We received word a couple of days ago that Mike Hill, a friend and neighbor, a member of my priesthood quorum and a frequent quorum instructor (and, for what little it matters at this point, a former mayor of Provo), has passed away. It came as quite a shock. We knew that Mike had been ill, facing a lethal cancer or blood disease, but we — certainly I — thought that he had quite a bit of time left. I’m pleased to hear that, very shortly before he was suddenly obliged to go to the hospital for what turned out to be the final time, Mike played a round of golf. He was a dedicated golfer, and I’m glad that he managed to get that last round in.
We will still be out of the country next Wednesday and, so, will miss Mike’s funeral. I regret that. He was always pleasant and kind, and I liked him a great deal. His family are in our prayers. (His wife is a good friend to mine.) Mike, though, is in a wonderful place where he is forever beyond the reach of cancer.
With Mike and his wife and his family on my mind, I think of a rather famous little piece by the Episcopalian bishop Charles Henry Brent (1862-1929) that I’ve had previous occasion to mention here. It’s often called “The Ship”
Posted from Abingdon-on-Thames, Oxfordshire, England