When General Authorities in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints speak to church members around the world, they often share personal stories or experiences to illustrate a gospel principle or reinforce a specific truth. President Thomas S. Monson is universally loved for the many wonderful stories he frequently shares.
One of my favorite stories told by a General Authority is a personal experience Elder Dallin H. Oaks shared in General Conference 23 years ago when I was a sophomore in high school. At the time, Elder Oaks looked back more than 20 years to the harrowing experience he and his wife faced late one night when they were confronted by a would-be robber at gunpoint on the streets of Chicago. The story is gripping because it must have been so terrifying. I also love that it illustrates the way the Lord protects His servants and the way revelation can guide us through difficult, even life-threatening situations. As the Lord promised, "It shall be given you in the very hour, yea, in the very moment what ye shall say" (Doctrine & Covenants 100:6). Here is the experience, in Elder Oaks’ own words:
During my life I have had many experiences of being
guided in what I should do and in being protected from injury and also from
evil. The Lord’s protecting care has shielded me from the evil acts of others
and has also protected me from surrendering to my own worst impulses. I enjoyed
that protection one warm summer night on the streets of Chicago. I have never
shared this experience in public. I do so now because it is a persuasive
illustration of my subject.
My wife, June, had attended a ward officers’ meeting.
When I came to drive her home, she was accompanied by a sister we would take
home on our way. She lived in the nearby Woodlawn area, which was the territory
of a gang called the Blackstone Rangers.
I parked at the curb outside this sister’s apartment
house and accompanied her into the lobby and up the stairs to her door. June
remained in the car on 61st Street. She locked all of the doors, and I left the
keys in the ignition in case she needed to drive away. We had lived on the
south side of Chicago for quite a few years and were accustomed to such
precautions.
Back in the lobby, and before stepping out into the
street, I looked carefully in each direction. By the light of a nearby
streetlight, I could see that the street was deserted except for three young
men walking by. I waited until they were out of sight and then walked quickly
toward our car.
As I came to the driver’s side and paused for June to
unlock the door, I saw one of these young men running back toward me. He had
something in his right hand, and I knew what it would be. There was no time to
get into the car and drive away before he came within range.
Fortunately, as June leaned across to open the door,
she glanced through the back window and saw this fellow coming around the end
of the car with a gun in his hand. Wisely, she did not unlock the door. For the
next two or three minutes, which seemed like an eternity, she was a horrified
spectator to an event happening at her eye level, just outside the driver’s
window.
The young man pushed the gun against my stomach and
said, “Give me your money.” I took the wallet out of my pocket and showed him
it was empty. I wasn’t even wearing a watch I could offer him because my
watchband had broken earlier that day. I offered him some coins I had in my
pocket, but he growled a rejection.
Although this event happened twenty-two years ago, I
remember it as clearly as if it were yesterday. I read somewhere that nothing
concentrates the mind as wonderfully as having someone stand in front of you
with a deadly weapon and tell you he intends to kill you.
When I refused, the young robber repeated his demands,
this time emphasizing them with an angrier tone and more motion with his gun. I
remember thinking that he probably wouldn’t shoot me on purpose, but if he
wasn’t careful in the way he kept jabbing that gun into my stomach, he might
shoot me by mistake. His gun looked like a cheap one, and I was nervous about
its firing mechanism.
“Give me your money.” “I don’t have any.” “Give me your
car keys.” “They’re in the car.” “Tell her to open the car.” “I won’t do it.”
“I’ll kill you if you don’t.” “I won’t do it.”
Inside the car June couldn’t hear the conversation, but
she could see the action with the gun. She agonized over what she should do.
Should she unlock the door? Should she honk the horn? Should she drive away?
Everything she considered seemed to have the possibility of making matters
worse, so she just waited and prayed. Then a peaceful feeling came over her.
She felt it would be all right.
Then, for the first time, I saw the possibility of
help. From behind the robber, a city bus approached. It stopped about twenty
feet away. A passenger stepped off and scurried away. The driver looked
directly at me, but I could see that he was not going to offer any assistance.
While this was happening behind the young robber, out
of his view, he became nervous and distracted. His gun wavered from my stomach
until its barrel pointed slightly to my left. My arm was already partly raised,
and with a quick motion I could seize the gun and struggle with him without the
likelihood of being shot. I was taller and heavier than this young man, and at
that time of my life was somewhat athletic. I had no doubt that I could prevail
in a quick wrestling match if I could get his gun out of the contest.
Just as I was about to make my move, I had a unique experience. I did not see anything or hear anything, but I knew something. I knew what would happen if I grabbed that gun. We would struggle, and I would turn the gun into that young man's chest. It would fire, and he would die. I also understood that I must not have the blood of that young man on my conscience for the rest of my life.
Just as I was about to make my move, I had a unique experience. I did not see anything or hear anything, but I knew something. I knew what would happen if I grabbed that gun. We would struggle, and I would turn the gun into that young man's chest. It would fire, and he would die. I also understood that I must not have the blood of that young man on my conscience for the rest of my life.
I relaxed, and as the bus pulled away I followed an impulse to put my right hand on his shoulder and give him a lecture. June and I had some teenage children at that time, and giving lectures came naturally.
“Look here,” I said. “This isn’t right. What you’re
doing just isn’t right. The next car might be a policeman, and you could get
killed or sent to jail for this.”
With the gun back in my stomach, the young robber
replied to my lecture by going through his demands for the third time. But this
time his voice was subdued. When he offered the final threat to kill me, he
didn’t sound persuasive. When I refused again, he hesitated for a moment and
then stuck the gun in his pocket and ran away. June unlocked the door, and we
drove off, uttering a prayer of thanks. We had experienced the kind of
miraculous protection illustrated in the Bible stories I had read as a boy.
I have often pondered the significance of that event in
relation to the responsibilities that came later in my life. Less than a year
after that August night, I was chosen as president of Brigham Young University.
Almost fourteen years after that experience, I received my present calling.
I am grateful that the Lord gave me the vision and
strength to refrain from trusting in the arm of flesh and to put my trust in
the protecting care of our Heavenly Father. I am grateful for the Book of
Mormon promise to us of the last days that “the righteous need not fear,” for
the Lord “will preserve the righteous by his power.” (1 Ne. 22:17.)
I am grateful for the protection promised to those who have kept their
covenants and qualified for the blessings promised in sacred places.
These and all promises to the faithful children of God
are made by the voice and power of the Lord God of Israel. I testify of that
God, our Savior Jesus Christ,
whose resurrection
and atonement have assured immortality and provided
the opportunity and direction toward eternal life. In the name of Jesus Christ,
amen.” (Dallin H. Oaks, “Bible Stories and Personal Protection,” October 1992 General
Conference)
