Arthur Preston - Doer of good
Arthur Preston was born in 1936. Something went wrong with the delivery, and the infant boy died, but was revived. After several days on life support, the doctors determined there was nothing to be done to save him, and advised taking him off of life support. His grandfather gave him a priesthood blessing and promised that Arthur would not only live, but that he had an important mission on this earth, to do good and bless the lives of others. The tubes were removed, and the baby boy did not die after all.
As a result of the profound trauma of his birth, Arthur was blind and partially paralyzed. His left hip and left arm were severely deformed. He spent most of his first years in a cast from his waist down. He was four years old before he could stand on his own, and five before he could walk. Another priesthood blessing when he was two restored his sight. His speech was delayed, and he was three before he could speak.
Despite all of these delays, Arthur's mother was determined to provide a normal life for him. She tried to enroll him in the public schools when he was old enough, only to have the authorities in the state department of education tell her that there was no way that Arthur could learn anything. Angered, she marched out and bought dozens of books. She taught Arthur to read, and a year later she went back to the department of education to demand the opportunity to enroll him in home schooling, with tutors to come to the house and help with his instruction. They relented, and Arthur proceeded with his education until he was able to graduate from high school. During his teenage years, he advanced at church through the Aaronic Priesthood with his peers. Unable to pass the sacrament because of his disabilities, he was assigned the task to bring the bread for the sacrament, which he did faithfully each week.
He worked for years delivering eyeglasses for a local optician. Arthur declared that he walked over 120,000 miles in those years of door-to-door deliveries. He lived in his parents home until their passing, and then stayed in the home, living with his older sister until her passing in 1995, and continuing to live there alone afterwards for the next twenty years until he felt he could no longer manage on his own. He spent the last years of his life in assisted living.
Ordained to the Melchizedek priesthood as an elder and later as a high priest, Arthur served in the temple for years. He was beloved by his neighbors and ward family, who knew him and invited him into their homes for holidays and other family events. He never married. He fathered no children.
Arthur wrote about the things that people said he would never be able to do, and about how he was actually able to do all of those things. He was not expected to live, or to speak, or to walk, or to learn. And yet he did, and his life blessed others' lives. He lifted others with his good cheer, his positive outlook, and his firm faith in Jesus Christ and the saving power of Christ's atonement.
Arthur shared his grandfather, William Chaston, with his cousin Norton, who is my father-in-law. Eighty-two years ago, William blessed the infant Arthur with the strength to survive, and declared his foreordained assignment to do good in this world. It was clear to me as I listened to family and neighbors speak of Arthur's life during his funeral on Saturday, that he did exactly that, even with his physical limitations. Those limitations were imposed on him by circumstances completely beyond his control, and yet everyone who spoke about Arthur agreed that they had never heard him complain about his life or situation. To the contrary, it seemed that his conversations always centered around the blessings in his life and his gratitude for those blessings. "Well, that's it," he would say, as a way of acknowledging the miracle that was his life.
It occurred to me that we're all like Arthur: we all come into this world with a set of challenges. Some we're aware of early on, and others we don't discover until later in life. Those challenges may make us doubt our ability to succeed in this life, or to make a meaningful contribution to the world around us. What might Arthur have been able to contribute if his doctors had made no mistakes during his birth? How might his life have been different? Does it matter? Does it matter to us if we are given different abilities and different challenges than someone else? In our circumstances, are we capable of doing good? With the tools I have, am I doing good? Perhaps that is the only question that matters.
As a result of the profound trauma of his birth, Arthur was blind and partially paralyzed. His left hip and left arm were severely deformed. He spent most of his first years in a cast from his waist down. He was four years old before he could stand on his own, and five before he could walk. Another priesthood blessing when he was two restored his sight. His speech was delayed, and he was three before he could speak.
Despite all of these delays, Arthur's mother was determined to provide a normal life for him. She tried to enroll him in the public schools when he was old enough, only to have the authorities in the state department of education tell her that there was no way that Arthur could learn anything. Angered, she marched out and bought dozens of books. She taught Arthur to read, and a year later she went back to the department of education to demand the opportunity to enroll him in home schooling, with tutors to come to the house and help with his instruction. They relented, and Arthur proceeded with his education until he was able to graduate from high school. During his teenage years, he advanced at church through the Aaronic Priesthood with his peers. Unable to pass the sacrament because of his disabilities, he was assigned the task to bring the bread for the sacrament, which he did faithfully each week.
He worked for years delivering eyeglasses for a local optician. Arthur declared that he walked over 120,000 miles in those years of door-to-door deliveries. He lived in his parents home until their passing, and then stayed in the home, living with his older sister until her passing in 1995, and continuing to live there alone afterwards for the next twenty years until he felt he could no longer manage on his own. He spent the last years of his life in assisted living.
Ordained to the Melchizedek priesthood as an elder and later as a high priest, Arthur served in the temple for years. He was beloved by his neighbors and ward family, who knew him and invited him into their homes for holidays and other family events. He never married. He fathered no children.
Arthur wrote about the things that people said he would never be able to do, and about how he was actually able to do all of those things. He was not expected to live, or to speak, or to walk, or to learn. And yet he did, and his life blessed others' lives. He lifted others with his good cheer, his positive outlook, and his firm faith in Jesus Christ and the saving power of Christ's atonement.
Arthur shared his grandfather, William Chaston, with his cousin Norton, who is my father-in-law. Eighty-two years ago, William blessed the infant Arthur with the strength to survive, and declared his foreordained assignment to do good in this world. It was clear to me as I listened to family and neighbors speak of Arthur's life during his funeral on Saturday, that he did exactly that, even with his physical limitations. Those limitations were imposed on him by circumstances completely beyond his control, and yet everyone who spoke about Arthur agreed that they had never heard him complain about his life or situation. To the contrary, it seemed that his conversations always centered around the blessings in his life and his gratitude for those blessings. "Well, that's it," he would say, as a way of acknowledging the miracle that was his life.
It occurred to me that we're all like Arthur: we all come into this world with a set of challenges. Some we're aware of early on, and others we don't discover until later in life. Those challenges may make us doubt our ability to succeed in this life, or to make a meaningful contribution to the world around us. What might Arthur have been able to contribute if his doctors had made no mistakes during his birth? How might his life have been different? Does it matter? Does it matter to us if we are given different abilities and different challenges than someone else? In our circumstances, are we capable of doing good? With the tools I have, am I doing good? Perhaps that is the only question that matters.
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