The Faith My Mother Taught Me

Material blessings are a part of the gospel if they are achieved in the proper way and for the right purpose. I am reminded of an experience of President Hugh B. Brown. As a young soldier in World War I, he was visiting an elderly friend in the hospital. This friend was a millionaire several times over who, at the age of eighty, was lying at death’s door. Neither his divorced wife nor any of his five children cared enough to come to the hospital to see him. As President Brown thought of the things his friend “had lost which money could not buy and noted his tragic situation and the depth of his misery,” he asked his friend how he would change the course of his life if he had it to live over again.

The old gentleman, who died a few days later, said: “ ‘As I think back over life the most important and valuable asset which I might have had but which I lost in the process of accumulating my millions, was the simple faith my mother had in God and in the immortality of the soul.

“ ‘… You asked me what is the most valuable thing in life. I cannot answer you in better words than those used by the poet.’ ” He asked President Brown to get a little book out of his briefcase from which he read a poem entitled “I’m an Alien.”

I’m an alien, to the faith my mother taught me.

I’m a stranger to the God that heard my mother when she cried.

I’m an alien to the comfort that, “Now I lay me,” brought me.

To the everlasting arms that held my father when he died.

When the great world came and called me, I deserted all to follow.

Never noting in my blindness I had slipped my hand from His.

Never dreaming in my dazedness that the bubble fame is hollow.

That the wealth of gold is tinsel, as I since have learned it is.

I have spent a lifetime seeking things I spurned when I found them,

I have fought and been rewarded in many a winning cause,

But I’d give it all, fame and fortune and the pleasures that surround them,

If I only had the faith that made my mother what she was.

“That was the dying testimony of a man who was born in the Church but had drifted far from it. That was the brokenhearted cry of a lonely man who could have anything money could buy, but who had lost the most important things of life in order to accumulate this world’s goods” (Continuing the Quest, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1961, pp. 32–35; italics added).

N. Eldon Tanner, “Constancy Amid Change,” Ensign, Nov 1979, 80