Sometimes I find myself under obligations of work requiring quiet and seclusion such as neither my comfortable office nor the cozy study at home insures. My favorite retreat is the upper room in the tower of a large building, well removed from the noise and confusion of the city streets. The room is somewhat difficult of access, and relatively secure against human intrusion. Therein I have spent many peaceful and busy hours with books and pen.
He told the story of a naturalist in the nineteenth century who had been called to a grand estate in Great Britain to be honored for his contributions in the world of science. He left his cottage early in the morning to go for a walk, and while he was out walking, he saw two boys down by the lake. He also heard the frantic meowing of a cat; and so, curious, he walked down to see what was happening.
A nurse took the tired, anxious serviceman to the bedside. "Your son is here," she said to the old man. She had to repeat the words several times before the patient's eyes opened. Heavily sedated because of the pain of his heart attack, he dimly saw the young man in the uniform standing outside the oxygen tent. He reached out his hand. The Marine wrapped his toughened fingers around the old man's limp ones, squeezing a message of love and encouragement. The marine sat alongside the bed.
I saw a young man at McDonalds. He was eating a hamburger, and I, a Big Mac. His hair was short and he wore a white shirt and tie. I came within a gnat's eyelash of saying: "Hi, there. I was wondering if you are a Mormon missionary?"
When she looked ahead, Florence Chadwick saw nothing but a solid wall of fog. Her body was numb. She had been swimming for nearly sixteen hours.
This story begins in a small village in the south of France. It is in the early 1940's and the advancing German armies are threatening all who appear in its way.
A man named George Thomas was a pastor in a small New England town. He entered this church one Easter morning with a rusty, old, bent bird cage. He set the bird cage on the pulpit causing a few raised eyebrows.
I stood one spring on Mars Hill in Athens, Greece, and as I looked across a small valley to the Acropolis where the remains of the famous Parthenon stood, I remembered a story told about Socrates, the famous Greek philosopher.
The Vision Opens:
I see the rod of iron and feel the river of filthiness running alongside it. I am in the river, within arms' distance of the rod. The river does not seem filthy, only swift.
Statement by President David O. McKay given about 1965 in President McKay's Hotel Utah apartment to a group of brethren working in the physical facilities part of the Church.