In the night I received a wonderful lesson on life from the Holy Spirit.  I was taken back to one of my most miserable times of youth.  It had to do with football.

My father played football in college.  Both of my brothers played high school football.  Obviously, it was expected that I would play football.  I knew that I had to do it, so as a little boy I took the family football out into a field and kicked it around.  It didn't act like a ball ought to act.  It was perverse, and there was no controlling it.  It couldn't be thrown straight, and it never went where it should when I kicked it.  Worse yet, I had no idea why it needed to be thrown or kicked.  I had never been to a football game, and no one had ever told me anything about its purpose or how it should be played.

Up through the eighth grade I went blissfully on through life knowing nothing about football.  Before the ninth grade began I decided that if I was going to be a football hero like my father and brothers, I had better get started.  I signed up, and found myself enduring daily doubles in the hot August sun.  It was totally miserable, and I had not a clue what the game was about.  It was simply drudgery of the worst kind.

The sweltering daily double practices of August eventually evolved into the freezing cold days of November when we'd line up with our knuckles on the ground in the snow.  Why were we there?  When would this ever end?  Was everyone crazy?  What's the point?  No one had yet bothered to explain to me what it was that we were doing.  All I knew was that I was supposed to block the guy across from me.  I didn't know that at some points I was supposed to try to break through the line and get the guy on the opposing team that had the ball.  Most of the time I couldn't figure out where the ball was anyway.

It was a most miserable period.  I was infinitely grateful when at the beginning of the next year I developed plantar warts on the bottom of my feet.  I told the coach that I was going to have to have them removed, and that I wouldn't be able to play football that season.  I have only been to a few football games since.  I now understand the game, but I still have trouble keeping my eye on the ball.  I thought football a stupid game, and because of my early experiences, I haven't much changed my opinion

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In the night the Spirit told me that's how most people of the world view life.  They don't understand its purpose, and don't know the rules.  They are pointlessly kicking the ball up and down the field thinking that the purpose of the game is to find pleasure and riches, and to avoid as much pain and responsibility as possible.

We have an army of missionaries spread across the world whose job is to explain the purpose of life and its rules.  Once you know life's purpose and the rules, life takes on meaning, becomes fun, and joy starts to happen.  Growth occurs.  Goals come into sight.  Achieving them brings satisfaction.  You become capable of doing more and of achieving more.

It is understandable why those who are aimlessly kicking the ball up and down the field become discouraged.  Life seems pointless.  The pleasure, possessions, prestige, and power that they've longed for become pointless when they find no lasting satisfaction in them.  When they find themselves incapable of gaining even those ephemeral goals, life becomes intolerably burdensome.  They're as miserable as I was in the hot August sun, and in the cold November snows.  They ask themselves, "Why am I here?"

When someone comes along who can explain the game, lights come on, and life takes on purpose.  Life becomes sweet.  What is needed is a wise coach who will take the time to explain the rules and the purpose of the game.  My football coaches either didn't have the time, or else didn't have the insight to know that I needed some one-on-one explanations.

That's why the Church has 72,000 full-time missionaries currently serving across the world.  They're the coaches who are working hard to make life sweet for those who are confused about the game of life.