Last Sunday I was in an Airbus crossing the continent for some meetings that started in Reston, VA, on Monday morning. Whenever I miss Church I feel a deficit - something is missing. It's like forgetting to put my cell-phone on charge the night before, but the internal loss is more so.
Years ago, I was the USGS Science Mission Chief in southern Venezuela. I was resident there with two other American geologists and their families, and I had responsibility for the work and logistics as well as for the safety of up to 12 "TDY" (Temporary Duty) scientists each year. They would come down for 1 - 3 months at a time to help us and our Venezuelan Tecmin counterparts map the roadless, jungle-covered southern half of the country.
Because I was responsible for their safety as well as for directing them, every time a geologist took a helicopter into the jungle - or moved camps - I would be there with a Nomex flightsuit and a helmet. This was especially critical for Venezuela, where the pilots were as spotty as the maintenance on the aircraft. These were so dangerous that by the third year we were doing most of our entradas in dugout canoes.
By a coincidence, I had to do this three Sundays in a row, and it was really getting me down. Finally, I asked my stake president (I was his 1st counselor) for permission to administer the Sacrament to myself. Surprised, he said yes, certainly. It gave me an opportunity to explain about Keys to this only-three-year member of the Church - and how critically important they were.
I pulled off the side of the road to Tumeremo in the southern jungle just before sunrise; Tumereno was our Tecmin helicopter base. I opened and read from Section 20 of the D&C, and I administered the Sacrament to myself using a canteen and a small pancito (a small French bread roll about the size of a hot dog bun).
As I finished, I looked to my left and the Sun was just rising; the sky was a glorious riot of color. Only then did I realize that it was Easter Sunday. Someone reached out and touched my mind, and I cried like a baby. I've never forgotten that special morning, and since then Sunday is more special to me - and especially Easter Sunday.
~~~~~
Years ago, I was the USGS Science Mission Chief in southern Venezuela. I was resident there with two other American geologists and their families, and I had responsibility for the work and logistics as well as for the safety of up to 12 "TDY" (Temporary Duty) scientists each year. They would come down for 1 - 3 months at a time to help us and our Venezuelan Tecmin counterparts map the roadless, jungle-covered southern half of the country.
Because I was responsible for their safety as well as for directing them, every time a geologist took a helicopter into the jungle - or moved camps - I would be there with a Nomex flightsuit and a helmet. This was especially critical for Venezuela, where the pilots were as spotty as the maintenance on the aircraft. These were so dangerous that by the third year we were doing most of our entradas in dugout canoes.
By a coincidence, I had to do this three Sundays in a row, and it was really getting me down. Finally, I asked my stake president (I was his 1st counselor) for permission to administer the Sacrament to myself. Surprised, he said yes, certainly. It gave me an opportunity to explain about Keys to this only-three-year member of the Church - and how critically important they were.
I pulled off the side of the road to Tumeremo in the southern jungle just before sunrise; Tumereno was our Tecmin helicopter base. I opened and read from Section 20 of the D&C, and I administered the Sacrament to myself using a canteen and a small pancito (a small French bread roll about the size of a hot dog bun).
As I finished, I looked to my left and the Sun was just rising; the sky was a glorious riot of color. Only then did I realize that it was Easter Sunday. Someone reached out and touched my mind, and I cried like a baby. I've never forgotten that special morning, and since then Sunday is more special to me - and especially Easter Sunday.
~~~~~
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