Final Thoughts at the MTC

The spirit of this place is incredible. I used to think I was a pretty spiritual man, but I’ve learned a whole new level of coming closer to my Savior here. The truth of the gospel oozes out of its foundations, fills the air that I breathe, and shines on the faces of the missionaries around me. The truth here is as solid and undeniable as a granite wall. This is a place where it is possible to make fast friends in a very short time and feel sorrow at their departure. It is a place where every meeting invokes stronger feelings than the last.

Today at fast and testimony meeting, I heard the beautiful and heartfelt witnesses of young missionaries from Russia, China, Brazil, the Philippines, Texas, and Spain. Though they all spoke with different accents, they had the same voice, my Savior’s voice, testifying to my soul. The MTC has inspired a desire to share the blessings and joy I feel in my own life with others.

Tomorrow we make the last leg of our journey. It will begin by entering a shuttle at 5:30 am and end more than eight hours later when we arrive in our mission in Mexico, Mexico City, Chalco.

The MTC

In many ways coming to the MTC inspired feelings of déjà vu within me. Especially on the first day when all the senior missionaries were brought into a large meeting room. A speaker congratulated us for making the sacrifice to spend nearly two years of our lives in the service of the Lord. While he spoke, I felt the Spirit so strongly that I was moved to tears, very reminiscent of my first days as missionary more than 40 years ago. The vast majority of the senior missionaries in our group came from here in Utah, but there were many from other parts of the country. We were all introduced and they asked each of us to say where were headed on our missions. Virtually every place in the world was named, from China to the Ukraine, from New Zealand to Sweden, this even though there were only 53 of us. Another couple was going to Mexico City.

The young missionaries, more than a thousand young men and women, add to joy of being here—so full of youthful excitement and energy, and brimming with the innocence. There is hardly a door that Sister Fink and I go through that is not held open by a young elder or sister. Many smile and greet us as we pass them by in the myriad of walkways and hallways in this place. I love joking with them and thanking them in exotic ways, such as calling them my heroes, said in jest but with a deeper feeling of truth.

Most of the teachers are every bit as youthful, excited and full of the spirit as the missionaries they teach. The senior missionaries were divided into districts of four couples and assigned two teachers. One of our teachers was a vivacious young woman whom we nick-named Tinkerbell, partly because she asked each of us describe our spouse by naming a Disney character. During the week we were asked to participate with volunteers in scenarios which replicated teaching situations in the mission field. These volunteers played their part so well that we were half way convinced that they really weren’t members of the Church. Though Sister Fink and I were nervous going into these scenarios, we quickly relaxed as the Spirit burned in our hearts, helping to find the words that would inspire and lift those whom we taught. This week was like a spiritual boot camp.

Immersion

Immersion in this case means to immerse oneself in Spanish. How is it accomplished? We spent nearly forty hours in five days talking to dozens of volunteers and employees of the Church Senior Couple Program, practically all of whom were very proficient in the Spanish language. Chrise and I were sometimes together but mostly apart during this time. In one hour blocks I got a glimpse of the lives of these wonderful people, conversing with them in Spanish. One young lady had worked for a summer at Disney World. She had a Disney World smile and a story of how that experience had affected her--not in a way that you might expect, but that is her story to tell if chooses in such a public forum. I had conversations with an elderly woman from Argentina, a young man from Venezuela, and a former Professor of Spanish at BYU. One man had served in Mexico very close to the year I had served there forty years ago. We talked of the exploits of my legendary Mission President, who had gained fame throughout all the missions in Mexico.  Two of our helpers were going to be married in June (not to each other) and another had just been married two days before we arrived. He still had Just Married scribbled across all of his car's windows.

Because I already had a strong background in Spanish, this experience was easier for me than for my wife. For the first few days, Chrise arrived back at our hotel room every evening exhausted. Wednesday she slept nearly 12 hours. But she is one very determined woman. On Monday, Wednesday and Friday we met together with a volunteer, whom I think was chosen and trained to be challenge for us, especially for Chrise. Our first meeting Monday was kind of a disaster. We hadn't known that we were supposed to prepare for this jointly and so we were both on different pages. I tried to bring what we had prepared together but only succeed in taking most of the time with Chrise reading a couple of scriptures that didn't really tie with where we were. The volunteer didn't help much by throwing us all kinds of unexpected curves. We both felt badly. Wednesday, as we walked to lunch, Chrise tried to clue me in on what she wanted us to talk about, but I have to admit that my mind was elsewhere. So when we got together with the volunteer, it was another disaster. 

Our preparation for the final meeting with the volunteer began right after our second disaster. We both prayed about it and rolled up our sleeves. After consultation with our advisors and tutors, it was decided the best way to equalize the disparity between Chrise and I in Spanish speaking ability was to have her take the lead and ask the questions and that I would be in a supportive roll. Chrise worked with her tutors and advisors to develop the questions and material which she shared with me. When the final meeting with the tutor arrived we were both nervous. 

Immediately, I could tell there was a difference. Chrise started out beautifully as she asked questions and responded to his answers. I was amazed and deeply touched. I could feel the spirit as if she was speaking past our pretend investigator to the people in Mexico. Never had she been able to speak so clearly and so fluently and for such a prolonged time. I added things here and there which she was also able to understand. The volunteer echoed my amazement at the end when he said that he too had been deeply touched. 

Three Brushes with Tragedy, Touching the Thin Veil Between Life and Death

Last night as I prepared a fruit snack, getting ready to settle down with Dan, my brother-in-law, and my sweet wife to watch some of movies of Dan's travels, I found some left over steak from the night before. It was not a very big hunk of steak but probably too big for one bite. I tried to take a bite of it, but it was too tough. So I chewed the whole thing and chewed. When it was finally soft, I swallowed. Instantly, it lodged in my throat. I couldn't breathe.  For several seconds I struggled alone trying to catch a breath, choking and gagging. Dan was in the next room and I tried to signal him for help. He couldn't seem to realize what I needed. Getting more and more desperate, fighting for a tiny trickle of air, I made my way back to the bedroom where my wife was sitting on the bed. She understood my signals immediately and tried to administer the Heimlich Maneuver. It gave me slight relief, but did not dislodge the lump in my throat. She called for help, and for the first time I began to wonder if I was going to make it. Dan called 911. While he was on the phone, enough of the lump passed that I was able to cough and finally catch a breath.

Nearly six months ago, right after we had submitted our papers to go on our mission and while we were waiting for our call, I was out for a bicycle ride on my normal route--a nearby bike trail. I had a sudden and very unexpected crash. Dazed, I walked my bike home, hardly aware of what I was doing. A short time later my wife took me to the doctor's office. As I walked into the office, i felt suddenly very dizzy and had to sit down. I passed out, awoke to find people around trying to help me into a wheel chair, passed out again, and awoke again to find myself being carted into an ambulance by EMTs. By the mannerisms and the speech the EMTs, I sensed that I was in serious condition. Later I learned that my blood pressure had plummeted maybe from severe loss of blood or maybe from a severe concussion. I remember thinking as I rode in the ambulance that I could easily have died.

As I thought about these events this morning, I remembered another one nearly forty-four years ago at a time when I was going through a spiritual renaissance in my life--a preparation for my first mission. I had dropped off some hitch hikers to whom I had given a long ride, and was on my way home. The last thing I remember is awaking and finding my car drifting into the freeway guard rail, trying to correct, and a sudden horrible spinning as my car rolled. I awoke in the hospital to the face of a CHP officer. He told me that I had been thrown from my car nearly fifty feet and had narrowly missed hitting a road sign. I was only skinned up. They had to take the Volkswagen bus away in a dump truck. Though my memories of that event so long ago are vague, I do remember the realization of how close I had come to dying.

What do these events have in common? I will speak from the way that they have affected me. They have erased the illusion that I am in complete control of my life. I am only too keenly aware of how fragile life is and how suddenly it could end. That awareness has humbled me. I know that each breath I draw comes from the grace of my Father in Heaven. The timing of these three events is also very suspect. All three have come just as I was embarking on a very important spiritual journeys in my life. It would easy to dismiss two of them to my own foolishness, but I have been foolish at many other times in my life without the same result. I have always believed that there is an Adversary working against each of us. The timing of these events has convinced me even more. I sit here very grateful to my Father in Heaven for drawing me back each time from the thin veil that stands between us and death. I am indeed grateful for each breath I draw and for the knowledge that nothing else matters much but our relationship with Him. I love Him.

On Our Way.

There was so much to accomplish this week that I often woke up in the middle of the night, unable to go back to sleep, my mind racing. A number of things happened where Chrise and I felt the Lord's hand helping us. I'll share a couple with you.

From my previous mission to Mexico, I new that getting a visa was difficult. I believe that is, in part, why they gave us four months to prepare for our mission--it takes that long to get the visa together. So when I got a call from Church Headquarters on Tuesday, telling us we had to go the Mexican consulate to apply for our visas, I was surprised (shocked would be a better word) and worried. I had supposed that since we had sent our papers to headquarters more than four months earlier that it was all handled.  We went to the consulate on Thursday. There were lines everywhere, tickets to give you a place in a line, and a recorded woman's voice over the PA system, saying if didn't have an appointment you might not get the document you needed by the time the consulate closed, which was at 12 noon. I was lost. A man came out from behind a counter to where I stood and said in Spanish, "Are you here for a visa?" When I nodded, he handed me a ticket and sent me and my wife to an adjoining room. There we found a woman named Maria. She was in charge of the visa section of the consulate, and she was a mormona. She led us through the process, handling it all herself.  When I picked up our visas that afternoon, I spent nearly an hour talking to her and thanking her for her help. I was so relieved and grateful to have what I knew to be a major stumbling block behind us. We were going to Mexico!

Sunday will be a day that I will likely remember the rest of my life, mostly because of the tearful farewells to my children and grandchildren. I was hugged at least a dozen times by each of my five grandchildren. I could see on their young faces, ages 4, 6, 9, 9, and 11, the realization that we really weren't going to be around for what looked to them to be a very long time. It was just as tough with my children--there weren't quite as many hugs, but they were a lot longer. The other reason Sunday is so indelibly in my memory is because the Stake President set us apart as missionaries that afternoon. It was the first Sunday of the month, which in our Church is known as fast Sunday. I was fasting with a very specific purpose: I wanted so much to be able to hear the people I would be serving in Mexico. To clarify, I have a hearing disability. I told no one what I was fasting and praying about, not even my wife. After the Stake President sat me apart as a missionary, he gave me a blessing. In that blessing, he said that the Lord was aware of my health concerns and my prayers. He promised me I would not have a problem with these concerns in Mexico and that if I was humble, the Lord would answer my prayers.