Talented part 2

     A flurry of illnesses seemed to hit me all at once over the last couple of weeks.

     My mind seemed like it was on the brink of snapping into two.  Missionary stress is a normal thing, but pile it with recent tragedies, a lack of faith, bottles and bottles of medicine, and an inability to socialize with other missionaries and members and you have yourself... me!

     Life was hard.  Life is still hard.  Over these last couple of days, I have been trying to find myself.  It isn't easy.  No one said it'd be.  These two years that the Church has given me has been a time of the deepest reflection in both spirit and in self.

     Who am I?  What am I doing here?  Where am I going after I'm done here?

     It seems like I need to be teaching myself what the Church is teaching...
    
     Anywho, for the LONGEST time, I saw myself as someone sad-- someone unwilling to change and to conform with society-- in a nutshell, a teenager... except, I'm nineteen years old.  Not only that, I'm a comparer.  More about that will be explained.

     The way a majority of us think is that there are a ton of people who have life handed to them-- you cannot perceive a single enemy that they might have, they're loved by their still-together parents, they have many a friend to rely on, they're fit, they're liked by all the grown-ups, and they're sitting comfortably in their two-story home with a white picket fence and a beagle always liking him or her hello.  It can seem a little hard comparing oneself to someone like that.

     Happy people are fine with everything-- faith comes easy for them due to the minimal effort they have to exert.  They grew up well and were associated with good people all their lives.  As for the downtrodden and morose, everything seems irrationally difficult-- every little task seems impossible.

     Now, happy people struggle too, but they can contain their frustrations and exhibit a face conveying quite a scare of a change-- a face that really isn't theirs, but of a happy person.  Us, people who keep to themselves, cannot but to exhibit how we genuinely feel-- honest souls.  Those acting sad probably have inside them an even greater sadness they wouldn't share with people they don't trust-- that's not very many people in these people's eyes.

     These quiet ones have minds filled with so much resentment, lack of self-esteem, and disillusion that they cannot function properly without outside help.  There'll be denial-- unwillingness for treatment.  Normal is boring.  Normal is mundane.  Normal-- is too normal.

     Sounds familiar?  You or someone you know?  The thing is, we who struggle with life daily-- are meant for greater growth.  It's just that there are a bunch of obstacles in our way that impedes our progress.  A ton of people were like this-- Emma Smith, for one.  Then, there were the transcendentalists and also the "lost generation."  We're in good company.

     The struggle in finding ourselves and for spiritual folks, finding a testimony of what seems to be the truth, is an ongoing battle.  I can recount when my faith has shaken quite a bit-- yet, there was something that sustained me from then till now.

     Couple of pointers I would like to give to those struggling with such is this:

• Remember why you're doing what you're doing-- is it for a worthy cause?  Will it aim to help both yourself and your peers?
• Motivation-- think about what drives you to do what you're doing.  Make sure it's firm.
• Patience-- it's always mentioned, but it's very much needed to progress in the field that you're working in.
• Know who you are.  You have infinite potential and you can do whatever you set your mind to do... just don't procrastinate for too long.
• Goals!  Set goals and make plans.  That way, your future can be within your grasp.

     As a missionary, it's definitely helped me do all these things, even if it was the harder route.  It's extremely gratifying, most of all, to know that whatever I'm doing, I do have the support of so many people.  Remember who you are.  Remember who you are.  Remember who you are.

Echoing Joyeous Strains

     With every Christmastime comes a special spirit that can soften even the stiffest of hearts.

     It was a rough mission for me, dealing with a lot of disillusionment, pain, and instability-- a hot potato without a hand to clasp it.  Nobody wanted me; not a soul wanted to hear what he had to say.  Abandoned and ready to head back to a world unforgiving of surrender, he contemplated, all the months long-- to paraphrase a somewhat obscure song: it was time for him to enter the porridge-- nothing but him and his secrets he was keeping.  It wasn't a pretty time-- negativity had swarmed my mind, taking over my soul.

     A frigid mid-December evening fast approached the church building.  With it were the people entering in droves.  The congregation in the chapel was filled to capacity-- the audience, ready; the singers, just about.

     The first of the choirs come out onto the pulpit and display their marvelous renditions of Christmas carols and hymns.  Natalie Sleeth.  Linda Spevacek.  John Rutter.  Each composer's vocal praises-- the singers' renditions-- were heard by all in the audience. 

     And then, we come up.  The joint-choir of both our congregation and another's take the chairs in front.  The conductor taps her middle finger and her thumb three times, raises her hands high into the heavens, and brings them down with a like force.  Our mouths open and the "good news" starts pouring out of the auditorium.  The baptist choir-esque groove had snuck in a smile among both singers and listeners alike.  Then came Will Todd's "My Lord Has Come."  The atmosphere suddenly dropped-- it turned into a silent reverence.  The song started out in a quiet, elongated ooo-ing by the men and then the melody by the women.

     "His love will cradle me.  His love will cherish me."

     The burst of emphasis had given light to the song's zenith.  The silent search of the baby Jesus culminated with the assurance that the searchers have indeed come for what they were looking for-- a transcending love giving strength and joy among all who have received this glad tiding.

     The mmm's cradle the song slowly into its conclusion.  A brief silence had come over the people.  That familiar presence-- how splendid it was!  The program finished with a combined vocal symphony of "He Is Born."  It was a moment where there was raw joy emanating in the air-- the audience and singer alike, both lifted ten feet off the ground.

     It saved my life.

     The power of music is real.  It has a way of filling in the minute cracks in the heart that break us down-- filling it so that we can be full again; in spirit and in body.  It can soften even the stiffest of hearts.  The singing and praising of the denizens of a small, imaginary town inflated the heart of the greenest, most notorious Christmas curmudgeon to a size even he couldn't handle!  Music is powerful.  It influences.  It evokes in the mind, vivid pictures of love, beauty, and hope toward all within earshot of the angelic voices.  There's something about it that brings comfort and hope-- knowledge from on high that everything's going to be okay.

     This Christmas, take the time out to organize a small (motley) choir group and go out caroling!   The power of the spoken word can do wonders on the human soul.  Lift someone in need.  Seriously.