[mashshare]
Memories are curious creatures.

They pace in the quiet hallways in the back of your mind, often for many years until an experience rings the bell and invites them to the front door.

A recent restaurant meal lured to my remembrance a memory of seafood, my mission president and Spencer W. Kimball, the 12th president of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

In the late spring of 1992, I was traveling with President Wayne Millward, president of the Brazil Belo Horizonte Mission, to a zone conference far from the mission home. We’d driven in the night before so we could be ready for the meetings early the next morning.

Before checking into a modest hotel, we stopped for dinner and recapped plans for the day ahead. The meal and service were, to be polite, unimpressive. I grumbled about it and wished we’d gone somewhere else.

President Millward, one of the finest men I’ve ever known, smiled at me and asked the kind of question to a young missionary that doesn’t require a reply. “Elder Wright, may I share a story?”

In 1959, President Millward was Elder Millward, a young man serving in the Brazil mission and assigned to the city of Curitiba. While there, he had the honor of helping to arrange a visit by then-Elder Spencer W. Kimball of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.

Among his responsibilities was to select a restaurant for Elder Kimball and local LDS Church leaders on the evening of his visit. Millward and his companion carefully chose a seafood restaurant that was well regarded and was sure to please a variety of ages and appetites.

Everything was in place for a perfect evening and an unforgettable memory.

But from the moment the server approached the large party, Millward sensed things were off. Sure enough, the evening imploded, step by embarrassing step. The only thing worse than the service was the dinner, and then the dessert. Millward and his companion sweated and shifted nervously as the evening inched along.

If they could have crawled in a clam shell, they would have.

When the meal and conversation mercifully came to a close, they paid the bill and slunk back to the car. The missionaries were mentally running through their complaints and list of regrets for this noble, highly respected apostle. They’d been given the chance of a lifetime, an honor most could only dream of, and it played like a nightmare.

As the driver pulled away, just as the apologies were set to unleash, Elder Kimball broke the awkward silence. “Elders, wasn’t that wonderful?”

Huh? They thought.

“That meal was delicious! Thank you for selecting that restaurant. Well done. And the service was wonderful, too.”

The car was silent.

Hadn’t he been in the same restaurant? Eaten the same food? Experienced the same delays and frustrations as everyone else?

In Millward’s memory, Elder Kimball purposefully praised the restaurant until he sensed the lesson was learned, and then moved on to other topics.

“So, Elder Wright,” President Millward looked at me across our own table 33 years later, “wasn’t that meal wonderful?”

We spoke a long time that night about the lessons he learned and how often he’d thought of that visit and the time he spent at the feet of an apostle and future president of the church. The meetings, the trainings and the interview he’d had in 1959 were all memorable, but the most delicious memory and, perhaps, the most important had come in the most impromptu way.

Elder Kimball had seen things through grateful eyes. He had not selected the circumstances, but he had chosen the outcome. The night was as wonderful as he’d wanted it to be.

He was grateful for the meal, for the elders, for someone to serve him and to be surrounded by good company.

He chose gratitude.

Yes, things go wrong. Life is unpredictable. Stuff happens.

But while we can’t always control every situation, we can control our attitude. And our attitude always controls us.

President Millward died four years ago, but his legacy in my life lives on. I learned a lot from that good man and his wonderful wife, Ruth Millward, who remains a dear friend today. But like my beloved mission president, one of the most important lessons I learned in Brazil didn’t come in a zone conference or formal interview.

It came in a restaurant.

Gratitude is delicious.

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