Everyone needs a buddy

Elizabeth Mills was my wife's visiting teacher for many years when we first moved into the Greensboro Summit Ward in North Carolina. She and her companion came faithfully every month, with well-prepared messages and comfortable conversation.

But assignments change, and years pass. We came home from vacation and heard the news from someone we home teach, Sister Brown, who was providing professional in-home nursing care for Sister Mills: She had passed away.

Brother Mills had died only a few months before, and my wife, Kristine, had meant to talk with her then, but our lives were crazy at the time, and the opportunity kept receding. Now it was gone.

At least Kristine would go to the funeral of this faithful sister. It was not an LDS funeral. Only one of Sister Mills' children had joined the church; the others hired a Protestant minister who did not know her to say a few words at graveside.

There were a handful of other ward members at the funeral — old-timers, who had known Sister Mills during her heyday, when the ward and she were young.

It made Kristine a little sad, though, that the church had not been present enough in her life, toward the end, that the family would have known to arrange a Mormon funeral.

Sister Mills had served faithfully as long as her health allowed. Kristine told me, \"I feel like I let her down.\"

So did the Relief Society president and the bishop. With more inactive members than active ones on the rolls, it simply had not been possible to know everyone.

Last Sunday, the bishop got up after the high council speaker concluded his talk. Sister Mills' life and death as a Latter-day Saint were very much on his mind.

The bishop told about his time with our Young Men at Scout camp the previous week. They used a buddy system when the boys went in swimming. Every 20 minutes or so, a lifeguard would blow a whistle and all the boys had to find their buddy, clasp his hand, and raise their hands above their heads.

Then, when they left the swimming area, they had to take their ID card with them.

When all the boys were gone, there was one card left.

Immediately the camp's leaders went into emergency mode. While some looked for a living but forgetful boy among those walking around on dry land, others were preparing with scuba gear to search for a drowned one under the water.

The boy turned up safe (and embarrassed, and sorry), but the lesson was clear: Someone was always watching for you, making sure you were safe.

The bishop then told about Sister Elizabeth Mills, and how, at the end, she was unable to come to church and the leaders of the ward had lost track of her, did not even know who she was.