I sit here on this couch in Greeley as my companion sits in a hotel room, leaving all the group phone chats as he says goodbye. Elder Conrad is good at goodbyes. A man well-spoken and confidently presented, there is a deep and abiding love and sorrow he holds for the world. I drove to transfer point early in the morning. Clear skies at 5:10 and smiles all around as missionaries reunited and said hello. We picked up my new companion, Elder Prescott, then back to the apartment where Elder Conrad packed. One suitcase has a broken zipper, so we bought zip ties and got a kitchen knife and stabbed holes into the flap and the bag and zip-tied them shut. I love that kid. We went to transfer point yet again for the bus return. I hugged Elder Morgan and said hi to Elder Mestre. I walked over and half of the Nebraska Zone was there! Elder Stubblefield, Sister Malyon, and Sister D'Aquisto. We conversed and then took a photo. I felt I was surfing across the wave of people I'd grown to love over my mission. Elder Conrad hopped in the van and the rest of the departing missionaries followed. I gave Elder Conrad one last hug. This one felt different. I said, "keep doing the little things." He replied that he’d try. The words spoken were not the takeaway, but the sincerity in which we both said them, wanting to help and be remembered by the other. I've really enjoyed my time with him. As Jacob wrote, "it passed by as it were a dream." You will survive, no matter the goodbye. We wake up in the morning and the days roll on. Elder Conrad knows how much I love Into the Woods. As he left the district chat, he wrote these words: "You know how at some point in every journey, you have to go out into the woods? And you don’t really know what's out there. It's kinda scary, kinda excited. There may be beasts of many kinds. But in the end you know that you will head back home. Because that's where you belong...I'm finally headed home guys." I replied: That means a lot, friend. Thanks for everything. See you at lunch tomorrow. He then sent a gif of Michael Scott and Jim's last meeting on The Office. Jim tells Michael he'll tell him later how much he meant to him-- knowing they wouldn’t see each other again. The mission is an odd experience. These people matter so much to you; they're your everything. They're in your work, personal, and recreational life. Then, we move on—we walk away. I remember feeling such strong feelings leaving Casper, Longmont, and Nebraska. I loved all three deeply. The mission, like a story, is incrementally played out in every area, transfer, companionship, and day. We come to the mission and fall in love with it; then one day, we leave. You fall in love with an area, then you move. Throughout the companionship, you learn how to love them and they become your favorite, then you watch that relationship cease. You spend every second and almost every thought revolving around a small portion of land, and then one day, you don’t. There's no easing out. No transition. The nametag is on, then it's on the floor. As we go to say goodbye, it is inevitable that we look back on our first hello and contemplate the change and growth made between that hello and this goodbye. We entered the woods of a relationship, and now leave it, changed. Examining this change allows us to appreciate the type of influence the person has had on you. A missionary here recently had a severe head injury and was hospitalized. She was supposed to depart with Elder Conrad next week. You may remember her from my adventures at the Salt Lake City airport in which she chastised me for rolling down the terminal ramp on my suitcase. You may also remember her from my adventurous district council in which I said that her name sounded like lasagna and a mosquito had a baby. She had not been on my mind since that time. Then, we received a notice asking us to pray for her. This got me thinking about the brief interactions I had had with her. Marvin J. Ashton, says "a friend is a person who is willing to take me the way I am but who is willing and able to leave me better than he found me." With her, I wasn't even willing to take her the way she was. This prompts the question, why? Digging into the story in SLC, she had criticized me for my actions; I didn't feel addressed as a person. I thought she had a very hard-nosed character, people talked about her, and I didn't want to disappoint those I looked to for affirmation. I didn't have anything good to say, so I just didn't get involved. Now I have come to realize the stark weakness this speaks to my character. I didn't understand her because she held qualities and preferences I struggled to hold. She was diligent, hard-working, and passionate about aspects of the work I didn't care about. She was confident about aspects of the work that I wasn't, and this produced a subconscious self- consciousness that prevented me from being a friend. Now, being more obedient and more appropriate and having more confidence in my direction, I can be more of a friend to those who may hold different ideals than me. More often than not, we change through failure and repetition. I was reading through my journal entry one year ago today. I read of an argument Elder Laudie and I got into about planning. I was more willing to communicate than he was, but I said with some irony, "you know what, it's my fault" and then just stopped talking. I remember feeling so confident that I was in the right and that Elder Laudie was just the enemy. Of course, with any trained eye and sane mind, you'd see that was not the case. Though both of us were well-intentioned, neither of us, especially me, had the ability to express that clearly. How I wish to go spend another transfer with Laudie in Casper knowing what I know now. Excerpt from Henry's letter to the injured missionary: From the short interactions we've had, I must admit, you probably don't have the best memories of me. Some wild kid in the MTC and an even weirder kid in Longmont. The first time I met you was in the airport of SLC. I rehearsed this story to you in Longmont, but you gave me some correction in the airport after I slid on my stomach on a suitcase down a ramp. Then, in Longmont, I told this story to you almost from the perspective of, "remember how silly that was?" Oh man, that correction was way out of line. I'd like to apologize for both of these interactions. I've grown up just enough since then to realize this: you were far more mature and well-meaning than I was able to comprehend at that time. I've come to realize the maturity and the urgent dignity with which you held your calling. I've had the pleasure of serving around a lot of people who have served around you; one of which is my current companion, Elder Conrad. I've admired the complimentary and loving way in which they refer to the time they spent serving with you; they all speak so incredibly high of you (Elder Conrad always breaks out into a smile when he talks about you and that district)! From the small interactions I've had with you (and me learning to grow up) and hearing how much people care for you, I'm left with nothing but admiration. I hope to finish my mission with honor like you. I hope this note does not come too much as a surprise. I recently had a long conversation with another missionary. He asked me, "deep down, do you want to be here?" He said, "sometimes, I wish I would have gone home at 18 months. I was at the peak of my conviction for the work and I had a strong testimony. I've grown and changed the last six months of my mission more than any other. These last six were the hardest for me. Take your motivation, and run with it." "I hope there’s a God," he told me. "I just don't know." I was deeply struggling last week, I felt a hopelessness; I was trying to do it all myself. As I read a verse in Acts, my heart softened. I really prayed. It wasn't a rote prayer, nor one given in my often-hectic mind. I spoke outloud and with intention; I wasn't checking off boxes. Acts 9:5 reads, "Who art thou, Lord?" I like running, but I'm never fast; I am drawn to art, but there is always something more I could do better; and I love God, but I'm never doing enough. Much like how one's artistic abilities must be worked up to one's taste, one's feelings and emotional outlook on the world must become one with objective truth. As Jesus said, "come unto me, all ye that are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." I'd rather live boldly, fail, and change than be too scared to try.
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Last week my companion told me we were doing an interview. As I loaded the lighting and camera equipment into the car he was pretty confused. I said, "I thought we were doing an interview." He began to laugh..."a baptismal interview!" (That's just a checkup you do with someone to make sure they're ready for their upcoming baptism). We all started laughing. He said, "you're probably the only missionary I've met that would grab filming equipment when someone said interview." I thought that was pretty funny. We spent two hours digging out Tom's basement; a project I started in my week-long pit stop in Greeley months ago. We're digging out all the dirt from underneath his home. All accomplished by missionary efforts. It was so fun. I videoed Tom and asked him where we were. He started talking about how much he loved the missionaries. "I never had friends," he said, "until I met the missionaries and joined the church." This sixty year-old man standing underneath his home with his eyes welling up said, "these guys are angels." We then went and conducted a baptismal interview for an eleven year-old kid. At the house, an old man with no teeth and one leg sat in a wheelchair, emptily staring. Two other older folk were home; one was a woman who moved swiftly around the house, just fast enough to keep in tempo with the small children running all around. The other was a heftier man who didn't really have to tell you, but did, that he was a truck driver. The boy I was interviewing was quiet but actively attentive. Clothes were strewn about and drawers were open. Without prompting, he went about picking everything up and tidying up. I sat down against the wall, criss-cross-applesauce. As he cleaned, he noted my silence like a basketball player does an empty lane: you take it and run. He told me about his mother, the abuse she inflicted, the hours of video games she would play, and the consequential responsibilities heaped upon his young shoulders. He described the stress of keeping his grades up, cleaning the house, and taking care of his younger siblings. His mom would leave her newborn strapped to a carseat set in front of the TV for hours. He continued to tell me about how his mother would beat him if he didn't do the dishes but didn't want anyone in the kitchen while she cooked. She would also yell at him if he was awake after dinner. He was so grateful to finally come to live with his grandparents in this small town in northeastern Colorado. He showed me his two new pairs of shoes and all the clothes they'd bought him. He was thrilled to have a bunkbed and a room. This kid was so self-aware and conscious. He sat in the midst of a chaotic home and simply picked up after his siblings' mess. Every time he'd leave the room, he'd shut the lights off. I have never seen someone so young not just fake responsibility, but quietly be that responsible. No show, no pomp, just honest, hardworking love. He wanted to come closer to God. This was not for some superficial show (his family didn't care one way or another), but for his own happiness. On his free time, he'd watch church content on Tik Tok. He inspired me. Elder Smith was shocked when I told him about some of what he'd told me. After months of meeting, he had never heard a word of it. In exchanges recently, Elder Mestre gave me lots of useful advice. He also told me, "the way you see the world and everything you do is so nostalgic." (Elder Mestre is a native Spanish-speaker. He has an amazing vocabulary for having not spoken English for long, but sometimes the words he's looking for aren't there in English.) He has an incredible ability to speak with the spirit. He discerns and acts with the spirit like seaweed flows with the swell. Later, Elder Mestre told me he meant yearn when he said I was nostalgic. He also sent me the definitions of the word yearn. They include: 1. Desire strongly or persistently; 2. Have a desire for something that is not there; 3. Have affection for or feel tenderness for. However, the most meaningful definition was the fourth. He said he felt I put this definition into action... The fourth definition is to "have an intense feeling or longing for something, typically something that one has been separated from." He said, "Yeah, it's like every picture portrays something that is not there but wants to be."
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.
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
Some visits are weird, but even weirder was this apartment we visited today. Inside, neatly organized, in every corner and on every surface: action and scifi memorabilia. They had a collection of model cars from all different movies; posters, planes, and a Christmas tree decorated solely with detailed Star Trek ornaments. Most impressive was what looked like the control desk from the Matrix in the corner of the living room. Stacked to the ceiling with the cutting edge technology of 1994, it looked like my elementary school tech room. He was very proud that he could "broadcast to the entire apartment complex." The older woman was nice, though she was wearing an extra small condom on her thumb; which I can only hope was a replacement for a bandaid. We went to the Scottsbluff Zoo as a district. Yes, Scottsbluff—a town of 15k—has a zoo. My favorite exhibit was the raccoon exhibit. It's literally this fat raccoon that does nothing but sit there and get fed. He’s like the king of raccoons. Scottsbluff has a lot of raccoons -- Nebraska in general does. So much so, the Alliance missionaries actually watched a guy, during a lesson, walk outside and chase three raccoons down and beat one to death with the butt of his shotgun. Not this zoo raccoon, though. This raccoon sits on his throne, man-spreading as he stares into the eyes of dozens of people as if to say, "you can’t touch me." Yesterday we had an amazing experience. I sat there pretty anxious, but I thought, sometimes, God just wants us to make a call. I looked at the map of names we were to visit and remembered how Moroni just had spare time -- so he thought he'd write the Book of Moroni. So, I selected an area to visit. We did, and the first house was someone whom we had not been able to contact for months. She was happy to see us. She gave us a referral for her sister who is struggling with her faith. The next house was an older lady. She has been struggling with her health and is alone a lot. She started crying as she talked to us. We told her we would visit more often and talk with her. It was good to do some simple uplifting. Recently, I've been working on stepping back and listening. I had this thought that I should start to prepare as if I was training. Let Elder Sedgwick take the lead, be an example, even if he is struggling, just give him the opportunity to struggle. It's been a fun game to play that I think he subconsciously appreciates. It was a good day. I'm making improvements. I'm cutting down on distractions, I'm getting back into working out, and I'm feeling happier. My mom sent me a message by the artist Christopher Niemann. He said that when he works on his sketches, he picks a random object and just stares at it. He said his work isn't based on sudden inspiration, he’s just willing to stare at that object longer than a sane person would, and it becomes something beautiful. Einstein said something similar when he said that he isn’t smarter than anyone else, but he is willing to sit with a problem longer than most. Speaking of sitting with a problem longer than most, I love the phrase I read today: "they took upon them the name of Christ, having a determination to serve him to the end." I called dad for a short time today. That was the game changer. I'm not sure why, but my mood just lifted tremendously. It made me so happy. He admitted how hard a mission was, expressed concern, and didn't give me any answers. It was a perfect example of what to do with someone I've been struggling to help. It was so comforting to talk to him. We talked about a Paul McCartney article he sent me and about stories. I just love him. My entire day changed after that call. A line stuck out to me in Adjusting to Missionary Life as I read it for the first time in awhile. It's one that has struck me before, but putting it into practice is oftentimes difficult. Under "ways to deal with loneliness," it says, "share." Uggggggggh. I don't trust my companions. Not because of who they are, just generally speaking it's difficult for me. However, as I've suspended disbelief, I've seen miracles—one of which was last night. I expressed my feelings to my companion and we had a long discussion back and forth about how we could better be there for this person we're trying to help. I felt the most uplifted when I shared that I felt I was failing as a district leader. I didn't mean it in a self-pitying way, I simply stated that I knew my approach could be better in these certain ways and I wasn't performing. Elder Sedgwick told me that wasn't true. All I was asked to do was try, and I was trying. He told me that, as bad as it may sound, if a missionary in the district struggles, that's not your fault. That was so comforting. After expressing gratitude for his thoughtfulness and saying that's exactly what I needed, he told me he basically just said what he spent the last twenty minutes writing in his journal because he too was feeling stressed. His willingness to come to terms with his own struggles and share with me completely changed my perspective. Elder Sedgwick is a wonderful missionary and a good friend—one I'm glad I trust. In the article about Paul McCartney, Paul says that he was always the instigator. Never did he hear any other band members say, "let's make an album." At 78, he still produces great music; he just naturally loves it! Further, he works at it and has fun. He talks about how he would always be the one to instigate these trips where they would just hitchhike and see how far they could get. He just was willing to go and do! There is a fantastic line in Proverbs 13:20 that reads: "He that walketh with wise men shall be wise: but a companion of fools shall be destroyed." Paul was no fool. Similarly, my dad always urges me to be better. He always compliments my strengths, acknowledges my weaknesses, loves me, and helps me in many different modes to improve. Advice, example, and quality time have been key to my happiness. Thank you dad. The same goes for mom, adding a dimension and depth to my dad that otherwise would be absent, and vice versa. Elder Sedgwick was the same way. He urged me to move forward having confidence in myself. My dad urged me to move forward acknowledging the difficulty. Dispelling disbelief, trusting in God, dealing with stress, finagling leadership systems, helping others, leading, following, and being a disciple are just a few of the lessons touched on today. God is good.
So, I taught this lady in Longmont, Colorado. She texted the other day and was like, "what would you do if I sent you this camera?" I said, "fix it up and use it, I suppose." AND SHE SENT IT!!! It's a 1957 German film camera. It has a cracked lens but it looks like I could get it fixed. I'm going to take some photos with the cracked lens, maybe they'll be cool. I'm SO stoked. It's a beautiful camera. AND it has a leather case that comes with it AND an old timey lightbulb flash. Honestly, I had a really funny story to tell about our roadtrip and a touching story to tell about transfers, but I feel sad. Mostly because of missed opportunities. This morning I woke up and thought, "I should go for a run." Anxiety just filled me. How cold is it? Should I bike? Do I feel like it? Does it matter? Should I study? Am I too tired? Should I go on Facebook? I got anxious, only read one verse before I caved, and wasted an hour and a half. How do I change? How do I become better? I don't know, but I do know that change is possible. I'm frankly embarrassed, as I should be. I'm almost too embarrassed to write it in my journal. But I know I'd be worse off in silence. I wish I would have worked out, studied, and written those stories in my journal. However, even on my mission, I am distracted sometimes. I can be better. The question is, what am I going to do to be more proactive in the solution? I've told myself repeatedly that I'm going to change. I know I feel bad when I don't work efficiently; I know I always regret it. However, distraction is an escape from difficulty. Being willing to face difficulty is a wonderful quality, it's just that running from difficulty has been made so much easier as distraction comes more readily to us. Our phones are locked to our hip to shoot down anything that may impose difficulty on us -- any unwanted circumstances. It's a constant escape. Still, I have full confidence that I can be aided in this endeavor. So, what can I do? Elder Bednar said to go to your knees and pray to see yourself the way God sees you. It will be the scariest thing you'll ever do because you'll see all your flaws and imperfections. However, it will get you so close to Christ. It reminded me of a Pope John Paul quote my mom sent me from Jackie's Instagram which reads, "I am as I am in the sight of God. No more, no less." I went and prayed and my mind was filled with anxiety. My head ran really fast. Though few words came, brief peace was felt. Yet rather than feeling an overwhelming sense of joy, I stood, seemingly unchanged. Still, the prayer pointed my ship in the right direction. President Obama said that we make changes like steering a ship: if we point it in one direction, or just slightly in another, it will land in a completely different position. So, while I may not have moved, my ship was now heading in the right direction. Throughout the day, I focused on the work. I remembered what I'd heard: that you count your mistakes far more than God does. Something else I heard in a talk was that when you're struggling, think about those you've been privileged to touch over the course of your mission. Remember that miracles do happen but they require a tremendous amount of effort. Thinking about the Lopez family, I teared up. If all of this was for nothing but them, I'd do it all again. I then thought about the Laurichas. Specifically, I thought about Dustin. He struggled with anxiety and hated being in crowds. So much so, he rarely left his apartment. However, as he struggled to come to church, I was reminded I was a lot like him. What would God want me to do? What would I want Dustin to do? I'd asked Brother Lauricha just to keep meeting with us, do any little thing he could. The Lord loved his effort. But, hypocritically, in my mind God didn't love mine. I remembered His mercy. I was reminded of a tip dad showed me from Into the Woods: "Show up on the page," it said. No matter what, just show up on the page. Write. Even if it's bad. Eventually, it will be good. Today, I showed up on the page. I believed in miracles. Then, a guy I messaged messaged back. We started talking. I got to know him. I brought up religion. I offered to meet. We met today and taught him. He is a 19 year-old in the National Guard looking for peace and wholeness in his life. It went so well. He seemed to really be engaged and excited to learn! Miracles do happen. I just have to show up on the page. During the small personal study I held, I read this line from Moroni: "when we write we behold our weakness, and stumble." This hit me. Showing up on the page is so difficult. Why? Margret Atwood would argue it's because you're afraid of something. In this case, Moroni was afraid of being mocked. I'm afraid of being mocked, of being less than a good missionary, and thus being unlovable by God. Moroni was so nervous. He compared himself to others he saw as so much greater, he compared himself to the words he spoke instead of the words he wrote. He wanted to be great for God so badly. Though he saw himself as weak, his written word became the most notable part of his ministry and some of the most profound in all of scripture. His weakness became his strength. You have to come to God and you have to be shown your weakness to be humbled. Seeing your weakness is scary, but it's how weaknesses become strengths. In order to be strong, you must go into the woods.
Someone we were teaching has COVID. They'd answered the door and told us they had it. We called her later and she said she tested positive, but she was finishing her shift at Arbys. Bruh... The hospital here is overrun with COVID cases. All the beds are full and half the staff is out with it. 26 missionaries in this mission have tested positive. Elder Sedgwick is feeling a little sick. It's the way it always goes, one companion gets sick and then the next gets sick as the other gets better. I got on the phone and my mom was like, "hey!" "Oh, what's wrong...are you sick?" I didn't even feel like I looked sick, but she always knows. Today, it hailed out of nowhere and covered the street in under two minutes. It then just got sunny again, but that 40 mph wind never ceased. Besides that, the nurse thinks we have Corona and is having us quarantine for 14 days. I lost some motivation today. I spent a long time calling family, after which we did some online work which turned into us falling asleep. Fatigue really is one of the symptoms. It's difficult because I'm also not super motivated to get on my phone and just grind and text people. Sure, intermittently dispersed across the course of the day that is extremely effective; but when it's all you have it's a daunting task. I didn't go outside today. Our apartment door never opened. Quarantine is not fun. To keep from going stir crazy, sometimes I'll play a game of golf with a volleyball, a broom, and the legs of a barstool—this is the COIVID mission life. It gets even weirder when I start announcing it like a golf tournament. It's enough to be inside ALL day. I would go outside but the wind is still blowing and it's not super pleasant. I did a little bit of cleaning between calling people. I mostly wasted time. It's so hard to stay focused. It requires an absurd amount of self-discipline. I think I forgot to mention that I'm 2/3rds of the way finished with my mission! My first third was spent with Elder Laudie. The second was in and out of quarantine. This is the final act. That is the grand view. Yesterday, a man in his 80s who converted to the church while he was in the Coast Guard said something that struck me. He said, "that feeling of loneliness on your mission...questioning whether you really belong and whether or not what you are doing is worthwhile? It really never goes away." My dad sent me a phenomenal quote from Into the Woods. It says "storytelling is about bringing opposites together and stilling the conflict between order and chaos within." Been thinking about dad a lot. I just love his energy. He is the chisled character I search to be one day. Talking about this improv sketch he was in in his college years, he seemed slightly embarrassed. I wish he knew how much it means that he was able to use all of the good, unorganized energy that screamed "cocaine!!" -- wearing a shirt on his head -- to being the composed, thoughtful, good person he is today. He still has that stage presence, that energy, and that joy for life. He is just organized now. The reconciliation between order and chaos, the natural man and the Saint, is something he seems to have mastered. He may not be complete, but he seems to find joy in self-improvement. If he doesn't always find it, I know that his family loves him for trying. Dad, I know it's hard to see when it's you, but you are who I aspire to be. Not just who you are now, but the way you approach tomorrow. Bryce Morris sent a really touching and thoughtful email to me today. He discussed the difficulties of being on a mission and some that he faced reaching his later months. He said, "What you do everyday still causes people to feel the joy it may be hard [for you] to feel." That really touched me. Recently, I've found it difficult to have faith that what I'm doing really helps people change and be happier. Since quarantine, I've found it extremely difficult to keep a schedule. Working out is a chore, going to bed on time is difficult. I've always wanted extra time to get stuff done, but now that I have so much of it I feel like I'm drowning and, hence, get nothing done. I'm lying in bed not eating breakfast. I spent last night rolling around in bed till midnight going on and off my phone. Elder Sedgwick is sleeping too. I feel as though I'm just wasting away. It used to be, "ok, let's just get out of the apartment and we'll start there." Now, that's not an option. Consequently, I have been delving into how I can better self-discipline. How can I abstain from getting distracted? How can I properly take productive breaks to keep from losing sanity? How do I use my time wisely? It's been difficult. Entrenched in a book I've been reading to pass the time, I was excited to pick it up again after my pizza was in the oven and finish the chapter I was on. Immediately, I recieved the prompting to talk to Elder Sedgwick who was silently eating on the other side of the room. "No," I thought, "this is really entertaining. Talking to Elder Sedgwick will require me to bend socially and lift the weight of difference. I don't want to listen." I could not stand to ignore the prompting, though it took a moment. I've grown to understand the importance of acting on promptings quickly; or shall I say, promptly? I've learned that there's nothing that hurts like a missed opportunity. I turned and began talking to him. Soon, the conversation rolled into something both revealing, beautiful, and entertaining. He may be one of the only people I've ever met who has lived by candlelight! He stressed that it was "only for a few years." They didn’t have power, so they hauled buckets of water to use in their trailer. At the time, the trailer housed their family of seven and his dad, returning from his job doing construction, would work on finishing building their home in his off hours. I was so impressed. That is not an easy lifestyle. He must be one of the last people in this country to have lived solely by candlelight. Legos, lizards, aquariums, Indian reservations, candles, water buckets, and self-built homes are what made memories for him. All of the sudden, the weight of our differences was not something to hinder us, but instead strengthened my enjoyment and understanding of him even more. These so-called ordinary people that are around us are filled with the most unique and beautiful stories; we must learn to ask the right questions. Asking, seeking, and knocking applies not just to God but to each other. President Palmer once said, "Never underestimate a conversation." He further explained that one conversation with one person can change one heart—and that's all it takes to change the world. Before quaraninte, we got stir crazy and went for a really fun hike. The trail petered out, but we kept going. We ended up in these canyons and it was so much fun! We just got lost trying to make the next move. Our next step was driven solely by curiosity and the willingness to submit to the experience. I let the spark lead me-- a fantastic feeling. It's a feeling I hope to treasure and live the rest of my days. Let the spark lead you where you need to go, whether or not there is a trail. Follow it no matter the difficulty, and enjoy the process of never knowing what comes next.
Today I messaged a guy on Facebook and he sparked up a conversation about model trains. Luckily, after cleaning out another guy's garage full of model trains, I'd learned a thing or two about the lingo and could ask some questions. That's the best thing that happened to me today. I got up and studied first thing in the morning then did my workout. Breaking my routine of 15 months felt so out of place, but I think it improved my study a lot. I think I'll keep doing it. I did a ton of squats in the morning -- now I can't walk. The first snowfall hit today and everything is covered. Large snow flakes fall from the sky, taking the last of the leaves with them to the ground. As depicted, the transition between fall and winter occurs quickly out here in Nebraska. The last leaf had yet to fall before the first snow beat it to the ground. Yesterday, we had dinner with the W's. Due to COVID, we can't eat in homes. Instead, we had dinner outside (30 degrees) while it snowed. We had a fire going--and a cover--but it was still pretty funny. Apparently, after a long day of work, the mom came home and the house was absolutely trashed. Both boys blamed the other. With one son on the defensive, she asked, "why can't you take responsibility?" "How can I take personal responsibility," he responded, "for him?" I thought that was so funny. Later, I told him that I played a fun game with life: it doesn't matter who is right. You're not here to win a logical argument. You're here to help change emotions. You want to help people be happy, despite who is right. After dinner, the conversation was much lighter and less contentious. Sitting down with so much contention and leaving with such comradery made me feel so fulfilled. Recently, I have been asking people what I could do better. My journey began with a small prodding about what I could do better. Then, General Conference rolled around and gave me a lot of ideas. Mostly I learned I needed to study Christlike attributes: humility, patience, and diligence stuck out the most. Being sound-minded came next--almost a compilation of those three. I then began to feel my goal. Much like a film or a photo, I felt how I wanted the photo to feel. How to accomplish creating a product with such a feel was the unknown. Every step I took to be a little more Christlike, the Lord illuminated the next stone just enough for me to both exercise trust in Him—faith—and to take the leap. Then, the mode by which I would undertake the task of refinement became more and more evident. The words from Brother Jacobs at the mission devotional rang true: you cannot be better without somebody else. I began asking, at the end of any area call, what I could do better as a district leader. Then, I began looking for other appropriate places to do that. Again and again I asked for people to consider and openly invited them to help me. Today, we had comp inventory. My communication skills have skyrocketed since the beginning of my mission. I don't shy away from being completely open and attempting to understand the other person. I will not be left guessing at the other person's thoughts. I'll ask direct questions and encourage the other to be as open and direct with me as they feel comfortable. It's been feeling a little tense lately, but with clear communication, I was really able to overcome difficulties that would have bogged me down for days or weeks earlier in the mission. He told me being companions with me was a lot like being grabbed by the arm and just pulled a random direction without knowing what was going on. I thought that was pretty funny. There is still a lot to improve on regarding communication. My anxiety has a lot to do with being overwhelmed. So many daily tasks, (working out at night, running, foosball, keeping in touch with the district, etc.) that I sometimes find myself spiraling. Further, I am attempting to become so much better. I am trying to be a better disciple and person and it is often overwhelming to look at all the ways that I fall short. As one of my mom's favorite songs goes, "I wish I was a little bit taller." One day, I'll get there. As for now, I'll be going early and often, starting now and being consistent, to becoming a better man. Gus is so submissive. I think of times I get angry in Uno or dominos, or think about missionary work or any other place I feel entitlement, and remember how Gus just submits. He quietly asks for help when he really needs it, but is so gentle in his suffering. I got an email that sounds like Gus is ok after his illness. I feel like my heart just finally shifted back into place and is complete again. I love that dog. Right now, I have witnessed my mind go from selfish to more selfless. I can see the difference in living life as if others should think as I do versus just learning from them. "You're in a learning stage here in mortality, so listen more than you talk." By so doing, I feel I've begun to completely rewire my brain to remove the center-of-the-universe mentality and replace it with a full commitment to Christ. Whatever He needs me to do, whoever He needs me to be, let's do it. Change me. Let me know. Paul advised to be both hungry and full. Yes, I am satisfied with how far I've come. Yet, yes, I am hungry to be a better person and to go farther. I am both hungry and full. Last night, after a long day driving to Cheyenne, I sat down to study for the last hour of the day. I read three verses and wrote, "sometimes, God waits until the right time" and fell in and out of sleep. God waits until the right time. These lessons I’m learning would not have been taken well in high school. Further, these lessons would not have been taken well in Casper or Longmont. Like Mormon, the command to preach Christ's teachings is a good one, however, God is firm in His timing and in His sequence. Right now, I have had the prior experience and humility gifted to understand, comprehend, and be willing to change. I never thought I'd say that regarding giving up my kind of thinking. Personal truth is not objective truth. It will take a long time to become good, but however long it is...it's a time I'm willing to run.
Doing some family history while responding to this guy who asked us to call him but wasn't interested, I ran across my Great-Great-Grandfather Henry Springer Coleman's "memories." One of them was a poem from his mom. It read: The joy I felt when I held you in my arms My first born And felt that God had given me a precious gift My little son And through the years of childhood How I prayed That you would grow to manhood clean and pure Just and unafraid That you might face the battles of the world With head held high And buckle on the sword and shield of truth And do or die There came a time when you went forth An eager, earnest youth And boldly did proclaim unto the world The gospel truth Tonight my thoughts go out to you My absent son In tender love and heartfelt prayer And song And may you know and feel Where 'eer you are On land, or sea or the deepest mine Your mother's love will follow thee
And like a load-star shine. |
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