Rich McIlmoil was 14 years old when he and his 17-year-old brother decided to go hunting black-tail deer above Sandy, Oregon in the Cascade Mountains. They were in a 1970s two-wheel drive Toyota pickup. They were in unfamiliar back country, 30 miles from habitations, in a thick, dark forest. It was raining, and trying to snow. It was getting dark. They were coming to the end of the road, and it was time to turn around.
In attempting to do so, their pickup slipped off the road. They were stuck. The pickup was propped up on a stump. One rear wheel was off the ground. Compounding matters much further was that a logger had left a 3/4-inch choker cable there, and it had managed to wrap itself around the driveline. Trying to unwrap it and remove it was impossible.
The boys wrestled with their problem for quite some time. They were wet and miserable. It was before cell phones. There was no help available. They were helpless.
The older brother finally said, “We’re going to have to pray.”
That statement amazed Rich. He’d never before known his sibling to pray. His brother was not active in the Church, was off course, was doing things he shouldn’t, and was keeping company with young people who were not good influences.
The two boys knelt in the mud and prayed a simple prayer. They then tried for several more minutes to extricate themselves, before realizing that their only recourse was to start a long hike through a totally dark, dreary, and wet forest.
They began the walk. Five minutes later a Chevy 4-wheel drive pickup appeared coming toward them. Many pickups carry tools, but you could probably examine several thousand of them before finding one with a hacksaw. This pickup had a hacksaw with which they were able to saw through the choker and remove it.
The 4-wheel drive Chevy was then able to pull the 2-wheel drive Toyota off the stump, and get it back onto the road.
The boys were saved. The older boy went on to serve a mission, and at the time of the telling of this story, was serving as a bishop. The younger boy later came out of his own inactivity, also served a mission, and was serving on the stake high council when he told this story.
This tale reminded me of my own experience. My son, Matt, drafted me to take his pickup into the mountains, and to leave it at the opposite end of the trail that he and his family would hike in an overnight camping trip. When they had completed their hike, they would find their pickup and be able to bring themselves home.
My job was to drive it 10 or 20 miles up the north fork of Powder River, and to leave it as close to the Red Mountain Lake trail head as possible.
No problem. I enlisted the help of 13-year-old Caleb and 11-year-old Wesley, my grandsons. They were to follow me into the mountains on their 4-wheeler, and bring us home.
I was still a mile from the place where I wanted to leave the pickup when I got stuck in a very bad mud hole. I should have been wise enough to have not even tried to get through that spot, but I wasn’t. I wanted the pickup to be parked at the trail head. We were stuck, and there was nothing to do but to leave the pickup there for the disappointed hikers to discover.
Like the McIlmoils, we had a prayer. All three of us then got onto the 4-wheeler, and Caleb began driving us back down the mountain. My memory is that no more than three minutes later we were met by a troop of 4-wheelers coming up the road. There were six of them. The lead machine was being driven by my own brother. He and his friends were going to go clear over the mountain, go down to Sumpter, and make what probably would amount to nearly a 100-mile circuit back through Baker City.
Three of the 4-wheelers were equipped with winches. The six men were delighted to have a problem to solve, and to have the opportunity to try out their never-before-used winches. After several tries, and several repositionings, the three winch-equipped 4-wheelers were able to extract the pickup from its mud hole.
Eleven-year-old Wesley was beside himself with gratitude. “I only prayed that we could get the pickup unstuck. Instead, the Lord sent a fleet to help us. I can’t wait to bear my testimony tomorrow!”
“Have you ever borne your testimony before?”
“No, but I’m going to this time!”
David A. Bednar, in general conference April 2014, told a wonderful story about his friend’s predicament. The friend had purchased a new pickup. To prove that they really needed the pickup, and that it would be a blessing to the family, he drove the pickup into the mountains to make a load of firewood. He promptly got stuck in deep snow. None of the four wheels could find any traction. They spun helplessly. With nothing else to do, the man began making firewood, and loaded the pickup with a big load. When he finished, he decided to try just one more time to extract the pickup. He put it in gear, applied power, and the pickup simply drove off and headed down the mountain.
As in the other two stories, I’m sure that prayers were said. In this instance, the answer to the prayer was the load. Loads and responsibilities give us traction. Happiness is not the absence of a load. Responsibilities are the very essence of our forward progress.
Prayer is a necessity, too. The next time you’re stuck, pray. The next time you can’t find the lost item, pray. The next time you have nowhere else to turn, pray.