“Help Me Find the Chapel,” Ensign, Aug. 1996, 62
“Help Me Find the Chapel”
In 1965 while waiting for a letter from the President of the Church to call me on a mission, I received instead a letter from the president of the United States that ordered me to report for active duty in the army. Months later, after completing basic training, I was sent to a combat engineer school in Virginia.
My first Sunday there I took a bus into Washington, D.C., to attend church. I had just turned 20. I was alone, and after six months of harsh military training, I was desperate to find the Saints and once again feel their spirit.
The bus let me off near the Smithsonian Institution just before 8:00 A.M. on a cloudy and overcast Sunday morning. Consulting a telephone directory, I learned that the Washington Ward on 16th Street began its meetings at 9:00 A.M. At that early hour I could find no one to give me directions, but I remembered that the White House was located on 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue and concluded that 16th Street must be close by. So I headed toward the White House.
When I reached 16th Street, I had no idea how far I had to go, because I did not have a specific address. I passed many large mansions that bore signs identifying them as embassies, but none bore the name of the Church. Despair was building inside me. After walking a few more blocks, I came to a city park. It was just a few minutes before 9:00 A.M., and I was lost.
I stepped off the sidewalk and slipped through the bushes into the park. Kneeling beside a bench that was hidden from any view of the street, I humbly asked Heavenly Father to help me find the chapel because I felt a desperate longing to partake of the sacrament and meet with fellow Church members without interrupting the meeting by being late.
Finishing my prayer, I looked up. The overcast sky lightened, and the sun broke through the clouds. And at the end of the park, through a gap in the trees, I spotted a sparkling spire topped with the unmistakable gold statue of the angel Moroni. It was perfectly framed by the trees and glistened in the sunlight. My heart leaped for joy, and I arose and ran the full block to the next corner.
There, across the street, was a magnificent Church building. I found out later that it had been built in 1920 with the angel Moroni figure on the spire to declare the Church’s presence in our nation’s capital.
Out of breath, I entered the chapel door and slipped quietly into a pew. The bishop, who apparently had been standing at the podium for some time, looked up and said, “I don’t know just why, but now we are all here and can begin.” He started by welcoming all the visitors present, and I suddenly felt at home.
I thanked the Lord then and many times since for leading my footsteps when I was lost or couldn’t find my way. He always listens and, as needed, still shows me the way.