A Glimpse of Glory

by Lisa Watts

Editorial Intern

Patti Jo and Gary stood quietly, arm in arm at the crest of the hill, and looked. The golden sun pulsed a warm glow into the endless heavens. Swirls of white and gray fluff melted the glow into exotic shades of purple and orange that rolled past the horizon. Time seemed to stand still.

Alaskan sunsets such as these are as common to Patti Jo and Gary as fresh air and spruce trees, but this night they felt renewed awe and paused to drink it all in again. It felt good to rest for a moment and let the midnight sun cast intermingling shadows behind them.

“Let’s load up, folks!” came the shout from the two large yellow buses. With that, the spell was broken and the couple joined the hundred others scrambling back on the school buses that would carry them back to the remaining three days of the all-Alaska youth conference that had just begun in this summer-stunned Fairbanks town.

“Everybody in?” asked the bus driver. There was no answer. “Everybody who is not here, say ‘yes,’” he shouted as he revved the engine. The crowd roared with laughter and then took to chattering as the bus rolled along the dirt road through the dense spruce forests filtering the still-orange sun.

They talked of school, dates, and sports as most young Latter-day Saints do in the Continental United States. But there was something different about these youth from their brothers and sisters in the “lower 48.” They were Alaskans, and they were alive with the splendor of this vast land, alive with the communion of being together as Latter-day Saints, a communion made sweeter by long absence.

“I’m a Mormon,” one boy scrawled on a steamy window. That said it all. Being a Mormon in Alaska means struggle—lonely struggle with the elements that daily affirm their supreme control, and struggle with sin that has been called some of the worst in the world. But such struggle yields strength, a glistening, steely will for excellence. And it yields a love for people that even the most frigid winter can never still.

The youth conference showed this well. The planning was fraught with struggles, but the conference itself bore the stamp of excellence and love as unmistakable as the glitter of a handful of pure Alaskan gold nuggets. There was an activity for everyone—sun-viewing; workshops; dances; sports; and talks with Elder Paul H. Dunn, of the First Quorum of the Seventy, his wife, President and Sister Howard W. Barben, of the Anchorage Alaska Mission, and astronaut Don Lind. Finally there was a three-hour testimony meeting with an outpouring of spirit so great that even the massive state of Alaska could not contain it.

It was the first time in ten years the annual all-Alaska youth conference had been held in Fairbanks, a grown-up mining town, rather than the more metropolitan Anchorage. The youth of Fairbanks had decided they needed a challenge and a chance to show the Anchorage Saints they were willing to share the load. So they decided to host the conference for more than 300 people in their small city. They knew there would be struggles; perhaps they didn’t know just how hard the struggles would be. But they were determined.

The first trial was the weather. The committee began its work in October and continued through the winter when the temperatures reach 30 to 70 below zero and when the sun only weakly shines three hours a day. Planning sessions for the conference were held in homes even when Sunday School and other meetings were canceled in the chapel because of the cold. Some members of the committee drove as many as 33 miles to attend the sessions. At those low temperatures and in that darkness, life and death situations can arise from as common an occurrence as a stalled car. There were no mishaps, although constant worry.

The steering committee pushed on; their faith grew with each challenge. The sunny June day that sat so patiently on their calendars was a beacon of hope, and those silly moments that sprang up so unexpectedly were buoys of spirit. They found their worries slipping into laughter.

They worried about planning menus and getting enough food for the crowd they expected. Finally, two girls sat down with an expert Relief Society sister in the branch and cooked up scrumptious menus that included fried chicken, fresh vegetables, fresh fruit, potato salads, and homemade desserts. Then they found that a local supermarket would give them a discount on their food purchase. Finally the sisters in the branch Relief Society offered to run the kitchen. Their worries were eased and they found themselves laughing together at the fun they were having.

One girl went to shop for napkins. As she put 12 packages of 144 napkins into her cart, a lady down the aisle gasped, turned to her husband, and whispered, “Oh, poor dear. She must belong to a huge family.” The steering committee giggled about that comment later but agreed it was at least partly true.

Even the committee’s biggest worry—where to house everyone—was resolved in laughter. Member homes are scarce in Fairbanks, and some are only rustic log houses.

“It was really funny,” chuckled one girl on the steering committee. “Some families were called and asked to take youths, and they would say, ‘Well, I can, but all we have is a honey bucket, and I don’t think girls would want to stay here.’” Everyone was finally given a place to stay, although it was real Alaska frontier-style for some—no running water, electricity, or telephone, but clouds of mosquitoes.

One by one the problems were tackled. Working together, the young planners became excited by the great conference taking shape. The months passed quickly.

When that “sunny” June day finally arrived, a steady rain greeted the committee members, a final test of their faith. Everyone held their breath; the success of the outdoor activities hung in the balance. It suddenly became very clear just how much they depended on the Lord.

“I know that if this conference comes off, it will be because of help from above,” one committee member said as conference-goers began arriving.

Slowly the clouds broke and the sun began to burn its seal of approval on the conference about to start. The committee members uttered a prayer of thanksgiving, and then threw themselves into the task of welcoming their guests from throughout the “Great Land.”

They came in groups, with sleeping bags and clothes under each arm, from cities throughout the massive state, twice the size of Texas. Handfuls came in cars from small cities such as Delta, Cordova, Kenai, Soldotna, and Clear. Others came in buses and planes. This meant a sacrifice of hard-earned time and money for many conference-goers. Eight youths from Juneau raised $1,400 to charter a flight in. One boy flew in from White Horse in the Yukon Territory, more than 500 miles away, at a cost of $150. The group from Kodiak Island floated for about 13 hours on a ferry and then immediately boarded a bus for another 11-hour trip. The largest group, 154 youths from Anchorage, drove in school buses for about seven hours.

But no matter how they traveled, their spirits were flying high when they arrived. From the start the pace of the conference was breathtaking.

The first night they threw their sleeping bags and clothes into the halls of the chapel, and then half of the crowd danced together at a record hop in the cultural hall, while the other half boarded buses and were whisked up to Uhlerhaven ski lodge to ooh and aah at the midnight sun.

The next day everyone joined together in the modern cement block and wood chapel to listen as astronaut Don Lind, in Alaska doing graduate studies at the University of Alaska’s Geophysical Institute, gave the keynote address on the conference theme “Mine Eyes Have Seen the Glory.” Brother Lind painted a panoramic word picture of pioneers who suffered tremendous hardships for the gospel because they had glimpsed its glory. He urged the youth to take note.

“You may not have to bury your children on the plains or freeze your feet at Valley Forge,” Brother Lind warned, “but you will have trials as every generation has had trials; you may have more trials than most generations. You need, brothers and sisters, to glimpse the glory to sustain you through those times.”

The vividness of his words and the power of his spirit burned firm resolve in the hearts of that little gathering. Determination etched itself on every face, and soon the glory of their state, the glory of their country, and the glory of the gospel pulsed and glowed in everything they did.

They left the chapel and broke into smaller groups for workshops. The topics were as diverse as the youth who attended them. There were fun workshops such as “Cooking for Guys,” “Auto Mechanics for Girls,” and “Courting Alaska-style.” Sheepish, but excited boys dusted their hands with flour as they learned how to cook Maori hamburgers and other delectable delights.

“I figure I’ve got to cook on my mission,” one boy said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Why not learn now?”

Normally dainty girls rolled up their sleeves and tied back their hair to learn a little about what goes on under the hood of a car.

“I don’t want to become a mechanic or anything,” one girl commented. “But I do want to know the basics.”

And everyone sat back to munch popcorn and watch slides showing a melodrama of a typical old-fashioned Alaskan date with picnic basket, shotgun, and a bear.

There were also spiritual workshops such as “Answers to Gospel Questions” and “How to Prepare for a Mission.” President Barben led a lively discussion on many gospel issues in the chapel, and a recently returned missionary taught classes of boys and girls some practical tips on how to prepare for and succeed on a mission.

By lunchtime everyone had worked up a good appetite. The hot sandwiches on giant, Alaska-sized buns, potato chips, milk, and homemade brownies were eaten with great relish. Members of the Fairbanks Relief Society watched with proud smiles from the kitchen where they had been hard at work since 7:00 A.M.

The second half of the workshops went even faster and more delightfully than the first. After each class, comments such as, “You’ve got to go to the one I just finished. It’s the best so far,” could be heard in the halls when friends passed each other on their way to the next session.

As the workshops continued, one boy finally admitted, “I don’t know which one is the best. They’re all good.” And after it all ended, everyone seemed to have a common lament: “I wish I could have gone to all of them.”

But the laments were short-lived because faster than the bursting open of arctic buttercups in the summer sun, they found themselves in formals and suits at the university student union for a dinner and an upbeat dance with a live band. Although it looked more like a scene from a posh movie with elegant couples swaying in harmony, the simple melody of love was still very real. Three girls paused to help a friend mend the sagging hem of her gown. Several boys asked their timid advisers to dance. And everyone took turns photographing each other. If one person stood on the sidelines alone, an arm would reach around him and draw him into the group. There were no in-groups or out-groups, only the common bond of gospel love that continued to grow as the conference continued to unfold.

Saturday started on buses, where a thousand spirit-building adventures had their beginnings. The engines had barely started up when the strains of hymns or camp songs sung with the vigor of gold miners could be heard through the windows of the bright yellow caravan. As they sped toward a day of fun on the shores of Harding Lake 30 miles from Fairbanks, a friendly rivalry developed between cars and buses on the two-lane roads. “Guess what, team? We’re about to be passed,” shouted one bus driver. Immediately the windows flew open and arms and shouts crowded through to greet the car speeding up temporarily to pass the cumbersome bus. “There goes the mission president,” someone announced, and the cheers grew louder still.

By the time the caravan stopped to unload its cargo, everyone was ready for the full day to follow. Tug-of-war, volleyball, frisbee, horseshoes, baseball—everybody joined in with their muscles or at least their lungs. When someone stood by the sideline looking a little forlorn, he was immediately handed a bat and told he was up next.

“It’s like we’re a family,” one girl commented as she watched. It was as if even the moments were too precious to waste on anything but loving concern. “This is about the only opportunity I have to get together with Mormon kids,” a boy from one of the small communities explained.

Later in the day the Dunns arrived. “We don’t get many General Authorities up here,” one boy explained as the group clustered on the shores of the lake waiting for the Dunns’ helicopter. “When they do come, we get excited.” The excitement was very real when the whirr of the propeller and the roar of the engine turned all faces skyward. As the Dunns stepped out of the craft, camera shutters clicked, handshakes were exchanged, and swarms of smiling people enveloped them. Suddenly a chorus of “Shall the Youth of Zion Falter” filled the air as everyone lifted their voices in unison. “Only in Alaska, only in Alaska,” murmured one boy almost to himself.

From that point on, the tenor of the conference intensified. A still-vibrant, but now-hushed feeling swept the crowd as they gathered in the sands with their backs to the shimmering sun and listened to Elder Dunn in the first of three addresses to them.

“I know that many of you have traveled long distances to come to this conference. Yet I get the feeling that it was all worth it,” Elder Dunn said, looking into their faces. “I think I see here spiritual eyes that are very comforting. I don’t have too much concern about the future when I can look out at such a sea of righteousness.”

He spoke and they listened. They listened until their hearts overflowed, the fullness glistening down sun-bathed cheeks. And then they listened some more. When it was time to climb back on the buses, many were reluctant to leave. Only the promise of hearing Elder Dunn the next day, Sunday, gave them the will to part.

Sunday began early, and many of the now-scrubbed faces were drooping a little as they entered the large cultural center on the university campus for church meetings. “I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in over a month,” one girl on the planning committee later admitted quietly. But the tiredness almost felt good. It came from days filled to overflowing with Mormon-style work and fun.

It wasn’t long before the faces began to glow with spiritual awakening. The group divided for the first meetings. The boys met with Elder Dunn for a priesthood meeting in front of a huge mural of the Fairbanks countryside.

“Can you imagine,” he said, “what we could do if we took faith in God, confidence in self, and added that third ingredient—determination?” Then he answered his own question. “There isn’t a boy or a man in this room who couldn’t go all the way in doing anything he needs to do.”

Meanwhile the girls were meeting with Sister Dunn in the auditorium. The sweet spirit of womanhood at its best radiated from the girls as they listened to Sister Dunn bear her witness of the growth that can come through service in the kingdom.

“You know, girls, service is the only way to develop our capacities,” she said with quiet conviction. “The Lord wants us to grow and develop.”

From the third row a baby began to fuss and then cry. Sister Dunn paused for a moment, and everyone smiled as the mother offered the child comfort. Somehow it all seemed very right.

When the boys joined the girls in the auditorium for the final event of the conference, a three-hour testimony meeting, each paused for a moment in the greeting. The mysterious transformation that had occurred over the short night was most pleasing. Shirts and ties had replaced T-shirts, and soft dresses had replaced blue jeans. But the change was more than washing off the dirt and donning the Sunday best. They felt cleaner through and through. It was as if the words of the last night and the anticipation of the experience to come had brought a renewal of spirit, a new understanding of life.

As the meeting progressed, this renewal grew. Heart joined heart in a declaration of the power of righteousness that bowed many heads and filled many eyes. The lines of those waiting to bear testimony grew up the stairs the length of the auditorium.

“Do you know that the group sitting right here in this room could change the shape of Alaska?” Elder Dunn began the testimony bearing. “People want what you and I have if we are bold enough and courageous enough to share it with them. I’m just naive enough to think that you and I can convert the world.”

He spoke with boldness, and they answered with conviction.

“There is a feeling in this meeting that I can do anything that’s right,” one boy said, adding his testimony to Elder Dunn’s.

“I look around me and everyone is just sort of glowing,” observed one girl, her voice hushed in marvel.

And they did. It was a glow more beautiful than that of the midnight sun from the tallest mountain. It welled up from three days of nurturing and spilled over, moving all within its touch to swelling hearts and wet cheeks. Nonmembers stood to express their gratitude and testimonies in embryo. Adult advisers wept silently beside their youth. The Dunns watched in quiet wonder. And every heart joined in the silently resounding chorus, “His truth is marching on.”

Photos by Marilyn Erd