Karen has lovingly and consistently emailed me my entire mission. She always has thoughtful things to say and encouraging words to pass on. At the end, she always writes how many days I have left. It always reads 600, 500, or 300 some-odd days. Today, she said, "you have 19 days." It was the first email I had ever received from her in which I could comprehend the amount of time I had left. I got strangely emotional giving my bike away. I really loved that thing. After my bike wheels got stripped sophomore year, my mom bought me a total dad bike so I exchanged it for this bright green mountain bike instead. I rode it up Fenelon every morning on my way to seminary, zipping through Ralph's and Rosencrantz to High Tech High, then riding back exhausted after practice. I spent many lovely hours in Wyoming, biking around Casper following Elder Laudie. I remember riding my bike in suit pants and a crossbody bag up 21st street on a huge hill. Elder Laudie glided ahead. I passed a sign that said Sweetwater Road. At the time, I would have given anything just to be in Sweetwater, San Diego and ride back home again. Many times I locked my bike up with Laudie's on a street sign, locked it to the park bench for summer practice, or on the bike rack outside Mr. Aguirre's classroom as I was late to school. I had to give it a hug before I gave it away—I've had it longer than I've had a license. Now, another missionary gets to enjoy the great adventures that come along with it. Today was a good day. Elder Peña and I were both absurdly exhausted. I slept during lunch, dinner, and all our drives. I was so tired. Elder Peña and I are doing so well. We are doing so much good, too. We went to a man's house to pull weeds. He didn't answer the door, but we went to the back to the sea of weeds and began working. Just shy of an hour later, he came out back. He sat and talked with us as we finished up our time there. He confessed that since the divorce he has fallen back on alchohol and the craving for cigarettes is becoming unbearable. We gave him words of comfort, invited him to forgive himself and find personal applications of the Atonement, and gave him a blessing. In this lonely man's life, I hope we were a light. We visited another friend and had an amazing lunch with him. He talked about his prison days and how his temple shifts are going. He is really happy. We visited with an older couple we are teaching and helped stain their daughter's deck as a surprise to her before she comes back from a trip. We answered questions and visited many people, some of whom we've never met, and shared light. Everywhere we went, though exhausted, we were filled. I will miss this fulfillment. It doesn't always go this well. Earlier this month during a lesson with a family, we got into a discussion that I found funny, where I mentioned how I didn't like Disney. I probably went a little too far in poking around the subject. I said the prayer as we left, and I prayed that Disney would make better content. When we got out, Elder Peña was angry—so angry he wouldn't speak to me. I finally got him to talk and he told me how disrespectful and irreverent I was, how I broke trust and he implied he felt the spirit leave when I prayed. Now I've had three strikes: bearing testimony, reading scriptures, and praying...all times I have had someone tell me the spirit left when I did them. But I remembered something Sister Palmer said as an off-hand reaction to my joking about the man telling me the spirit left when I read the scriptures. She said, "oh, they just don’t know you well enough yet." That touched me so deeply. Maybe Elder Peña just didn't get me yet. Later, during a dull, uneventful comp study in which we just read meaninglessly to one another, he finally said, "is there something wrong?" I told him how I felt misunderstood. He said, "I want to try to understand you. I just don't. I don't get what's going on in your head." I said, "you never will, but that's ok. The point is to just repent and improve. God will aid this to work for our favor. These moments don't define a companionship. They're the smoothing of tough paths." Later, Elder Anduro and I went on exchanges and he said something that struck me. He said, "I'm going to miss my mission; I've never had so much fun!" That wouldn't be the first way I'd describe the mission. However, looking back, I have had some of my happiest memories here in WY, CO, and NE. It is certainly not fun in any traditional sense. A woman asked me recently, "how did you deal with the idiosyncrasies of mission culture?" I told her how I really just fell in love with it. Even its downsides become endearing. The short-sleeved white collared shirt, lame p-days, and awkward public interactions have become something I've appreciated and enjoyed. I'll enjoy not having them, too. Two of my high school friends, Sienna and Max, are hiking the Pacific Crest Trail. It's crazy to me they've been dating this long. Who would have thought? Sienna, in describing life on the trails, said, "the trail community is amazing, I think you would really enjoy it. Assuming you haven’t changed too much since I last saw you lol." I thought about that. The email was endearing and lovely, and I hope to join them on a section! My mom told me Nate and Reed, dropping off my birthday present last March, confessed they worried I'd come back completely different. She reassured them I'd still be the same. But I wonder...what have been the differences? I know I've changed, but trail life and screwing around still sound like a blast! I suppose it is much like editing a photo. When you take a photo, you collect data. Bringing it into editing software allows you to use that raw data to articulate an image. I'm still all the same raw data, just better edited. I've pulled out colors, removed grain, and played with shadows. I've enjoyed this process. Though I may be the same person, I hope I am far better than I once was. I've been wrestling with this idea I haven't been able to articulate until tonight. I was joking around with some members about why girls camp is such a strange ordeal and said, "you know, girls camp is really where discipleship and mischief meet." The mom laughed out loud. "That's going in my journal," she said. I've been wrestling with this idea of discipleship and mischief. Especially with home on the horizon, it seems I'll have a little more time for that. Now, the question is not when do I set aside my discipleship; the question is how do my curiosity and mischief play into my discipleship? I'll make mistakes, that's certain; however, I'm thrilled to find out how. It's an incredible thing to progress. It is not easy. It is wonderful. And it is heart wrenching. For instance, I am afraid out of my mind right now. For the first time, due to a series of odd events, I am showing a companion my blog...while we are companions. He is actually reading, from my perspective, about our companionship. Now, here's how this occurred. On exchanges during lunch, I reviewed the blog, something I rarely do. I was pretty shocked at what my mom had decided to include this time. It talks a lot about Elder Peña in the most deep and vulnerable moments of our companionship. That's not usually an issue, but a few days ago I was with a different elder. At the end of a pleasant lesson we were walking out the door, and as we took steps down the porch the gentleman we were visiting said, "hey Elder Whiteley, can I talk to you?" His wife gathered the kids and we stood on the porch. He looked at my companion. "Elder Jensen, would it be ok if we spoke alone?" Elder Jensen walked a little farther off. Oddly enough, this wasn't the first time this has happened. He said, "well, hello." "Hi," I answered, "what's up?" He said, "so, I was reading your blog yesterday and I had some concerns." Surprised, I asked, "what were they? How did you find my blog?" He answered, "I was scrolling on your Facebook and I found it." He continued, "it went into some pretty confidential stuff about a companion and even talked about an elder you had hard feelings for. I'm a counselor and deal with a lot of confidentiality issues. I just wanted to make sure you're aware." I affirmed that nothing on the blog included thoughts I hadn't made (or wouldn't make) directly to the people I write about. I also affirmed that I had asked Elder Peña's permission. After that conversation, it got my mind really working. How does Elder Peña feel about this? Does he know how brutally real I am? I got nervous; I even second-guessed the existence of the blog. "No," I reminded myself...this is part of the gig. I then whirlwinded into telling Elder Peña about it. Currently, he's laughing. He got through the first post. He said, "it's nothing I didn't know." We read my first post from the field and a post from Nebraska. He really enjoyed it! He told me it was helpful to get to know me. This really helped grow a lot of trust and he says he has no worries about it. He told me how much he loved and appreciated me after reading it. He just asked, "have I improved in my teaching since you wrote that I was a dull listen?" "Yes! I'm so glad you brought this up! Seriously, you've become so engaging and a much better teacher." He said, "good." He paused, then said, half- laughing, "I can see you're rubbing off on me in not bad ways." The man who cautioned me about the blog jabbed at a very vulnerable place without warning. When Elder Peña finished reading the rest, he called it insightful and said it was what happened. He's not mad, he affirmed. I sure hope that's true. Later, talking with Elder Peña at the end of weekly planning, we lay on the floor staring at the ceiling. During comp inventory, you try to ask the other person about things you can do better. He asked me, and I said, "I really just want you to remember how far we've come. Remember when you told me you gave up on our companionship? That seems ridiculous now. I want you to remember that feeling and then the steps we took to get where we are now." I shared my favorite poem. In response, he said, "I don’t love the idea of 'just letting everything happen to you.'" I said, "not everyone is as strong as you, Elder Peña. The companions you've had, the areas you've been in, and the struggles you face are incredible; I can't comprehend them. Most couldn't comprehend it, and those who can aren't facing it with as much class as you are." He told me he could tell how much I loved others and how he now understood me better. He told me how others see it too, even though last transfer people didn't really get me. He said people see my love. I said, "really?" He said, "most...and if they don't, they feel it." That meant a lot. An Alabama Shakes song came into my head that says, “now, I'm stepping on a plane; to fly somewhere I have never been; oh, Lord; don’t leave me on my own; because I still can’t get what I want.” During the lesson where I argued over the merits of Disney, I'd mentioned how I loved Of Mice and Men. The mom told me how much she hated Steinbeck. Even while we were leaving, the dad critiqued my comparing Steinbeck to Mormon, saying that Mormon had to write reality that was depressing, Steinbeck chose to write fiction that was depressing. Walking out the door, I said, "fiction doesn't mean it's not real." “Sometimes a kind of glory lights up the mind of a man. It happens to nearly everyone. You can feel it growing or preparing like a fuse burning toward dynamite. It is a feeling in the stomach, a delight of the nerves, of the forearms. The skin tastes the air, and every deep-drawn breath is sweet. Its beginning has the pleasure of a great stretching yawn; it flashes in the brain and the whole world glows outside your eyes. A man may have lived all of his life in the gray, and the land and trees of him dark and somber. The events, even the important ones, may have trooped by faceless and pale. And then—the glory—so that a cricket song sweetens his ears, the smell of the earth rises chanting to his nose, and dappling light under a tree blesses his eyes. Then a man pours outward, a torrent of him, and yet he is not diminished. And I guess a man’s importance in the world can be measured by the quality and number of his glories. It is a lonely thing but it relates us to the world.” -John Steinbeck, East of Eden Out of all the ways God chose to teach us, He chose stories. I guess I love real stories because they help me know more about God. And those who believe in God, Nephi teaches, shall surely hope for a better world.
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Well, I've entered the last calendar month of my mission. I had such a good day today. We had MLC and it was so uplifting. I joked with President Palmer about getting him a massage chair for these meetings. He said, "I like that thinking; you're getting an extension!" I looked around the room before the meeting started. I knew almost no one. I had seen this look on others' faces. Elder Seamons and Elder Smith had that look at transfer point. Elder Conrad had that look at his last MLC. It's the look a senior has as the end of high school begins to be counted in weeks instead of years. What you thought was an eternity is coming to a close. The event horizon was breached. Early on in my mission, I had walked into meetings and known no one. It felt lonely. Then, over time, it becomes a home. I knew almost everyone and felt at the center of an intricately moving dynamic of people. Now, I sit on the other shore. Today I felt alone in a group of missionaries. I haven't felt that in close to two years. President Palmer never ceases to amaze me. In long meetings that are mentally and spiritually draining, he takes every moment to prepare and to minister. "You're a good man, Elder Whiteley," I can hear his voice ring in my ears. He has a gift for seeing people. He sees something in me; something great. Something I can't see. In one of my newfound favorite verses, Isaiah 58:10, it reads: "And if thou draw out thy soul to the hungry, and satisfy the afflicted soul; then shall thy light rise in obscurity, and thy darkness be as the noonday." There is a big question that looms at the end of this six weeks: what to do when forever ends? When I lived with Elder Laudie in Casper, I told him I was running home. I said that over the course of my mission I would run the mileage equivalent of Casper to San Diego...1,140 miles. Likely thinking about all the wind and snow, Elder Laudie said it wouldn't happen, but I've made it from 924 East 21st Street in Casper, Wyoming to Fenelon Street in San Diego, California. I even added the miles to the new house I haven't seen yet. Pretty wild. Provo MTC: Elder Daniels 90 run 1,050 to go Casper 3rd: Elder Laudie Part I 25 run 1,025 to go Casper 3rd: Elder Laudie Part II 37 run 988 to go Casper 3rd: Elder Laudie Part III: 13 run 975 to go Casper 3rd: Elder Laudie Part IV: 3 run 972 to go Casper 3rd: Elder Laudie Part V: 13 run 959 to go Greely University YSA 2: Elder Seamons: 101 run 858 to go Tri-city: Elder Smith: 102 run 756 to go Highland: Elder Hoggan: 155 run 601 to go Scottsbluff: Elder Keenan: 176 run 415 to go Scottsbluff: Elder Keenan: 165 run 250 to go Scottsbluff: Elder Sedgwick: 36 run 214 to go Scottsbluff: Elder Sedgwick: 27 run 187 to go Glenmere: Elder Conrad: 50 run 137 to go Glenmere: Elder Prescott: 24 run 113 to go Glenmere: Elder Ramos: 53 run 60 to go HLK: Elder Peña: 138 to go HLK: Elder Peña: 35.5 to go As I've mentioned, Elder Peña is a runner too, and we're getting a lot of runs in lately because we're meeting with someone who is an ultra-marathoner. Today we went running with him on this amazing run. It was 1700 feet in elevation and 7 miles long. The first 3 ½ were uphill and I stayed back with Matt as Elder Peña ran ahead. He would dip around corners and there were periods where I couldn't see him. On the way down, I got some tips from Matt on how to run downhill and I kept up, but Elder Peña stayed significantly behind. I had to wait and run back for him. We needed to stay together, but I thought it was important to be with Matt. I thought Elder Peña should do the same, so I operated independently. We talked about it, and he was pretty defensive. He's quick to be defensive and shut down. I have strong feelings and I talk about it. He has strong feelings but doesn't talk about it. That's really difficult. For three days in a row, I've had really bad anxiety attacks surrounding personal study. So bad, I haven't been able to study at all. On Tuesday, my mom went to another room and asked about my mental wellbeing. I was surprised that out of all calls, she'd choose this one to bring it up. I had just had my first difficult day with studies the day prior. These past few days since have been really difficult. Elder Peña has voiced annoyances that finally outgrew his fear of confrontation. I've had to deal with the reality of how my personality fits in with the different personalities that surround me. Others may not receive love the way I give love or see the difference between my mental health struggles and the person I am. Hopelessness accompanies anxiety like the nausea after a kick to the groin. As the day wore on, I was pretty frustrated with him. I got some sleep, went on minis, and felt better by the end of the day. We had dinner with someone who was like, "awww, you got six weeks guaranteed together. You liking each other so far?" We kinda laughed, but I knew he didn't have the most pleasant things to say. The next day I wanted to sleep during lunch because I was horribly exhausted. After a significantly long conversation, he finally told me how he wanted me to be cleaner and more timely. All that had to happen was for him to politely ask me to do something, and I would have begun to do it. It took him waiting for weeks, being annoyed that I didn't live his standards, for him to say anything. I wish I could help people understand how I like to be communicated with. If you just communicate how you feel, I'll act accordingly. Alas, people do not like that. Instead of sleeping, I put away dishes and swept. Then I slept. He said, "thanks for doing that." I didn't respond. Later we arrived at Brother Esplin's and he talked about how Gordon B. Hinkley visited him and my grandpa when they were on their missions in Hong Kong. Someone asked him what his favorite scripture was. "I like all of them," he responded, "but there is one that comes to mind: 'That which is of God is light; and he that receiveth light, and continueth in God, receiveth more light; and that light groweth brighter and brighter until the perfect day.'" I thought, camera work is capturing that light—both metaphorically and literally. He closed the door as we left and said, "remember the light!" That struck me deeply. It renewed my vigor to proceed and chase divine desire, despite risk or fear. When we arrived home there was an awkward silence. There was so much tension. I sat down and wrote in my journal. As I wrote, Elder Peña got up and went to bed; an hour before usual. I sat and pondered for awhile. I knew journaling was good. I would rather finish journaling. However, I also knew I should go talk to him. The idea came to mind to just apologize. I sat there for a good minute and considered. A distinct memory came back of my time skiing in Sun Valley. I love to ski. My dad was so excited to show me new things and take me around Baldy. He took me to the bowls—a steep and open portion of the resort. I skied along a long string of cat tracks until we reached the spot where there was a steep drop-off to a steeper descent. My dad dropped down, not carving some specific trail, but just sent it. I looked over the drop-off, then to my dad. "Come on!" he yelled. I remember just staring at it. What other option did I have? I couldn't go back. I remember making the jump and landing and following in my dad's tracks. I found some of my favorite skiing on the bowls. It took so much work—getting ready, going up, cat tracking there—to finally get there, and a small ridge was the only remaining obstacle. Still, I almost turned back. Because I sent it, I had so much fun. As D&C 66:6 states, "inasmuch as ye can send; send. Take no thought for yourself..." I walked into the room and lay down. I took another minute. I said, "sorry for being a jerk today, I'll do better tomorrow." A long pause ensued. To break the silence, he said, "is there anything I can do to make it easier?" I said, "yes... three things: listen to what I have to say, even if you don't like it, just listen; don't assume you know what I'm thinking--you'll probably be wrong; and please communicate how you feel." A long discussion followed. He confessed to me that a few days ago, he gave up on our companionship. He just thought that he couldn't understand me and that he should just endure it. I thought, "that's so stupid." We talked about it, and eventually he said, "do you think you understand me?" I paused, thought, then said, "of course not. I've tried. I've asked questions and listened and tried to talk to you about it. I don't know what else to do." The conversation went on slowly. After expressing to me his frustration with me being late to my studies (I was having anxiety attacks about the tension in our companionship), I said, "I don't see why that's such a big deal." He said, "well, part of the reason I want to get out and go is because of what's happening at home. If I sit around too much it just festers and I think about how bad it is—." He stopped. He, as silently as he could, began to cry. For seven weeks, he has held strange and inconsistent expectations for me. He would rush and push on P-days to hit as many activities as we could. He'd get angry when we had to sit outside and wait for elders (who were facing struggles of their own). While my anxiety escalated as he grew in intensity and silence, I was having to step back because I had no idea what was going on. Eventually, it came to this obscure peak; I didn't know what to do. I tried talking about it, but he was always cryptic and wouldn't budge from his line of thinking. Then, he broke. He broke open. It made so much sense! You're not mad that we're late to hang out with missionaries on P-day; you're facing challenges that are beyond my comprehension. He could not articulate that until now. I had been the enemy in his eyes. I stayed patient, even though I was driven to the brink, and eventually it cracked open. I rolled over, got out of bed, and hugged him. I told him I loved him, that everything would be ok, that I was so impressed with his bravery and tenacity, his willingness to serve was incredible, and that I was so sorry if I added any load to his burden. Now that I knew, I would do everything I could, I told him, to make this burden lighter. I was fighting blind before. I'm beginning to realize how difficult adulthood is. It's been ever evident to me recently. As I'm nearing the beginning of dating and early family life (eventually), I am seeing how untrained parents really are. The job is relentless. It's real. It's difficult. A speaker recently reminded us how life gets so much more difficult after the mission. Kids, callings, and careers can all use more attention. These days might sound relentless, but at least you get to pick what you do (for the most part), who you choose to spend time with (for the most part), and have sex. There are certainly benefits to later life. As a kid, it's incomprehensible to imagine your forever ending. But forever-endings are crucial to happiness. In mortality, each forever ends—and it ends for a joyful cause. As this forever wraps up, I'm excited to begin my next one. To be fully enveloped in the world of home and college. I suppose I call this my forever because it is forever a part of me. It forever changes me. It forever helps me be happy. And I'll have these memories forever. Every day, I've tried to share a message of how our forevers never really end, but we continue to build off of them to string together an eternal life under the direction of that Great Artist, Jesus Christ. Be all in—that's a forever. And, "God will feel after you. He will take hold of you and wrench your very heart strings, and if you cannot stand it you will not be fit for an inheritance. All difficulties which might and would cross our way must be surmounted. Though the soul be tried, the heart faint, and the hands hang down, we must not retrace our steps; there must be a decision of character.” -- Joseph Smith
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