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.
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