I want you to take a moment and think to yourself what you want your children to be like. If you don't have them, all the better. If you do, try not to be harsh on them as I lay out the picture of this one. Because of the nature of my relationship to this friend, I view him almost as a son, and that's how I'm going to describe him today.
I think we all marry people we're attracted to, and part of that is the innate desire to have attractive offspring. It's no wonder that one of the best compliments people pay to newly weds is "You're going to have such cute kids!" This is of course true for me. It's also descriptive of my friend. He's tall. He is kind of wiry, but he's only 19, so he'll grow into himself, I think. He's got thick dark hair. Not like suave hair, but not busy either. He doesn't have a Kendall Barrows Orthodontic smile, but his is captivating. He's got bright eyes and a pretty smooth complexion.
So he's cute.
The picture at the top of the page represents God's plan for us. From our spiritual creation and life with him before birth, to the final judgement and our resting place with him. All of it is in his hands. I have to tell you, that he would have to be my pseudo son, because I have negative artistic ability. The kid is good.
My friend is super passionate about his faith. I'm a devoted and faithful believer. Few things rival the joy I feel from sharing my faith with those around me, and being strengthened by the faith of others. My psuedo-son is flat out nuts though. It's like all he talks about it seems. Some of his closest friends are Mormon missionaries who have passed through the town where he lives for a few months to teach the Gospel of Jesus Christ. He spends most of his days with them, and shares it with his friends.
This boy was recently called as a missionary to Mexico, and he leaves next Wednesday. I wish I could upload an audio clip of the voice message he sent me about this. He's a naturally emotional guy. I mean sometimes he's totally overwhelmed by them, and he is still learning to bridle them. His message was tear jerking though. Even my pregnant sister cried when she heard it; though that may just be because pregnant. But in all seriousness, he's really a sweet spirit and has a deeply sensitive soul.
He's also super caring. He is naturally a good friend. He gives you the kind of unconditional love one could only ask of a Golden Retriever puppy. (Now I wish my Amigo had drawn one of those...). He also is a diligent friend. I get a "Good night! I love you!" text from him three times a week that, sorry to say, mostly goes unresponded to.
So he's great. I think after six paragraphs, four swiped drawings, and a "So he's cute" blurb, I've done a fair assessment.
So why write about him? To brag? To steal his art without permission? To show the world what a handsome devil this friend made me out to be?
Kinda. But no.
I'm writing about him for two reasons. The first is totally selfish. As much as I convince myself that I'm going to write him either as often as he'd like (three times a week) or as often as I'd like (every three transfers which equates to 18 weeks, or a total of 5-6 letters his whole mission) I'm pretty sure both guesses are high. I'm about as crappy a letter writer as I am a blogger, only with letters I have to stamp them, too. So, this is kind of my way of saying, Good Luck Elder! Look forward to hearing from you! I think you're great!
The other part of it is to show that, like some of the other heroes of this blog, he has done fantastic things in the face of adversity. Joseph Smith once said that wealth would try the saints far more than poverty. I think that this is a reflection on the corruption of character and lack of development of true talents. This friend does not have much in the way of worldly wealth, so he invests his time into developing himself.
This friend also came from a home without a father. Not the, "my dad didn't come to my softball games because he was at work all the time" dad. But the "My dad up and left our family; left my mom who struggles with health and a handful of kids to be kicked to the curb and doesn't want anything to do with any of us." kind of no-father home.
Statistics show that most kids who grow up like that end up a little messed up. My friend has his demons. My friend has his scars. My friend truly has felt the pain of being that loving golden retriever puppy who gets kicked in the face repeatedly and wonders why, but still goes back to try and lick the hand of the one who kicked him. However he has risen. He didn't turn into a world hating punk rock band member of Good Charlotte or Simple Plan. He didn't turn to a druggie. He's not someone's baby-daddy. He's not a slouch, an internet addict, or jaded. He has refused, perhaps because he's never even opened the door to the possibilities, to be anything other than good and hard working, much of which, I'm sure, can be attributed to his mom.
"Two mice fell into a bucket of cream. One gave up and quickly drowned. The other kept kicking and churning until he churned that cream to butter."
That second mouse? That's my friend. I look up to him, and have great confidence that he'll do great things. Ordinary outside. Extraordinary inside, and, ultimately, he has an unquenchable spirit.
