Just the day before Grandpa had sent a letter to his mission president saying yes, they would be happy to extend an extra two months. The Lord had other plans, however, and, according to the revelations, Grandpa was transferred instead to labor in the spirit world.
“I beheld,” wrote President Joseph F. Smith in his vision of the redemption of the dead, “that the faithful elders of this dispensation, when they depart from mortal life, continue their labors in the preaching of the gospel of repentance and redemption, through the sacrifice of the Only Begotten Son of God, among those who are in darkness and under the bondage of sin in the great world of the spirits of the dead” (D&C 138:57).
Grandma returned home to Idaho, where she buried her husband and moved on with life. My memories of the funeral on that cold February day are sketchy but include a choir singing a great missionary hymn as one of the musical numbers:
Israel, Israel, God is calling,
Calling thee from lands of woe:
Babylon the great is falling.
God shall all her towers o’erthrow.
Come to Zion, come to Zion
Ere his floods of anger flow.
Come to Zion, come to Zion!
Ere his floods of anger flow.
Israel, Israel, God is speaking;
Hear your great Deliverer’s voice!
Now a glorious morn is breaking
For the people of his choice.
Come to Zion, come to Zion,
And within her walls rejoice.
Come to Zion, come to Zion!
And within her walls rejoice.
Israel, angels are descending
From celestial worlds on high,
And to man their power extending,
That the Saints may homeward fly.
Come to Zion, come to Zion,
For your coming Lord is nigh.
Come to Zion, come to Zion,
For your coming Lord is nigh.
Israel! Israel! Canst thou linger
Still in error’s gloomy ways?
Mark how judgment’s pointing finger
Justifies no vain delays.
Come to Zion, come to Zion!
Zion’s walls shall ring with praise.
Come to Zion, come to Zion!
Zion’s walls shall ring with praise.
— Richard Smyth, Hymns [1948], no. 81
During the following years I loved going to visit Grandma Batt, who lived next door to our Palmer cousins in Grantsville. She would often talk of her missionary experiences and, more than anyone else, instilled in me a desire to be a missionary myself someday. She also inspired me to read the Book of Mormon for the first time, which I completed the year I was twelve.
As I was growing up, three of my older brothers also served missions: Jerry in Canada and the Western States Mission, Kay in the Andes Mission in South America, and Gene in Fiji and the Western States Mission. This was in a day before prophets emphasized that every worthy, able young man should serve a mission.
After I graduated from high school in Nampa, Idaho, in 1967, I went away to school at Brigham Young University. During that freshman year I fell in love with life and people and the gospel. A whole new dimension of existence opened up to me while under the tutorship of spiritual giants such as Chauncey Riddle and Terry Warner. What it meant to live by the Spirit became a reality to me. Perhaps for the first time in my young life, my heart felt the pure love of Christ.
I learned two great lessons that year. First, I realized how little I really knew. And second, I found out what charity was and how to love others as much as or more than myself. My living environment that season—among such friends as Evan Ballard, Bob Russell, Steve Hill, Brian Rabe, Dave LeSueur, Jeff Boswell, and others—was the closest thing to a celestial order that I had yet experienced.
Later I would write one of the experiences of that year:
“'O Father, help these young men who are listening tonight, when they go home to get on their knees and commit themselves to thee; and then they may know, and I promise them that they may know, that with thy help they need not fear the future’ (Improvement Era, Dec. 1967, 92).
“These are the closing words of a prayer offered by Hugh B. Brown at the end of his talk in the priesthood session of the October 1967 general conference of the Church. That evening one of the important events in my life transpired. Returning to my room I knelt in grateful prayer and, then and there, committed my life, my time, my talents, my means, my energies to the Lord for the building of His kingdom. I placed my life on the altar, realizing that for the Savior it had to be my all or nothing.
“Not always since then have I fully met the obligation I placed myself under, but I am trying. Tonight as I was reviewing this talk, the realization hit home that following every faithful effort to live that commitment I have been blessed with additional knowledge, revelation if you will, that removes all fears of the future.
"At the time the Apostle spoke these words, my life was at a stage comparable to a richly fertile field. My environment was perfect for the full nourishment of the already planted seeds. And in the months immediately following my offering of whatever the Lord desired of me, I fell in love with the gospel and life and people. A whole garden of blessings blossomed in my life.
“Tonight for the first time I realized how truly significant was that act that October evening. I understood a little better trends and sequences in my recent life. My love for President Brown, who truly is a great servant of the Lord, grew just a little greater. And the importance of such a covenant, later reinforced in the temple of the Lord, became a little clearer.
“Oh, how great, how glorious, how good the name of our God. My use of words limits the overflowings of a grateful heart. To feel the impact of the Savior’s life, to know Jesus Christ as the Redeemer of the world, to share in His love—these are among life’s greatest joys” (entry in my missionary journal, Feb. 15, 1969).
As my life at school ended that year and I returned home to Idaho, I was horribly homesick for Provo. I was deeply depressed. I really missed BYU and the people and the experiences I had had there. For a week it continued. One morning after especially earnest pleadings with the Lord to comfort me and lift me out of my depression, an audible voice softly suggested: “Read aloud.”
Read what aloud? But no answer.
I felt moved to turn to the Book of Mormon, thumbing through its pages until I reached a passage that jumped out at me as if it were in type twice the size of every other verse on the page. Its message hurled itself with considerable force into my soul: “For the eternal purposes of the Lord shall roll on, until all his promises be fulfilled”(Mormon 8:22).
Those brief words said everything that was necessary: the Lord’s work would push forward, He was mindful of me and my needs, I was invited to participate with His program if I desired, He loved me and held in store the best for me in the context of His all-knowing economy, even if I could not understand.
So what about a mission? That question plagued me a great deal as I began my freshman year. For various reasons my parents wanted me to finish college before considering a mission. Financial considerations partly prompted this attitude, since Dad could no longer work because of a stroke a few years earlier. If I were to leave school, I would no longer be a dependent and an already meager pension would be reduced. I was torn between a desire to serve the Lord as a missionary and the feeling that I should also honor my parents.
A further complication came from the Selective Service, which announced that once a student deferment was given up it could not be regained. That meant at least a four-year break in my schooling.
The Vietnam War was also heating up, and because of the draft the Church had made agreements with the Selective Service that only two missionaries would be sent out each year from each ward. With a July birthday I was one of the youngest in the group of young men that grew up together in the Nampa Fifth Ward. If the ones before me wanted to serve, that would pretty much eliminate my chance of going.
After much soul searching, I decided to ask the Lord about it, since He is the one I would be serving. Starting with Friday afternoon one weekend in the fall, when my roommate had gone home to Fillmore, I fasted and prayed and studied until Sunday at noon. I happened to be reading the Doctrine and Covenants at the time and could not miss the frequent and obvious references to missionary work. I ended my fast, feeling right about accepting a call as soon as I turned 19 the next summer. There was no supernatural manifestation, no burning in the bosom as on other occasions, just a quiet, abiding sense of peace.
I felt satisfied with that answer and was just returning from Sunday dinner in the cafeteria when I happened onto this statement by President Wilford Woodruff, which only served to confirm my decision:
“Can we imagine that our garments will be clean without lifting our voices before our fellow men and warning them of things that are at their doors? No, we cannot. There never was a set of men since God made the world under a stronger responsibility to warn this generation, to lift our voices long and loud, day and night, so far as we have the opportunity, and declare the words of God unto this generation. We are required to do this. This is our calling. It is our duty. It is our business” (Journal of Discourses, 21:122).
I was apprehensive at how my parents might react to all this, but I wrote them a letter telling them what had happened. I was grateful for their solid moral support from that moment on.
I still had to cope with how to pay for my mission. I didn’t worry unduly because I knew the Lord wanted me to serve and I had sufficient faith that He would provide the necessary means. Separately, two different brothers, Jerry and Ray, came without my asking and offered to help support me. But with only a month remaining before my interviews, I still lacked at least $25 a month. I placed my problem before the Lord and requested His aid. An answer soon came, but from an unexpected source.
My brother Gene, who was in the Army in Germany with his wife Cheryl, wrote to me, saying: “Cheryl and I have decided to help you when you are on your mission. We should be able to give you at least $25 a month. We have enough now for Cheryl and Kimberley to come home. So let us know when you get your call and we will send you the money.”
Tears of gratitude swelled in my eyes as I continued to read, now Cheryl writing: “We really do want to help you as much as we can. A mission is a wonderful thing. . . . We want you to understand that some months it may be a little hard but we have already planned to take yours out first along with the tithing. . . .
“When we first get home we won’t have a car or job or house or anything and it will probably be tough for a while, but we know that hard times only serve to make us stronger. Dean, we have been so blessed. I really should say I have been the one to be blessed so much. I’ve got Gene and Kimberley now. I’ve only been a member of the Church two and a half years, but these have been so full and meaningful to me.”
And so a mission came.
The call from President David O. McKay reached me on Saturday, August 24, 1968, calling me to the newly created Brazilian North Mission, headquartered in Rio de Janeiro.
“A great amount of anticipation was natural,” I wrote later of that occasion. “So as the white envelope from 47 East South Temple finally came, a flood of last-minute thoughts followed before that seal could be broken. Other floods would come later. From the Prophet’s letter the words Brazilian North Mission jumped out. Brazil! Never once had such a place even entered my mind in all the months of dreaming and planning. Yet from that very first moment Brazil had new meaning to me, and it became special to tell friends and family of my new home. It required but little time to satisfy my own mind that the Lord Himself, through His authorized servants, had called and wanted me serving in Brazil.”
Scheduling problems required my talk in sacrament meeting to be the day after my call came and nearly a month before I was leaving home. This prevented our contacting many friends and relatives who might otherwise have been able to be there. Only the family living right at home was able to attend.
The bishop had asked me to select a speaker. I immediately considered Sister Ruby Hurren, a beloved friend, teacher, and neighbor. But she was ill at the time. I thought next of another favorite teacher and friend, Sister Myrtle Leavitt. She was happy to participate with me, even on the short notice. In the meeting she delivered an outstanding sermon, using some of my favorite Book of Mormon passages and characters as illustrations of certain points.
“He That Hath Clean Hands and a Pure Heart” was sung as a special musical number after Sister Leavitt’s talk. That too was a favorite. As I started to talk next, I quoted the scripture (Psalm 24) upon which the song was based and thanked them for singing it. The same number had also been sung at my last brother’s farewell.
After those comments I then offered my humble thoughts from brief notes as the Spirit directed. First I quoted the following passage:
“When Jesus came into the coasts of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, saying, Whom do men say that I the Son of man am?
“And they said, Some say that thou art John the Baptist: some, Elias; and others, Jeremias, or one of the prophets.
“He saith unto them, But whom say ye that I am?
“And Simon Peter answered and said, Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God.
“And Jesus answered and said unto him, Blessed art thou, Simon Bar-jona: for flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto thee, but my Father which is in heaven.
“And I say also unto thee, That thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.
“And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven” (Matthew 16:13–19).
I then developed the theme that testimony comes only from the Spirit. I emphasized the importance of living by the Spirit, using this passage:
“Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.
“In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.
“Be not wise in thine own eyes: fear the Lord, and depart from evil” (Proverbs 3:5–7).
How? By preparation, by study, by prayer. I used statements by Presidents David O. McKay and Hugh B. Brown about preparation.
President Brown said, “The war which began in heaven and has been going on ever since—a war in which the immortal souls of the children of men are at stake—is about to reach a climatic point. This appeal, therefore, is in a very real sense a call to arms.
“The call to be prepared is sent to each one of you by and from the President of the Church, the Prophet of God. It is of vital and of paramount importance. The preparation must begin at the center of your hearts and extend to the end of your fingers and toes. Each one of you may become the master of his fate, the captain of his soul. . . .
“We need stout hearts to meet the future, a future pregnant with unborn events and big with possibilities. We need faith to try, hope to inspire, and courage to endure” (Conference Report, Apr. 1968, 106).
“Begin today to be the person you want to be; . . . immortalize today and all the tomorrows that lie ahead in order that your life may have eternal significance” (Conference Report, Apr. 1968, 100).
And President McKay said, “With all my soul, I plead with members of the Church, and with people everywhere, to think more about the gospel; more about developing of the spirit within; to devote more time to the real things in life, and less time to those things which will perish” (Conference Report, Apr. 1968, 144).
I mentioned this teaching from the Doctrine and Covenants:
“Let thy bowels also be full of charity towards all men, and to the household of faith, and let virtue garnish thy thoughts unceasingly; then shall thy confidence wax strong in the presence of God; and the doctrine of the priesthood shall distill upon thy soul as the dews from heaven.
“The Holy Ghost shall be thy constant companion, and thy scepter an unchanging scepter of righteousness and truth; and thy dominion shall be an everlasting dominion, and without compulsory means it shall flow unto thee forever and ever” (D&C 121:45–36).
When we pray we need a child’s faith. I quoted the song “I Am a Child of God.”
And the motivation for it all? Charity.
“But charity is the pure love of Christ, and it endureth forever; and whoso is found possessed of it at the last day, it shall be well with him.
“Wherefore, my beloved brethren, pray unto the Father with all the energy of heart, that ye may be filled with this love, which he hath bestowed upon all who are true followers of his Son, Jesus Christ; that ye may become the sons of God; that when he shall appear we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is; that we may have this hope; that we may be purified even as he is pure” (Moroni 7:47–48).
I closed by telling of my call to Brazil, where they speak Portuguese and not Spanish, and with my testimony that these things were true and I knew them to be true, for which knowledge I was grateful.
Bishop Eldon J. Yorgason stood next and started reading a letter from a young man in Seattle, Washington. I soon realized it was from Bob Russell, a special friend I had known from my previous year at BYU. He had written to the bishop about me. The closing lines that the bishop read were something like this: “I never knew Matthew Cowley, who was supposed to be a great man of faith. But I have known Dean Cleverly, and he has been a man of faith in my life.”
How humbled can a 19-year-old boy be after realizing the influence he wields in others' lives? I assure you he is very humbled. And very grateful. The nice things said after that, as the bishop finished and after the meeting, in all their sincerity, remained anti-climactic to those few moments earlier in the bishop’s remarks. Oh, what a challenge and a responsibility that meeting made me realize were to be mine! If met fully they were responsibilities to be shouldered only by a man, not a boy, and that a man of God.
My father and my brother Jerry offered the opening and closing prayers for the meeting.
Two days later, on Tuesday evening, August 27, 1968, I went alone to the home of President David G. Hurren, a counselor in our stake presidency and a friend and neighbor. President Hurren conferred the Melchizedek Priesthood on me and ordained me an elder. To this day I do not understand why my parents were not with me, or why I had not asked my father to ordain me. I think I had misunderstood what our stake president, Joseph R. Ison, had told me when he interviewed me. He probably said the ordination had to occur under the direction of the stake presidency, and I somehow thought it had to be done by a member of the stake presidency.
Anyway, after a month of hasty and excited preparations, I entered the Salt Lake Missionary Home to begin two quick years that I would later describe as “the happiest and saddest days of my life.”
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