My Joy in A Journey

I have recently been boldly reminded of the words of Elder Russel M. Nelson who once declared, "Real joy awaits each of us - on the other side of sorrow." Indeed, my best friend Dane and I traveled through several experiences this past week which may well qualify as the ideal genesis of sorrow, but I feel inclined to speak of the "brightness of hope" and the reality of the joy that can be experienced as we look to the Lord who will not fail in guiding us through any vale of tears.
Rather than detailing the full import of the difficulties we faced during a greatly anticipated camping trip to the Southwest Uintas, I will briefly outline a few of the challenges which encompassed us. After both getting around 3 hours of sleep the night before embarking on our trip, Dane and I found ourselves stranded 5 miles up a steep and narrow mountain road, less than a mile below our final destination, the Grandview Trailhead. We were soon rescued by a group of middle aged guys who, in noticing our BYU hats were quick to let us know that they were University of Utah grads and fans. However, they were even quicker to help, and helped push and guide our car into a safe area by the side of the road. Though no one else could, I was able to get cell phone reception by some miracle and called my mother as well as the local ranger station. In doing so, I made the decision to continue but shorten our trip and return to the car the next day.
After an incredible day of fishing, I retired to our tent exhausted but struggled to fall asleep until 2 am as the hard and consistent rain beat upon our tent. I realized amidst my worrying that I had left the moon roof to the car open. Only a few weeks ago, I had left it open during a thunderstorm and returned to find a decent amount of water inside the car - and that was after about an hour. So as each pounding drop seemed to grow in frequency and intensity, so grew the intensity and frequency of my pleading with the Lord to provide a way that Dane and I, as well as my car could find a way safely to Provo the following day.
I awoke at 5:15 am after 3 hours of sleep, to the feeling of cold rainwater which had leaked and accumulated in a corner of the tent, soaking my feet. Dane was also awake and we decided to hike out of the Grandaddy Basin as quickly as possible. The rain miraculously stopped as we returned about 5 miles to the car. I was immediately reminded that I had left the moon roof open, but was surprised to discover that the interior of the car had miraculously remained dry. I then struggled to gain reception as I had found before. I paused to offer a silent prayer, and nearly immediately gained reception after multiple attempts. The first bit of news that I received came by text message from my mother informing me of Michael Jackson's death. I won't write a lot about that here, but that touched me more deeply than the state of my car. After talking to both my mother and father and struggling to find consistent reception, Dane and I decided to hike 5 more miles down the trail to a small camping area called Defa's Ranch, marked by its saloon and old western mentality. During this time, Dane realized that he had lost a very expensive pair of sunglasses during our journey. Toward the end of our descent, we also realized that we had just hiked about 20 miles in 24 hours.
We were distraught to discover in calling the few local towing companies that it would likely cost between $ 500 and $ 1000 to get our stranded car back to Provo. During our search for help, the workers at the Ranch were more hospitable and willing to help than perhaps any group of people I have yet known. Eventually, we met a cowboy, ruffian named Shay, who's language was consistently speckled with profanity and foulness. However, I have never met a man who was so willing to help while demanding nothing in return. Shay drove all the way up the mountain in his pick up truck, checked out our car, pulled it out of its ill fated spot, filled the leaking car with transmission fluid, and helped us to push and pull the car until it was possible to coast down the mountain to Defa's Ranch. Then, he offered to tow our car to Provo this coming Monday for merely the price of gas. But he didn't stop there. He personally arranged a ride for us from Defa's to Heber and then from Heber to Provo that evening. We received a ride from a group of kids our age who we later discovered were all high school dropouts. They smoked often during our trip, and the car was littered with beer cans, but they were among the kindest human beings that I have ever associated with. They were quick to allow us to use their phones, to give us drinks, and to help us feel comfortable. When we reached Heber, we were given a ride to Provo by a boy who recently graduated high school. He would later profess his sexual orientation as homosexual as he drove us to each of our apartments.
As I entered my apartment, my body was utterly wrecked and torn, but my faith and hope in humanity was elevated and bolstered as my heart was changed. I contemplated the many "Good Samaritans", mere strangers who had aided me amidst a sorrowful journey. Their fortuitous presence seemed more than a result of fortune. It was a miracle of God. I was reminded of the love that I have developed for others as I have sought to recognize the child of God deep inside each of us. I realized that behind every face, and behind every word or gesture, is a heart. And I renewed an invigorating hope and belief that people are indeed good at heart. Amidst the struggles which plague the world today, I am convinced that our greatest hope is not found in the intellect of our minds, but the love of our hearts. The world is so in need of love and the wings of hope upon which it flies. The good Samaritans who helped me home, by the view of the world, ranged from a few church going guys from a rival school, to a cursing cowboy, to a few high school dropouts, to a self proclaimed homosexual. Despite their various stations and behaviors in life, none rested or neglected the arduous task of getting me home without weariness. It has caused me to reflect on the central purpose of life - what it is really all about. We sometimes get caught up in a lot of the little things, and I am in no way suggesting that little things are not of value or not important, but I am not sure that my new cowboy friend Shay understands the Gospel of Jesus Christ less than a man who abides by all of the little things, but would pass a distraught wanderer. It seems to me that what the Gospel of Jesus Christ is really all about is becoming more like Jesus Christ, who's central mission and purpose revolved in doing that which we could not do for ourselves. God's work and glory is to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man. When all is said and done, I do not think that our Savior, the King of Kings and our final judge will reveal to us the number of times that we smoked a cigarette or said a curse word, but how many times we passed by a desperate hopeless wanderer, both in body and in spirit.
I bear my witness that Jesus Christ really lived and yet lives as being a perfect love whose life was one of unparalleled service to which we may look to as a beacon of happiness, regardless of our present sorrow. I further testify that as we strive to recognize the reality of His hand in all things, we will certainly do all that we can to act as his hands in guiding without weariness even the most distraught wanderers of life. In so doing, our hearts will learn to match our actions and we will find joy in our journey. I thank God for the blessing of a broken down car on the side of a mountain. The cost of the transmission which was shot cannot compare to the valuable lessons which I learned from a trying journey. As I struggled to find my way safely home, I found renewed faith in the Master whom I will seek to serve by serving others forevermore.