Those Guys on Bikes

Those Guys on Bikes

From Chicken Soup for the Latter-day Saint Soul

Those Guys on Bikes

Behold, and lo, I will take care of your flocks, and will raise up elders and send unto them.

D&C 88:72

As a child I was always curious about the men on the bikes. I would see them all the time in Vallejo, California, in the early fifties—and I would always ask my dad, “Who are those men on the bikes?” He always told me they were Mormons.

On one occasion, as we drove to visit my great-aunt, I remember seeing a beautiful lighted building on the side of the Oakland hills. When I asked my dad what it was, he told me it was the Mormon temple. I remember gazing out my window, transfixed, until I could no longer see it; I felt it had pulled me in.

Many years later, after I was married, two of those bike riders came to my home and gave me some literature about the Church. I felt compelled to ask them in, but I didn’t. As they left, I remember feeling profound sorrow. To this day, I don’t know why I didn’t listen to the Spirit and call them back! The situation bothered me for years.

Several years later, a patient I met at work had two children who attended BYU.

“Just what is this church about?” I asked.

He asked if I wanted a Book of Mormon, and I said yes. I expected him to bring the book to me—so when the missionaries appeared at work instead, I had to tell them not to return or I would lose my job.

As time went by, I began doing family research for my in-laws at one of the LDS genealogy libraries. I was surprised that they never tried to tell me about the Church. Eventually, my husband and I divorced after twenty-three years of marriage. My life seemed to be in ruins, and my girls followed my example by reacting like I did. I cried out to God to help me, convinced that I couldn’t do it alone any longer.

One day as we drove home, my daughter Tami told me the cutest guys were just at the house to see me. They were following up on a book that had been given to me years ago. At that time I lived in the mountains of rural California, with dirt roads branching off old logging trails and no street signs. The missionaries had managed to find an old log sign that a logger had made for me with my first name on it—and, following up on an old list of copies of the Book of Mormon that had been distributed, he had found us. Eventually, my daughters and I all joined the Church.

As a result of our conversion, my older daughter Tracy’s roommate joined the Church as well. She ended up marrying the son of the man who gave me the Book of Mormon. There were many other conversions through us, representing unique and wonderful blessings.

My daughter Tami and I were so excited to live where we could be close to a temple, so we held a pin, closed our eyes and stabbed it into a map to pick the spot where we would live. The pin was stuck in Tooele. We laughed, and pronounced it “Too-Lee.” A year later Tami married a man from Tooele!

Thirteen years later, I was at last able to move to Utah. I bought a beautiful home against the mountains—in Tooele, of course, just three blocks from Tami and her family. So here I am at last, exactly where I want to be, thanks to the help of those guys on the bikes who never gave up on me.

Jody Hastey

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