'Murica

This is another post about my time as an efy counselor. As a counselor at a camp for teenage boys, there were several critical questions that I needed to have ready answers for. Questions about going through hard times, about how to know what is true and what is not, and, of course, about who was my favorite super hero.

This third question made me stop and think. Which super hero was my favorite? Why him or her? What would differentiate my favorite super hero from all of the others, how could he or she be awesome enough to be significantly more awesome than all the other heroes' awesomeness?

Eventually, I decided on Captain America. Though he isn't as witty as Spiderman, or as roguishly cool as Iron man, I appreciate that Captain America pairs his super strength, ultimate frisbee skills, and good looks with a real, true, deep, goodness.

Captain America doesn't go about hero-ing because he wants to be rich or famous. He doesn't use methods that are shady or inappropriate to achieve worthy goals. He is a hero because he wants to help the world be a better place; he firmly sticks to his moral code, and refuses to sink to the same low levels as his enemies.

From the very beginning, Captain America focuses on doing what is right no matter what the consequences. In fact, this is what differentiates him from his competitors in the super-soldier program--the scientist in charge of the program notices that, while other soldiers were bigger and tougher, they didn't have his strong moral compass. Or, in the words of the Lord to Samuel, "Look not on his countenance, or on the height or his stature; because I have refused him: for the Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appeareance, but the Lord looketh on the heart" (1 Samuel 16:7).

Tender Mercies

A few years ago Elder David A. Bednar gave a talk about Tender Mercies. He mentioned a scripture in the first chapter in the Book of Mormon which says, "But behold, I, Nephi, will show unto you that the tender mercies of the Lord are over all those whom he hath chosen, because of their faith, to make them mighty even unto the power of deliverance." (1 Nephi 1:20). He said that, the way he understands tender mercies, they are like post-it notes that the Lord leaves in our lives to say "I love you." Little miracles that, in some divine and special way, communicate how much He cares about us.

Last Thursday, I finished studying at about 11:00 PM. I was exhausted, drained, and brain-dead. I knew that I would need to be awake by 6:00 AM the next morning to continue studying and working on homework if I was going to be able to finish all of the week's homework assignments. As I started the walk back home from campus, a 15-20 minute walk, I said a little prayer: "God, I'm tired, and I'd love a ride home."

As I walked down the hill towards the street below, I started thinking about miracles and tender mercies. In my experience, miracles usually come when I have given my best effort and have nothing else left to give, when my best effort isn't enough to do whatever I'm attempting. However, if I haven't yet given my best effort, sometimes God withholds a miracle so that I have a chance to learn and grow before receiving divine help. Maybe that's what was going to happen here? I'd grow stronger by making the 15 minute walk home even though I was exhausted and would have to get up early the next day. 

In fact, that would probably be the best thing for me down the road, I began to rationalize. So, I shouldn't actually expect anyone to be there to give me a ride at the bottom of the hill, even though God definitely does have the power to do something like that.

I smiled to myself and started forward. A car honked; I ignored it.

"Jason! Hey! Where are you going, and do you want a ride?" This time I turned around. 

A friend from North Carolina that I hadn't seen in 3 years gave me a ride back home. Along with resting my tired legs, I got to catch up with him as we talked about our missions. 

After I thanked him for being a literal answer to my prayers, I hopped out of the car and walked to my apartment, thinking about tender mercies. Little miracles that God really doesn't have to do--I would have survived the walk--but that let Him tell me He loves me. 

Of Love and Mountains

Last Saturday my brother-in-law and I hiked Mount Timpanogos, a 11,752 foot behemoth of a mountain just a few minutes north of BYU. It was an invigorating, exhilarating, exhausting, rewarding experience.

During the hike, it stuck out to me how cordial and polite all the hikers on the trail were. Not only did they smile and say "good morning," but they would move to the side and wait while we passed on the narrow trail. Those who were already coming down the mountain path encouraged us, telling us that we didn't have far to go and that we could make it.

I was especially impressed by a comment I overheard on the summit of the mountain. Several groups of hikers sat around enjoying the view, exchanging small talk, and recouping energy to begin the trek back down the mountain. One man said, "Even if we didn't hike up at the same time, in a way we all did this together. We've shared something here."

A day later, as I was studying a talk from the last LDS General Conference in April, I understood why the hikers' cordiality and friendliness stood out to me. In his talk entitled "Love--the Essence of the Gospel," Thomas S. Monson, President of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, compares our mortal experience to a journey. He states that God's great commandments for this journey are to love God and our fellow men. The hikers on Mount Timpanogos understood this, and had demonstrated love for their fellow travelers by sharing kind, encouraging words, by getting off the trail to let them pass, and even just by exchanging a smile and a greeting. As expressed by the man on top of the mountain, all of us were in it together.

As I reflected on these experiences, I came to realize how important it is that I love and serve all those around me. As President Spencer W. Kimball said, "We must remember that those mortals we meet in parking lots, offices, elevators, and elsewhere are that portion of mankind God has given us to love and to serve." If I am able to remember this principle and maintain an attitude of selflessness, then I'll be able to help people along this difficult journey, just as the kind smiles and words of encouragement helped me hike to the top of Mount Timpanogos.

Snapshots: End of Summer

Looking toward the river, I begin to scramble down the slope. My worn shoes slide for a split second on some loose dirt, then I regain traction on rockier ground. I scramble down the rocks at a slightly reckless speed, almost falling several times before the ground levels out. Then, tentatively, carefully, not wanting to fall in and spend the rest of the day with wet shoes, I venture out onto the rocks in the middle of the river. Hopping from one rock to the next I arrive at the middle of the river. I crouch down and dip my hand in, feeling the cold water, snowmelt from Mount Hood, flow between my fingers. I stay there a moment, living, feeling, experiencing; I stand. Lifting my head, I can see a sliver of the waterfall around a bend in the river. I glance back down at the river flowing by my feet one more time, then resume hopping, clambering, climbing, and sliding on toward the waterfall.

"Gather round, children," I yell in my best British accent. A dozen freshmen come forward and form a semicircle around me as I proceed to introduce them to my beloved campus. I point to the buildings, giving them their names and their (sometimes seemingly unrelated) acronyms; I explain what each building is used for, then tack on my personal touch, the secrets that it took me months to learn that have enriched my time here at BYU, the things I hope that each of them get to experience during their first year--I tell them about the musicals and the dances, I advise them to search out their classes early in the building that is built like a maze, I crack a joke and, more because I'm speaking in a British accent than because it is actually funny, everyone laughs. Then I turn to a girl in my group that is actually from England and hesitantly ask, "how's my accent?" 

"It's really good," she says, giving me a bright smile with a hint of pity behind it, "but you should stop it."

More laughter. 

Mickey Mouse

I started writing this blog post with the words “one of my favorite parts,” then realized that I use that phrase way too often. Redo:

One thing I loved about being an EFY counselor was playing games for “Family Home Evening” on Monday nights. We would play ridiculous games with names like “Gotcha!” and “Killer Frog,” then ask the simple question, “How does this relate to the Gospel of Jesus Christ?” Every single week I was astounded by the deep connections that 14-18 year old kids could draw from playing silly games. Even more than any of the individual lessons that I learned from the games we played, I learned that “all things which have been given of God from the beginning of the world, unto man, are the typifying of [Christ]” and His Gospel.

It comes as no surprise then that on my trip to Disney this last week I learned things about the Gospel from Mickey Mouse.

I’m going to preface this by saying that, as a kid, I really didn’t get Mickey Mouse. I’ve always loved Disney, but I’ve looked on Mickey Mouse as more of a predecessor to later, greater icons than as anything special by himself. But now I feel I understand Mickey, and here’s why.

Wednesday night I watched a water show called “World of Color.” It was a really spectacular combination of fountains, lights, mist screens, projectors, bubbles, and jets of fire. The story, or focus, of the show seemed to me to be about love—love for life, for family and friends, and for that special someone. It was a truly joyous experience, and it made me think about how wonderful my life is when I’m focused on loving others.

Right after “World of Color” we raced off to watch a show called “Fantasmic,” starring Mickey Mouse. The plot of the show goes something like this: Mickey dreams amazing things, Peter Pan fights Captain Hook on a life-sized pirate ship, Princes and Princesses dance and sing, evil villains plot to take over Mickey’s dream and turn it dark, Mickey has a great one-liner (“you may think you’re powerful, but hey, this is my dream!”) and blasts away all the baddies with his awesomeness. Fireworks ensue. Here’s what I got from this show—good beats evil, and does it really awesomely. The world may try to paint its way of life as being glamorous, powerful, and even inevitable, but God’s way, the good way, Mickey’s way, is truly and actually awesome. It’s fun, it looks cool, it involves dancing and singing and swinging from pirate ships, it’s awesome.

I thought I was done with shows after Fantasmic on Wednesday night, but luckily one of my buddies talked me into going to see one more, “Mickey and the Magic Map.” It was a Broadway musical quality show, with about 30 minutes of singing, dancing and cool costumes—basically it was right up my alley, the stuff that I live and breathe for. The story of this particular show was all about following your dreams, never giving up, and being yourself. While watching it I got excited for the future and all the amazing things that it will bring, and even more committed to working hard to accomplish the goals that I have set for myself.

After seeing all of these shows about Mickey Mouse, I revisited my apathetic opinion of him. I decided that Mickey isn’t just a precursor to greater icons, but rather, he is the symbol of them all. Mickey represents goodness, purity, chasing your dreams, and always striving to be better.

Those aren’t the only things I learned this week (and did I mention the amazing people I met and how much fun I had?) but I think that’s probably good for one blog post. 

What to write?

I am sitting on a pillow in a hallway outside my boy's rooms, waiting for the all-clear to be given so that I can go to bed, closing my eyes on my last day as an EFY counselor. Working as an EFY counselor this summer has been a dream come true, a learning experience, a challenge, and a joy all rolled in one.

There are so many thoughts bouncing around in my head that I'd love to get down, and I think I'll try to write at least one more blog post about my efy experiences later on after I've slept a little. However, the primary thought on my mind, the thought that has been with me from my very first week as a counselor until now, is how grateful I am to my Heavenly Father.

I am grateful that He has, through a process of time, trials, blessings, and a mission, made me into someone that has something to give at a place like EFY. He took little old me, a rather weak and simple person, and gave me a testimony of His Gospel, gave me habits and knowledge and a voice to sing with and words to teach with. And somehow, miraculously, incredibly, I've become an EFY counselor, someone that He would trust to take His precious young sons and daughters and leave them a little better than they were when they got here.

I can't wait to see what He'll do with me next. His vision for me is, and I'm sure always will be, so much more awesome than anything I could come up with myself, and I'm really excited to find out what it will be.

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!