As the school sets in once more for its traditional fall run the summer seems to be hastening away very quickly. Its natural to assume that the summer has already go and forget that nature doesn’t catch up with school boards for a couple more weeks. So in the spirit of remembering the summer I set out up the mountain slopes above Provo with nine friends, some tried and proven over years of association and others met only the night before. We set out to master Y mountain in a way more intimate and intense then most BYU students ever manage. Passing the usual stop of the massive serifed collegiate symbol we continued to follow the trail up into the mountain valleys and meadows that still beat with the wild nature of the Wasatch Mountains. We continued all the way until we stood on top of that mountain, high above the Y, above the birds and planes we watched sail below us, above the intimidating cliffs that distinguish the guardian of BYU. Spread below us was the massive campus of Brigham Young University and the city of Provo beyond. Orem encroached on the edge of that and from there on out the cities blended in and through each other in a seamless mass until they lapped at the benches skirting the mountains in all directions. This happy valley was the cradle of our lives, everything we did was encompassed by these mountains.
There atop an Ivory Tower of a different chemistry I pondered many things regarding people and events and situations but reflected again on the strange sense of responsibility I get every time I stand above the Wasatch front. When I stand on a mountain overlooking my beloved Utah I feel like the countless lives rolling forth below me are so small and so delicate as to be absolutely dependent on me for protection. What can I do to keep them safe? What can I do to teach them to have happy, productive, sustainable lives? I am still but a youth but my life is forever connected with the people of these mountain valleys. I will rise and fall with them and for them. Any success I meet in life is a reflection on them. Their shame is a shame on me. I have never found someone who understood the way I feel about Utah. I spend so much time with out of state college colleagues most of whom are publicly ashamed of Utah. Many of my native Utah companions also look to the day when they might leave this place. They do not understand the value of these communities or the price that is paid to keep them running. I’m not sure I do completely either, but I deem it a wonder.
Returning from the mountain we all went our separate ways. I had more to think about if no one else did. That evening I was able to visit another temple, this one in Draper.(Yes inside finally) Sitting in those rooms I saw the same mountain scape that I had walked through earlier that day. The painted aspens on the walls carried the same sense of wonder in a world created and given for a specific purpose. How much did the mountains and valleys of Utah help define the faith of Latter-day Christians? How much did the desert define the religion of Abraham, or Muhammad, or Christ? In the temple I was reminded of my responsibility to those no longer here. I feel I am called to serve the saints. I did spend some time preaching the gospel in the “field” but Utah is where I belong, in the heartland of the church, serving the members living and dead. Our problems are peculiar and unique just like we are. Yet I do not believe they are any less dangerous nor difficult to conquer. After all, I don’t believe anyone will arrive at the judgment seat and hear the words “oh yes, we decided to give you an easy time and sent you to Utah, I trust you enjoyed coasting through life?”
No, we who are blessed with mountain peaks and temple spires are also given the awesome responsibility to use what is in our backyard. While my hiking companions may look at Provo and ponder how they will survive the experience or what mischief they will accomplish in their time here, they are called to other responsibilities, I am forced to look at that distant city as my integral home–my creator, my teacher and now my stewardship. It made me what I am, now I must help to make it what it ought to be.
And the Lord called his people Zion, for they were of one mind and one heart, and dwelt in righteousness, and there were no poor among them.
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