Run, Henry, Run!

In June of 1974, I completed my Bachelors degree and entered Officer Training School (OTS) – the culmination of nine years of night school and one final year of full-time college attendance at Air Force expense. The Air Force had a program called the Bootstrap Commissioning Program (BCP) that offered a commission to those on their second or later enlistment who had accumulated 3 years of college, as selected by a BCP board of senior enlisted folks and officers. I was blessed to be selected. Selection meant that the Air Force would pay for my fourth year of college and give me a commission if I successfully completed OTS.

My OTS flight of twelve had six prior enlisted folks like me in its makeup. One of the hardest requirements, especially for those of us who were a little older, was to complete a mile-and-a-half run between 11 and 12 minutes, depending on age. Graduation depended on it. We had several opportunities earlier in training to complete the run in the allotted time. One member of our flight, Henry, had suffered from shin splints for much of the time, and so had missed earlier opportunities to satisfy the requirement. Because Henry was a little older than the rest of us, he had an extra 30 seconds to complete his run.

We were 11 weeks into our 12-week course when we had to complete the final mile-and-a-half run. This was the last official timed run for the entire upper class. Emotions ran high. We were all psyched up and wanted to do our best, even though many of us had satisfied the requirement earlier in training. Everyone in our flight completed the run with time to spare except Henry. Even though he had extra time, it was going to be close. We were all watching him as he rounded the last turn of his sixth and final lap. Our Training Instructor (TI) was waiting for him at the finish line holding a set of second lieutenant’s bars high in the air.

At that final turn, Henry gave up and started walking slowly. He would never complete the course on time at that pace. I saw him falter first. I shouted: “Run, Henry, Run!”

Immediately, the others in our flight took up the chant. We kept it up until he crossed the finish line. We would have run with him if we could, but that was not allowed. He had to complete the course on his own.

Henry heard us. His head snapped up, and he broke into a wobbly sprint for the finish line. He made it with seconds to spare! Our TI caught him in his arms as he crossed the line because Henry’s legs gave out and he could not stand up. He handed Henry his bars and we surrounded him, yelling and cheering because Henry did it. He made it. He completed the course. All he needed was a little support and encouragement.

Over the intervening years, I have thought many times about Henry. He was a good man. He wanted to complete the course, but lost heart at the final turn and gave up. When he heard us cheer him on, somewhere deep inside he found his last bit of strength and crossed the line on time. Henry relied on our strength to find the fortitude to push himself to complete the course.

Henry is each of us, at one time or another. We all need support and strength from outside ourselves at times in our lives. Sometimes we have the privilege of sharing our strength, and sometimes we receive the great blessing of being able to share in the strength of others. President David O. McKay is quoted in Pathways to Happiness, compiled by Llewelyn R. McKay:

A single, struggling individual may be stalled with his heavy load even as he begins to climb the hill before him. To reach the top unaided is an impossibility. With a little help from fellow travelers he makes the grade and goes on his way in gratitude and rejoicing.

The more we strengthen others, the stronger and more grounded in the gospel we become. Chieko Okazaki, in the General Women's Meeting of Sept. 28, 1991, said the following:

Rejoice in the power you have within you from Christ to be a nucleus of love, forgiveness and compassion. Do not feel that your gift is insignificant. Sisters, we are mighty together. There is consolation in our caring. There is strength in our sharing. There is power in our commitment to righteousness.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning said:

A poor man served by thee shall make thee rich;
A sick man helped by thee shall make thee strong;
Thou shalt be served thyself by every sense
Of service which thou renderest.

So it seems logical, then, that the strength and help we offer to others returns to us many-fold. I certainly have experienced considerable joy as I have contemplated the support we provided to Henry. He found in us the renewed heart he needed to complete the task. How many times has a word of encouragement buoyed me up so that I could press on? Albert Schweitzer said:

At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us.

No service we render makes complete sense in a purely mortal context; we have an eternal charge to lift each other when we falter as we traverse mortality. Prophets do it: bishops do it; fathers and mothers do it; grandparents do it; husbands and wives do it; priesthood leaders do it; friends do it; home and visiting teachers do it. In an article in the Improvement Era of October, 1945, entitled Ward Teaching, we read:

In order to help people we must really love them, and to love them brings responsibility. If this be true, then we should expect to share their burdens and sorrows as well as joys, and well might we in sharing their burdens acquire the strength to bear our own.

So, properly understood, service revolves around real, eternal love of all around us. When we recognize the eternal nature of service, we begin to understand why the Savior said: “love thy neighbor as thyself.” (Matthew 22:39) Just as I have seen myself in Henry many times, we truly are those we serve. Doctor Robert H. Goddard said:

Resolve to be tender with the young, compassionate with the sick and the aged, sympathetic to the poor, and tolerant of the weak. At sometime in your life you have been or will be all of these things.

I can only hope that when I am in need of support and encouragement, when I have faltered, when my knees are feeble, when my arms hang down, when I am about to quit on the last lap, someone who loves me will yell: “Run, Russ, run!”

We, unlike Henry, need not complete the course on our own. The Savior – He who ran the race perfectly Himself – waits for each of us at the finish line, encouraging and beckoning to us, waiting to catch us in His strong arms. He offers encouragement all along the way. He can, and does, run the race again and again with each of us. His grace even carries us “after all we can do,” (2 Nephi 25:23) not only at the end of the race, but each time we falter. His pierced hands represent the ultimate sacrifice. His open arms offer the ultimate reward. We must not fail Him or ourselves.