Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Why Lighthouses?
For those who don't know, and on this one I think really only my Chaddy, and my grandma know that I love Lighthouses, and the reason why. I started loving them around the time when I was 16. I found them to be beautiful and magnificent. They served such a noble purpose. Helping all those sailors find their way back to shore, helping them avoid the danger of a rocky path as they cruised into port. Then when I was 18 I was driving to my apartment in Orem one night, I had to come to a stop on the highway due to traffic and as looked to my left I noticed the Mt. Timpanogas Temple. I was thinking of how much Temples are like Lighthouses. They shine so bright, even on the darkest of nights. They are beautiful and magnificent, and they too serve such a noble purpose. Now when I think about Lighthouses I think about our Savior and the similarities that He has to lighthouses and Temples. How he gives us safe path back to Heaven if we just follow his example and heed obstacles and dangers in our way. I must say that I am extremely thankful for the gospel in my life, and the knowledge that has come with it. It is amazing to know who I am, where I came from, and where I am going.
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Do you remember this?It was a lesson in our institute class at UVSC by Boyd K. Packer. I've known since then of your love for lighthouses. To me it's something that defines you.
In conclusion, a final lesson. There is one category of experiences which by long-standing rule I do not speak of in public. However, I am going to set aside that rule and tell you a part at least of one such experience. I do so because it has to do with light and darkness and may fix in your minds the lesson I have been trying to teach.
In 1971, I was assigned to stake conferences in Western Samoa, including the organization of the Upolo West Stake. After the necessary interviews on Upolo Island, we chartered a plane to the Island of Savaii to hold a midweek stake conference of the Savaii Stake. There were in our party besides myself and John H. Groberg, now of the First Quorum of Seventy and who was then a Regional Representative; President Wayne Shute of the Samoan Mission, now a professor of education here at BYU; Mark Littleford, superintendent of Church schools in Samoa; and Brother Laeausa, a Samoan talking chief who would represent us in some ceremonies.
The plane landed on a grass field at Faala and was to return the next afternoon to take us back to Apia on Upolo Island. The next afternoon it was raining a little. Knowing the plane would not land on the grassy field, we drove to the west end of Savaii where there was a runway of sorts atop a coral water-break. We waited until dark; no plane arrived. We were finally able to learn by radiophone that it was storming on Upolo Island and that the plane could not take off. We were able as well to tell them we would come by boat and to have someone meet us at Mulisanua. We then drove about three hours back around the island to Saleleloga. There President Tuioti, a counselor in the Savaii Stake presidency, arranged for a boat and obtained the necessary police permit to make the night crossing.
As we pulled out of port, the captain of the forty-foot boat, the Tori Tula, asked President Shute if he happened to have a flashlight. Fortunately he did and made a present of it
to the captain. We made the thirteen-mile crossing to Mulisanua on Upolo Island on very rough seas. None of us realized that a ferocious tropical storm had hit Upolo Island.
At Mulisanua, there is one narrow passage through the reef. A light on the hill above the beach marked that narrow passage. There was a second lower light on the beach. When a boat was maneuvered so that the two lights were one above the other, it was lined up properly to pass through the reef.
But that night, there was only one light. Someone was on the landing waiting to meet us, but the crossing took much longer than usual. After waiting for hours, watching for signs of our boat, they tired and fell asleep in the car, neglecting to turn on the lower light.
The captain maneuvered the boat toward the single light on shore while a crewman held a flashlight off the bow. It seemed like the boat would struggle up a mountainous wave and then pause in exhaustion at the crest of it with the propellers out of the water. The vibration of the propellers would shake the boat nearly to pieces before it slid down the other side.
We could hear the breakers crashing over the reef. When we were close enough to see them with the flashlight, the captain frantically shouted reverse and backed away to try again to locate the passage through the reef. After many attempts, he knew it would be impossible to find the opening. All we could do was try to reach the harbor in Apia, twenty miles away. We were helpless against the ferocious power of the elements. I do not remember ever being where it was so dark.
We were lying spread-eagled on the cover of the cargo hold, holding on with our hands on one side, with our toes locked on the other to keep from being washed overboard. Mark Littleford lost hold and was thrown against the low iron rail. His head was cut front and back, but the rail kept him from being washed away.
As we set out for Apia Harbor, I kept a post on the rail in line of sight with the one light on shore. We made no progress for the first hour even though the engine was full throttle. Eventually we moved ahead and near daylight pulled into Apia Harbor. Boats were lashed to boats several deep at the pier. We crawled across several of them, trying not to disturb those sleeping on deck. We made our way to Pesanga, dried our clothing, and headed for Vailuutai to organize the new stake.
I do not know who had been waiting for us at Mulisanua. I refused to let them tell me. Nor do I care now. But it is true that without that light, the lower light--the light that failed--we all might have been lost.
There is in our hymn book a very old and seldom-sung hymn that has very special meaning to me.
Brightly beams our Father's mercy
From his lighthouse evermore,
But to us he gives the keeping
Of the lights along the shore.
Let the lower lights be burning;
Send a gleam across the wave.
Some poor fainting, struggling seaman
You may rescue, you may save.
Trim your feeble lamp, my brother;
Some poor sailor, tempest-tossed,
Trying now to make the harbor,
In the darkness may be lost.3
Thank You for posting that Shay! I had forgotten 'till I started to read it. I did love that story and still do.
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