice as his faith begins to swell and enlargen. He feels enlightened. There, standing before him, is the reward for his trial of faith, an undeniable witness of the reality of Santa Claus. How satisfyingly delicious that reward must have been.
“I... I believe that this is yours.” He returns the bell to Santa but is in turn granted an opportunity to sit upon Saint Nicholas’ lap to ask for the first gift of Christmas. The boy doesn’t have to think hard and whispers his request into Santa’s ear. The kind man places the bell into the boy’s outstretched hand and then says, “This bell is a wonderful symbol of the spirit of Christmas... as am I. Just remember, the true spirit of Christmas lies in your heart. Merry Christmas.”

But the story is not finished. As the children board the train for the return trip, one shy little boy asks, “Could all...? Could all this be nothing but a dream?”

The hero boy resolutely declares, “No!”
The next morning, on Christmas morning, he shows the bell to his little sister. The parents, who have long since grown out of their childlike belief in Santa think the bell is broken. And in epilogue, the boy, who has now grown into a man but still maintains the Christmas faith of his childhood, exclaims, “At one time, most of my friends could hear the bell. But as years passed, it fell silent for all of them. Even Sarah found, one Christmas, that she could no longer hear its sweet sound. Though I've grown old the bell still rings for me, as it does for all who truly believe.”
Believing truly is seeing. Just ask the old man Simeon who was guided by the Spirit to the temple walls of Jerusalem where he encountered a couple and their newborn babe of eight days. This man was just and devout and anxiously awaited the coming of the Messiah along with the rest of his people. He had been told by the Holy Ghost that he would see his Savior and king before he was called to leave this life. As his body aged and withered, how often did he think on this heavenly promise. Did he have fears and doubts? Would you? This day, in front of the holy temple, Simeon took the babe in his arms and blessed God. “Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word: For mine eyes have seen thy salvation, which thou hast prepared before the face of all people; a light to lighten the Gentiles, and the glory of thy people Israel.” In his aged years, how acute was the eyesight of Simeon? The answer is unimportant as his spiritual eyes were a solid 20/20. Seeing is believing? Or is believing seeing? For Simeon, it was assuredly the latter.

One final family Christmas tradition that applies to the topic at hand involves Michael McLean’s Forgotten Carols. A tender and thought provoking story is told of a nurse for whom the bell stopped ringing long ago. For this woman, there was no magic in Christmas. There was also no family, trees or baked goods, or any of the typical joys of the holiday season. There was only work. Then she encountered John, a kindly old man requiring her care over the holidays. John welcomes Constance into his heart and tries to impart of his Christmas spirit by sharing the forgotten carols, those songs about the Savior’s life and birth that are not sung by choirs and carolers at Christmastime but have long been forgotten along with those individuals who first composed them. My favorite carol is sung by the shepherd boy who lay fast asleep when the angels came to herald the birth of the Christ child. This boy did not get to go to see the babe but, rather, had to hear the tale from his friends on the morn.

The flock was more than peaceful; the night was dark and deep;
The stillness wrapped around me; I drifted off to sleep.
And when my friends awoke me—Oh, what a tale they had to tell

They said the angels told them about a newborn King.
They had a star to guide them; they heard the heavens sing.
They said that when they found Him they knew they'd never be the same.

Somehow I did believe them, though everything I knew
Said I should not believe them; This story can't be true.
But there was something magic in the air that made me feel as if I’d been there.

I asked a thousand questions; their answers startled me.
The more I heard, the more I thought I knew this cannot be.
And then the struggle started, my head was wrestling with my heart.

Why would a God from Heaven come to the world this way?
Why in a lowly stable would the Messiah lay?
I shook my head and asked them to tell the story one more time.

Yes I did believe them, though I'd not seen a thing.
I did not go to Bethlehem or hear the angels sing.
But there was something magic in the air that made me feel as if I’d been there.

I knew that, as the world moves on through time,
There would be more stories just like mine
About the souls who've chosen to believe in something that they never got to see.

So do you think you'll join us, though you've not seen a thing?
You were not there in Bethlehem to hear the angels sing.
But if you feel the spirit in the air, then just like me you'd know
That He was here! He was here! The King of kings and Lord of lords was here!
He was here! He was here! And He will come again, for He was here!

There is no difference between this shepherd boy and me. I’ve not seen a thing. I was not there in Bethlehem to hear the angels sing. I am like Simeon. I have been given special promises, and I must exercise lasting faith to believe that the Lord will follow through in His time and in His way. I am like the Hero Boy from The Polar Express. I don’t want to be bamboozled, conned, or duped. I don't want to be led down the primrose path. I don't want to be taken for a ride… railroaded. My fears and doubts are many. But there is a large part of me that is ready and willing to believe. My desire is strong. And, daily, the faith of this engineer is tested and is then rewarded with witness after witness that there is indeed a loving Creator, one who carefully constructed me in my special frame and fashion, with all of my strengths and all of my weaknesses, and one who crafted an incredible world for me where I can learn and grow to be more like a child, more like my Savior, and more like my Father in Heaven. Those signs are easy to see. But like Simeon, I can’t rely on my aged eyes that may be tinted with the lenses of secular skepticism and logical fallacies. It is through spiritual sunglasses that I can discern those fingerprints of the Creator all around me. It is by believing that I truly see.

Trains move quickly
To their journey's end.
Destinations...
Are where we begin again.
Ships go sailing,
Far across the sea.
Trusting starlight,
To get where they need to be.

When it seems that we have lost our way...
We find ourselves again on Christmas Day.

Believe in what your heart is saying,
Hear the melody that's playing
There's no time to waste,
There so much to celebrate.
Believe in what you feel inside,
And give your dreams the wings to fly.
You have everything you need, if you just Believe.