I do a lot of things on my mission here in Vanuatu that are not in my job description.  In fact, most of the things that I do are like that.  For instance, I show branch presidents how to administer the Church, and I teach young people how to drive.  The two activities are related.

For the most part the young people here may have zero opportunity to ever drive a car.  One young man who was submitting his missionary application noticed the question about whether or not he possessed a driver’s license.  He thought that having one might help him be a better-prepared missionary, and asked if I could help him.  I asked myself, “what would it hurt?’

So I took Dack out on a deserted dirt road, and taught him how to drive.  Soon he applied for, and got, his driver’s license.  He was subsequently called to serve a mission in Paris, France.  I doubt that he’ll ever be asked to drive there; but gaining that skill was a thrill to him, and may prove to be some advantage when he returns from his mission.  If nothing else he learned that he was capable of learning to do new things, even hard things.

Every week Marjorie and I go to Matevulu College, a high school that is a 30-minute drive out into the bush.  We take a sacrament meeting and a seminary class to the 10 LDS students who are there.  Each week we invite two different, young, single adults or seminary students to accompany us to serve as speakers in the sacrament meeting.  When we reach the 2-mile stretch where we turn off the asphalt, I put a young man behind the wheel and teach him to drive.  On the return trip, his companion gets a turn.  Consequently young men beg for the opportunity to go to Matevulu to be sacrament meeting speakers.

Last week I went looking for a young single adult who has developed some bad habits and has fallen into inactivity.  I invited him to come learn how to drive.  I took him up to a big, abandoned World War II airstrip where the Americans used to land their bombers.  He spent an hour driving up and down the airstrip, stopping, starting, shifting gears, and learning how to coordinate the use of the clutch, brake, and accelerator.  I think it was probably the highlight of his life.

In teaching someone to drive I could stand at a blackboard and make diagrams and lecture about how to coordinate the use of the clutch, brake, accelerator, steering wheel and gears, but the student still wouldn’t be able to drive.  I could teach all the driving theory in the world, but the student will never learn to drive until he gets behind the wheel and practices.  He’ll have some jerky starts, and he’ll kill the engine.  I’ll show him how to restart the engine, he’ll try again, and soon he’ll have smooth starts, and begin to feel good about his driving.

The branch presidents here are no different.  They don’t know the simplest things about Church administration.  I sit down with them and explain that when a boy is 12 and 13 years old he should be ordained a deacon.  This is something the branch presidents have never before heard.  They make notes, and nod their heads understandingly.  They identify which boys need worthiness interviews, and hold the interviews.  They sustain the boys in branch meetings.  Then I stand beside them in the circle and coach them through the ordination.  After they’ve done it a time or two their confidence grows, and they begin to feel good about their driving.

The branch president that I worked with yesterday had never before set anyone apart in a calling.  I told him how it was done.  He replied with some surprise, “Oh, that doesn’t sound so hard,” and proceeded to set apart three people with me standing beside him.

I took some small, empty, corked vials to Ambae Island several months ago.  In priesthood meeting I gave one to each holder of the Melchizedek Priesthood.  Each man filled his vial with oil.  After demonstrating how to consecrate the oil, I had each man consecrate his own.

Then I asked, “Are there any sick among you?”  A young girl was brought in, and I coached two men through the anointing and sealing process as they gave her a priesthood blessing.  They were, in essence, learning how to drive, and learning how to use their priesthood.  When the need next arises, they will not be so frightened, and will be able to use their priesthood to bless their families and others that they serve.

We experience jerky starts in every new endeavor.  As a new member of the Church I was frightened to speak in front of people.  In a priesthood class I was handed a book, and was asked to read a passage.  I began, but quickly choked up.  I couldn’t continue.  I killed the engine.  I passed the book to the man sitting beside me, and he finished the reading.  It was very embarrassing.

Shortly thereafter I was asked to give my first-ever talk in Church.  I was scared to death.  I chose to speak on the Word of Wisdom.  I prepared diligently.  I fasted.  I prayed.  I restarted the engine.  I stood up in front of the congregation and gave a talk that I was proud of.  I felt so good about myself that it didn’t even bother me that an elderly woman in the congregation shook her head in disagreement on a particular point.  I had prepared, and knew that I was right.

The next week I was asked to be the speaker for a group of young, single adults.  I fasted and prayed and memorized half a dozen scriptures.  I was prepared.  My engine was restarted.  The takeoff was smooth, and I felt like I did a good job.  I was never again nervous about speaking in front of people.  It was a miracle for which I’ve never ceased to be grateful.

The mission president asked me to accompany him on a trip to Gaua Island.  One of our purposes in going there was to install a new branch president.  I was excited to go because I had by then identified the problems that our branch presidents have, and was prepared with what I thought was some very useful basic training that I could give the new branch presidency.  I informed the mission president what I, as a counselor in the district presidency, hoped to accomplish on the trip.  I soon learned, however, that my purpose in going to Gaua was to be his silent companion.  I sat beside him during the training session as he passed piles of driving manuals (in English) to the new branch president.  He explained what was in each manual, and the branch president carefully put each book and handout into a box.  I’m confident that the books and handouts are still there.  The look on the branch president’s face was a mixture of hope, willingness, befuddlement, desperation, and an ardent desire for the session to come to an end.

After an hour of driving instructions, the mission president turned to me, and reluctantly asked, “Do you have anything to add?”

I replied, “I have a lot I’d like to say, but I’ll just hand my outline to the missionaries, and ask them to go over these things with the president later.”

“Thank you,” the president said.

I spent five days on Gaua with two thoughts in my head.  One was an oft-repeated caution to myself:  “Thou shalt not put forth thy hand to steady the ark.  It is not your position to do so.”  (2 Samuel 6:6-7).

My other thought was a line from the song, “Hoist up the John B. Sails,” which says, “This is the worst trip, I’ve ever been on.”

I was asked to do only two things on that trip.  I was invited to set the new elders quorum president apart.  I replied, “I can’t.  I don’t hold any keys.”

The mission president said, “I do, and I’m delegating them to you.”

“But you can’t do that,” I protested.  He tilted his head back, thought for a moment, and then set the elders quorum president apart himself, giving him the keys that he needed to act in his calling.

The only other thing I was requested to do on that trip was to ask the blessing on the food at our last breakfast.  I thought it sad that the president felt it necessary to do everything himself.  He has so very much to do, but is unable to delegate.

Because of the death of our branch president, his first counselor suddenly finds himself the acting president of the branch.  He is a very capable man.  Because he is willing to do things, the president asked him to do everything.  He taught elders quorum, and he spoke in sacrament meeting each and every Sunday.  He has been confirming every new member of the Church, and ordains each new priesthood holder.  As I was preparing training for this acting president, a very clear message came to me in the night.  It was from the Holy Ghost.  I got up, and wrote it down.  I was directed to say to him, “Your job is not to get things done, but to show others how to do it.”

In other words, “You already know how to drive.  Whenever possible, put someone else behind the wheel so that they can learn.”

I subsequently told the branch president that whenever he did something that someone else could do, he was taking away an opportunity for them to learn and to grow.  I told him to tell the elders quorum president to find other men who could teach the quorum lessons.  I told him to teach other men how to do ordinations and confirmations, and to stand beside them to help as they perform them.  I told him that he should not give any more talks in sacrament meeting, but to think ahead and assign others to do the speaking.

And bless him, he has taken my counsel to heart.  Others are now learning how to drive.  He will be a huge blessing to the branch because he is learning the art of delegation.