I’m thankful to my wife Kelly for that introduction and to Brother Kumar and Sister Bunker for a wonderful musical number which has brought the Spirit. I’m thankful for the spirit that I feel as a result of your being here today.
It is wonderful to be in Laie, as Sister Eyring mentioned. I am grateful for the
invitation from my dear friends President Wheelwright and Vice President Checketts.
Sister Eyring and I have brought our two youngest children, Spencer and Matthew. We
have already enjoyed the beauty of your campus and its surrounding beaches. We have
also felt the great spirit of BYU-Hawaii. Yesterday in Brother McArthur’s and Brother
Heaton’s classes I saw how effectively you are inviting the Spirit to help you in your
studies. I can feel that this is a great university with a bright future.
Today I’d like to talk with you about your personal future. For the past week,
we’ve been discussing online some of the opportunities and challenges in your lives. I’ve
learned important things from you, especially about the remarkable sacrifices you have
made for education, Church, and family. I pray that today we’ll be able to learn more
together.
As I read your online messages and as I look into your faces now, I think of the
missionaries with whom Sister Eyring and our children and I served in Japan. We have
been home for almost three years. We particularly enjoyed associating with the
missionaries. It was a blessing to get to know them and to see them grow. We felt joy as
they rose to their sacred calls. And we took great satisfaction in seeing them leave the
mission with a strong sense of who they really are. If you have served a mission, your
mission president and his wife undoubtedly feel the same about you.
Even if your mission service is still ahead of you, either in the coming few years
or later in life, you can learn important spiritual principles from observing your returned
missionary friends. You’ve probably noticed that some maintain their spiritual
momentum more effectively than others.
Sister Eyring and I have that same experience. We feel joy when we meet our all
of returned missionaries. Many have retained the spirit of the mission field. They are
making great progress in life, serving in the Church, gaining education, marrying and
having children, and starting careers. But, as you all know, the going is not easy. The
I
challenges and temptations of this world often exceed those of the mission field. Money
doesn’t magically appear in your bank account. Companions are not always true and
faithful. And there is no mission president to make your ‘transfer calls’ or to set your
daily schedule.
Returned missionaries, like all college students, also face delicate decisions about
‘fitting in’. For example, the elders’ suits and the sisters’ dresses that everyone wore in
the mission field aren’t so mainstream at school. On a college campus, wearing that kind
of uniform may seem like an invitation to ridicule. It feels much more natural to stick
with the kind of casual, comfortable wardrobe you brought to school as a freshman. As
one of you wrote, “It sometimes tempts you to act the way the world or others think is
right.”
You likewise face important decisions about your balance of spiritual and secular
activities. As I was finishing my mission, I wrote an ambitious list of spiritual goals.
Most of you have done that at some time in your life. Those goals probably included
daily scripture reading and perhaps writing in your journal. But life is more complicated
at college than it was in high school or in the mission field. For example, you face
pressure to get good grades. You also need to make money to keep your educational
debts down. On top of all that, you’d like to enjoy some of the fun things like swimming
and surfing that are off-limits to missionaries but are ever-available in Laie.
Sister Eyring and I keep these things in mind as we meet our returned
missionaries. We know from personal experience how hard it is strike the balance
between being in the world but not of it. I well remember, for example, the irresistible
desire to follow the male fashion trend of the early 1980s—wearing your penny loafers
without socks. I hadn’t been home from my mission very long before I succumbed to
this smelly style.
In fact, dressing like everyone else was just one way in which I lost some of the
spiritual identity I had gained in the mission field. That period when I was going without
socks inside my loafers was also a time when I wasn’t as attentive to my scriptures and
home teaching and temple attendance as I had planned to be during that last week in the
mission field. My casual dress was only an outward manifestation of an internal spiritual
slide from where I had been as a missionary.
Even with sympathy born of personal experience, Sister Eyring and I are often
disappointed by the sight of returned missionaries and other college students who appear
to be less than they once were. It’s hard to find too much fault with them given the
pressures of college life, which we remember well. But, having known our missionaries
at their youthful best, we can’t help thinking, “That’s not who you are, and it won’t serve
you well where you’re going.”
The good news, we have learned, is that for many of these great brothers and
sisters the apparent spiritual dip is only temporary. With time and experience they not
only regain their former heights but move on to even greater ones. Parenting, jobs and
Church callings stretch and straighten them. For many, things work out well.
But that is not true for everyone. For some the dip becomes a fall. The Lord has
warned, “For of him unto whom much is given is much required; and he who sins against
the greater light shall receive the greater condemnation.” One of you, a returned
missionary, described the effect of this principle in these words: “I am learning now that
you have to put energy into something to keep it going, but it takes ten times the effort to
get it started again after it has stopped.” This elder is right. Returned missionaries and
others who have known great light run grave risks when they choose less illuminated
paths. Even those who ultimately return to the lighted path will find that they have lost
opportunities to grow and serve in the meantime. They may have even sacrificed some
future opportunities.
Looking back on this period in my own life, I wonder if it wouldn’t have helped
to see a glimpse of what was coming. In fact, it is our knowledge of what lay ahead for
us—and what lies ahead for you—that prompts Sister Eyring and me to think, “That
won’t serve you well where you’re going.”
Your life’s experiences will be unique. But there is a reasonable probability of
certain kinds of things occurring. Some can be thought of as interviews or formal
conversations that you are likely to have.
A Job Interview
One of those conversations may be a job interview. You will be nearing
graduation. You’ll have gone to great lengths to polish your resume and write a
compelling cover letter. The resume will portray you at your very best. If you are a
returned missionary, you’ll be especially grateful for the resume’s description of your
mission, the time in your life when you most nearly approximated the professional you
hope the interviewer will see in you. Of course, you’ll also be dressed and groomed like
a missionary. You’ll be counting on a fresh haircut and a conservative suit or dress to
convey professionalism and competence, as they do in the mission field. The question,
though, is whether you’ll be comfortable in that professional attire. In other words, will
the suit or dress you’re wearing be matched by the essential internal qualities? If not, you
won’t be truly prepared to go where you want to go.
I learned that through experiences on both sides of the interview table. By the
time I started interviewing for a job, as a graduate student at BYU in Provo, I was at least
wearing socks again. But I was still reluctant wear a suit to class. I liked dressing
casually, the way everyone else did. It not only helped me fit in, it made me feel young
and free. Even on an interview day I came to school in my usual jeans and tennis shoes,
carrying a suit and dress shoes in a bag. Just minutes before my interview, I would go to
the men’s room and put the suit on. To this day, I can’t walk into the main men’s rooms
of the business or law school buildings at BYU without recalling changing in one of
those stalls.
Of course, I expected that the interviewer would see only what I intended to
convey: maturity and professionalism. But it felt a little funny wearing a suit. My
classmates and I used the interview rooms most of the time for study groups. I had spent
many long days and nights studying in those rooms. Always it was in jeans and tennis
shoes. And my classmates and I spent much of our time talking about sports and TV
shows instead of our homework. During those study sessions, when I was dressed
casually and acting casually, it never occurred to me I might one day be in that same
room with an interviewer. When that unanticipated day came, I felt very unnatural trying
to present an entirely different persona. I nervously hoped that the interviewer saw only
the competent professional I wanted him or her to see.
It was just one year after graduation, though, that I came back to campus and
learned the truth about what an interviewer really sees. By then I was a junior consultant
with a Boston-based consulting firm. I had been fortunate enough, with Heaven’s help, to
convince the representatives of that firm that I was really ready to leave my jeans and
tennis shoes behind. In the twelve months since then I had become quite a different
person. With a fast-paced career, a family to provide for, and a significant Church
calling, I had regained the focused intensity of the mission field. I was also dressing like
a missionary again. Instead of only one suit, the one I had taken to school in a bag, I
owned a whole wardrobe of suits. As a young consultant serving clients twice my age, I
valued my suit’s signal of maturity and ability.
Of course, all of the dozen or so MBA candidates who came to interview with me
dressed up. Most of them, both men and women, wore a suit. But I could tell which ones
felt comfortable and which ones didn’t. Part of it was the way they wore their business
attire. Some clearly felt out of place being in that familiar room in unfamiliar clothes,
just as I had the year before. I found myself wondering where they had stashed the bag
with their jeans and their tennis shoes.
But of course the issue wasn’t only one of clothing. The suit was just an outward
manifestation that, for some, went deeper. There was a seriousness and an earnestness
about a few of the candidates, a maturity that went beyond their knowledge of business
school cases. They seemed to have been preparing for the interview not for a few weeks,
but for years. Their outward appearance was backed up by an inner fire. I could tell that
they were prepared to make the leap to professional life. Everyone who entered the room
that day had been screened for top grades, and nearly all dressed appropriately. But only
a few were prepared to go where they wanted to go. The others hadn’t paid the price.
Life’s Interviews
You’ve already experienced many interviews in your life. You’ve sat with your
parents and with your bishop and answered questions about your spiritual worthiness.
You were glad when you had been living so that you could give the right answers. It hurt
when you couldn’t. At those times, as much as you wanted to declare your worthiness,
you knew that your actions hadn’t prepared you to do so.
There are more interviews like that in your future. Someday you may sit with
your spouse in the office of a stake president or a general authority. He will ask whether
you are worthy to represent the Lord as a spiritual shepherd. At that moment you’ll know
that it’s not enough to have come well dressed. You’ll offer a silent prayer of gratitude if
years of righteous living have prepared you to say, “Yes, we’re worthy.”
If that happens, you may soon find yourself on the other side of the interviewer’s
table. You will be the one ministering to ward members or missionaries. As you minister
on behalf of the Lord, you will see through their outward appearance and into their
hearts. To a degree, you will be blessed to see them as the Lord sees them and to know
them as He knows them. You will sense the doubts of a young missionary even before he
tells you that he thinks he can’t learn a foreign language. You will pause only
momentarily when a young woman confesses a transgression that makes your heart ache.
In answer to her question, “Can I be forgiven?” you will say, “Yes, the Atonement is
infinite, and ‘infinite’ means ‘big enough.'”
In fact, you’ll have interviewing experiences like these regardless of whether you
ever serve in a Church bishopric or presidency. You’ll have them as a home or visiting
teacher and, if Heaven grants that blessing in this life, you’ll have them as a parent. Most
of these interviews won’t occur over a table. You’ll be talking with a friend on her living
room couch or riding a mountain chairlift with your son. You’ll feel overwhelming love
for this person whom you are informally interviewing. And you will see into his or her
mind and heart. You will be reminded of Paul’s declaration: “For now we see through a
glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as I
am known.”
That is where you are going—not just into important interviews, but to the other
side of the interviewer’s table. You are destined not only to qualify yourself for salvation,
but to join the righteous Saints as saviors on Mount Zion. The Lord is counting on you to
bring both yourself and others to Him. That is why Sister Eyring and I hope that the way
you are living today will serve you well where you are going.
Now, I know what I’d have thought if this same sermon had been preached to me
when I was sitting where you are, as a college students with no socks on. I’d have said,
“Brother Eyring, that’s a fine vision of my future. And I’ll get there at some point. But
I’m just not ready for that kind of responsibility yet. I’m still young. I have my own
problems to worry about now. And I want to try to enjoy life a bit before I get old like
you.”
You probably aren’t nearly as self-centered as I was at your age. But I really did
have doubts about becoming a member of the older generation. Life was complicated
enough without signing up prematurely for the kind of selfless service that my parents
were committed to. I had enjoyed my full-time missionary labors. But after the mission I
had new challenges to address, such as studying, dating and paying bills. I was also
hoping for a bit more fun before things got really serious. It seemed to be my last chance
in life to go without socks. And I wasn’t about to start wearing my father’s knee-highs
before I had to.
Growing Old versus Growing Up
Looking back now, I can see that I was confused by the difference between
‘growing old’ and ‘growing up.' Though they sound similar, they’re not the same thing.
I’ve had enough chairlift conversations as a father to know you might appreciate having
the difference clarified. If you’ll be patient, I’ll try to distinguish ‘growing old’ from
‘growing up’ before this big chairlift we’re on gets to the top of the mountain.
As you look at me, you’d be justified in feeling glad that you have a full head of
hair and good eyesight. Growing old, as my mother says, isn’t for the faint of heart. But
there are two things you should know. One is that there’s no stopping the aging process.
You’re growing old right now. You’ve noticed, haven’t you, that you can’t overeat and
under-sleep the way you used to? When you were in high school, a midnight pizza
followed by three hours of video games didn’t faze you that much the next day. But now,
such a night leaves you with bags under your eyes—and maybe around your waist. You
are starting to feel your mortality.
You are also growing older in other ways. Responsibility is steadily setting in.
Your parents aren’t calling to ask if you’ve got enough money for groceries, the way they
did when you were a freshman. And your little brother has moved into your room at
home. You’re not quite on your own financially yet, but you can feel that time coming.
Many of your friends have already moved on. Some are married, and some have
graduated and started careers. That trend is irreversible. In fact, it will gain steam.
Lessons from the Mission Field
But before you let these aspects of growing old get you down, there is something
else you should know. Growing up—as opposed to just growing old—is more fun than it
looks. It is not only essential to being prepared for where you’re going, it’s also the
happiest way to live. Missionaries learn that in the mission field. The sacrifices they
make are, by the world’s standards, unimaginable. They carefully plan and work to a
strict schedule, one that requires them to spend all but a few waking hours each week in
study and service. If they follow the direction to be with their assigned companion
always, they have no ‘personal time.' They live and work under difficult conditions,
often feeling discomfort and sometimes facing danger. And they give up nearly all the
hobbies and entertainments of their teenage years.
Yet they look back on those years as the happiest of their lives to that point. They
remember their missions as the time when they learned the meaning of principles such as
“Men are that they might have joy,” and “Wickedness never was happiness.” Above all,
they begin to understand the great teaching of the Savior that, “He that loseth his life for
my sake shall find it.”
As we grow older, all of us, including those who haven’t served missions, begin
to see what it is that makes missionary life so pleasant. For one thing, sleeping eight
hours a night—the same eight hours—makes life better. So does eating regular meals
and exercising daily. The world tells us otherwise, especially when we’re young. But
our aging bodies remind us that the strict schedule missionaries keep is actually a happier
one.
The missionary schedule also ensures regular scripture study. And it allows for
daily service to others. Here again, the world mocks such a schedule. In fact, worldly
realities don’t allow us to focus full time on these activities as missionaries do in the
field. But firm commitment and a bit of planning can make such study and service daily
happenings. On the days when we do spend even of fraction of the time in the scriptures
and the lives of others that missionaries do, we realize why the sacrifices of the mission
field seem small. One of you said it this way: “When you put the kingdom of the Lord
and His glory first then the sacrifices you make for others are not going to be much of a
sacrifice, because the Lord will bless you tenfold.”
Perhaps the biggest difference between mission life and the time that follows is
the absence of a companion. For some, this lack of full-time companionship lasts a
lifetime. But to the righteous who seek a companion the fulfillment of this desire,
whether in this life or the next, is the best part of growing up. The love that missionaries
feel for their assigned companion pales compared to what can be found in eternal
companionship with a spouse.
I am grateful to have found that kind of loving companionship with Sister Eyring.
I count the day I met her as the day that life truly began. We have been blessed with
opportunities for service and joy beyond even those I knew as a young missionary.
We also have better ‘preparation days’ than missionaries get. There are things that
for reasons of expense or danger aren’t allowed in the mission field. For example, our
son Henry Christian, who is serving a mission in Nagoya, Japan, had to leave his wake
board and snow skis at home. Sister Eyring and I miss Henry when we go to the lake or
to the mountains with his sisters and brothers. We even feel a little guilty that he’s not
with us. After one of these trips, I have a hard time knowing what to write in my journal,
which I send to Henry each week. But Henry understands that his sacrifice is both
necessary and temporary. He is enjoying his unique missionary experiences and looking
forward to great ‘P-Days’ with us when he returns home.
Henry also knows that the kind of preparation days our family enjoys require
growing up, and the sooner the better. For instance, skiing and wakeboarding aren’t
much fun if, as an old person, you are still treating your body the way a kid does. As you
grow older, you have to take better care of your body. That thought will motivate Henry
to stick with the missionary schedule, with its eight hours of sleep a night, three square
meals a day, and six workouts a week.
Likewise, Henry understands that we won’t be buying his ski passes forever. He
knows that to get where he wants to go he must do well in school and find challenging,
rewarding employment. Having done an internship at a consulting firm in Boston just
before his mission, he has learned that working in such a place will mean skiing and
wakeboarding less than he’d like, at least in the beginning. That is true not just because
the hours at work will be long, but also because he’ll be a loving husband and a dutiful
father to his young children. He won’t be skiing and wakeboarding much until they are
ready to learn.
But we’ve talked about this sacrifice on more than one chairlift ride. Henry
knows that the hobbies of youth can be ours as we grow old only if we have excelled in
growing up. That means investing in good health, studying hard, keeping covenants and
sacrificing for companions, just as in the mission field. Everyone grows old. But those
who plan carefully and who eagerly make the sacrifices of growing up can have fun
doing it.
I feel blessed to be such an old timer. I’m grateful for where Sister Eyring and I
are and for where we are going. We do our fair share of days in suits. But some of the
suits are neoprene. There are times, such as our three years in Japan, when we wear the
water skiing and snow skiing kinds of suits less then we would choose. But Heaven is
always kind. There are heaven-sent alternatives, such as wonderful holidays with
Japanese friends and trips to Tokyo Disneyland. And I might add, running on Hukilau
Beach. When we are in the Lord’s service, He blesses us with joy unique to the
responsibilities and the places in which we find ourselves.
A Final Interview
Of course, happy family P-Days aren’t the main reason for growing up. We
should be eager to maintain the spiritual habits and momentum of the mission field
because we are all on our way to a final interview, one that comes when our time in this
life ends.
We do not know what the preferred dress for that interview will be. But we know
who will conduct the interview. Jacob, the younger brother of Nephi, left no doubt about
that:
O then, my beloved brethren, come unto the Lord, the Holy One. Remember that
his paths are righteous. Behold the way for man is narrow, but it lieth in a straight
course before him, and the keeper of the gate is the Holy One of Israel; and he
employeth no servant there; and there is none other way save it be by the gate; for
he cannot be deceived, for the Lord God is his name.
We also know what it will take to be prepared for this interview. We must repent
and keep the covenants of baptism and of the temple. That will mean remembering the
Savior always. And it will mean acting as the Savior would act. He himself described
those actions:
Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my
Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world:
For I was an hungered and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink:
I was a stranger, and ye took me in: Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye
visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.
The Savior clarified that, as we minister to our spiritual brothers and sisters the way full-
time missionaries do, we minister to Him.
He has also told us the words that we want to hear, the ones that will signal a
successful interview:
Well done, thou good and faithful servant: thou hast been faithful over a few
things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy
Lord.
Even if there were no joy in this life at all, we would sacrifice everything to hear
those words when life ends. But there is joy to be had now. It requires the same
sacrifices as missionary work: careful planning, earnest study, selfless service, and
faithful companionship. But the joys can be even greater than those of the mission field.
If you are blessed to marry well, the companionship is much, much better. And, if you
have grown up quickly, the P-Days are better too. You will love sharing them with your
spouse and children.
May we all remember where we are going and hasten to prepare for life’s
important interviews. The sacrifices are not as great as they seem. We need not give up
any true joys. The price is only giving away all of our sins, including the favorite ones of
our youth. Full-time missionaries do this. The challenge is greater, though, when the
mission ends. Then it is time to become your own mission president, setting and
following your own rules of daily conduct. The adversary will tempt us to believe that
living as missionaries do—even when we don’t have to—is a sign of growing old and
that we should resist it. But we know that giving away our sins and committing to live
consecrated lives is the way to grow up and become like our Savior and His Father, our
Father in Heaven. As we do that, our joy steadily grows.
I’d like to conclude with my testimony and also appreciation for those of you who
participated so wonderfully well. In our online discussion, I’ve learned from you and felt
of your spirit. I bear testimony that God is our Father and that His Son, Jesus Christ is
our Savior and that the Holy Ghost can and should be our constant companion and
dearest friend. These things are possible because of the restoration of priesthood keys in
the latter days through Joseph Smith. Those keys are held today by Thomas S. Monson.
I so testify in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen