Not a Very Happy Birthday

A few days ago I was in Chicago's O'Hare Airport waiting for a flight back home. The weather was very cold, in the 20's. While the main roads were clear, there was snow on the ground. When I'd checked in to my hotel the night before the temperature was 13 degrees. Crews were now busy de-iceing the wings of aircraft before takeoff. I was very much looking forward to getting back to the mid-70's in Phoenix, and with three hours to kill, I settled in to read two newspapers and a book.

When I try to read in an airport my concentration is naturally interrupted by the people passing by, and during one of those moments I noticed a woman with a stroller. I later learned it was a one of those "side-by-side" strollers. Seated in it were two small children, both about a year old. There was also a little boy standing next to her. This little family was next to the counter in the gate area where my flight would be boarding. I was seated in the gate area opposite them, across the concourse. Since boarding was hours away, there were few others in their immediate area. After a little more people-watching I returned to my book.

In a few more minutes I looked up again -- just in time to see that woman fall to the ground. Her legs didn't buckle. She didn't collapse in a heap. Instead she toppled over almost like a falling tree, and I could see immediately that she was convulsing, her body shaking uncontrollably. Two female airline employees were at the counter just a few feet away, and they rushed over and knelt at the woman's head. I couldn't see what they were doing because only her legs and feet were visible to me, but one of them brushed the woman's hair out of her face, and I suspect they were cradling her head as she lay on her left side.

Just at that moment an airport official happened to be walking by -- a large man dressed in a suit and wearing a bright orange vest (security?). One of the ladies told him to call paramedics. Most passers-by were oblivious to the scene that was unfolding, but a couple of men in the concourse stopped and observed.

I was impressed by what the large man in the orange vest did after calling for the paramedics: He focused on the children. The children had their backs to their mother when she fell, and even after the two ladies went to the woman's assistance, the children seemed to be totally unaware of what was taking place. The man approached the oldest child, a boy of about five, who was standing next to the stroller, and he engaged him in conversation, asking his name, age, etc. This successfully diverted the little boy's attention so that he wouldn't panic at the scary scene of his mother there on the floor, still convulsing.

After several minutes, the woman's seizure stopped, she regained consciousness, and the two ladies helped her to her feet. Still very unsteady, she immediately walked to the stroller and crouched down, making an effort to pick up one of the two small children. One of the two men standing in the concourse observed this and called out, "Don't let her pick the child up!" -- obviously concerned that the mother's unsteadiness might cause her to fall over with the child in her arms.

I was seated too far away to hear their conversations, but it appeared that the woman was resisting any efforts to help her. With much persuasion the two ladies from the airline and the large man were finally able to convince the woman to sit down. Her facial expression was strange. She had a sort of stony look, seemingly confused by all the attention she was receiving. I noted that the large man in the orange vest hurried to a nearby kiosk and returned with a bottle of orange juice.

At this point another person appeared on the scene -- a tall man in his 30's wearing a black leather jacket. He saw the commotion surrounding the woman and her children, and he rushed to them. He was the husband. As people filled him in on what had taken place, he quickly sat next to his wife while trying to take care of the three children. Several more minutes passed before a half-dozen paramedics arrived. One carried a folded-up gurney that could also be converted into a high-back chair on wheels. The paramedics huddled around the woman for awhile, then the lone female paramedic spent some time writing up a report on her clipboard. The paramedics eventually left the scene, and the family was left sitting there alone.

I decided to take a seat closer to my gate, so I crossed the concourse and walked directly toward the family. As I approached, I made eye contact with the husband and told him that if he needed anything I'd be sitting close by. By this he knew that I knew what had happened, and he thanked me.

I was now about 10 seats away from them, and while I tried to read, I couldn't help looking up to see how they were doing. I observed the husband talking occasionally, but the woman was very quiet. He then took the kids for a brief stroll while his wife laid her head on the armrest, closing her eyes. When he and the children returned, the husband and wife exchanged a few more words. I went back to my book.

Suddenly someone approached me. It was the husband, saying, "Would you mind talking to my wife? She doesn't recall anything that just happened. Could you please tell her what you saw? By the way, my name's Mike." I agreed.

She was a soft-spoken woman in her 30's. Slim, with long black hair. Seated next to her, I quickly learned why she'd resisted the efforts of those who tried to help. With no memory of having fallen, and clearly no recollection of the ensuing seizure, she was asking herself, "Who are these people? Why do they keep asking me if I'm feeling ok? And what are all these paramedics doing here?"

As I related all that I had seen, her eyes grew wide. All she could say was, "I don't remember any of that!" I made a point of telling her what the large man in the orange vest did to draw her children's attention away during her seizure, assuring her that the children hadn't panicked and had been well taken care of. I also assured her that, during her seizure, she hadn't done anything that would have caused embarrassment. She took this all in, and then with a slight smile she said, "Today's my birthday. We're going to Phoenix."

There was something I wanted to ask but didn't. I was curious to know if she had epilepsy or was prone to this sort of thing. But I figured that was too personal a question for a stranger to be asking -- especially a non-medical stranger. Still, I was curious about it because she didn't say, "I have these seizures from time to time," or, "I forgot my medication." But nothing was said in this regard, and I just assumed she'd had similar seizures before. But that assumption soon changed.

While we talked, a man approached -- by his uniform it was clear that he was an airport or airline employee. He was holding a sheet of paper, perhaps a report with details of the incident. He asked her if the paramedics had been there already. She said they had. He asked if she still needed them, and she said, "Yes, I want a paramedic." I wondered to myself why she would want them to return. Then it hit me that she might not have had any history of previous seizures. What if this was the very first one she'd ever had? If so, the seriousness of the situation was probably beginning to sink in, and she realized she needed some medical attention to determine the cause of the seizure. 

Soon a few paramedics returned, carrying the folded-up gurney. After some conversation with her, they set up the gurney so as to make a highback wheelchair. She sat in it, and after covering her with a blanket, they strapped her in. As his wife was being wheeled away, the husband picked up all the carry-on bags, gathered the kids and stroller, and proceeded to followed the paramedics down the concourse. As he left, he turned to me and gave me a nod of thanks. I nodded in return.

I expected to see them going back toward baggage claim, but they went in the opposite direction, perhaps toward a private room. About 10 minutes later I happened to look up from my book and saw the husband and three children being driven toward the baggage claim exit on one of those motorized airport carts. On the rear of the cart were their bags, along with the folded-up stroller and the gurney. I did not see the wife. I could only assume that the paramedics were transporting her separately in an ambulance.

And I said a prayer for them.

Good Books

My older sister taught me to read when I was four, so when I got to kindergarten I was reading storybooks to the other children. Our elementary school had no library, so every week one student from each grade was permitted to ride in a schoolbus to the town library and check out books. I was the only one in my first grade class who enjoyed this weekly privilege. By the time the bus had dropped me off back at school, I'd already finished reading most of the books I'd checked out.

I continued going to local libraries wherever our family lived. When I was a teenager, I was impressed by an ad campaign in national magazines such as Time and Newsweek. The ads were sponsored by International Paper Company, and their purpose was to encourage people to read more. The leading line was  "Send me a man who reads." It became a trait I desired very much.

For years I've been a fan of many authors. I once read John Grisham's The Rainmaker from cover to cover on a flight from Orlando to Phoenix. Recently I introduced my son to the Jack Reacher novels written by Lee Child. Now he and his wife are addicted, and I find myself feeling guilty for turning them onto something that, while entertaining, really has no lasting value. I guess we all turn to escapist lore at times, but as a father I wonder if perhaps I should be doing more to encourage books that can draw us closer to a Christ-like life or at the very least, those that qualify as great literature. Instead I feel that by making some of these recent book recommendations I'm like a tour guide whose customers paid me to take them to the mountain heights but who've been talked into a video arcade instead.

John A. Widtsoe said, “It should be the pride of every man holding the priesthood to have a good personal collection of books dealing with the Church and secular subjects. An acquaintanceship with the literature of the world may be won by any person . . . the man who has learned to love good reading is never alone. His friends are the great ones of human history” (Priesthood and Church Government, p. 157).

In all the reading that they do, I hope my children will make time to develop an interest in reading books that broaden their knowledge of the gospel and help them become familiar with the lives and teachings of Church leaders. It is surprising how few members can even name the latter-day prophets let alone relate something about their lives.

I encourage the following:

- Read something from the standard works every day. Reflect on what you've read during the rest of day; think of ways to  use what you've read to develop a short talk or lesson. Here I will also mention one of my pet concerns: Too many members of the Church make statements in talks and lessons that have no doctrinal foundation.

President Harold B. Lee put it this way: "We need to teach our people to find their answers in the scriptures . . . but the unfortunate thing is that so many of us are not reading the scriptures. We do not know what is in them, and therefore we speculate about the things that we ought to have found in the scriptures themselves. I think that therein is one of our biggest dangers today" (Ensign, Dec. 1972, p. 3).

A worthy goal is to be like the Savior. Often, when asked about doctrinal matters, His response was, "It is written . . ." not, "Well, I've always done it this way." He knew where the answers were written.

- Read biographies of latter-day prophets, coming away with the ability to recount from memory something unique about each one.

- Ask yourself, "If I had six months to live, how would my reading habits and book preferences change?" Consider upgrading your choice of reading materials.

- These days when you browse the shelves in a Church bookstore it seems like everyone has written a book! How do you choose? Well, for doctrinal writings and interpretations I like to stay close to the writings of our latter-day prophets and apostles. This statement by Marion G. Romney explains why:

“When I drink from a spring I like to get the water where it comes out of the ground, not down the stream after the cattle have waded in it . . . I appreciate other people’s interpretation, but when it comes to the gospel we ought to be acquainted with what the Lord says and we ought to read it . . . Just read them and plead with the Lord to let you understand what he had in mind when he wrote them” (From an address at a coordinators’ convention, seminaries and institutes of religion, 13 Apr. 1973, p. 4.)

On the subject of Church reading materials, rest assured that there's a lot of interesting stuff out there. To prove it's not all "dry" doctrine, do some research and read about the following (I could tell you where to locate this stuff, but you need the experience!):

1. A most unusual event that Brigham Young witnessed the night Joseph Smith brought the gold plates back from Cumorah. (Note: At that time Brigham hadn't even heard of Joseph Smith.)

2. The experience Lorenzo Snow had a few weeks after being baptized that was similar to Joseph Smith's First Vision.

3. Why did the earth shake in the vicinity of the town where the Council of the Twelve was holding its first meeting after the death of Joseph Smith?

4. Lorenzo Snow's telling his grand-daughter about seeing the Savior in the Salt Lake Temple.

5. The separate and distinct dreams of the Savior experienced by Orson Whitney and Melvin J. Ballard.

6. The vision Elder David B. Haight had while unconscious following a heart attack. (He's the Apostle who called me to serve in a stake presidency.)

7. Wilford Woodruff's dream of being in a roomful of serpents -- and the aftermath that followed.

8. The incredible event that occurred when Oliver Cowdery and Joseph Smith took the plates back to Cumorah.

9. The account of three strangers who were seen fertilizing the fields of Peter Whitmer and who almost instantly disappeared once the task was completed; and the account of Peter Whitmer's wife, Mary, being shown the golden plates by an interesting visitor.

10. A dream experienced by Joseph Smith's father, nine years prior to the First Vision.

When it comes to reading gospel-centered books I borrow an idea from the teachings of Elder Bruce R. McConkie. He compared the pursuit of gospel knowledge to a bullseye. In the center are the things we absolutely must know. Next come the things we ought know. And in the outer rings are the Jack Reacher novels -- no, he didn't really put it that way; he said this is where we find the things that are simply nice to know -- the lighter stuff. These are not necessarily evil in and of themselves, but if we spend the bulk of our time focused on what's in the outer rings, we'll have short-changed ourselves, not having done all that we came here to do.