THE MISSION BOOK: Part Seven Saturday, 20 December 1975 Amidst the growing mental workload, I could already tell, a mere week into the experience, that I was making unexpected progress. The grammar and sentence structure were beginning to come together in my mind, pieces of a puzzle. When one is cooped up as long as we were, it doesn’t take long to become intimately familiar with every nook and cranny of one’s room. One day we made a fascinating discov¬ery about the square, white ceiling tiles above us. Someone decided to remove one of them. On the back were messages, poems and drawings from former missionary tenants. In some cases there were even maps of the areas where missionaries would be serving. Before leaving the LTM, I would inscribe my own thoughts on a tile. Sunday, 21 December 1975 On that second Sunday we were treated to a two-hour talk by Elder Boyd K. Packer, one of the Twelve Apostles. Up until that moment, the only time I had heard an apostle speak was during a general conference session on TV, or by way of a closed circuit broadcast. Given the size of the Church, it was a rare opportunity to be in the same room, let alone hear a man of his stature and experience speak to us about the importance of being qualified to serve as a missionary. I came away from the session feeling uplifted and more optimistic about the two-year commitment I had undertaken. Leadership in the LDS Church is modeled after that of the Primitive church- that is, the one the Savior established nearly 2,000 years ago. He was the leader, and there was a quorum of 12 apostles, who assisted Christ in the affairs of the church. It is not a celebrity thing. It is more a matter of being able to listen to someone who has dedicated the remainder of their life- for the calling of an Apostle is lifelong- to the lord, and feel the Spirit’s presence affirm that you are listening to someone who is very close to the Savior. So close that they speak as if they have seen him- whether in vision or dream, I do not know- but the experience is one you won’t soon forget. Elder Lemmon took to praying in a closet in our room. Saying them out loud had several advantages, the main one being that- during the evening- one was more likely to make it to that final Amen without first falling asleep. Something about kneeling, beginning to relax for the first time this day, elbows resting on that nice soft mattress, and Morpheus so close that…well, it was better for concentration and reverence’s sake to try kneeling on the tiled floor, away from the bed. The knee discomfort alone was usually enough to forestall any thoughts of sleep. Because there were at least four of us packed into such small quarters, privacy and elbow room became a challenge, especially when it came to prayers. For that reason, any available space became a precious commodity. I tried the closet thing a few times, then decided to take my chances next to the mattress. Scripture Study, Round Two I thought there was a trick to memorizing the scripture references. After all, it had worked, though in a lame sort of way, in math class. I would memorize some short cut for an equation. But as in many other parts of life, I was about to discover that short cuts will never replace principles. 1 John 1: 8, 1 Nephi 15:34, Alma 11:40, D & C 1:31-33, D & C 82:10, D & C 130: 20, 21, D & C 19: 16, 17, John 14:2, D & C 76: 111, 112, D & C 81:6, Alma 7: 14, 15, Revelation 20: 12, John 3: 1-5, John 1: 4, 9, John 14: 6, John 5: 22, Mosiah 26: 23, 24, Ether 12: 41... And so it was with these references. I could use mnemonics, index cards, and the like, but it wasn’t until I actually tried to understand the content of particular verses that they started sticking in my memory. It was so much work to overcome bad habits, but the sense of accomplishment upon getting a few of the verses memorized was worth it. And with what was coming, I would need all the confidence I could muster. By Christmas Eve I’d begun getting used to the schedule, not that it was getting any easier to arise at 5:45 than it had been the previous week, but I was doing so, which counts for something. What I wasn’t doing so well with was the adjustment to LTM life. Homesick and a touch depressed, it was good to get out on P-Day, during which time I bowled over 180, a personal best which I’ve never beat since. But even being out in public couldn’t erase the hurt I was experiencing. It wasn’t until evening that I felt better. Finding a phone was a chore, as there were scores of other missionaries attempting the same thing I was. With Lambert and Lemmon in tow, I found a booth two blocks south of KM Hall, outside Millett’s Market. Calling home, I talked to Mom. Next I spoke with Grand¬ma Quigley, with whom I had a nice talk, though a confusing one- especially after she asked when I was leaving for New Zealand. Then I talked with Mom again for a good 15 minutes, after which I felt much better. It made up for the fact that for the first time in my life, I’d be spending Christmas away from home, with strangers. Thursday dawned bright and early. But we did not. There were no Christmas trees, no presents, no stockings, no half-conscious family members staggering around the house. It was just another Yule Tide morning at the LTM. Nothing focuses the heart and mind on the meaning of the holidays more than when one is separated from family. There could be a sizeable quantity of gifts at one’s disposal, but if the present-opening is done solo, there’s little joy in it. I cannot remember doing any gift-opening this particular Christmas morning. And even if there were gifts to open, there’d be no room in which to store them. If it was a game, there’d be no time with which to play it. If it was music, no time to listen. If books, no time with which to read them- not that I was lacking in reading material at the moment. What was the Lord’s Christmas gift to us? No classes or meetings. Though I’d only been in the LTM 12 days, it felt strange to have nothing to do and nowhere to go. Strange and wonderful, that is. I showered and dressed and then wondered what to do with myself, the schedule open all day long. Of course, that wasn’t entirely true. There were breakfast and lunch to consider, as well as calls home that hadn’t been made the night before. On through breakfast I marveled at the taste of freedom I was experiencing. And it wasn’t like I just wanted to bolt and run back home. I knew why I was at there- but, still, the time off was nice. It felt like a reward, no strings attached. And for that entire day I was free of guilt. Upon venturing outside I enjoyed the sight and smell of a light dusting of snow. Being from a town where a white Christmas was as rare as Santa sightings, white stuff on this particular day was a novelty. I wanted to run around the campus unfettered. But we had to stick together- at least until the time came for Lemmon to make some calls home from an on-campus pay phone. Not wanting to waste precious time, Lambert and I left his comp with someone else, and went exploring. The campus was deserted and quiet, the only sounds being my breathing and the thin layer of snow squeaking under the soles of my new shoes. Standing there in the morning light, I pulled in deep breaths of cold air, exhalation wisping away as I looked across campus at the new construction site and the mountains beyond. Elder Lambert was as purposeful as ever: we needed to be doing something. I noticed a maintenance man leave by a side entrance of the several-storied Joseph Smith Memorial Center. Bored but willing to risk detection, I tried the door. It was unlocked, so in we went. Though it seemed a like trespassing, the thrill of knowing we were in a place we weren’t supposed to be felt so good that I wandered on. And it was so quiet. As we strolled though one darkened study hall after another, the vacant tables and chairs reinforced the warm feeling of holiday. The place was full of history, an odor of antiquity lingering at every exhibit. Artifacts from centuries past mixed with oil paintings of church presidents and Utah history. Continuing on, one corridor opened into a high-ceilinged room where I got my first look at a dinosaur skeleton rising from the floor to the upper reaches. Heading down a flight of stairs, we found at the basement level a hallway lined with in-wall aquariums. Then it was time to find Lemon again. At noon we were picked up by a 30-something who was a member of the Carter family, our hosts for Christmas dinner. As he drove, I answered what would become a familiar battery of questions: “So, you’re Elder Hilland-“ “Well, uh- that’s Hi-land.” “Oh. Sorry. And you’re from..? “Oregon. Portland, actually.” “Ohhh… Or-egon, huh?’ Mention of the Pacific Northwest usually elicited surprise. The standard answer was Utah, Idaho or California, Arizona placing a close 4th. “And you’ve been out how long?” After explaining where I was going and what language was being learned, the conversation turned to his family, work, and the like. Then we were there, a small and modest home a mile or two from campus, where he discovered he’d locked himself out of the house. Wanitng to get inside rather than risk the embarrassment of standing in the front yard when the rest of the family arrived, he enlisted our aid in finding an unlocked window through which to climb. After the rest of the clan arrived we finished our introductions and then settled in for a wonderful afternoon. It was another first for me to spend Christmas day with an LDS family. While I would have preferred being with my own, the sweet spirit I felt at the Carters was a great source of comfort. Knowing there were people like this who lived their religion without having to tell me as well was all I asked for. We had dinner with them, talked a lot, and relaxed. We also got to play a game called Pit, where cards are traded by way of a lot of yelling and shouting. The resulting frayed and jangled nerves were also a nice outlet. Movie Night. A projector and 12-inch reels were set up in the hall. After having been away from entertainment of the visual sort for what seemed like months, I could understand why flicks were em¬ployed during war time as a surefire way to boost troop morale. This particular evening, the missionaries were invited to sit on metal folding chairs in KMs largest hall, and wait as the lights went down and the first film began. It was “Scrooge,” from 1970; a reworking of the Dickens classic “A Christmas Carol.” And while it was pleasant enough, I felt a bit disappointed, a vague suspicion running through my mind that, given the place we were in and the fact that we were missionaries, a Shirley Temple film might be close behind, a riot not too far after. Though I may have not stayed for the whole 86 minutes of the film, imagine my surprise when the second feature began: the 1964 civil war comedy “Advance To The Rear” that I remembered seeing in black and white on TV, as a kid. I wonder who was at the helm when the movie choices were made. Yes, this was a great send-up of war and western films, and yes, I laughed just as much this time around at the inspired silliness constituting most of the 100 minutes- but there were some embarrassing moments. For one thing, there were several scenes where Glenn Ford and Stella Stevens engage in some nicely staged kissing, which resulted in a lot of “woo-hoos!” whistling, clapping, and cat calls. This, combined with raucous laughter- a release of pent-up emotion brought on by the cooping up of young men for weeks at a time in a small building- resulted in volume levels deemed unacceptable by the leadership. At a critically noisy moment, the blinding lights came on without warning, followed by a “knock it off!” speech. After reminding all of us about who we were, and to comport ourselves accordingly- or else- the lights went down and the movie resumed. Unfortunately, the same thing happened again a few minutes later. In the end, the leadership gave up, for by the time the story shifted to a riverboat full of scantily clad “ladies” and their madame, all cavorting (innocuously, in their defense), with soldiers, the formerly adamant leadership was nowhere to be seen or heard. Left to our own devices, we had a great time, though I have to admit to being a little uncomfortable with some of those scenes. But, after all, Stella Stevens was a babe… Elder Durieux took time out from teaching one day to tell us that we were one of the most humble classes he had ever taught. Whether the words were calculated to make us feel better, or offered as a veiled sort of apology for his rough manner, I wasn’t sure. Elder D. said a lot of things, some of which we liked- but it was the way he said (and did) other things, which did not exactly endear him to us. If you were in his class and not paying attention, there was hell to pay. One day, Elder Lambert was fussing over a shoe heel that tended to fall off with the application of any extra pressure. While one of the better students, in my estima¬tion, he was only human, and needed a mental break. Deep in concentration, his diverted attention drew the ire of Durieux, who asked what he was doing, and then asked him to hand over the offending sole. Striding to the tip out window, he pulled it open and chucked the sole out of it, the hapless chuck of rubber sailing downward into a pile of snow. I was dumbfounded. Lambert, mortified or pissed off or both, had to go after the rest of his shoe as we stood by, watching with a combination of contempt and amusement. Lambert re¬turned, chastened, but surely plotting some sort of revenge. Since there was no way to talk back to him in class without bringing on the Wrath, I restricted my comments about our taskmaster to other locales. One day while standing in the food line, I began speaking about Durieux in a most unflattering way, to the delight of whoever I was conversing with- that is until I noticed that my audience had stopped smiling, instead looking at me as if I was in danger. Sensing something breathing down my neck, I slowly turned to find Elder D standing very close, head tipped forward and a look of pure hatred in his eyes as he stared daggers, knives, and bullets at me. I tried to return his gaze and joke around, but was so embarrassed that any words leaving my lips stumbled and tumbled to the floor. Finally I shut up and endured his silent chastening as the room, stunned into silence, waited for something to happen. After what seemed like 20 minutes, but was only one or two, he turned and walked away. The following day I had interviews with Elder Sanford and the Branch President. The meetings helped me discover how to improve study habits and my spiritual life. Every chance I had to speak with leadership was welcome, for I didn’t feel comfortable sharing struggles with my contemporaries. I carried around misgivings about my level of worthiness, the way a traveler holds onto luggage in strange, dark alleys. I spent many years worrying about whether or not I measured up, thanks to a bad habit of comparing myself with others. It’s a flawed and distorted mirror one is gazing into when indulging in this type of reflection, but it was the mirror I believed would keep me on the path to humility. Based on this outlook, self-esteem hadn’t a chance, and this is one of the things revealed when I was interviewed, as were all missionaries, during different points of our stay in the LTM. And since one of the other purposes for those initial interviews was to find potential leaders, I was always eliminated in the first round. But it wasn’t a popularity contest, either. As we were to learn again and again in the mission field, there was inspiration guiding the leaders. The fellow they chose to be our DL (district leader), Elder Lord was probably the best choice at the time. Other guys in our group had better senses of humor, or warmer personalities, but he was the well-rounded one, seeming to have had leadership experience sometime in the past. And if there’s one thing the LDS Church does well, it’s leadership training. Of course, being in the LTM meant living a life different from the real world. Due to time con¬straints, a DL had little time for anything other than the occasional interview or retrieving of the mail. It would be whole different thing out in the field. Sunday evening we held another FHE, and while I enjoyed the spiritual aspects of it, it was the developing camraderie that helped me the most- a shared concern about the situation we found ourselves in. We were all serving a mission for God, but being human, FHE gave us one of those opportunities to relax and share how we felt we were doing. Having a bit of the gestalt flavor to it, we could also speak about each other- what I liked best about someone else, or how that person had helped me during the week. The atmosphere of support was palpable, enotions running close to the surface. There developed a sense that we had been combined in this district for specific reasons, a belief that grew stronger with the passing days. After two weeks of waiting, Elder Stansel and I were assigned as companeros. Having lost our repsective comps about the same time, it was good to be shed of “third wheel” status. Elder S hailed from Valdosta, Georgia. An easy-going redhead, he was a good guy to work with, his strong southern accent giving phrases like “Como esta” a definite drawl. “Mi pelo es muy rebellioso” he would exclaim as he ran his fingers through an early morning case of bed hair. The reassignment meant a room change. Leaving the company of Lambert and Lemmon, I moved south across the hall to a room with a view- out the front windows of KM to the lawn, the street, the one-story flat-roofed Student Health Center, and the rooftops beyond. It was a view that afforded both beautiful sunsets and bittersweet reminders of the civilian life I’d left behind. Round Three of scripture study was upon us: Joseph Smith 2:15-16, James 1:5, D & C 76:22, 23, Joseph Smith 2:30, Ephesians 4:11-14, Acts 1:23-26, 3 Nephi 11 to 30, Moroni 10:3-5, Book of Enos, Alma 22, D & C 130:22, Matthew 7: 7,8, Matthew 21: 22, John 16:23, Hebrews 5:8-9, D & C 6:13, D & C 14:7, D & C 16, D & C 75:5, Jeremiah 1:5, Acts 17:26-29, Hebrews 12:9, Alma 13:3, D & C 93:23, 29... We started the penultimate day of 1975 with companionship prayers-something that at first violated the comfort zone my loner lifestyle had established years before. Since we were expected to work towards the same goals, praying together helped accomplish this. We would kneel, close our eyes with heads bowed, and one of us would offer a vocal prayer, thanking Heavenly Father for those things we felt He had blessed us with. Then, if there was something we felt we needed help with- and given our situation, where did one start?- we would ask for specific assistance. Then the prayer close in the name of Jesus Christ, followed by an Amen, to signify that the it was officially over. As for those prayerful requests, there were hundreds of them made in any given week, such were the demands placed on us. Having said that, I soon learned that the Lord would grant answers to prayer in His time and in His way- not according to my desires, which were many times ill-advised and poorly timed. If I was struggling with memorization, maybe my request for More Brain Power NOW might be honored. More likely the help would come in the form of more sleep, or encouragement from my companion, or maybe even a new mnemonics trick offered by a teacher. And sometimes the answer was NO, which in itself was an answer. Regardless, I learned more, during those rough times, about how God an¬swers prayers than I ever had before. At the time it was difficult to realize that the reason I was having such a hard time was that the work was so damned difficult. I needed to realize I was doing the best I could, given the circumstances. During the afternoon it began snowing, the white stuff bringing out the kid in me. I loved seeing the flakes drift down, the more the better. By evening I was glued to the window, watching heavier snow fall across and through the outdoor lights. Even the mountains looming over us to the east seemed tamer under the blanketing snowfall. I felt blessed to be there, grateful for the beauty. And that was the way that 1975 ended, with little fanfare, as we went about our way to and from class, meals, prayers and meeetings. By the time New Years celebrations were getting under way, I was fast asleep, Knight Mangum Hall as quiet as the heavy snow blanketing the city.
Posted on: Mon, 09 Jun 2014 20:12:52 +0000
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