© 2002 by Perfect Brightness L.L.C. All Rights Reserved.

Wherefore, whoso believeth in God might with surety hope for a better world, yea, even a place at the right hand of God, which hope cometh of faith, maketh an anchor to the souls of men, which would make them sure and steadfast, always abounding in good works, being led to glorify God. (Book of Mormon, Ether 12:4)

        Kneeling on the office floor, I felt the smooth concrete surface radiating coolness that contrasted with the hot, muggy Panama night. Clutching a small serviceman’s edition of the Book of Mormon, I focused my energy heavenward. I don’t recall the words I spoke but I remember the intent. I prayed something like, “Dear God, please help me stop drinking. I have tried to quit on my own but just can’t do it. I don't want to live this way any longer. I am lonely, unhappy and full of fear. I know I am unworthy of Your help, but please, please help me. If You will, I will devote the rest of my life to You.”
        What happened next challenges my ability to describe. My bosom began to burn with an inward glow. A feeling of peace began to permeate my entire being. I felt as though I were being consumed by spiritual fire. I perceived that something or someone was in the room bearing witness of truth to me. That presence testified to my heart that there was a Heavenly Father whose Son was the same Jesus who had lived on earth, was crucified and rose in glorious resurrection. I felt as though currents of quickening energy were surging through my body—a feeling of peace and happiness beyond anything I had known or thought possible. It was as though I was being electrified with joy! All fear left me. All desire to drink alcohol left me. All desire to do evil—left me! Kneeling there in the quiet room, something penetrated my being to its innermost core. It filled me to overflowing with humility, love, and a reverence for the Savior of mankind. I felt as though I were being baptized a second time—but this time—by fire. From that night forward, I have never doubted the divinity and eternal mission of Jesus Christ.6
        I don't recall how long I prayed before returning to my barracks bed. The next morning, the same profound feeling of peace still encompassed me. It was as though a spiritual hole—an emptiness in my soul I had always known—had been filled. For years I had tried in vain to stuff this hole with alcohol and drugs. Then, through a simple prayer, my Heavenly Father filled the emptiness with something more powerful than any chemical. My soul seemed to overflow with peace and joy. I somehow understood that my addiction was a spiritual disease. I knew that spiritual medicine had healed me.
        Saturday, the day following my life-altering experience, was a day off for most military personnel. I opened my Book of Mormon and began reading the ancient American history rich in testimonies and teachings of Jesus Christ. Verse after verse distilled truth upon my soul. Tears fell on nearly every page.
        Later that day, I inquired and learned that a branch of Latter-day Saints met in a small church located in the Canal Zone city of Balboa. The next day being Sunday, I took a bus into the city and located the church. Entering the building and locating the chapel, I slipped unnoticed into a back pew. The small chapel was cool and comfortable in contrast to the hot, crowded bus ride. It was the first Sunday of the month. The meeting was Sacrament and Fast and Testimony Meeting. I cried when I partook of the Lord’s Sacrament. More tears fell as I listened to humble Latter-Day Saints share their love for Jesus Christ. Through their sincere and simple testimonies, I felt again the warmth and emotion of truth distilling upon me. I silently repeated to myself again and again, “It’s true! It’s true! The Gospel of Jesus Christ is true!”
        Following the meeting, eager to become part of this wonderful congregation, I took courage and introduced myself to the Air Force captain who served as Branch President. Within a few months, this humble man would ordain me to the Melchizedek Priesthood7 and then continue as a wonderful example of a righteous Latter-day Saint. We became close friends.
        During the following week, I consumed my Book of Mormon, writing notes in the margins and underlining special verses that touched me. Nearly every verse touched me! I feasted on these scriptures like a starving soul who stumbles upon a banquet hall filled with delicious food. I read of the marvelous rebirth of the prophet Alma and immediately connected with his experience.

And oh, what joy, and what marvelous light I did behold; yea, my soul was filled with joy as exceeding as was my pain! Yea, I say unto you, my son, that there could be nothing so exquisite and so bitter as were my pains. Yea, and again I say unto you, my son, that on the other hand, there can be nothing so exquisite and sweet, as was my joy [Alma 36:20-21].

        I read on in my precious little book as though I were living the ancient American history. With every page I read, the Holy Ghost bore witness that what I read was truth. I knew that everything contained in the pages of the Book of Mormon had happened. I felt that if I had been present, I would have added my testimony to those who had heard King Benjamin when they took upon them the name of Christ.8

        And now, it came to pass that when king Benjamin had thus spoken to his people, he sent among them, desiring to know of his people if they believed the words which he had spoken unto them.
        And they all cried with one voice, saying: Yea, we believe all the words which thou hast spoken unto us; and also, we know of their surety and truth because of the Spirit of the Lord Omnipotent, which has wrought a mighty change in us, or in our hearts, that we have no more disposition to do evil, but to do good continually [Mosiah 5:1-2].

        A mighty change had been wrought in my heart. I, too, had no more disposition to do evil. I felt the humility and devotion of these ancient saints. I wanted to be like them.
The first week following my experience, I returned a hundred pounds of small barbell weights to the base gym. I previously had been “borrowing” them, one by one, so I could work out in the barracks. Wanting to make restitution, I made several lopsided trips back to the gym with ten-pound weights hidden in my bag until all had been returned. One might say I was lifting my burden of guilt.
        Within the week, I finished reading the Book of Mormon. At the end of the little book, I wrote this note:

August, 1970

        You are a most fortunate young man. You were brought forth in the last days … and are living in the days of the fulfillment of this book. It is not too late, possibly, but if you are ever tempted to do any manner of evil again in your short life here, remember how close you have come to losing Eternal Life. Strive with all your heart and strength to keep the Lord’s commandments. Love and honor your Father in Heaven. He will indeed reward you as He has promised.
        The road ahead is going to be an extremely difficult one, but if you hold to The Iron Rod, or God's love, you will be successful. Phil and Jenny [my wife’s nickname], obey God’s commandments and you will be the happiest people on earth. Don’t, and you shall die. Please, Jen, let’s live with our family forever.

        Now focusing life through eternal lenses, I did a spiritual and emotional about-face. My confidence increased dramatically. Within weeks, I moved my wife and year-old daughter, Brooke, to Panama. These were happy days. I enjoyed my little family in a new way. I could love and be loved. Our lives revolved around activities with other Church members in the Canal Zone. At work I was promoted to sergeant and in the Canal Zone Branch, I was called to be Scoutmaster. We were being blessed. The warning that I had written in my Book of Mormon—“should I do any evil … the road ahead is going to be difficult”—faded into my sub conscience.
        The next year passed swiftly. After completing my military obligation, we moved in September of 1971 to northern Utah to finish college at Utah State. A new baby boy, born the same month, added joy and more responsibility. On a snowy Saturday morning in December, we all went to the Logan Temple, where my wife and I were endowed and sealed together in an eternal marriage.9 Following the ceremony, our two children, dressed all in white, were brought into the special room and sealed to my wife and me by Priesthood authority. We were now an eternal family.
        Completing the final year of college with straight A’s, my confidence soared. However, my effort to make up for lost time was having a negative effect on my marriage. Two primary behaviors of an alcoholic—the compulsion to control others and resentment—began to surface. I had been given a spiritual gift, an opportunity to be free from using alcohol, but I had not paid the price to learn. And there was much to learn, especially this one principle: It is not use of alcohol that defines alcoholism; rather, it is behavior that defines alcoholism. It is possible to drink no alcohol and yet behave with the traits of an alcoholic. So it was with me. My resentment and controlling behavior caused occasional marital arguments. Many of these spats originated from differences in how my wife and I disciplined our children. My wife had been raised an only child and grew up in a small city. Her life had been carefully supervised. My parents, on the other hand, had been more liberal. For me, a farm boy, riding in the back of an open pickup was common experience. For my wife, such behavior was a threat to her children’s lives. Discipline was a constant source of argument. When I set consequences for my children’s bad behavior, I could never carry out the punishment. My wife was the opposite. But rather than seeking to understand her point of view, I increased my effort to control her. I didn’t see the subtle symptoms of addiction and emerging alcoholism. I chalked it all up as the stresses of college. But classes were nearly over and I was about to head in a new direction.
        My former seminary teacher was now teaching at Utah State’s LDS Institute of Religion. Our reunion was joyful as I recounted the story of my spiritual rebirth. We visited often. One day, he offered me a surprising proposal. Had I ever considered teaching seminary for the LDS Church as a career? 10 I admitted, given my desperado background, I had never thought this an option. He explained that my Bachelor's Degree, along with training classes and student teaching, would qualify me for consideration. When my mind settled upon this possibility, I felt the strong impression that I would become a seminary teacher.
        By the end of the school year, I completed seminary training, student taught and received my Bachelor's Degree. Although there was strong competition, I was hired to teach at a high school seminary in rural southern Idaho. That summer we moved to a new home on the outskirts of the small Idaho community.
        Over the next three years, I would experience the joy of teaching about the Savior. In my journal, I recorded one of my first experiences as a new seminary teacher.

August, 1972
        I am a day late in recording, but because of yesterday's experience, I need to write a few words. As the day ended, I was overcome with the reality that happiness is the direct result of serving our Lord. My soul was filled with joy beyond any I have known, except, of course, during my ‘born again’ experience in Panama. What joy it is to teach young people the Gospel of Jesus Christ. There is no doubt that my profession is the coveted one.
        I still marvel how, in two short years, I have arrived at this point. The Lord's blessings are so real! What comfort and joy it is to feel of the existence of the Savior in my life daily and partake of the peace and rest ‘He so freely offers me.’11

        Preparing each morning to teach, I knelt in prayer and expressed my gratitude for the special privilege and blessing of teaching seminary. I gave all credit to my Heavenly Father for what had happened and what was happening to me. My journals document this gratitude in hundreds of pages of spiritual experiences from teaching seminary.
        New Testament was the course of study my first year teaching. During the Easter season, I wrote:

April 4, 1973
        Today, April 4, is the celebration of Good Friday in Christian history. Over 1900 years ago, Jesus, King of the Jews, was raised up to his Father and nailed on a rough wooden cross. I've never seen that ‘Green Hill Far Away.’12 I doubt that it was green. I would think that it would have been a dark hill covered with stones and small gray brush.
        Jesus was placed on the cross at nine in the morning. While hanging there, he uttered tortured but courageous words:
        ‘Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.’
        ‘Woman, behold thy Son, Son, behold thy mother!’
        ‘I thirst!’
        ‘My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?!’
        ‘Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit!’
        ‘It is finished!’ [Matthew 27; Luke 23]
        With these words, the sun set on the Savior’s day of Perfect Passion. Then, on the first Easter Morning, ‘The Perfect Brightness of Hope’13 was introduced to the human race. The love of that man! Everything about Him speaks comfort to my soul!
        This day does not pass without deep reflection and overflowing gratitude for His precious gift to me—and to all mankind.

        Book of Mormon was the course of study my third year in Idaho. The Church Educational System provided the lessons, but I occasionally used an original metaphor to modernize the ancient text. On one occasion, I fabricated a story that, unintentionally, became for me a prophetic warning. The ancient American prophet, Mormon, gave a lesson on charity:

And charity suffereth long and is kind and envieth not, and is not puffed up, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil, and rejoiceth not in iniquity but rejoiceth in the truth, beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. . .But Charity is the pure love of Christ, and it endureth forever; and whoso is found possessed of it at the last day, it shall be well with him [Moroni 7:45, 47, 48].

        As a class, we reviewed Mormon's definition of charity; then I provided an analogy.
        “Sunday afternoon, in a tavern, not far from an LDS chapel, sits a drunk. With his head buried in his hands, he mumbles, ‘I can't live another day like this! Please God, if there is a God, help me! I can't live another day like this!’ The bartender, realizing this regular customer has again had too much to drink, escorts him out the door. The sunlight is blinding as he staggers up the street, stumbles, and falls facedown in the gutter. With the stage now set, God answers the poor man’s plea by setting in motion a small event. The day before, LDS missionaries, who had been proselytising in the area, had dropped a pamphlet on the ground, just inches from where the drunk now lay. A gust of wind blows the pamphlet into a puddle where it then floats on dirty water until it stops against the nose of the bedraggled person. Opening his bloodshot eyes, the drunk begins to scan the words: ‘If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him’ [James 1:5]. Now sitting on the edge of the gutter, the man continues to read the account of the First Vision14 given to the young boy, Joseph Smith:

So it was with me. I had actually seen a light, and in the midst of that light I saw two Personages [God the Father and His Son Jesus Christ], and they did in reality speak to me; and though I was hated and persecuted for saying that I had seen a vision, yet it was true. For I had seen a vision; I knew it, and I knew that God knew it, and I could not deny it, neither dared I do it! [Joseph Smith History 2:25].

        “Hope, nearly imperceptible through his pain, begins to stir in the man’s bosom. Perhaps there is still a chance, he thinks, as he stands and walks unsteadily toward the chapel he passed earlier on his journey to the bar. His clothes wet, face red and unshaven, he approaches the chapel entrance. You, the greeter, see him opening the door. A hard ball forms in your stomach and panic invades your mind as you realize that you will soon be required to welcome this obviously drunken bum. A fragment of text whizzes through your mind, and charity is kind…”
        At this point in the lesson, I would stop and ask my students what they were feeling. What would they do? How would they apply Mormon's definition to this test of Good Samaritanism?
        But what I never told my students was how close this analogy was to my own life. I could have easily been the drunk approaching the chapel doors. And only in my worst nightmare did I believe that I might again become that drunk.
        Studying and preparing spiritually to teach seminary created within me a deep love for the scriptures. At every opportunity, I read and pondered them. Sometimes, I drove the five hours alone to southern Utah to visit my parents. On these occasions, I listened to the Book of Mormon on cassette tapes. A journal entry reveals the love I had for the ancient Book of Mormon prophets.

September 12, 1973

        I begin this journal entry on a misty-moon, September evening. Trying to earn a little extra money, I spent today cheerfully wandering about the streets of my youth selling excellent, good-for-drying, canning, eating, or just-to-throw-at-husbands, kids, or dogs Mountain Bartlett pears, $4.50 a bushel. Now back home, I have a few moments to reflect on this special trip.
        The sun was setting behind broken clouds and jagged mountain terrain as I drove by a small lake just south of Utah Valley. Traveling down the wide black freeway glancing at the sunset provided a special atmosphere for the words of Mormon as he spoke to me through the car speakers.
        Beneath pink-streaked clouds, with purple water and dark tree shadows imitating an ocean lagoon, Mormon’s words sank deep into my soul. Another testimony of that glorious and peaceful book was born within me. I love Mormon! He lived! He lives again as a resurrected being. His son, Moroni, appeared to the Prophet Joseph Smith and revealed the location of the golden plates upon which was written the ancient American history!
        Mormon struggled with the wickedness of hundreds of thousands of God’s choicest people and saw their horrible extinction. The book is true, is true!15 I shall always love its stories, teachings and portraits of pure, humble and courageous men. I long for a glimpse into their present lives to tell them, ‘I know you! I love you!’
        As I sped along the freeway listening to the ancient testimony, my little car, rich with the smell of ripening pears, was also rich with Mormon’s spirit. From the dust of the past, his warm and living voice touched my soul.

Following this trip I received a special message in a letter from Mom:

September 11, 1973
Note from Mom—Journal

Dear Will (Nickname Mom used for me),

        I went to the reception last night. Everyone I saw told me you had been there selling pears and what a handsome, happy, cheerful guy. Seemed like you spread joy all over town as you peddled your wares (or pears).
        Again, I am so very proud of you! God bless, keep smiling. You are so very special.

Mom.

        Although teaching required constant energy, patience and discipline, there was much joy. Seminary was having good effect upon the youth. I learned about the daily challenges they faced in living the gospel.
        Letter from Seminary Student

Dear Brother S.,

        I really appreciated the lesson you gave us in class about gaining a testimony. It made me feel better about a lot of things. I had been wondering what was wrong with me; how come I didn't seem to feel and have great witnesses about the truthfulness of the Church. I suddenly realized that I am just like the type of person you described in class. My testimony has come slowly, a little at a time … I have great faith in what I learn from my teachers and Church leaders.
        I would like to take this opportunity to tell you that you are a fantastic teacher. I don't know if you realize the real power you hold. Your ability to influence youth will have an effect on many, many lives. Don't ever stop teaching. Don't ever stop singing and playing the guitar either …
        Thanks again and may God always be with you as He now is.

—A Friend & Student

        Over the years, I retained many letters and notes from students. This special “Friend & Student” cannot be unaware of what her note meant for me when, in later years and in times of great despair, I re-read her words and my spirit was lifted.
        My family’s years in Idaho began, for the most part, happily. We enjoyed camping, Family Home Evenings, and picnicking in nearby parks and canyons. My wife and I often took evening walks to a small café to enjoy our favorite dish—Chinese pork noodles. Our stroll would sometimes continue to the library for an hour of quiet reading. My wife usually selected pictorial books about animals or ecology. I read self-help and psychology books.
        During this time, I found great joy in playing and being with my children. My journals are invaluable records of this peaceful time.

October 12, 1973

        These days will remain as warm in my heart as the autumn sun and as rich as the farewell touch of my little blond boy’s lips as I lean down from my bicycle to kiss him goodbye before leaving for school. How my heart aches to be as carefree and clean as this little fellow. How easy to understand that the Kingdom of Heaven will be home for children—or at least those who possess their traits of purity and humility.
        Last evening was special with my children as we talked about Jesus. How sweet and precious were their questions as I thought to myself, Yes, little daughter, you will be a queen someday, and you my son, a king. All you need do is remain as pure and innocent as you are this night.
        I'm sure I touched little Sunshine [nickname for my daughter Brooke] as I told her that, because we sometimes choose the wrong, we could never live with our Heavenly Father again. How sad she became before I could make my point and tell her that, because Jesus loved us and had the courage to die to make right our wrongs, we would again live with our Heavenly Father. All we needed to do was feel sorry for our mistakes and then continue to do our very best. It was a tender and glowing moment.
        How free the children become with hugs and kisses when I talk of Jesus and when I take time to play with them. On Saturday, I wrestled with Michael [my son] on the lawn and built a reservoir in the sand pile, playing trucks and things with him. In the afternoon, I played school in the playhouse with Brooke and her friend. I was the teacher, Mrs. Peabody. We made up funny names for the students.
It was a typical experience of these beautiful fall days. If only they could last forever.

        During our final year in Idaho, escalating conflict between my wife and me awakened my alcoholic behavior. In addition to routine disagreements over the children, more serious arguments arose over the amount of time that was required of me as a seminary teacher. To succeed as a gospel teacher, I felt I needed to show interest in the students outside of the classroom. Football games, concerts, weekend activities, Sunday firesides, and one-on-one visits were customary. I found it difficult to determine where employment ended and charitable work began. I often left for school with a heavy heart from contentious words between my wife and me.
        The growing conflicts affected our physical relationship. The tail end of arguments too often carried into the silent battlefield of our bedroom. We harbored more and more resentments and grew further apart. Our approaches to living the Gospel were different. We were just never on the same page and neither of us sought to understand the other. For a brief time, we met with an LDS marriage counselor, but with little effect.
        I was sure I knew what was best for our children and our marriage. When the players wouldn’t perform, I became more frustrated. But, rather than seeking to understand and change my own behavior, I focused outward, blaming those closest to me, and external circumstances. Unable to forget yesterday’s anger, I allowed cancerous feelings to deepen into resentment. I pled with my Heavenly Father for help and often fasted for solutions, but I didn’t listen for answers. The spiritual hole in my soul had reopened.
        In Panama, the door to my addiction had been shut as a gift from God, but it had not been sealed. Resentment toward my wife began to crack open the door. Conditions were now prime for taking my first step back down the path to addiction. I first began using a mood-altering drug. This “concession” happened almost innocently when I took some cough syrup with codeine for a bad cough. As the drug entered my body, I felt an immediate relief from anxiety sweep over me. My marriage troubles momentarily melted away.
        The next day I tried to ignore my conscience. It was a small step, innocent, I convinced myself, but one that had pointed me in the wrong direction. Taking codeine—my new drug of choice—I was now traveling a different and dangerous path. I sensed something was wrong, but I had no idea how mined this path would be. The warning I had written in my Book of Mormon, “Should you ever do evil again in your short life,” began flashing. I didn’t notice.
        Once again, I found myself trying to fill the spiritual emptiness in my soul with chemicals. Following the cough syrup came narcotic pain pills prescribed for my extracted wisdom teeth. But I knew the ache I was trying to kill was coming from my heart and not the missing teeth. Christmas holidays brought bigger artillery. I stole strong painkillers from my mother-in-law’s medicine cabinet in an effort to escape my emotional distress. Under the influence of these prescription drugs, I was able forget my heartache working late into the night on a miniature outdoor scene of gingerbread cake, frosting, and plastic wildlife figures. It was to be a special Christmas present to my wife. By morning, the pills were gone, as was the spirit of the gift. I rationalized that the few pills would never be missed. But I felt a few sharp barbs of guilt as my path to addiction wound slowly downward through that little act of stealing.
        Returning to teach seminary after the holiday break was difficult. The conflict between body and spirit was growing as I continued to justify occasional concessions to prescription pain medicines. But teaching, along with speaking and singing at firesides and other church and social groups, brought the accolades of my peers, applause from community members, and praise from my students. There seemed to be plenty of good in my life to allow an occasional escape from reality. But I was on a path toward greater isolation and loneliness.

November 9, 1973

        Yesterday, I took my two sheepdogs for a run up the canyon. I was looking forward to a long-awaited and much-needed escape into the mountains. I ran along the snow-dusted trail beneath naked trees until my strong legs and pumping lungs carried me to the basin beneath Ski Hill.
        Other than my dogs’ and my panting, there was only silence. No wind. Nothing but the pines with frosted needles glistening in the shallow morning sun; just my two loyal friends and freedom.
        I found a soft spot beneath a large pine and caressed the eager heads of my dogs. After they left to investigate the new surroundings, I knelt and gave thanks to my Heavenly Father from my heart for life, health and strength. Much more felt than will ever be put here in words. Perhaps the feeling of these few moments will never be recalled.

February 6, 1974

        I parked the car at the reservoir and ran and walked through snow with Parley and Charlie [my Border collie and golden collie] to my ‘sacred grove’ to pray. I'll remember this quiet, white moment by what I wrote on a scrap of paper—
        I've seen the canyon in spring, summer and fall. Now, sitting here in waist deep snow, I see it in deepest winter. An almost warm wind pours down through the canyon meeting no resistance from the naked trees. I love its touch upon my face.
        There is a splendor in mountain, winter whiteness that the fair weather enthusiast misses. Although Nature’s multi-colored paintings in summer and fall are lovely, there is something hauntingly beautiful about her charcoal sketches in deep winter; a powerful melancholy I can’t describe. I guess I'll always be kind of a loner. For now, with my dogs panting softly beside me, I am much with God in quiet whiteness and happy.

        I was fooling myself. I was alone and sometimes close to God, but I was not very happy. Loneliness, resentment, and the influence of a cunning Adversary were combining in a deadly attack against the good I was accomplishing as a teacher of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Perfectly poised, I was about to fall into a dark, descending pipeline that would lead to the inescapable reality of one principle: For the alcoholic, one drink is too many; and then, a thousand not enough!