Enos, Part 2

The solitude comforted me. The chapel wasn't as big as the chapels elsewhere on my mission or those I had been accustomed to back home, but when I walked in alone it was large enough for my purposes. I strode up the aisle toward the pulpit.

A thought struck me. Where exactly was I going to do this? I wanted somewhere comfortable, but unless I tore a cushion off one of the chairs in the foyer I was going to have to deal with hard floor or at best thin carpet. On the stand, the platform where the speakers, the organist, the choir, and the presiding authorities sit during a meeting, I paused. This looked good enough. Resting my arms on one of the fold-out seats near the front of the the stand, I began.

"Father in Heaven ..."

Deep down, maybe I was hoping for something miraculous. Even if my experience didn't parallel that of Joseph Smith, Moses, or Enos, I was hoping at least for some rush of beatific energy or caloric burning in my chest.

"I've tried to be a good missionary ..."

I listed some of my successes — baptisms I'd helped to move forward in Bloomfield, Haines, River's Edge, Indian School, and Bandelier; companions I'd helped; people I'd tried to influence for the better. I also listed some of my failures — disobedience like the camel incident; Elder Davis and his movie collection, which went unchecked for half a transfer; various evidences of my lack of faith. I prayed for forgiveness for the things I'd done wrong and rewards for those I'd done right.

"For my whole life, I've had a cross to bear ..."

I recounted the struggles I'd had with my stutter and my expectations for the success of the Lord's work if He would take those challenges away from me.

After a while, I paused to gauge my feelings and listen for the presence of the Spirit.