Yesterday, I got an extremely kind and well-written email from Chris Spilsbury. The Spilsburys have always been a tremendous family that I look up to. I really appreciated his kind words and the thoughtful way he set about using his busy time to uplift me. It caught me at the right time too. So, thank you. Chris also invented the one-nod rule: the first time you catch yourself nodding off at the wheel, you're finished driving. I should've remembered that last week when we drove out to Fort Morgan. I was pretty tired and I felt my eyelids drop a little. Elder Conrad had passed out, and I thought I should get him up because music really doesn't wake you up, conversations do. But I decided I didn't want to wake him up because I'd always loved to get a little extra sleep when I was in the passenger's seat. A peppy song came on, so I thought I was fine. The next thing I know I felt the car rumbling and opened my eyes to see us flying off the left side of the freeway (into the unkempt dirt median) ready to smack into one of those poles that they have on the edges of freeways. Going about 80 mph, I swerved out of the way of the pole, back onto the freeway, and as I did I felt the car begin to tip. I turned the wheels in the direction of our momentum instead of correcting and the wheels screeched as I thought we may spin out of control. We bulleted over the small dip on the right side of the freeway and onto the untamed Colorado terrain. As we rumbled, I realized I was pressing the gas, switched to the brakes, and came to a slow halt. We sat there in shock. I swore. Sitting about 50 yards away from the freeway, I was wide awake. We both looked at each other in awe. I took the next step and drove to the side of the freeway and hopped on again. Contemplating this experience and being sobered by the fragility I live in ignorantly every day, I pondered on the blessings of that experience. That was the only part of the trip no cars were next to us on the freeway; it was the only place with a median that was flat; it was the only place without a steep drop off or dirt wall lining the road that would have ended in a head-on collision; it was the only place that didn't have a fence and had flat land on the right side; and if we were in any other car besides a Tacoma, we would have rolled or severely damaged the car after we plunged into the plains. This story will probably scare my mom like it scared me; all I'm saying is that Zelma’s prayers must be working—and mom’s of course. I have driven more carefully and both of us pledged to be more obedient to Chris Spilsbury's one-nod rule. I hope to never make that mistake again. I'm happy to be alive and unhurt. I haven't told a single soul that story; mostly out of reverence for the severity of the situation and the stupidity corrected afterward. Last week Elder Conrad and I drove out to Yuma and Sterling, Colorado to do mini-exchanges. It was a lot of fun! Usually, when I go on exchanges it's a good change of pace and I get a spiritual and mental break from the different strains one faces with whatever character one is companions with at the time. I did not feel that way today. Elder Conrad and I get along so fluidly—there never seems to be anything hidden or mistaken. We are really honest because we both recognize that we understand each other. My dad sent me an extremely kind and comforting email. He gave me a live Gus-date (Gus update), a spiritual experience regarding a reminder given to him early in the morning about his acceptance speech for an award for LCU5, and, what touched me the most, a personal testimony about a concern I expressed in a journal entry of mine that mom shared with him. In it, I expressed worry about being loved by the type of girl I would fall for. My dad said, "Erin has just read a portion of your journal in which you express concern over ever being good enough to have a woman who you love, love you back. Henry, every man in the history of men has had this same concern." "Trust that you are exactly the man the woman you love will need and want. I remember meeting Erin and feeling two seemingly conflicting feelings: 1) This woman was so beautiful, smart and cool—I prayed to be worthy of her. 2) I could feel at almost every turn of our dating life that I had been exactly prepared to win her heart. You will experience this same grace, one day. I just know it. It doesn’t mean your heart won’t be tried and maybe even broken once or twice—but those moments will just prepare you to recognize and receive the love of the girl you’re supposed to be with." Not only did I find this comforting, but also interesting and exciting. My flaws—as I rely on Christ—will enable me to be loved rather than hinder it. My dad worked hard, failed, trusted in God, and prevailed. I love hearing how he saw the world and how he felt as these moments in life came his way. Later during exchanges, we had such an uplifting comp study in which I restated how part of the process of our weaknesses becoming strengths is seeing them—and that's the scariest part. Often, hopelessness sets in and an overwhelming feeling upstages the confidence and swagger I thought I had. But this comp study I felt edified. I felt full. It was not a temporary joy. It wasn't false hope. This was honest, from-the-source joy; it was like eating warm, home-baked bread. During the exchange, Elder Peterson gave me some interesting critique. I've heard this SO much throughout my mission and throughout my life. He said, "keep being yourself, but realize people are watching you." Now, every time someone has told me that, they've always stumbled over their words; they never seem to be able to say how they're feeling. In 9th grade, Mr. Agguire (when he was challenging me to be better and face some traits about myself I found difficult) expressed grief that he didn’t want to ruin my energy and light. However, he kept inviting me to be better, and I'm forever grateful for it. My dad shared with me a principle he applied to his own life, describing that attributes he had that had brought him there had to be bridled in order to continue on. People love my energy, but it needs to be bridled. It enables me, but needs to be reigned in in order to continue along my way. He then said this, "I am just in awe of the prodigious talent I see in your photographs and accompanying written observations. Again, I find them so compelling and am proud they belong to you and you belong to me. Love you, Dad" He spends so much time to help me be good. I just love God so much. Every day, the Lord blesses me. Amidst so much war and contention and differing opinions, I find consistent solace in scripture. Whether it's only three verses I am able to read that morning or a few chapters, He expands my understanding to fit every needful thing. I am so grateful for Him. I can feel His presence at all times as I live worthily. I want to be better about lifting my conversations to be higher and more Holy—or, as Aretha puts it, wholly holy. The other thing I've been doing is doing ten deep breaths before and after prayer—it seems to take away the hurrying I often feel as I pray. Maybe dad will like that trick.
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Today, I had a good day. I woke up and we left to go running. I may not have mentioned this, but we live in a "penthouse." Two bathrooms, two bedrooms, two walk-in closets— it's pretty fantastic. As we were in the elevator (I have made it so far since Casper...the state of Wyoming only has two escalators!) I checked the weather: 5°. J was like, "that's pretty cold, but I think I'll be alright." We drove to the small lake and I ran around. It was too cold for the water to be running, but not too cold for me. I had a really good day for photos. I feel my photography has significantly improved since I left home, something I never thought I'd say. When I first came out, I thought I should drop the photography habit to focus on the work. But this pull to photograph was so strong and felt so right that I just couldn't step away! Now, with about 2,000 photos per transfer (transfer being six weeks), I can't imagine a better mission to photograph. Sure, the beauty of the islands or the leading lines of mountain ranges are always stunning, but finding the beauty in the unique, rural, politically clashed, strange-smelling, hodgepodge, one-factory cities has been one of my most favorite experiences. I often wonder...can there be anything more beautiful? Someone once asked me how I kept so calm and hopeful about the future when I found out I was being transferred. I trust the people around me and that the place I am in is heaven-sent; so why not love it! Elder Uchdorf exhorted missionaries to always feel that they are in the best congregation with the best people in the world. Never has that not been true for me. Every ward I've been in, every companion I've had, and each district I've been in has been my favorite. I enjoyed each area and basked in its beauty. Power lines, poorly designed streets, burnt peanut butter smells, manure, oil, corn fields, buffalo farms, mountain lakes, foothills, retired mine lakes, and bluffs have all beautified and diversified my mission. A friend from home told me that this practice and experience would be huge for me as a photographer. That made me contemplate more about my mission. I now see that had I been assigned to a foreign country, without a phone, I would have never written like I do or photographed in the way I do now—if at all. In no way would I have been able to create so much content and organize it and share it with people. I am so grateful. Hey, maybe I'll end up in photo journalism. Being in odd places with a variety of people, traveling and photographing the odd ends of life, sounds like an absolute dream. I remember my dad telling me that I didn’t have to go on a mission, and, if I came home at any point, I would be loved and accepted no matter what. That made me feel fantastic and that, no matter what, it was my decision to stay out here. Most people in my circle of friends didn’t even know what a mission was and I also didn’t feel any pressure from the ward. My mom had previously been encouraging me to at least wait a year. This decision was mine; I wanted it. For me, there was a natural draw. With art and running, there does not need to be outside influences to draw me to those activities. Similarly, living the gospel has been a natural desire—to one degree or another. Like the earth and the sun, there is a natural pull. I desire to be a disciple, an artist, and a runner—in that order. I got a call from Sister Palmer during P day. They've been contemplating creating a team to make content to be cross-posted across the entire mission. She called and asked if I would make the content, asked me to pick up a camera and a Chromebook to shoot and edit on, and to make a video about families. The one video she cited as an idea was something that would be such a breeze. I'll be sending her some of the stuff I made in Scottsbluff—I'm glad I put in the work. Additionally, I'm glad I spoke up for myself and showed my work so I could be gifted this opportunity! I'm so excited. As Stanley Kubrick said, "Film is a magic medium." I am so excited about this that I've already lined up three videos. We were able to meet with so many interesting people that I was able to connect with so much deeper because of struggles I had faced on my mission. One faced depression in high school and was still struggling with it, one had multiple personality disorder, another was flat out crazy, and another was just a kid acting like an adult. I just loved engaging with each of them. Even though I'd probably not be considered a poster-child missionary, different people expressed how they felt they could trust us and I had them laughing "harder than I've [Elder Conrad] seen them laugh." I hope this doesn’t sound self-righteous. My dad told me something that was really meaningful. Jerry Seinfeld said that "everyone wants to be funny." Because I'm obsessed with comedy, I was trying to be funny. My dad wisely said, "you don't have to try; just be yourself, you're funny enough." Lining up the videos, I genuinely engaged and was authentically interested. I asked questions I was naturally curious about regarding multiple personality disorder and she was really open and grateful. I'm so happy I learned about these people’s struggles. As I looked at the woman with the three distinct personalities, I could feel how much God loved her and was so pleased with who she was. I said (I promise, this wasn’t out of the blue, but in context it made sense), "I can really feel God’s love for you; He’s really proud of every part about you." I paused, then continued, "He loved you so much he needed three of you!" She laughed and that made me happy. We'll be going over to interview her and her husband. Her husband lived in Cabo to avoid the law and spent some time in prison but is the scrawniest and nicest guy. They were such a hospitable and kind couple. I love learning. These people, these places—could there be anything more divine? Well, probably yes...but this is the process by which we find it.
I've been playing a ridiculous amount of foosball. I'm incredible; way better than I should be. After about 600+ games, I'm getting pretty good. Twice at lunch, twice at dinner, and twice after nine.
Elder Sedgwick finished his mission and headed home and I've been temporarily assigned to Elder Stubblefield. "Most often, we make memories with other people; we just need a setting to put it in," Elder Stubblefield stated as we said our last goodbyes to Alliance, Nebraska. This certain sadness that only comes when an area is ending set in. "At least," I said, "we're sad together." He agreed, I'm glad this place mattered to us both.
My day yesterday was somber. I had a fun visit with the missionaries in the district. The sisters wrote Elder Stubblefield and I each a note that was very kind. It was a good wrap up to the day. We then had a series of goodbyes.
We said goodbye to Kenny; he told us he was finalizing a date to go to the temple. That made me feel so happy! We then drove over to the Turnidges, then went to Bishop Blomstedt's home, where I told him I was leaving. He remembered my name and said thank you (I know because it was dark out and he couldn't see my tag). It may not seem that big of a deal, but it's much easier to call us elders than remember a last name that switches to someone new every few weeks. I said goodbye to Angela and got an appointment with her for the new elders. I texted JR and told him I was leaving. He proceeded to send poor-quality quote photos about how friendship never dies.
I hope he'll be able to reach out to the new elders. I stopped by the Edwards, which was so meaningful. Sister Edwards said, thank you so much for all the work you've done here—especially with the W's. You've really done a lot of good. The honesty in her voice made me so happy. We went and visited Carol. She was so happy to see that we stopped by. I told her I was leaving and she said that made her sad. "Thank you for all you've done here," she said, "it really means a lot." As I guided Elder Stubblefield across the many divers pockets of the Bluffs, I remembered how much I loved the people here.
Upon this reflection, I listened as the last train went by and rumbled to the sugar beet factory. This morning, I finished packing. The new elders arrived and I introduced this as the best congregation in the entire mission. They were both so excited; one was new and being trained. I toured them around the apartment, trashed both of them in foosball (10-1, 10-0), and sat down to talk about the area.
I told about people's stories, progress, and things they should know about them; I pointed out people to reach out to and who you could find information from; and I told them which areas of the city spoke Spanish. I told them about the child trafficking and the drag racing. I absolutely love this place; I know it like a home.
I am a firm believer that whomever you are with and wherever you are is the best place and has the most wonderful people in the world. Make them your world—you'll never regret it.
As I drove away, Friendship by Pops Staples began playing. Not only the lyrics, but the mood seemed to fit. Sad, I was happy. No, that was not a typing error. I would far rather be heartbroken leaving than to leave feeling giddy—it means I gave it my all. I'm excited to give that again in Greeley, Colorado. As an old life dies, a new is born.
Indeed, leaving on a mission requires accepting the death of an old life and receiving a new one. Much like how Into the Woods describes the overarching plot being played out in fragments of every act, scene, and beat, so too does the arch of a mission. Every area, every day, and every lesson seem to follow this pattern of falling in love, giving it your all, then leaving it to God. Accepting this is a key to happiness; one I am grateful I have learned so much about on my mission.
The scenery in Nebraska took on a new beauty as I drove. The hills, the patterned fields, and the hay bales would be missed. The Nebraska signs, front yard windmills, and the telephone lines seemed to capture my heart. I can't wait to experience it all again. I am sitting waiting for the University of Colorado bus to take me down.
I've been thinking about how over the course of my mission, President Palmer has put me in contact with a lot of struggling missionaries. Of course, all missionaries are struggling missionaries.
Being blessed to be in this position, I've seen how one works with those who struggle with rules, missing a sweetheart at home, an inactive family, an overly critical family, having unrealistic expectations, being overly self-critical, faltering of testimony, depression, anxiety, feeling alone, feeling unloved by God and others, isolation, lack of motivation, a fear of the unknown, a lack of love for one's self, and much more.
I feel the Lord has put these people in my path to bless my life; in fact, I know it. I can confidently say I've grown in my ability to bless those around me. I no longer attempt to fix their problems, for they are God-given; I do not advise them to stew in negativity, but move forward trusting God; I try to listen, make them feel heard, and ask inspired questions. I'll use these skills the rest of my life.
As Henry B. Eyring said (paraphrased), "if you treat everyone as if they're in desperate need of help, you will be right almost every time." I know this to be true. The amount of people I've met and served with on my mission who, due to spending a quiet moment or two and asking a good question, reveal the difficulty they're facing is as great in number as in diversity. Sometimes we forget that truth applies to both those we serve and those who serve us. That's one of the fantastic things about growing up.
On a recent call with my parents, they noted how good I seemed. As the conversation progressed, they noticed that I had become more patient and had better tools to listen. I appreciated others more, didn't feel a need to speak, and rejoiced in being succinct. I guess I felt confident; I had made the mistakes and I knew what didn't work. I think it was Thomas Edison who said that he doesn't know the right way, he just knows all the wrong ways.
My favorite Christmas gift was a book of photographs from the Last Chance U cinematographer Terry Zumalt called Glitter Ain't Gold. I think good work helps us love and love our neighbor, and this is a prime example of great work. Thinking about my future, I want to stir people's souls like Terry did mine. When I looked through the book, there was a special feeling—one I can't quite articulate—that pleases the most good and raw parts of who I am. It seems to touch and magnify the divine within me.
I love that line..."I'll never know why it's so hard to do good things."
www.terryzumalt.com/glitteraintgold
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