Thoughts on efy

I just finished my first week as an efy counselor. I’m a teensy bit tired and my thoughts are rather scattered, but I thought I’d write about some of the things I learned/noticed this week.

This Monday was my birthday. My last two birthdays were interesting, as mission birthdays are, but I noticed this Monday how really wonderful it is to have a day when people let you know they are grateful for your existence. It was quite uplifting.

When I first started my mission, I cried quite a lot. The lessons we taught were often spiritual, and I’m one of those people whose spiritual sensitivity is tied directly to his tear ducts, so I got used to carrying around tissues. After about a year, however, I stopped crying during lessons. I accepted the change, and figured that it was a part of my spiritual maturing—that because of the experience that I now had feeling the spirit, I didn’t need to cry any more. Thursday evening as I sat in devotional crying--for the third time this week--I realized that I was wrong. I’m still a big softy at heart, and may never get over my testimony-tear-duct thing.

Teenagers… I’m thinking a lot about what being a teenager is like, and how I as a young adult who was one not too long ago can best relate to and help them.

There are a lot of similarities between being a missionary and being an efy counselor. I sacrificed sleep and personal interests in order to help other people. I thought about fulfilling needs and answering questions and teaching doctrines effectively. I ate lots of salad. I woke up early. At the end of every day I was exhausted and spent, but also content and fulfilled.

There are lots of differences between being a missionary and being an efy counselor. Part of my job description was dancing energetically (and can I just say how fun it is when 10-15 teenagers are copying every dance move you do?) My companion this last week was way cuter than any of my mission companions. I was encouraged to take midday naps. Instead of being in bed by a certain time, I had to make sure that everyone else was in bed by a certain time. My leader told me to flirt with girls. 

It is in those moments when you aren't thinking about yourself at all that God will give you the sweetest and most tender of His tender mercies, teaching you things that will be of most benefit to you personally. 

I still have four more weeks as a counselor. I'm excited for everything else I still get to learn!

His hands

This last week I was trained as a counselor for a youth summer camp called "Especially For Youth," or efy. I attended efy several times as a participant and always planned to be a counselor someday, so this was really a dream come true for me. Now that training is over, my life for the next five weeks will be dedicated to helping young men and young women ages 14-18 learn about the Savior, learn how to study the scriptures, and prepare to serve missions and live true to the Gospel.

I'm sure I'll have lots of efy experiences to write about in a few more weeks once I've had a chance to be a real counselor instead of just a counselor in training (or a "shadow counselor," as they liked to call us--I usually referred to myself as one of the shadow people), but today I'd like to write about something wonderful that happened this week that actually doesn't have anything to do with efy. 

Every Thursday night at efy the main speaker of the session, called the session director, gives a fireside on the atonement of Jesus Christ. I remember these firesides being major building blocks to my testimony when I was a kid--Brother Gardner in 2006 spoke beautifully about the pain that the Savior suffered and the love that His suffering shows us, and I felt the Spirit strongly while listening to him speak. Because of these past experiences, I was expecting a spiritual experience that had to do with the atonement during this Thursday's fireside.

The session director, Brother Merril, talked about Peter walking on water and being rescued by the Savior after he let his focus wander and fell. He compared our lives to Peter's walk, how we are sometimes faithful and sometimes doubting, but that the Savior is always there to save us. He used a beautiful painting of the scene as a big part of his message, and invited the youth (and the counselors) to think about various parts of the picture; first he drew our attention to Peter's face as he fell into the water, then to the Savior's as He reached to grab Peter’s hand, and finally to the Savior's hands clasped firmly around Peter's. 

This Thursday, it wasn't Peter's face that caught my attention; his fear as he looked into the surging deep rings true to me, for it is how I feel about life without the Savior, but that wasn't what most drew me. It also wasn't Christ's face, with His look of confidence, compassion, and love that attracted my gaze. Instead, what most captured my attention were Christ's hands. 

As I looked at Christ's hands firmly clasping Peter's, I glanced down at my scriptures in my lap. Clipped to the front cover of my triple combination there is a little black name badge that says, in plain, simple letters, "Elder Ray." Below that it reads, "La Iglesia de Jesucristo de los Santos de los Últimos Días." As I looked at this name badge that for two years I wore over my heart, I realized more strongly than I ever have before how much I miss being Christ's hands.

For two years, as a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day saints, I lived without worrying about myself. I dedicated all my time and energy to blessing other people’s lives. I studied, worked, memorized, learned, practice, and trained so that I would be able to speak the words that Christ would speak if He were there in my place. It was without a doubt the hardest experience of my life; it stretched me and challenged me in ways I never expected. It was also the most wonderfully fantastic experience of my life to date, in which I experienced not only pain and sorrow, but also love and joy beyond what I had ever before thought possible.

And so I sat in that crowded auditorium surrounded by crying youth, and I cried with them. I cried out of sadness that I am no longer a missionary, that my name badge has to be clipped onto my scriptures instead of over my heart where I still feel it belongs, and I cried out of gratitude that Christ ever loved and trusted me enough to make me His hands.

I’m quite clear on what my job is next, on what God was trying to telling me Thursday night. My mission was a fabulous, unforgettable experience, but missions only last two years (or eighteen months) for a reason. God wants me here now. He has other plans for me, other works for me to accomplish, other loves, joys, and sorrows He wants me to feel. But He doesn’t ever want me to forget that He made His hands. He gave me a mission call to the Chile, Viña del Mar mission that lasted two years, but long before that He had already given me a lifelong call to discipleship. Years before I became used to wearing His name on a badge over my heart, He had already asked me to take His name upon me.

But I’m ready. I’m willing. I want to make my hands His, whenever and wherever He needs me, be it during the next few weeks as an efy counselor or serving as a home teacher 50 years down the road.

Exultant

I step out into the bright, warm, cheerful sunlight and walk up the stairs. The muscles in my legs engage and tense as I run up them two at a time, my lungs filling joyfully, abundantly with air,the barest hint of a breeze cooling my face. I smile as I reach the top and look out over the campus that I love so much, at the sharp profiles of the buildings and the softer lines of the trees and flowers.

On my way to the library I delight in new acquaintances and old friends. My mind lights up as I consider the bright future, all of its potential and possibility and allure and mystery. I sigh with happiness while breathing in the past, shared smiles and laughter, fun and adventure, family, friends, and strangers, but all really just family

The words of a song recently sung bubble up from somewhere down in my soul, up into my mind and very nearly out my lips. My feet subconsciously move in smooth, sharp patterns, remembering and replicating something I danced this morning, last weekend, all my life.

In this moment a silent prayer of gratitude leaps out of me: "Thank you," I say, "for this wonderful, beautiful, glorious life."

Dancing and Confidence, Part II

I wrote a few months back about retaking a dance class being a great way to increase your self-confidence. But, what if confidence boosters aren't for you? What if you'd rather receive incredibly conflicting, opposing messages about yourself instead of just the boring positive ones? Well, you're in luck--I figured out how to do that too!

Here's the secret: take two dance classes at once. But wait, there's more--they can't be just any two dance classes. I recommend taking two classes in the same line (like two ballroom classes, or two Latin classes), one class that is incredibly easy for you and the other almost impossibly difficult.

That's what I did this semester. After two days of Dance 184 (Beginning International Standard, aka Ballroom) I decided that it was far too simple for an Astair-ian genius like myself. So I waltzed right up to my teacher (oh dear, that was punny) and asked if I could take Dance 284 instead (same dances, higher level). She said that I really shouldn't skip the beginning level class, because beginnings are great places to start and all, but did agree to let me take them both concurrently.

About thirty seconds into my first day of Dance 284, I realized how woefully unprepared I was. Not only was I ignorant about all of the technique that I still had to learn in 184, but I had missed the first three days of class and didn't know any of the steps in the routine!

And so it began. Every day at 9:00 I go to Dance 284, pretend like I almost half-way know what I'm doing, apologize to every poor girl who has to dance with me, and try not to seriously injure anybody or their feet before 50 minutes are up. Then, somehow, the entire world turns over on itself by 10:00 for Dance 184, where I become a demigod of dancing dexterity*, mastering each and every move in the blink of an eye and then flawlessly demonstrating them for the rest of the class.

They say there has to be opposition in all things, so I guess this is probably good for me. Somehow.


*In the spirit of declaring my own cleverness that I started in paragraph 3, I just had to point out that that was really cool alliteration. 

Because of Him

Mormon.org has a page this year titled "Because of Him" (you can find it at easter.mormon.org--if you haven't already seen it, I recommend going there and watching the video). This page talks about everything that Christ made possible through His atonement and resurrection--peace instead of turmoil, forgiveness instead of guilt, innovation, technology, love, and the wonderful truth that every single one of us will live again. 

When this page was published, several of my Facebook friends started posting things with the hashtag #becauseofhim, sharing their testimonies and experiences. For the past week I've been thinking about all the things I have #becauseofhim, and as I've done so, I've been absolutely overwhelmed with gratitude. My life right now is amazing; every little piece of it is working together in ways twice as miraculous and wonderful as anything I, by myself, could have imagine or engineered. 

So, here are a few of the things that I have #becauseofhim (because one of my blog posts would never be complete without a bullet-point list, would it?)

• I am going to school at BYU, my dream school; I'm on track to building the career of my dreams.
• I'm financially stable (which, considering how much it costs to feed myself, is a real miracle). 
• My job rocks.
• I got to sing with Men's Chorus this year, a dream I've had since freshman year.
• Temple blessings mean I'll get to be with the coolest people I know (that's my family, in case you were wondering) forever.
• My health is fantastic.
• The weather is beautiful.
• Prayer and the scriptures help me answer any and every question I have. 
• I am able to find forgiveness to replace guilt for my imperfections with peace.
• Even when I'm unsure about what is going to happen, I trust that God has a plan for me that will take me wherever I need to be. 

I only hope that I can be as faithful to Him as He is loving, kind, and merciful to me.

Happy Easter.

Dreams

I am a dreamer.

When I was a small child, I remember spending hours at a time day-dreaming, inventing wild stories and fantasies, planning great and fantastic futures. As I've grown older I've continued dreaming, but focused my dreams more and more on reality and the future, on the things I'd like to do and the person I want to become.

I am willing to fight for my dreams. In popular literature I believe this is depicted as a positive trait, and in many cases I think it does benefit me; for example, my willingness to fight for my dreams sometimes keeps me studying late into the night, knowing that every hour of study will pay off when I graduate. However, this fighting spirit is also a problem, for my personal dreams do not always coincide with the will of God.

In those cases where my own dreams and plans for my future are not the same as God's, I sometimes find myself resentful of having to give up my dreams. I try to accept God's plan for me, but often do so while whining and grumbling. My constant challenge is to let go of my own dreams, to let go of my own will, and to totally, faithfully accept God's will in all things.

Because He loves me and is awesome, God lets me know every now and then that I can trust him--that I really can let go of my own will in favor of His. He does so through what Elder Bednar once identified as "tender mercies," little blessings that aren't necessary but that let God say "I love you." I think that these tender mercies are like dreams that God gives me when he asks me to give up my own.

Tonight was one of those dreams. Tonight was so fantastic that I had to remind myself that it actually was reality, and not one of my boyhood fantasies.

Part 1: At the beginning of the school year, I auditioned for and was accepted into BYU Men's Chorus. I've wanted to sing in Men's Chorus ever since I started school at BYU, and singing with them last year has been fantastic.

Part 2: Sometime during my teenage years I learned about a cool a capella group named Vocal Point, also from BYU. I've been lucky enough to see them perform a few times live.

Part 3: A few weeks ago, somebody had the idea that Men's Chorus and Vocal Point should do a song together. As a result, I spent three and a half hours this evening in a video recording session, preparing a music video that will be released in the next few months; Men's Chorus and Vocal Point met in a professional theater to record a beautiful version of "Nearer My God to Thee." There was even a crane camera and a fog machine! The whole experience was surreal, dreamlike, and a whole lot of fun.

I may be a dreamer, but I think God is too. I also think He has a lot more experience dreaming than I do and is better at it. I hope I can always see and appreciate the dreams, the tender mercies that God gives me. I hope I can learn to accept and embrace His will, His dreams, even over my own.

Life Is Short

Two days ago, on Friday, March 21, the BYU Men’s Chorus (of which I am a part) sang its first solo concert of the year (named “Epic” because, well, it was) to a sold out audience.

Later that night, Rhett Fisher, Tenor I, who, like I, was singing with Men’s Chorus for the first time, passed away.

When I found out Saturday afternoon that Rhett had died, it hit me harder than I would have expected. I didn’t know Rhett well, but I knew his face, we had talked a few times, I would have said hi to him if I had seen him anywhere else on campus.

I read this talk from conference a few years ago, and cried for a moment as I thought of all the songs that Rhett would not be able to sing.

One paragraph from this talk stuck out to me. It says, “The Father’s plan of happiness for His children includes not only a premortal and mortal life but also an eternal life as well, including a great and glorious reunion with those we have lost. All wrongs will be righted, and we will see with perfect clarity and faultless perspective and understanding.” I imagined a great and glorious reunion between Rhett and the rest of the Men’s Chorus; maybe we’ll sing our Epic concert through again once more, every one of us present, not a single voice missing from the choir. Maybe we’ll just smile and laugh and be glad that everything did, in fact, turn out all right.

Saturday night was our second concert. I think each one of us sung for Rhett; it could have turned out very badly, but we all managed to keep our emotions inside our hearts and out of our eyes, and it was beautiful.

In a quiet moment during intermission, as I was sitting and reflecting, the thought came to me—life is short.

Later on, during other quiet moments of reflection, I thought more on this idea. Life is short. Death comes to us all, to some sooner and others later but quickly enough to each one of us.

In fact, I decided, life is too short.

Life is too short for mediocrity; it is too short for anything but excellence.

Life is too short for sin. Because we’re fallen and make mistakes, I might change that to say life is too short for unrepentant sin.  

Life is too short for indecision (a personal weakness).

Life is too short for abandoned dreams. It’s too short not to try, even though you might fail.

Life is too short for bitterness, envy, or grudges.

Life is too short for anything but charity towards every single person on this earth.

Life is too short for side hugs, for half-hearted goodbyes.

I plan to remember Rhett. I hope to remember the year that we sang together, lifting up our voices to praise God and express the joy we found in living. And I hope to remember that, though I might still have a comparatively long life ahead of me, life is short, and should be lived as such.