Aloha, brothers and sisters. And thank you, Cheryl.
You know, life is all about decisions. When I look back at all the decisions I’ve made over the years, maybe a few of them questionable, I think back to the decision to come to BYU–Hawaii in the Fall of 1983, the decision to throw my luggage in my dorm room and run to Temple Beach, the decision to strike up a conversation with a beautiful California girl there on the sand. These have to be the best decisions I have made in my life. More than 30 years later, I hope Cheryl feels the same.
I probably shouldn’t mention this, particularly in this setting, but seven years after we met, after being married and having three children, Cheryl and I returned to Laie and went immediately to that wonderful spot on Temple Beach, just to soak in the memories. We then drove up to the school. I said to Cheryl, “Wow, things have changed. That’s a new building there on the right, isn’t it?”
“No, Honey,” she said. “That’s the library, and it was here when we went to school.” It was certainly new to me.
Our reunion tour took us to our favorite spots around campus. The Aloha Center, where we received our orientation. The cafeteria, where we received the freshman 15. The memories came flooding back. To the Laie Theater, the scene of our first date. We walked the same path where we walked back to campus so many years ago where on that first date, I stopped to pretend to tie my shoe as I picked up a small frog and slipped it into Cheryl’s hand. Not the best move on a first date, I learned.
Our reunion tour took us to the tennis courts where Cheryl informed me, after the first few dates, that it “just wasn’t working out.” To the Auditorium, where I remember sitting, without a date, as I watched Cheryl play the piano and sing before a cheering audience. It was then I realized I really needed to step up my game if I was ever going to pay for the frog episode and win her back. I’ve been trying to do so ever since.
The bits and pieces of class time I do remember here at BYU–Hawaii mostly involved a political science course taught by Dale Robertson. Dale might be here today, probably still wondering how I ever received a passing grade in his class. In fact, after I’ve had a tough week in Washington or on the campaign trail, I often blame Professor Robertson for starting me down the road to politics.
As I thought about a message I might be able to leave with you today, I reflected on the Apostle Paul’s admonition to Timothy, found in 1 Timothy 4:12: “Let no man despise thy youth; but be thou an example of the believers, in word, in conversation, in charity, in spirit, in faith, in purity.”
What does it mean to “be thou an example of the believers”?
My guess is that most of you have grown up in an atmosphere and an environment where your adherence to faith has been tested on a regular basis, where you were required to stand up and stand out as an “example of the believers.”
It wasn’t always that way for me. I grew up in the small town of Snowflake in northern Arizona, a town that takes its name not from the weather but from my great-great grandfather William Jordan Flake, who settled the valley, and Erastus Snow, one of the Apostles chosen by Brigham Young to oversee the colonization of Arizona. I’ve sometimes thought that Laie is the Snowflake of the Pacific.
I was raised on a cattle ranch with six brothers and four sisters. The F-Bar Ranch also included the large families of three of my father’s brothers. In fact, I have 69 first cousins on my father’s side alone. That’s how I got elected. So when I hear that Congress’ popularity has been reduced to blood relatives, I can shrug and say, “Yeah, and I plan on ridin’ that popularity wave for a while.”
When I was not working on the ranch with my family and cousins, I was going to school with friends and relatives who shared my faith. It was, to put it mildly, a sheltered environment. When teaching Arizona geography, my government teacher in high school, Mr. Coltrin, used to refer to the structure on the large reservoir along the Colorado River not as Hoover Dam but as “Hoover Darn.” It was even written that way on all of our tests. Why swear if you don’t have to, he would remind us.
During my boyhood years, the only movie house in Snowflake was owned by the Church. One stake calling was to edit questionable scenes that might slip by the liberal reviewers of the PG ratings system. As you can imagine, some of the movies we watched were pretty short after that second review.
Just to give you an idea of how sheltered I was, I grew up not knowing that “flake” was a pejorative term. It was cool to be a Flake in Snowflake, or at least that’s what I led myself to believe, and later tried to convince Cheryl to believe.
I’ll never forget moving to Washington, DC to do an internship right after college. Cheryl and I were at a reception with members of Congress and their staff. We didn’t have nametags. I struck up a conversation with someone who asked where I came from. When I said Snowflake, he said “Hey, I know somebody from Snowflake,” but he struggled to recall the name. I rather innocently thought I’d narrow it down for him. “Was this guy a Flake?” I asked. He paused, thought for a minute, and said “No, no, he seemed pretty normal to me.”
It was then that I fully realized, “I’m not in Snowflake anymore.” I now find myself working in a city and in a profession where virtually ever action I take, nearly everything I write, and almost everything I say or post or blog is analyzed and scrutinized and cataloged for the next election. In a recent BYU forum, Mitt Romney likened such political scrutiny to the hymn that goes “Angels above us are silent notes taking.” That’s a kind way of putting it.
Soon after being elected to Congress in the year 2000, it was brought home to me the importance of “being an example of the believers.” I was debating an amendment I brought to the House floor that would have lifted our then 40-year-old ban on travel to Cuba. I’ll speak a bit more on this topic later, but during this debate, one of my Republican colleagues who disagreed with my position stood and said “The gentleman from Arizona just wants to lift the travel ban so he can drink mojitos on the beach in Cuba.” Now, I didn’t learn this in Snowflake, but I now know that a mojito was a rum-based drink.
Immediately, one of my Democratic colleagues, David Obey of Wisconsin, stood and demanded that the Republican’s words be “taken down” or removed from the record. In the House of Representatives, you are not allowed to say something that impugns the motives or reputation of another. What was unusual here was that a Democrat chose to stand and defend me, a Republican. In this partisan environment, that just doesn’t happen.
After the words were removed and the congressional record was corrected, I went over and asked Congressman Obey why he had defended me. “Ah, Flake,” he said, “I know you’re Mormon. I know you don’t drink. I was just defending your honor.”
We may not always realize it. Sometimes, we may wish it weren’t so, but we need to be aware that in all times and in all places, we are being looked to as an example of the believers.
In the United States Senate today, there are six members of the LDS faith. That’s a pretty good percentage given that we represent less than one percent of the country’s population. I was sworn in as a new senator in January of 2013. As you know, a term in the Senate is six years (which, by the way, is one of the founding fathers’ greatest achievements). I served 12 years, or six terms, in the House, and every other January, every member of the House of Representatives stands in unison, pledging to uphold and defend the Constitution against all enemies, foreign and domestic.
In the U.S. Senate, only one-third of the body is sworn in every two years, which allows for a more personal swearing in ceremony. Four senators at a time are escorted to the well of the Senate chamber, where the Vice President of the United States, who also serves as President of the Senate, reads the oath of office and “swears you in.” We were invited to bring our own family bibles to hold in our left hand as our right arm is raised as this rite is performed.
I, of course, brought a leather-bound quad, with the Standard Works listed on the cover. I wondered what someone in the chamber or somebody watching C-SPAN might think if they saw it, but it passed without notice. I returned to my seat in the Senate chamber and as the next group of four newly-elected Senators passed toward the well, one stopped and said, “Senator Flake, I forgot my bible, can I borrow yours?” “Sure.” I said, wondering how long it would take before he looked down to realize that he was holding something a bit heavier than just the King James Version of the Bible.
I breathed a sigh of relief when he returned to my desk without incident, handing the book back, thanking me. I looked across the well of the Senate and saw the majority leader, Harry Reid, a member of our faith, wearing a big smile. He walked over and asked, “Brother Flake, when are you going to inform that good senator that he just swore his oath on the Book of Mormon?” I said, “I think I’ll see how he votes for awhile.”
When the Senate is in session, we have a weekly prayer breakfast, attended by roughly one-third of the body as schedules permit. Each week a different senator is asked to talk about his or her faith – to give a sort of devotional, minus the plate of brownies. The senator who speaks also chooses the hymn that is sung at the beginning of the meeting. Several months ago, it was my turn.
Let me just tell you, to join with nearly 30 of my Senate colleagues in singing “I Am a Child of God” is an experience I will never forget. A few weeks later, when another member of our Church was asked to speak and choose the hymn, we sang “Have I Done Any Good in the World Today?” Now, I know what you’re thinking – for a bunch of politicians in Washington, that’s not an easy question to truthfully answer.
I’ve come to realize that there are opportunities to be an example of the believers at every turn, if we will just look for them. When I fly back and forth from Arizona to Washington each week, it is usually on U.S. Airways, sometimes crammed in a middle seat – not too glamorous – but on rare occasions when the President happens to be flying to my state, I get to tag along on Air Force One. Nothing against U.S. Airways, but Air Force One has more leg room.
On one such occasion a number of years ago, President Bush invited me on board. Now, one of the best things about flying on Air Force One is that at each first class-style seat is a telephone. When you pick it up, you hear a voice belonging to an operator situated in the command center on the second floor of the 747, saying “Whom would you like to call?” Here’s the best part. You give the operator the number, and the call is made. When someone picks up on the other end, the operator says, “This is Air Force One, calling for…” I first called my parents, who were duly impressed. I then had the operator call my kids’ school, where the principal was more than happy to call them out of class on the loudspeaker to take a call from Air Force One. It’s all about scoring points with the kids.
I then fought the urge to call a few of the girls from high school who dumped me because they assumed my career prospects were limited at best. Fortunately I didn’t have their numbers.
Finally, on this particular trip, I thought I’d check on one of my home teaching families. The week before, I had stopped by the hospital to help give a priesthood blessing to Brother Sid Stephenson, who was now at home recuperating. The operator dialed the Stephenson home. Sid’s wife Jeanne answered and excitedly ran to put Sid on the phone.
It was at this moment that President Bush walked by and stopped to say hello. I cupped the receiver and said, “Mr. President, in our church we have a program called home teaching, and I have on the phone one of the families that I am assigned to look after. Sid is recuperating from a heart attack. Would you mind saying hello?”
“Sure!” the President said, taking the phone from my hand. “Sid, Dubya here. ’Lot a people on Air Force One are concerned about ya.” There was silence on the other end of the phone. I thought, “Shoot, Sid’s had another heart attack.” What have I done? Fortunately, after a momentary pause, Sid spoke up and had a memorable conversation with the President. I went home and marked off my home teaching for the rest of the year.
Over the past several years, I have witnessed first hand what can happen when even a small number of courageous individuals are not afraid to stand up and be counted among the believers.
I mentioned earlier my attempts to lift the travel ban that prohibits most Americans from traveling to the island of Cuba. Soon after its revolution in 1959, Cuba became formally communist and officially atheist. Until recently, one could not be a so-called “Believer” – that is the word that is used – one could not be a believer and remain a member of the communist party. In a one-party state where the government controls every sector of the economy, being an “example of the believers” might cost you your job and your livelihood.
In the period since the Pope’s visit to Cuba in 1998, religious space has widened a bit, but only a bit. A small branch of the LDS Church has operated in Havana for more than a decade without fulltime missionaries and with little exposure to members outside of the country. Under such circumstances, the growth of the Church in Cuba has been limited. Still, these faithful, believing members have persisted over the years, hoping and praying with absolute faith that there will be better days ahead.
Having toured with the BYU Young Ambassadors to the Middle East in the 1980s, Cheryl was aware of the doors such groups can open. The group’s director approached Cheryl and asked if we could help facilitate the Young Ambassadors traveling to Cuba after their tour of the southern United States in the spring of 2011. It so happened that our daughter Alexis was part of the group. After much work, many prayers, and many small miracles along the way, the Young Ambassadors took a flight from Miami to Cuba. Cheryl and I had the good fortune to accompany them.
The Young Ambassadors performed in several venues around Havana, including a packed auditorium with 1,600 people. In the audience were senior government officials. The visit culminated on a Sunday with a testimony meeting at the small LDS branch, where these stalwart Cuban believers were outnumbered by their visitors.
Again, senior government officials were in attendance. One of these government officials was seated next to Cheryl, kindly translating the Spanish testimonies into English for her. “How wonderful is it,” Cheryl told me later, “when you can hear a die-hard communist whisper ‘I know the Church is true’ in your ear during a sacrament meeting.” I think that’s the very definition of a tender mercy.
In 2012, just one year after the Young Ambassadors tour, Elder Bednar visited Cuba, and on a hill overlooking the harbor in Havana, near a large statue of Christ that pre-dates the Cuban revolution, he dedicated the land for the preaching of the Gospel. Last year in June, Elder Holland visited Cuba and organized a second branch of the Church. These developments have come about because a handful of dedicated members, in an officially atheist country, are not afraid to be counted among the believers.
You may have heard recently of changes to U.S. policy in Cuba. Two weeks before Christmas, I received a call from the White House on a Monday, asking if I could be at Andrews Air Force Base at 4:30 AM that Wednesday for a covert mission. Would I ever! This Senate stuff had been a bit boring lately. I wasn’t allowed to tell Cheryl or anyone where I was going. My staff assumed I was flying back to Arizona.
At Andrews Air Force Base, I was joined by Democratic Senator Pat Leahy and Congressman Van Hollen, and we boarded a plane. Our mission was to fly to Cuba and pick up an American contractor, Alan Gross, who had been held for five years in a Cuban prison. Another plane took off just after we left the tarmac, also bound for Cuba. Its mission was to pick up an American asset, a spy who had been held for 20 years in a Cuban prison. A third plane would soon depart from Miami, carrying three Cuban spies who had been held in a U.S. prison.
This complicated spy swap was highly choreographed. All three planes had to land and take off within minutes of each other at separate airfields near Havana. Our plane was on the ground for exactly 31 minutes before taking off with our cargo, the freed American, Alan Gross. We sped back to Washington. Minutes after we landed, President Obama made a public statement at the same time Raul Castro made a public statement in Cuba, announcing a path to normalized relations between the two countries.
The following day I received a call from President Obama to talk about the way forward with Cuba. Two minutes later, my phone rang again with a more exciting call: it was Elder Holland, thrilled about new opportunities for religious freedom on the island.
Just two weeks ago, a senior LDS missionary couple arrived in Cuba to act as “branch builders,” the first LDS Church officials allowed by the Cuban Government to stay on the island for an extended period of time.
I can’t help but think that going forward, the powerful example a handful of believers in Cuba will lead to many, many more believers in Cuba.
There’s always been something about islands that draws me in. Maybe it’s having been raised on a dry dusty ranch and makes me want to be surrounded by water, but whatever it is, I don’t think I’ll ever get over it.
For decades, I’ve been fascinated with survival stories – especially sailing adventures gone bad. That seems to be my favorite genre. I’ve always wondered what would happen if I were marooned on an island. Could I survive? Six years ago, Cheryl got tired of hearing me talk about these things and said something like “If this is your mid-life crisis, go ahead and get it over with.”
So in 2009, I looked on Google Earth, found some suitably remote islands among the Marshall chain in the central Pacific, and went about planning to maroon myself. I decided I would just take a few essentials: a machete to open coconuts, a mask, fins, snorkel, a Hawaiian sling to spear fish, a magnifying glass to start a fire, a hammock, and a manual desalinator pump to make fresh water. That was about it. Now, I realize that for many of the Pacific Islanders here today, this doesn’t sound too exotic, but it does to a kid from Snowflake.
After flying from Arizona to Hawaii to Majuro to Kwajalein, I was dropped off on an uninhabited island called Jabonwod, consisting of 25 acres of sand, coral, and coconut trees. I experienced many sensations during my week there. Chief among these were fear – after more than a few close encounters with sharks; hunger – you can only eat so much fish and coconut; thirst – the coconut water craze is so over for me.
But most of all, it was the sensation of loneliness that about did me in. Nothing compares to being and feeling alone, completely alone. I had no volleyball to talk to, so I resorted to numbering hermit crabs that wandered through my camp with a sharpie pen that had been given to me on Kwajalein. By the end of the week, I’d numbered 126 crabs. I still miss #73.
I returned to the Marshall Islands two years ago with our two teenage boys, who are still at home, for a similar survival experience, and last year, I took a Democratic senator and a camera crew from the Discovery Channel to film what they called “Rival Survival.” We proved once and for all, as Steven Colbert described it, that “Republicans and Democrats can get along when death is the only option.”
There’s an old English poem that proclaims, “No man is an island.” If my lonely island adventures have taught me anything, it is that this concept is true. We need each other. We rely on each other. Life is worth living because of the interactions we have with one another, and our happiness depends on the lives we lead and the examples we set for each other.
Let me just say in closing what an honor it is to serve in the United States Senate. I am humbled each time I look up at the dome of the Capitol and reflect on the sacrifices that have been made to bring this great nation to where it is today. But I am even more blessed to be a husband, a father, and to be counted among the believers. I don’t know the answers to all questions, but I know that God lives, that Jesus is the Christ, and that His gospel has been restored to the earth. This testimony, and the covenants that I have made to affirm these beliefs, is the true source of happiness in my life.
I love this university. I owe much of what I am and hope to be to the decision I made more than 30 years ago to come here and run straight to Temple Beach.
I am ever indebted to parents, siblings, friends, and church leaders who have and continue to heed the Apostle Paul’s admonition to be examples of the believers.
May we all do the same is my prayer, in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.