Believing "Pass" the Fear

Page 13

I stared up at the towering giant who was assigned to guard any pass that would be thrown in my direction. My legs quaked at such a demanding responsibly of out running him for my catch. I barely heard the words “hike” being shouted because I was too concentrated on the fear that they would come at any moment. All chaos resumed with the play as everyone on the field scattered for a pass. The ball regretfully was thrown towards my position. It hovered in the air briefly and descended perfectly into the arms of the other team with ease. Once again with little effort or sweat on their part they ran it in for another touchdown.

At this point our small, inadequate team was depressed. Even though our numbers doubled them, we still hadn’t scored a touchdown. This was mainly because the teenagers that oppressed us were far more matured in the sport and every single one of them doubled the height of our tallest player. We all huddled up pathetically together to listen to my older brother who assumed the position captain since he was the only one that really understood the sport. He must have been frustrated because the best plan he had for our next play was “everyone get open for a pass.” This had primarily been our strategy the entire game which was obviously not working. Even though he said “everyone”, it normally excluded me due to the numerous turnovers on my behalf and my small, inadequate, stature compared to the other kids.

Before we separated from the huddle I chirped up quickly, “Throw it to me, I’ll score”. Everyone looked surprised and my brother rolled his eyes.

“You’re not going to catch it,” my brother faithlessly doubted.

“Throw it to me,” I reiterated boldly against his response.  

He shook his head hesitantly and carelessly agreed to my demands by saying “whatever”.

We all found a place on the line. I met the same towering guard who expected to make another easy take from me. This time I cleared my thoughts of fear and doubt. The game resumed with the words “hike”. I cut sharp for a short pass and the ball was thrown effortlessly into the air for a sloppy catch by me. My guard was only a few feet away when he noticed he failed to relieve me of my catch.

My feet pounded against the grass and my heart beat so fast it almost exploded out of my chest. I had the entire field to run which gave my pursuer time to catch me. I could hear him breathing down my neck, practically running on my heels. Ignoring it I just focused on the end zone. Faster, faster, faster, I ran.

Then I stopped when I heard the guard groan in disbelief because he knew he failed to stop me. I had done it; I had ran the entire field into the end zone, scoring the only point for our team. My older brother and my teammates came running down the field cheering. My brother laughed by complimenting me “I knew you could do it”.

           I smiled in response, “I knew I could”.

Two Years of Opportunity and Memories

Page 14

     The decision to serve a mission was entirely my choice with little pressure from my parents because my older brother felt no prior obligation to go. I contemplated it deeply due to the overwhelming commitment expected. Sometimes I felt angry at the thought of being expected to go away for two years and work tirelessly on my feet. However, my dad sat me down and said, "I am not disappointed in your brother for not going, but I am deeply upset at the opportunity he has chosen to miss". I didn't understand what he meant at the time, but I committed at that moment with all my heart to go and serve.

My first few months away I could not understand what my dad meant by “opportunity” due to the incredibly difficult companions I had been assigned too. I fought to keep my head above water, because every day I was around these individuals I felt like I was better off drowning. As I progressed forward and saw the days turn into weeks and the weeks turn into months, I looked back at my experience. It was incredible, the memories that I had accumulated. The memories of the long hot days riding my bike repetitively up and down the road chasing down complete strangers. It was the memories of church members who kindly welcomed two fatigued elders to have dinner with them. Most of all it was the memories of the lives that had been touched by the spirit.

My dad spoke of “opportunity” and the memories that I built was only a portion of that opportunity from my mission. The other portion came from growth mentally, physically, and spiritually. A portion came from the enduring friendships that I made that will last forever and much, much, more. Regardless, there were really bad days that required a lot of strength to get through, but the really good days came together to build some of the most memorable days of my life. 

Enduring to the End: Teaching Brooke

Page 15

The first half of my mission I was blessed to be able to teach and invite many people to be baptized. However, the second portion of my mission experience was a night and day contrast to my previous success from my first year. A Door slamming in my face was becoming a common melody. Dogs tearing into my pants were a constant threat. Awkward confrontations disrupted the peaceful spirit we so desperately needed.   I was towards the end of my mission and the end of my wits. As I approached the final three months before I went home, I began questioning why I stayed this extra year on my mission only to meet endless trials and sorrows.

There was an unfortunate event that required the quick departure of a recent elder and my obligation as a replacement for him. It was a new area that would involve me learning the ward and investigators swiftly in order to do my part before my demise. Time was not my ally at this point.

We began teaching Brooke the lessons after she called us to come over. She interestingly enough had moved to this area at the exact same time I did. Nothing we taught was anything she hadn’t heard before because she had been attending church and meeting with missionaries for over fourteen years. It was because of her deep analytical way of thinking that made it difficult to wrap her head around many of the principles of the gospel. Regardless, she made it very clear that she felt ready to be baptized. With less than five weeks until I would go back home, Brooke wanted to be baptized within the next two weeks. My companion and I were ecstatic about this, but it was short lived.

I sat quietly on her couch, disheartened as she admitted that, “I don’t understand where Christ fits in”. All the members in the room erupted in attempts to explain the atonement, but it failed to register in the least with Brooke. I simply sat forward and finally spoke softly, “Your about to join a church with his name in it. It is the church of Jesus Christ”. She nodded in response to this, but then confessed “I’m not ready to be baptized”. I rested back quietly in my seat feeling my heart sink into the same feeling of sorrow that had plagued my life for the last year. Everyone in the room went on trying to explain it as clearly as they could, but to not effect.

The morning that followed felt pointless. My companion spoke little to me and I just wanted to engulf myself into the scriptures to bypass the grief. The phone suddenly rang, which I answered abruptly. Brooke’s voice spoke gently into my ear, “Something was said last night that really made me understand the role of Christ”. My throat instantly dried up, I could not speak or breathe. After no response from me she quickly continued, “I want to be baptized and I would like you to do it”. My companion practically had to catch me as I fainted.

It was perhaps one of the longest years of my life, filled with countless hours of knocking doors and teaching endless lessons that never seemed to go anywhere. I wondered why I had stayed this extra year to suffer so much, but it was because I needed to be there to teach Brooke at the end. The Lord knew that if I would endure to the end that I could help change one more life before I left. It was a powerful lesson, not a fun one, but an effective lesson. No matter how hard it gets, don’t stop! There is always light at the end of the tunnel.

The Changes to Expect as a Return Missionary

Page 16

The start of this year I was just finishing up the final months of my mission in Oregon. I was torn to leave, but excited to be with my family again and resume my normal life. However, life was far from normal when I returned home. I now know that the movie “The RM” is a true story because it seemed as if I was re-watching it, but only through the eyes of my life.

I insisted that my parents use my room in my absence, but they practically took an oath to defend it from any intruders (Siblings). I was rather pleased to hear of their dedication in protecting my things although I refused to let on that I cared. However, when I arrived home my room had been confiscated by my older sister who had moved back home briefly. All my stuff was removed from my room and cluttered recklessly about in the attic. The worst part was my welcome home confinement to the living room floor. I could not but help to shed a pathetic tear of frustration the first night I was home.

I quickly got use to the floor, but I could never get use to the sleepless nights. The blame was placed entirely on the new addition to the family, three baby puppies that yapped all night. They occupied the room next to mine and they made their presence known. I’d normally go to bed around 1 am which is when they would normally wake up and want to play. Needless to say, we got to know each other really well.

I couldn’t completely understand why we had the three adorable, far from innocent, additional dogs in our family. When I left we had two dogs, but when I returned our house was bombarded by a total of seven dogs, most of which came with my sister’s return. Before I left my brother’s two iguanas could comfortably sit in the palm of your hand, but when I returned they measured close to five feet in length. My brother also brought home a tarantula that my parents still try relentlessly and discretely to kill. Although my dad had grown use to the multiple pets that found their way to our home, he referred to our house as a barn.

Lastly, where were all my previous high school friends? I had been abandoned by all my friends due to their own obligations and future outlook from their own college pursuits. Only my best friend remained to welcome me home on the first day of my arrival. However, after that he seemed to be preoccupied elsewhere because I rarely saw him. It was an odd transition from meeting with strangers and friends daily in the mission field to only hanging out with family.

Overall, a lot can change in two years and coming back to it can be just as startling, but exciting. Indeed I lost my room, indeed I lost my friends, and most importantly I lost desired sleep. Yet, my experience from my mission and the eventful return are forever locked into my memory and I would not trade it for the world. 

Climbing to New Heights: A Personal Narrative about Overcoming

Page 17

It was perhaps the worst idea I have ever had. I was just looking for the next challenging thing to do, just to say it didn’t conquer me. So I recommended to several of my friends to come climb the South Sister Mountain with me, which practically hovered above the earth’s atmosphere. I was thoroughly warned by those familiar with the climb that it isn’t something to attempt in a day, which we were obligated to do regardless. I should have listened because it became one of the longest days of my life.

We started off before the sun was ready to meet us. Chirping, rustling, growling was all about us, but it was impossible to see what was making these noises due to the thick forest that caved in over us. Five of us followed round about the narrow trails in an ordered line. I kept my eyes intently on the person in front of me because I feared what lied but a stretch away in the murky forest. The mosquitos were viciously taking advantage of our already weary team.

Nothing could have pleased us more than to be welcomed by the sunshine’s beautiful smile as we rushed restlessly out of the miserable forest and away from our attackers. My friend Jimmy turned with a confident smile and stated sarcastically, “That was easy, especially the killer swarm of mosquitos.”

I could tell the rest of our group members appeared rather pale as they were itching from the bites. To which I mumbled, hoping no one would hear, “Let’s never go through there again”. The thought was nice, but the reality was the forested path of disaster was the only way to return after we reach the top.

It seemed like the walk required to the base of the mountain was pleasant and easy from there on out because the sun wasn’t hidden behind thick forested trees like previously. When we reached the base of South Sister, we all hopelessly glanced up to the ever increasing mountain that waited to taunt our efforts to scale it. Vance our current leader and only person to have beforehand hiked the mountain offered words of encouragement “Don’t fall off an edge and die”. Simple, logical, advice I believe we could all agree on.

It felt as if the mountain knew we were coming and tried to adjust its slopes in order to push us back with ridiculous angles. Our poor hands were torn by the jagged rocks because we kept slipping from the small rock fragments that delightfully teased us as they slid out from under our feet. Perhaps the only thing that kept us going was the naive thought that it would only be a couple more steps. However, if I dared to look up I knew this was a hopeless, horrible, lie.

“I can’t go on much more,” Vance admitted, almost in tears.

“Are you sure? It’s just a little higher,” I comfortingly counseled.

He slowly sat down on a rock and looked down shamefully defeated, “I’ll wait for you to finish”.

It was ironic that the only one of us who had successfully climbed the mountain before had given up just short of the top. I felt compelled to join him because I was utterly exhausted, not to mention out of water. However, I heard a familiar hymn being sung from Jimmy, accompanied by the other two who were a stones toss ahead. They vibrantly sang with enthusiasm “High on a mountain top, a banner is unveiled…” My feet began to willing dance their way up the mountain, even though my brain insisted that I stop. Yet, my heart would not let me quit.

When I finally reached the peak of the mountain I was almost too tired to even celebrate.. I began munching on the snow that littered the entire top, hoping to get water anyway possible way. I felt like I was hallucinating when I saw the breath taking view because of dehydration from lack of water. Regardless, the view was unimaginably beautiful with endless forest and wilderness stretching out in every direction from the mountain. It was completely worth it. Even though I was hurt and completely drained, I thought to myself, I just climbed and overcame this mountain, I did not quit.

Jimmy came up from behind me and spoiled the refreshing moment as he pointed out the obvious truth, “We have to go all the back now.”

Down the slippery slope we ran, with pebbles making their unwelcoming home in our shoes. Across the sunny plain we marched anticipating the forested trail it led into. Through the forest we managed to avoid the predators and finally find the car that brought us to this eventful day.

I wobbled as I approached the car, because of the 14 mile hike up the most ruthless mountain I have ever climbed.  I had been warned not to do it in one day, but it was the fact that I ran out of water that made the hike so treacherous. Never in my life have I felt so much relief as when I sat down comfortably in my car seat. I didn't want to think about what I had just went through because thinking at that moment hurt, as well as the rest of my body. The only thing that kept going through my head was I did it.