Amid the Fire

It's a beautiful morning.  My girls and I watch the maple leaves dance in the summer breeze.  We see a hummingbird hover near the trumpet vine.  Morning sunlight casts wondrous shadows through the yard and the air smells heavily of burning.  Burning?  So much for picturesque.  The air is a heavy, hazy beige instead of brilliant blue because of the forest fire.  The fire is miles away, but air has a way of being a roaming traveler.  My oldest daughter asks, "Mom, aren't you glad you're not a firefighter anymore?"  My daughter refers to the fact that the summer before meeting her father I happened to take a job as a wildland firefighter. 

"If I was a forest firefighter I'd be glad right now because I'd be working."  Now my mind fondly revisits those days long ago.
Our dispatching orders took us deep into the mountains of the Salmon river where a tiny community of cabins lay threatened by the fire's course.  The main access to the cabins was by riverboat, this also being the preferred method of travel for the cabin residents.  The only access road was more like an ATV trail.  Getting our vehicles into camp proved to be a slow-going, bumpy challenge.  Food supplies were dropped in via helicopter.  We found ourselves literally in the untamed forest.  We spotted otters speeding through the water and enjoyed watching two bear cubs, one with cinnamon fur and one with black fur, who frequently frolicked the hills and berry bushes near our camp.
One night, my coworkers and I chatted in the cab of the crew truck.  Mike recently spent a weekend at home and was telling us about his crazy carrying on during a late night party with friends and family, a party where the crazy ideas increased in direct relation to the alcohol content consumed by the participants.  He soon had us all laughing.  Then he said something I wasn't prepared for and had never considered in my life.   He looked at me and stated, "It would be funny to see you drunk."  The others agreed.  I responded by telling them drinking alcohol is something that never appealed to me.  I told them about the word of wisdom and of my convictions to take care of my body, both because it houses my spirit, and because alcohol dulls the senses and hinders us from clearly communicating with God.  From there we went into a bit more about the truths of the gospel of Christ.  My coworkers didn't take me too seriously.  They weren't overly rude or disrespectful, but they easily admitted they prefer the eat, drink, and be merry way of life and the idea that everyone will be saved and happily living with God again after we die.
I retired to my tent a bit deflated.  Weeks before, as I left to embark on this summer job, I bid farewell to my family and hugged my parents.  While embracing my mother, she counseled, "Just remember to always read your scriptures."  Now there I was, in the dark of night on top of a mountain, feeling all alone in the convictions I knew to be true about God's plan for mankind and Christ's restored church on the earth.  I unzipped the leather case containing my Book of Mormon and flipped open the cover.  Before me lay the blank cover page at the front of the book.  In that moment, the Holy Ghost abundantly poured the power of God into my heart and mind and told me that the Book of Mormon is a book of truth, and that since it is true, it's ALL true-- Joseph Smith being a prophet, the restoration of God's priesthood authority, and of course, the life and mission of our Savior, Jesus Christ.  I don't recall what happened the rest of the night.  I can't tell you what chapters I read or what prayer I offered or when I finally fell asleep, but what I do remember and will always remember is what the Spirit communicated to me. This experience also served to teach me that when we take the time to stand for Christ and offer testimony of eternal truths, God backs us up, even if it is to simply and profoundly bolster the sinews of our own souls.
Maybe you've experienced the power of the Book of Mormon, maybe you haven't.  There is power in that book, not because its pages are laced with pixy dust or hold enchantments of the dark arts, but because of the power of the man whom those pages testify of.  Dear Reader, I know Christ walked with the ancient inhabitants of the Americas.  I know Christ walked the roads of Israel and I know he walks with us now.  Your HOPE lies in Christ.  My HOPE lies in Christ.  With that HOPE we can exercise trust and faith sufficient to light our paths.