Praying My Way to Church

In the 1960s I served in the Canadian Armed Forces as a surveyor and artillery observer. During the summer of 1966 I was assigned to participate in a communication and observation exercise prior to a major command operation.

I was part of a group stationed in a remote area of northern Alberta, Canada, about 20 miles (32 km) from the nearest paved highway. By the end of the second weekend I wanted very much to attend church because the coming Sunday would be my last chance before the start of the major operation. Sunday was a free day, so my only problem was that the nearest meetinghouse was about 75 miles (121 km) away in Lloydminster, Saskatchewan.

When I told the commander of my intentions he said, “I wish I could spare a vehicle for you, but we need to have them ready for Monday morning.” And although he was not a member of the Church, he said, “I wouldn’t mind going with you, but how in the world would we ever get there and back in time?”

“I’ll find a way somehow,” I replied. He decided not to go.

I had been praying all week that I would be able to go to church. That Saturday night, I prayed again with all the energy of my heart, explaining my desires and concerns: that I knew it was a long way but I believed Heavenly Father could help me find a way to get there.

Sunday morning I was up and ready to go as the sun peeped over the horizon. I started off down a dirt road with trees and heavy undergrowth on both sides. I hadn’t walked more than five minutes when a military vehicle came rumbling behind me in a cloud of dust. The driver picked me up and took me to the small community of Wainwright and pointed to a long prairie road through the trees, saying, “That’s the shortest way to the main highway; from there you can get to Edmonton.”

Once again I started walking down the road. Ten minutes passed without a single vehicle passing, and I began to get concerned. I bowed my head as I walked and prayed, asking again for help getting to church.

I lifted my head and in the distance saw a car coming. The driver stopped and smiled, asking me if I wanted a lift. “Yes, thank you!” I replied gratefully. He took me as far as the main highway. The moment he pulled away, another car stopped and the driver asked me where I was going. I told him I was going to Lloydminster, and he replied, “That’s fine; I’m going right through there.”

We arrived in Lloydminster at 9:30 A.M., half an hour before sacrament meeting was scheduled. A Chinese restaurant was open across the street, and I decided to go in and ask for directions to the meetinghouse. “Never heard of it,” said the friendly man at the counter. Then he gave me an odd look and said, “But I’m sure going to find out.”

He made a phone call and returned, saying, “They’re meeting in the Royal Canadian Legion.” Then he gave me directions as well as he could.

I thanked him and once again started walking, but soon I was feeling lost. Dressed in a pressed combat uniform and green beret, with a striking insignia on my sleeve, I attracted the attention of two boys on bicycles. They were curious to know where I was headed and offered to help me with the directions. As we went on, more boys joined the procession. By the time we found the building, there were eight boys escorting me up the steps to the front door. It was 10:05.

Inside, a congregation of about 20 people was singing the opening hymn. When the hymn concluded, the branch president stood, looked at me, and said, “Brother, I don’t know who you are, but will you please come up to the front?” He even invited me to share my testimony.

It was wonderful to meet with the Saints, to take the sacrament, and to sing and pray with them. I told them who I was and how I had gotten there that morning. I could see that some of them were moved by the story. Then I concluded with my testimony. I was touched when the branch president stood to say, “You have done something to revive the much-needed missionary spirit in our branch.”

After the meeting I was invited to eat at a member’s home. We were able to discuss the gospel and share our testimonies.

One of the members offered me a ride back to the main highway junction, and I gratefully accepted. He decided to take me all the way to Wainwright. As we parted, I stood for a moment in the road and watched the car become small in the distance.

Turning and walking to the outskirts of town, I noticed a military vehicle parked alongside the road. Inside was the same driver who had picked me up that morning. I asked him if he was going back to camp. “Sure,” he said. “Get in. You know, I can’t figure it out. I had to stop because I thought I had forgotten something. I’ve been sitting here for about 15 minutes trying to remember what it was, but now everything seems to be OK. I guess I was just supposed to pick you up.”

Arriving back at camp as the last light faded, I immediately went to my tent. I knelt down and thanked Heavenly Father for the wonderful experiences of that day and for providing a way for me to spend some hours with the Saints.

Illustrated by Richard Russell