An Unquenchable Spirit

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.

This amigo is also talented. Of his own accord, he plays a few different instruments. He ranges in ability from proficient to dabbling, but he plays and gets the concepts. He's artistic. He draws. The pictures on this blog are of his own original work. The good looking man in the hat (pictured below) is his drawing of me. I smile more than that, and am not known to wear such berets, but I like it nonetheless.

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.

Destined Friends.

I find myself being surprised by few things. This isn't to say that I'm hardcore, or cynical. I think much more it's that I've come to believe that life is good, and good things happen a lot. Additionally, I lead a fairly simple life, and complex things don't happen all that often.

There is, however, something that some one chose to do that came totally out of left field a couple weeks ago.

Let's start with the back story. Every good blog involves flashbacks. The more you read this, the more you'll believe that. Work with me.

When ALA was not yet open, the powers that were in charge of the school decided that the best plan was to have a school wide picnic and play games. A fair few quirky things happened on the day in question that made me reconsider what glorious boones there may be for me at the school, while simultaneously making me more determined that I was sketchy at best with my prospects of attending this new school. It was a strange feeling. This aside, however, I had determined that with my fresh start, I'd definitely try to be more friendly and out going. Contrary to popular belief, I have not always been the stud muffin that I am today. So when I walked up to a certain cute girl and said, "Best Friend!" I got a gift I treasured.

I'll never forget the unmistakable look of "I'm homeschooled!" that flashed across this girl's face when she responded somewhat dazedly "Best friend?"

That statement proved to be truer that I ever could have imagined. Question mark and all.

School began, and as young 15 year olds we became fast friends. We only had seminary together, but we talked all the time, and we had a lot of good talks about things. She had this insane gift where she could read me better than most people. I had kind of a weird adjustment to my my working out of the home for the first time in my life. Of all my friends and teachers, she was the only one to notice that this kind of got to me, and understood why I felt the way I did. She just had a knack for it. It's like we'd always known each other.

So, because I was so wonderful, and she was so nice (a little weird, but nice), I had a crush on her. I highly doubt the older I get that this was ever particularly subtle, and have learned that subtly is not really my strong suit in anything, much less when I like a girl. My wife reaps the benefit of this. As time drew on, we ended up going on a date, and flirting and holding hands and doing all the wonderful exciting things that 16 year olds do.

And then something happened.

To this day I'm not sure either of us really remembers why or what or how, but we went from best of friends to bitter enemies in a very short amount of time. This was probably the most intense mutual dislike I have with anyone I've ever known. I said a lot of things that I absolutely am ashamed of. I heard slander about me that was terrible to the point that a girl I asked to prom said no to me based on the witness of this girl. In my eyes, this girl was the biggest hypocrite I'd ever met. On the few rare occasions we were civil to one another, the fallout led to even uglier and more intense dislike. It was common knowledge that I handled this mostly with insults, and taking pride in the "fact" that we were never such good friends to begin with, and she probably had mental issues. I'm not sure what she thought about me, but those things were probably similar, except she probably thought I was a huge jerk and that people could get an infectious disease from breathing air in the same space I was in.

This took place over the course of over the course of more than 2,200 days. With time, the sting of losing a friend no longer hurt, and I really didn't remember anything other than the fact that she wouldn't talk to me if I had tried. In my own mind, I'd done my due diligence to repair the friendship a long time before, and I was no longer going to pursue that path ever again.

Now jump to the early part of March. I'm sitting in the Atlanta, GA Airport with my hott wife. We've missed our connecting flight because our airline messed up, so we're both tired after 13 hours in the airport, and a wonderful week long cruise together. I noticed that I had a missed call from my deep voiced best friend, someone I've known and cherished for 10 years. He asked if I'd be willing to give my e-mail address to this living cancer to my life. I laughed and asked why. I mean, it's not like she couldn't send me a facebook message. I knew other people that were her friend thereon, and so I figured she probably just wanted to send me a virus for good measure. That something must have gotten a bee in her bonnet about me again, and she just couldn't stop going for the throat. He asked her for me, and found out she just wanted to send me an apology e-mail.

At this point, I was surprised, amused, and a little humbled. Still skeptical, but if this was going to be genuine, I'd be ok with it. I didn't want some sissy, "I've felt really bad, and just to get this off my chest, I'm sorry for whatever, now don't talk to me again;" apology. If this was going to be worth my time to respond to, I wanted groveling. I wanted admitting full responsibility. I wanted a knowledge that this person was giving me power to hold my grudge and with hold forgiveness as long as I wanted.

Please note, that this is not the way I normally am. I try really hard to forgive quickly, and sometimes I forget before I have to forgive so I don't even feel offended by the time an apology comes. This was different for me.

The response, however, still blew me away. When someone has the personal strength to say something like, "I am sorry that your good opinion of me had to disappear and be replaced by an opinion that was founded in my poor behavior," shows a level of understanding of what it would take to win me over that astounded me. I shouldn't have been, knowing what our friendship was like before. Nonetheless, this girl bowed down at my feet and begged, so to speak. I instantly found myself on the wrong side of the coin. I too felt a need to not only accept this emphatic apology, but to redouble my efforts to her to win her favor.

I am not one to be easily swayed. I have to truly believe someone in order to give them six years of credit in one swoop. She earned it.

She took further steps, too. I pointed out to her that she could have just added me on Facebook. In her response to me, she explained that she'd stopped using it, and then went so far as to restore her Facebook on my account. I threw the bait to see if she was serious about being friends again by suggesting she do dinner with the Mrs. and I. She took me up on it, and did so excitedly. She absolutely put her money where her mouth was.

I think there's one last thing to point out. This was two sided. Firstly, it required a lot for her to go from "I hate even your name" to "I am writing to say sorry." It took courage, and humility, and an understanding that there was a chance, if not probability that I wouldn't respond, or would do so rudely. I however, had to choose to forgive her. Hers required greater courage by far. All mine required was humility.

How lucky, though, am I to have been restored to someone with whom I felt I was destined to be friends with.

That's all for today; but I actually have more to come. :)

P.S. The Savior taught, "My disciples, in days of old, sought occasion against one another and forgave not one another in their hearts; and for this evil they were afflicted and sorely chastened. Wherefore, I say unto you, that ye ought to forgive one another; for he that forgiveth not his brother his trespasses standeth condemned before the Lord; for there remaineth in him the greater sin. I, the Lord, will forgive whom I will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men. And ye ought to say in your hearts—let God judge between me and thee, and reward thee according to thy deeds." A revelation given to the prophet Joseph Smith recorded in the book of Doctrine and Covenants section 64 verses 8-11

Oh yeah, I forgot!

I've been told that one of the joys of being old is that you get to do a lot of the same things over and over again and have them feel like new experiences because you don't remember them. I'm not an old person. I may have bad knees. I may like butter pecan ice cream. I may have been caught watching episodes of "Hogan's Heroes" with my future Father-in-Law. All that aside, I'm not an old person. Lately, I've been having one of those aforementioned joys, however.

When I was a junior in High School, I was playing pool at a party against a guy who I think is really kinda weird. Great guy, just odd. As we were playing, a pretty girl was watching us. This guy said that the winner got to take this girl to the next school dance. Apparently, unlike Aladdin's Jasmine, she was a prize to be won. I didn't know her name, so I asked it of her. Later I called her by a name that I THOUGHT was her name, but it wasn't; it was simply a close variation of it. She corrected me, and I said, "Yeah, whatever, same thing." She was not amused.

As time passed, we actually became good friends, this girl and I. I started to call her Molly as an inside joke between us. She previously had a friend call her "Molly Mormon" because she was a good girl. This upset her until I reminded her that it's better to be "Molly Mormon" than "Slutty Suzy." So Molly stuck as the permanent nickname. I honestly forgot this girl had another name, other than "Molly." Over the course of a couple years, I set her up with her first decent boyfriend (Decent is an understatement. This guy is a champ.) She came to my missionary setting apart. I took her to her senior prom (after her decent boyfriend was being a jerk. He readily admits this now) the week before my mission. When I came back from the MTC, she was one of the first people to come over and visit me to cheer me up. We had our ups and downs, but, ultimately, we pulled through like best friends tend to do. She was there for me many many many times, and, in all honesty, never let me down in any wrongful way.

However, I am not blogging about her because Molly was one of my best High School, Pre-mission friends.

This blog is about today. It's about what happened when I left. In the two years between Saturday, April 25, 2009 (The Senior Prom we went to together) and Friday, April 15, 2011 (The day I came home from my mission) our interaction is as follows: She and I each sent one letter to the other. My sister took her wedding photos and I saw them on her blog.

That's it.

If it wasn't clear enough previously, this girl was my BEST FRIEND. Like family. Like a younger sister, who occasionally I had a crush on. We talked about everything. When I did the dumbest thing I've ever done, she was the first to know. When I was dating a girl right before my mission, one of the things that girlfriend and I HAD to do was to bring a Birthday present to Molly. Those may not seem like the biggest things, but truly, she was an absolute jewel in my treasure box of comrades.

The crazy thing is, not talking to her didn't really hurt. Not me. Not her. In that time, she got married, and was about ready to burst with child. I had served a mission, and probably didn't think about her more than to say, "Yeah, she never even sent me a wedding invitation. Some friend." We lead lives, we were productive and happy. We still are. If we don't talk again, I'm sure we still will be.

Lately, we have though. We facebook stalk one another a little. We talk about things, and we ran into each other in the library a few weeks ago. It's much more natural than I'd have thought, given the life changes. The great thing is, it's always been this way. I just forgot. I forgot my friend. I forgot how bright she is. I forgot how we'd laugh super hard. I forgot how she had a couple essential elements that I knew I'd have to find in my future wife (and, oh baby, have I ever. Natalie. I love you!) because they are genuine good things.

I forgot, and now, at least a little, I get to remember. :)

Thanks Molly.