I write a great deal about my friends that are female, because in terms of quantity, I have many many more of them. Today I'm writing about one of the best men I've ever had the privilege of being mandatory best friends with. I hope I can do him Justice on this one.
If you're LDS, you can probably skip this next paragraph, but if you're not, or if you don't even know what LDS means, this bit of explanation may be insightful for you. LDS missionaries go in pairs to teach people about the Gospel of Jesus Christ. They're given a specific geographic area to find and teach people, and they go in pairs teaching people, and serving them, and the communities they live in. Missionaries don't pick where they go, they don't pick who they're with, but because they desire to have the Spirit of God with them, and peace as they teach people about how to find peace, the missionary you serve with kind of becomes your mandatory best friend. Traditionally, men couldn't serve until they were 19 (but were culturally obligated to do so as soon as they turned 19) and could go all the way to age 26, and women were able to serve at age 21 if they so desired (but the cultural obligations were not as strong) but can go at any age after that. (The age thing recently changed, but it's important to understand in context of this story.)
So this Mandatory best friend of mine received a letter at age 19 stating that he was going to be laboring for the souls of men for two years in the great state of Ohio, the northern part including Cleveland, Akron and Kirtland. He prepared, bought clothes, said good byes, and the Sunday before his departure came and he got up to give a talk in church. He did so, and at the end said something to the effect of, "I know you're all expecting me to talk about how excited I am to be going on a mission. I have decided however that I'm not going to serve a mission." For contextual purposes, this would be like a Top High School Football recruit saying at his press conference on signing day, "I know you're all expecting me to be very proud to attend school on scholarship at THE Ohio State University, but I have decided that I'd rather sell hotdogs on a corner in Columbus." It was shocking, because it never happens. It's also such a great privilege, and also a bit of a cultural norm that having someone say something like that is kind of asking to be shunned in the LDS community.
To the everlasting credit of his church congregation, they embraced him and were proud of him for not going when his heart wasn't in it. So this young man, being a man of great musical ability, spent the next few years doing what he did. He got into some trouble with his friends. He played Slap Bass, Guitar, Harmonica, and any one of (literally) a dozen other instruments in bars through Southern California and Nevada. His faith was pretty shaken, though it hadn't ever been rock solid before, and he just went on living.
Over the next three years or so, as he did this, he would attend other churches, muslim mosques, and spent some time with his mom at a Jewish Synagogue where she studied Hebrew. Many times, he would come back and say, "Mom, I can't be a Mormon. I was at this place and I heard ______. I believe that." His mom would look at him and say, "Son, WE believe that." She'd then show him in her scriptures where her evidence of those things was.
My mandatory best friend reached a turning point when a friend of his who was a girl (but not a girlfriend) went on a hike with him. They sat on top of a mountain and talked, and she told him as she was preparing to go be a missionary that he needed to as well. He took that to heart, and decided to get his life in order and do just that.
Now, the reason I'm writing about this friend of mine today is two-fold.
One was the wonderful friend he was to me in our short 6 weeks as mandatory best friends. He would play the harmonica as we sat at bus stops and people would just come over to talk, which doesn't happen every day to missionaries. He was amiable and could talk to anyone, which is high praise from me, considering I have much of the same gift. He said funny things to me like "You're kind of a strange person Elder Savage (true) but you dated some hot girls (also true)." He was called a second time to Ohio, This time Columbus, but we'd always joke about how he was chasing someone he would have found earlier in Cleveland, and that's why he was in Columbus this time. He would play the mandolin as I did the dishes. He would cook Tofu, and vegetarian Chorizo, and lots of other things that I'd never have tried otherwise. Truly, this friend broadened my horizons.
The other reason is that this friend showed remarkable, incomparable strength of character long after I was gone home. As was mentioned, he was a few years older than your average 19 year old missionary. He also was the son of parents who were older than the average parents of a 22 year old. When one is a missionary, they are called full time. They do not leave. They do not call home. They do not interact with the world outside of their proselyting other than weekly e-mails to their families, and letters from those friends thoughtful enough to send them. Missionaries miss weddings of best friends, and siblings. They miss the birth of nephews and nieces. Super Bowls come and go. Bands Break up. Iconic places from youth burn to the ground. Facebook changes it's format. Technoligies like iPads and tablets are created, and Girlfriends who had promised to wait and be their wife write them off. So much happens that is irrelevant, or to which they are aloof entirely. I heard it once said by a returned missionary that if someone says "Have you heard this song?" or "Seen this movie?" and you've never heard of it, it's probably during those two years you were a missionary.
One thing, and only one, from the outside world can stop that. If an immediate family member dies, you receive a phone call. It's the phone call every elder dreads, and no one wants to have to receive. My friend got it. He flew home for a few days (which is weird at any time) and attended the funeral of his father, and then, knowing he still had people who depended on him in Ohio, he went back. I cannot express my deep admiration for someone being so devoted and so selfless that in the midst of such pain, they would go back. No one would have blamed him if he'd ended there. He was close to done. He was a fantastic missionary. He had already overcome sufficiently to receive a second call (which is a huge aberration of the norm).
It was said recently by a man who had lost his son, "Sometimes people will ask, 'How long did it take you to get over it?' The truth is, you will never completely get over it until you are together once again with your departed loved ones. I will never have a fullness of joy until we are reunited in the morning of the First Ressurection." (Elder Shayne M. Bowen, October 2012 General Conference)
I hope my best friend always remembers how impressive he is to me, and surely to others.
Saturday, October 20, 2012
A Normal Guy.
If you've read much at all of my blog, you know that I've been friends with some of the most incredible people there are. I have friends who have lost family members due to death. I have friend who are highly witty. I have friends who sacrifice major desires and talents for seemingly menial things. I have friends with incredible powers to forgive, and undeniable strength to overcome adversity.
This post isn't much like that at all.
I have a friend whose name I'm actually going to tell you. It's Kirk Johnson. If you search through facebook, there are 465 Kirk Johnsons.If you're not my facebook friend, or his, you probably wouldn't pick him out of a crowd. Kirk was raised as a latter day saint. He's the oldest of several children. His parents met at BYU (very typical for Mormons). He's lived in Utah his whole life. He's white, average height, average build (not stocky, but not slender). He decided to serve a mission when he was 19. He was called to Ohio (which I love, but makes most people go "Meh!" Except every four years during November when political junkies are very invested in Ohio) and wasn't a leader for most of his mission. He has brownish-red hair (though he tries to claim to be a ginger for some odd reason.) He's going to be a computer programmer, and he fits all the linux-loving, Star Trek following, nerdy geekiness that you would assume of such a guy. I mean his self-descritption on facebook says, "I'm Linux user 437442, Crix, a Star Wars Fan, An open source advocate, an overall nerd, and most important, I'm a Mormon." He's going to BYU with his LDS wife, and they will certainly repeat much of what has already been said.
So who cares, right? I mean what's the big deal. You name one thing about this guy, particularly if you're LDS and familiar with the culture, that stands out about him.
What matters about Kirk is that he IS normal.
I have the utmost respect in the world for this guy. First of all, I love the fact that he's a computer geek. The very laptop upon which I am blogging was found and chosen due to his influence. Whenever this laptop has issues, he's the first person I call.
Second, he has ambitions to do good things, but he doesn't let those ambitions make him do stupid things. He's content with who he is. Of all the people I've blogged about, and even more so of the people I know in this world, very few are consistently day-to-day happy with who they are. That is Kirk to a T. Kirk is happy with just being Good. He doesn't need to b world class. He doesn't crave the spotlight, and probably even feels a little weird about the fact that I'm writing about him. He's not perfect, but he's exactly what you'd want. Kirk Johnson is normal. Our world functions because there are people like Kirk. If you don't believe me, you should probably stop using your iPhone, or your car, or taking out your trash. I'm sure that there are others who I could have written this about, but forever, I will be grateful for my very normal friend Kirk Johnson.
"If a man is called to be a street sweeper, he should sweep streets even as a Michaelangelo painted, or Beethoven composed music or Shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will pause to say, 'Here lived a great street sweeper who did his job well.”
― Martin Luther King Jr."
This post isn't much like that at all.
I have a friend whose name I'm actually going to tell you. It's Kirk Johnson. If you search through facebook, there are 465 Kirk Johnsons.If you're not my facebook friend, or his, you probably wouldn't pick him out of a crowd. Kirk was raised as a latter day saint. He's the oldest of several children. His parents met at BYU (very typical for Mormons). He's lived in Utah his whole life. He's white, average height, average build (not stocky, but not slender). He decided to serve a mission when he was 19. He was called to Ohio (which I love, but makes most people go "Meh!" Except every four years during November when political junkies are very invested in Ohio) and wasn't a leader for most of his mission. He has brownish-red hair (though he tries to claim to be a ginger for some odd reason.) He's going to be a computer programmer, and he fits all the linux-loving, Star Trek following, nerdy geekiness that you would assume of such a guy. I mean his self-descritption on facebook says, "I'm Linux user 437442, Crix, a Star Wars Fan, An open source advocate, an overall nerd, and most important, I'm a Mormon." He's going to BYU with his LDS wife, and they will certainly repeat much of what has already been said.
So who cares, right? I mean what's the big deal. You name one thing about this guy, particularly if you're LDS and familiar with the culture, that stands out about him.
What matters about Kirk is that he IS normal.
I have the utmost respect in the world for this guy. First of all, I love the fact that he's a computer geek. The very laptop upon which I am blogging was found and chosen due to his influence. Whenever this laptop has issues, he's the first person I call.
Second, he has ambitions to do good things, but he doesn't let those ambitions make him do stupid things. He's content with who he is. Of all the people I've blogged about, and even more so of the people I know in this world, very few are consistently day-to-day happy with who they are. That is Kirk to a T. Kirk is happy with just being Good. He doesn't need to b world class. He doesn't crave the spotlight, and probably even feels a little weird about the fact that I'm writing about him. He's not perfect, but he's exactly what you'd want. Kirk Johnson is normal. Our world functions because there are people like Kirk. If you don't believe me, you should probably stop using your iPhone, or your car, or taking out your trash. I'm sure that there are others who I could have written this about, but forever, I will be grateful for my very normal friend Kirk Johnson.
"If a man is called to be a street sweeper, he should sweep streets even as a Michaelangelo painted, or Beethoven composed music or Shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will pause to say, 'Here lived a great street sweeper who did his job well.”
― Martin Luther King Jr."
Done it with a smile.
I have a friend who is probably among the most chipper people I've ever met in my life. I'm not talking about the kind of person who is optimistic. I'm an optimist. I'm not talking about the kind of person who is easily entertained, for that, too, applies to me. I mean in truth and soberness I have never seen this person ever EVER not smiling. Even telling stories about getting traffic tickets and crying about it, or being tickled until she peed by her younger brother, this girl is HAPPY. As a freshman in high school a friend of my hypothesized that you could literally smack this girl in the face and she'd still be laughing.
This girl is one of a very small handful of girls who have ever asked me on a date. It was a Sadie Hawkins dance, and it was casual and fun. The group of girls had planned dinner, and games and we spent all evening leading up to the dance at a park. The girls bought T-Shirts that we designed together. Because of this there is a red shirt somewhere in the world that says, "I guess I'm just not as cool as Scott Savage."
Anyway, the main event of this blog took place during a game of kickball. The girls brought one of those huge 36" in diameter kickballs that was huge and really difficult to throw, or really kick for any good distance. Their strategy was to have any of the girls that weren't kicking the ball or running bases to come out and interfere with us. It was fun and cute because, hey, who doesn't like a bunch of girls running at you trying to touch you, right?
I was the pitcher in our little game for reasons that I hope weren't that I'm hopelessly unathletic. After a couple of innings, there were runners on first and third, with one out. I pitched the ball and a girl that wasn't my date gave a decent kick right down the third base line. It slow hopped, but stayed fair. I ran as fast as I could, which, admittedly is not very fast, towards the ball. Just as it was within my grasp, I felt something smash hard against the side of my head.
Then it went black.
The next thing I remember everyone had gathered around me and was checking to make sure I was ok. I asked what had happened as a couple people helped me get slowly to my feed. Someone said that my date had run face first into the side of my head, and that she was bleeding pretty bad. I went over to see how she was, and it didn't look good. From her nose, clear down her chin and in her mouth was a pretty decent amount of blood. Not only was I convinced I had broken her nose, I thought it was probable that there was at least one missing tooth.
But guess what she was doing.
Laughing.
No, my friend DIDN'T have missing teeth. The blood was in her mouth because she was laughing so hard, and smiling so much.We finished out the date, even though I may have been mildly concussed, and she certainly had had better days. It was a good thing our shirts were red.
It's amazing to me that pretty much nothing gets this person down. She chooses how to respond. She is the master of her emotions, and she's controlled them in an EXCELLENT fashion.
It can also be said that this is the same girl who got hit by a truck when she was a pedestrian (hit so hard that there was a Chipper Chica shaped impression in the side of the truck), and got up and was laughing about it. It might also be healthy to mention that the EMTs thought she had suffered a head injury on that occasion, but she hadn't. She just laughed it off.
The Lesson, as always: Laughter is the VERY best medicine. Oh, and my friend? He was right. She laughs even when smacked in the face.
This girl is one of a very small handful of girls who have ever asked me on a date. It was a Sadie Hawkins dance, and it was casual and fun. The group of girls had planned dinner, and games and we spent all evening leading up to the dance at a park. The girls bought T-Shirts that we designed together. Because of this there is a red shirt somewhere in the world that says, "I guess I'm just not as cool as Scott Savage."
Anyway, the main event of this blog took place during a game of kickball. The girls brought one of those huge 36" in diameter kickballs that was huge and really difficult to throw, or really kick for any good distance. Their strategy was to have any of the girls that weren't kicking the ball or running bases to come out and interfere with us. It was fun and cute because, hey, who doesn't like a bunch of girls running at you trying to touch you, right?
I was the pitcher in our little game for reasons that I hope weren't that I'm hopelessly unathletic. After a couple of innings, there were runners on first and third, with one out. I pitched the ball and a girl that wasn't my date gave a decent kick right down the third base line. It slow hopped, but stayed fair. I ran as fast as I could, which, admittedly is not very fast, towards the ball. Just as it was within my grasp, I felt something smash hard against the side of my head.
Then it went black.
The next thing I remember everyone had gathered around me and was checking to make sure I was ok. I asked what had happened as a couple people helped me get slowly to my feed. Someone said that my date had run face first into the side of my head, and that she was bleeding pretty bad. I went over to see how she was, and it didn't look good. From her nose, clear down her chin and in her mouth was a pretty decent amount of blood. Not only was I convinced I had broken her nose, I thought it was probable that there was at least one missing tooth.
But guess what she was doing.
Laughing.
No, my friend DIDN'T have missing teeth. The blood was in her mouth because she was laughing so hard, and smiling so much.We finished out the date, even though I may have been mildly concussed, and she certainly had had better days. It was a good thing our shirts were red.
It's amazing to me that pretty much nothing gets this person down. She chooses how to respond. She is the master of her emotions, and she's controlled them in an EXCELLENT fashion.
It can also be said that this is the same girl who got hit by a truck when she was a pedestrian (hit so hard that there was a Chipper Chica shaped impression in the side of the truck), and got up and was laughing about it. It might also be healthy to mention that the EMTs thought she had suffered a head injury on that occasion, but she hadn't. She just laughed it off.
The Lesson, as always: Laughter is the VERY best medicine. Oh, and my friend? He was right. She laughs even when smacked in the face.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)