My Worst Companion

On my mission I had a number of challenging companions.  "Challenging" is a code word meaning it's lucky I didn't strangle them.  The companion who believed what was his was his, and what was mine was his.  The companion who refused to wake up in the morning.  The companion who talked more than he breathed.  But none of those were as challenging as Elder Moraes.

Don't get me wrong - missionaries are called of God and their work is sacred, but two 19 year old boys are bound to irritate each other as they learn to serve.  I sometimes felt like I had more than my fair share of "tough to love" companions.  I took it as a compliment that the mission president thought I could handle them.  Except Elder Moraes.  He was the companion I couldn't handle.

Elder Moraes was my second companion in the mission field.  I was in Irani and the small town didn't have a lot of members.  When Elder Moraes met me in Irani and his first sentence was, "Elder Crawford, how many baptisms do we have this week?"

"Uh, None Elder"

"Huh.  Well.  How many baptisms are scheduled for later then?"

"Uh, None Elder"

"Well!  Then how many investigators do we have preparing to set a baptismal date?"

"None Elder Moraes."

"And how many investigators do we have at all?   Any contacts?"

"Not a one.  Good to meet you Elder Moraes I'm Elder Crawford.  How was the trip?"

"Yes.  It's a good thing I'm here.  It's time you learned what it means to be a missionary."

And it went downhill from there.  As I shared the things my companion and I had been doing to find investigators he shared exactly why those methods were not working and offered his opinion on why we thought we should use them.  I was a little taken aback, but interested to see a missionary who knew so much about how to work.

We got to work.  Just between you and me it looked a lot like what I was already doing.  We walked through the town meeting people and inviting them to learn more.  When they accepted our invitation we made appointments and taught them at their home.  There was just one big difference:  No matter how hard I tried I was completely unable to do any of it right.  Elder Moraes insisted I share in the work because it would help me to practice.  The more I practiced the more I did it wrong.  Any spare time walking to appointments was filled with him telling me all the things I had done wrong and how I should have known it was a stupid thing to do.

As the third week approached I was getting tired of it.  It didn't take a miracle for me to realize I was not a bad missionary, Elder Moraes was just being critical.  I had decided to take it all in stride, but constant criticism wears down your soul.  I found myself dreading the walk home at the end of the day.  I tried to explain to my companion how tired I was being ridiculed, but as you can imagine this only gave him more things to pick on.  I tried criticizing him back to show him how it felt, but it only ended in a war of degrading remarks.  Finally with constant prayer I decided to ignore him and serve the Lord without considering his words.

But that is much easier said than done.  

On our way to a zone conference we boarded a bus which was full beyond capacity.  I found myself squished against the back exit door on the very bottom step.  As the bus neared a stop there was a mass of people trying to exit.  The only reasonable solution was to step off and let them exit before getting back on.  What I didn't realize was that since this was the rear exit door on the bus it closed very quickly to avoid people sneaking on the bus without paying.  When the door closed it nearly chopped my foot.  Elder Moraes screamed at me through the door that I needed to get on right then.

Needless to say I ran to the next bus stop and found an irate companion waiting for me.  It was a twenty minute walk to the zone conference from there.  For ten solid minutes my companion told me how incredibly stupid I was and how I couldn't possibly serve the Lord when my brain was absent.  After 10 minutes of this I finally turned to him and said a portuguese phrase that translates to "You are a jerk blockhead." 

The next five minutes were spent telling me that I would never have the spirit when I used insulting words like that.  The five minutes after that were spent informing me that my portuguese wasn't quite right, and I would never baptize people on my mission if I didn't learn the language.  By the time we reached the conference I was not in a happy mood.  The Zone Leader knew me from before and asked why I had a dramatic mood change.  I informed him of what it was like to be Elder Moraes' companion.  He sympathized, and promised me that transfers the next week would result in a new companion.

Transfers came.  Transfers went.  Elder Moraes never changed.  I tried everything.  I shined his shoes and made him food.  I tried changing the subject.  I prayed.  I tried explaining how I felt.  I tried asking him to say positive things as well as negative.  I tried pointing out his faults.  I tried asking him if we could not talk to each other anymore.  I tried telling him I only wanted to discuss doctrine or scriptures.  I tried to justify that I was not as flawed as he seemed to think.  I tried being perfect and doing exactly what he wanted.  I tried doing nothing.  I made a point to thank him for his criticism, but ask him not to point out of my flaws with every breath.  I tried telling him I was praying and unable to talk to him.  I tried the silent treatment.  I tried methods for days and sometimes weeks.  For a second time transfers came.  Transfers went.  Elder Moraes never changed.

I consider myself thick skinned and non-violent, but I was starting to hit my boiling point.  Elder Moraes had served in the Brazilian army, and he could have taken me, but I think I would gotten in at least two solid punches.  I fasted and prayed and kept my cool, but I dreaded every moment of the day.  The worst was after appointments when he would detail everything I said when it was my turn to teach.  One day after a particularly fierce storm of criticism about the way I walked and the way I sat during discussions we approached a house for an appointment.  Although we had scheduled the appointment only the day before I found myself praying that they would not be home.  My prayers were answered.  I felt ashamed.  It was the only time I ever prayed for someone else to lose gospel light for my convenenience.  I promised myself I would work to serve the Lord the best I knew how and I it did not matter if Elder Moraes was my companion for the last 20 months of my mission.

One night I realized there was one tactic I had never tried.  It was the night we were scheduled to teach Ari and Sandra.  They said they had enjoyed the lessons we had been teaching them, but they weren't sure if this was the church they should join.  Elder Moraes began to tell them they needed to have more faith.  I felt the spirit and I decided to say what was in my heart.  I told them that their feelings were not unusual, and that I was glad they were taking what we had to say so seriously.  I promised them that they could know that this was the path God wanted them to take, but it would require work: study, prayer, and honest seeking.  I testified that as they humbly sought the Lord he would guide them.  They thanked me, promised they would continue to seek the Lord, but they asked us not to return until they had made their decision.  The look on Elder Moraes' face told me I was in for it.

On the walk home Elder Moraes began to tell me that they would never be baptized now thanks to what I had said.  He said my little speech made them expect an angel or a personal visitation from the Lord to be baptized.  He told me the negative consequences that would come in their life would be on my head from now on.  Of course I wasn't listening.  I was thinking about the one tactic I had never actually tried.  I broke down and cried.  I thought of the saddest things I could think of.  I remembered the day my cat died, my Aunt dying, and I thought of the past 2.5 months.  For five minutes I forced myself to cry and in sobs I told Elder Moraes how I was trying my best and I knew I would never be the kind of missionary the Lord wanted me to be.  It was the only night we walked home in silence.

This is the part of the story where I cleverly write some plot twist with a surprise.  I'm afraid this paragraph will be a disspointment.  I never did my crying trick again - for one thing I felt angry but not despondant.  For another I refused to allow myself to be beaten down.  It was the last form of rebellion I had.  Elder Moraes never apologized, never thought twice, and after three months I was transferred away.  His last words were "Elder, go and try to do something better with your mission than what you did here."

As I left I felt no sadness for leaving him.  I knew I wouldn't miss him, and I remember pondering on the 7 hour bus ride as to what I should have done.  To this day I have never figured out what the right thing would have been to fix that companionship.  I felt victorious for having survived three months with him.  I finnaly decided maybe - just maybe - not every story has a nice little perfect solution.  Not every time has a cool "This was the magic solution to the problem".

Nearly a year later you can imagine my surprise when this story continued.  I was transferred into a new district on the eastern edge of Santa Catarina.  Elder Coulson was also being transferred into another city in the district.  I didn't find out his companion was Elder Moraes until later.  Within two weeks I was contacted by the District Leader: "Elder Crawford, I heard you were companions with Elder Moraes, is that true?"

"Yes, for three months."

"Really?  Wow.  Ok.  Can you go on splits with him?"
"Sure."

I felt no trepidation.  I had thought about him for a nearly a year.  There was nothing he could say to me that would tear me down, nothing that would hurt, nothing that would surprise me.

What he said to me surprised me.

"Elder Crawford!  It is so good to see you!  It's such a relief to have a really good companion again."

I felt dizzy.  Who was this guy?

"My current companion is so lame, he doesn't know the first thing about how to be a missionary.  I mean seriously!  How do they let guys like that go on a mission?  Didn't his bishop know that he doesn't have any skills with people and he knows nothing about teaching the gospel.  It's been less than a month, but I can tell he won't make it."

Ah yes.  That's more like what I remember.

"Why couldn't they be more like you?  You were by far my best companion.  That's why we were together for three whole months.  I wish it would have been longer, but it rare for me to have a companion for more than a month.  You knew what missionary work was supposed to be about.  I keep trying to help this new Elder but I don't think he'll ever be at your quality.  I only have two months left on my mission.  I'd really like to finish them with some good work, but I can only do so much when my companion is a incapable of working.  It is so nice to be with you again, isn't it?"

So many thoughts.  So many things I could have said.  He was my worst companion, but I was his best?  How awful were his other companions?  This was my chance to tear him down - to zing him the way he hammered me for so many months.  This was my chance to make him change and stop being critical.  But as I opened my mouth I could not tear him down.  All I could say was, "Elder Moraes.  It's good to see you."

Paul said this to Titus: "To speak evil of no man, to be no brawlers, but gentle, shewing all meekness unto all men." (Titus 3:2)  I couldn't be like him.  I couldn't decide to fight mean bullying by being a mean bully.  The spirit told me this was not a battle that God would support me in.

The rest of the bus trip he talked about families he had taught, his plan after his mission, how wonderful I wan, and how awful his current companion was.  I met a missionary I had never known before.  It did not take long to realize that the problems with his current companion were not serious flaws, but more criticism.  I asked him not to discuss his companion, and we talked about ideas for teaching investigators instead.

After transfers were over the district president pulled me aside.
"How are you handling him?  What is the secret?"
"Elder, the secret is to not lose your mission worrying about him.  I never found any way to help him be less critical.  I do not know why he is like that.  But I am glad he did not make me lose my focus, and I will not let him cause friction in our district.  What I do want is to talk to his companion.  Can you arrange us some time alone?"

It was done, and I met a defeated and ruined missionary.  Elder Moraes was his trainer, and he admitted to me that he was on the edge of going home.  He said Elder Moraes talked nonstop about how wonderful I was, and how terrible he was.  He was not particularly interested in meeting me since I was a perfect missionary and I would obviously make him look terrible.  I believe I actually laughed.

As I told him the stories I wrote above he interrupted with things like "Yes!  That is exactly how it is!"  "He said that to me!  He's said that before!"  and "You mean he was exactly like that with you?"  When I told him my most shameful moment of praying that an investigator would be absent he admitted he had been praying for a debilitating illness.  He asked me how I had made it for three months.  I encouraged him to not worry about trying to change him.  I encouraged him to just let his words bounce off him.  I promised him it would not be that way with other companions.

I have always wished I could know what the right thing would have been to do with Elder Moraes.  Looking back I now am glad I went through the experience.  I have met people in my life who needed some major personality overhauls.  Elder Moraes taught me that pointing out someone's flaws is not always the best direction.  It can tear them down more than build them up.  I believe this is one reason the Savior said, "And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother’s eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?" (Matthew 7:3)  It also may be beyond my power to change them.  I have the power to change myself, and to find ways to improve my own life.  One way I have tried to improve my life is by learning not to let criticism tear me down.

Golden Arches of Salvation

One summer I did an internship in the heart of downtown Houston.  Our home was in College Station, only two hours away.  We decided to try what many families do - I would work in Houston during the week and come home on the weekends for the three summer months.  It was a hard decision, and there were lots of reasons, and lots of prayers to make sure we were doing the right thing.  Still it was a scary time since separating the family like this was very unusual for us.  Thomas was still very young, and Allie was only a baby.  We knew it was a great opportunity, and we were grateful for our blessings, but having Dad gone five days a week was a difficult decision.

That first week Teasha came and made sure I was all set in this massively tall apartment building.  The tiny one room apartment would never have accommodated the whole family, but since it was just me there was plenty of space.  Sadly the time came when she needed to take the kids back to make it home for bedtime.  It was a very heart wrenching separation - the first time in our marriage we would be apart for more than a day.  It was with a very heavy heart that Teasha loaded the kids in our car and headed home.

On the drive she began wondering if she had just done the right thing.  It was true we had prayed, but what if things went badly?  What if I needed support and my wife was not there?  What if she needed help and I was in a distant city?  If it was the right thing to do why didn't the Lord help her to see that it would all work out?  She prayed to ask the Lord for comfort, but found her fears continued to mount.

In desperation she looked up to heaven and prayed, "Father, I'm worried, can you send me hope?"

As they pulled out of downtown onto I-10 she began to look for the signs where the lane she was in would end and she would pull out only to have the lane reform so she could pull onto I-45.  From there it would merge into the "spaghetti bowl" where multiple highways merged and split, catching the 610 into 45 which becomes 10 with a shortcut on 6 to snag the 290, and that's only the first 10 minutes out of downtown Houston.  We had Google mapped it all out before hand, but it was a complicated blur of furious vehicles each streaming to their own routes and merging from one end of a long line of lanes from the left into the far right turning lane within a fouth of a mile.

She found herself praying as she went: "Father, I keep looking for hope, but from this end things seem pretty scary.  I just don't see how this will work.  In fact I can't really see any of thy plan at all.  Art thou even listening to me?  Art thou paying attention to our little family?  Why is it taking so long to get answers?  What is going on up there!?"

While this was going on Thomas was calling from the backseat, "Mom!  I'm hungry, are we close to home yet?  Can we eat something?"  Teasha's response was "Yes, Thomas, we will eat.  There's a McDonalds up ahead.  We'll pull in, but we have to get out of downtown first."   That sort of response will keep a four year old happy for a short while, but words like "downtown" don't mean much at that age.

As Teasha zipped into a small gap of cars to make the next exit Thomas' patience ran out.  He called out, "Mom!  I keep looking for McDonalds, but I don't see any.  In fact I can't really see what's going on.  Are you even listening to me Mom?  Are you paying any attention to me?  Why is it taking so long?  What is going on up there!?"

As Teasha heard Thomas echo her own prayer, as she was looking at the elaborate scheme of roads, and figure 8's that she come up on, the spirit came and she knew exactly how to answer her son.  She was giving him an inspired message sent from God to her. 

She said, "Thomas, I am in the drivers seat, you can't see all of the twists and turns it takes to make it home, but I can, and I will lead you there.  You can't see anything from that back seat, but if you could see things from where I am sitting, you wouldn't worry so much, I am going to take care of you and lead you where you need to be, just have faith as you sit back there, and you will understand everything that I am doing one day, it will all be okay, I am here to help you as your parent, so trust me, and we will get where we are going."

Many times I have felt to echo the words of David, "Awake, why sleepest thou, O Lord? arise, cast us not off for ever.  Wherefore hidest thou thy face, and forgettest our affliction and our oppression?" (Psalms 44:23-24).  I feel alone and forgotten.  Spiritually starving I wonder whether God has a plan, or if my life is destined to slide into waste.  When I pray the Lord seems to only say, "Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the Lord." (Psalms 27:14).  Wait?  Seriously?  How long?

Because Thomas was only four years old he asked his mom several times, "Mom, are we getting there?"  And because Teasha loves him she answered every time, "Yes, my son, be patient.  I see it up ahead."  "But Mom!  I don't see it!"  "That's ok, Thomas, I can."

Because I am sometimes a spiritual child I ask Heavenly Father, "Am I getting there?  I don't see it".  Even David sometimes needed a few reassurances.  In 1 Samuel 23:1-4 David needs to battle against the Philistines.  He's worried so he asks the Lord if he should go.  The Lord tells him to go.  David is getting ready, but he's still a little worried.  He asks the Lord again.  With infinite patience and love the Lord tells him again "go down to Keilah; for I will deliver the Philistines into thine hand."  I have found God is willing to comfort me and reassure me as long as I am willing to put my trust in him when I cannot see the whole picture.

That summer was difficult, I was only home on the weekends.  But it passed, and I gained valuable work experience that I used in my schooling, and it helped me plan my career path.  Teasha had wonderful friends that helped her.   Afterwards we both realized how much we needed each other.  Our marriage and family situation is better because we turned to the Lord and waited patiently on him.

Those who trust in the Lord will find out - as Thomas did - that the van always finds it's way along the narrow road to the "golden arches of salvation".  A four year's old joy had no bound as he ordered chicken nuggets and fries.  We are promised eternal joy if we can learn to endure to the end waiting patiently through trials as the Lord directs our lives.

Oh my goth

When I was a senior in high school my sister was a freshman.  One day she decided to try a different type of look.  It started with black pants, then black shirts, dark makeup, black fingernail polish... The look is commonly known as "Goth".

At the time because I was her loving brother all I wanted was to see my sister get in trouble.  I remember commenting to my mother that Lori was going "Goth" as if that announcement would earn her an immediate grounding.  My mother turned to me and asked, "What commandment is Lori breaking?"

It was a stunning question because I had no answer.  It seemed wrong - good LDS girls shouldn't be dressing in a gothic style, it just wasn't done.  And yet my immature teenager brain couldn't find any justification for why I felt that way.

Years later when I was teaching seminary I would tell my students how my sister came home wearing black and ask them to pretend they were my parents.  I would ask them if they would have an issue with that.  Their responses would range from "Absolutely!  No child of mine will ever dress like that" to "I wouldn't care - I'd help them pick out the clothes" but in general most of the students felt that having a daughter dress in a Gothic style would concern them.  Then I would ask "What commandment is she breaking?"

As I pondered my mother's question I found what was making me uncomfortable.  The peers that I had known which wore Goth fit a general profile: most of them had a dislike for social norms which led them to disregard authority.  They often became rule breakers and sometimes had problems with the law.  I was certain my sister was on a path that would lead to drugs, immorality, and plenty of "I told you so".

I finally shared my concern with my mom, warning her of my sister's certain future.  Her response taught me a lot about parenting: "Scott, we know.  We're not stupid and we're not as out of it as you think.  But it's dangerous to tell someone they need to stop what they are doing just because it's not the way you think it should be done.  You need to focus more on the principles than the actions.  Let me ask you, do you know why Lori is wearing Goth?"

I had to admit I did not.  Surely because her friends were doing it - but the next question is why are her friends doing it?  I had no answer.  And so I stayed quiet, but I noticed the next few family nights had themes -

There was a lesson on how the way we dress shows reverence to Heavenly Father.  In Old Testament times people wore certain things to show they were mourning (Genesis 37:34 says they wore sackloth, Exodus 33:4 says they specially took off their jewlery).  Sometimes Heavenly Father even ordered special clothing to be symbolic (like Leviticus 10:6 where the Lord tells Aaron not to wear clothes to mourn his son's death because his sons had sinned) I would normally have thought it was a lesson or modesty, but now I started to see a pattern

There was a lesson on not being swayed by your friends to do things that are wrong.  In 2 Chronicles 10:10 Rehoboam was convinced by his "friends" to be mean to the people, and he lost a lot of his kingship.  "The Lord hath chosen thee to be a peculiar people unto himself", (Deuteronomy 14:2) We are meant to be "peculiar" because we don't do things that our friends think we ought to do.  It was a classic lesson on Peer Pressure, but I could see what my parents were trying to do.

There was a lesson on appropriate things for appropriate times.  Ecclesiastes 3:1 says "to every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose".  There is a time for dressing up in Halloween costumes, and a time to wear Sunday clothes.  There are times when....

"Stop it!  I know what you're doing!"

Finally my sister had been patient long enough.  "I can tell you're trying to say I shouldn't wear black.  You don't like my goth style."

My parents were still very wise.  There are times when you can answer questions best with more questions,
"Why do you say that?"   
"Oh, come on, Mom.  It's only obvious.  You're saying I'm not sending people the message I want them to get.  Well how do you know what message I want?  Maybe it's exactly the message I want to send?"

"And what's that?"
"OH!  You guys can be so frustrating!  You want me wear a Sunday dress all the time and quote some scripture with every other sentence?  What if I'm not like that?  What if I'm more of a dark and spooky type?"
"So?"
"So!?  I can tell you disapprove!  Just come right out and say it!"
"Lori, do you have a testimony of Jesus Christ?  Do you believe what you are taught at church?  Do you believe God answers your prayers?"
"Uhh.... well I guess, maybe, I mean I try...  I don't know, maybe not."

My parent smiled, and my dad said, "Great.  For a 14 year old that sounds like a reasonable answer.  You are starting to get your own testimony.  Now I don't care if you wear black shirts or flowery skirts, but I do care about whether you are keeping the commandments while you are searching for your own testimony of God.  In this family we will have regular family nights and morning scripture devotional.  I know if you keep the commandments as taught at church you will be happier.  I want you to be happy, so there are certain commandments you will keep while you live under our roof.  Will your Gothic style make it so that you cannot abide by the rules of our home?"
"No"
"You have said this style is not what people think of for someone who goes to church.  Does this Gothic style make it hard for you to live any of the commandments outside of our home?"
"No"
"Are some of your friends encouraging you to break the commandments?"
"I don't think so"
"Fine, then I don't care what you wear.  Let's go back to talking about when certain things are appropriate..."

I remember at the time being a little impressed with Lori.  She had to know my parents were applying pressure, but she didn't just give them the answers they wanted to hear, and she was willing to say what she felt.  I was also impressed with my parents.  They were smarter than to make this an issue about clothing - it was an issue about testimony.  I would have attacked the symptom - a young woman wears black clothes.  They addressed the real issue - a young woman who was trying to discover herself.

Does it matter what clothes you wear?  Sure, but you should be concerned with what you wear, not what other people wear.  That story was important to me when I went on my mission.  I met people who were disheveled bums, punks who looked like rock stars, and men in white shirts and ties.  I tried to remember to not look "on the outward appearance, but... on the heart" (1 Samuel 16:7).  Many times I was surprised to find they were different on the inside than I might have guessed.  

If you're wondering: Lori went Gothic for a few months more, and then it gradually changed.  Eventually she moved on to other things and different styles.  She never did become a drug runner, join some bizarre cult, or end up in a maximum security prison.  In fact her testimony has helped me during times when my life faced struggles.

Fifty bucks an hour

Sometimes I make fun of primary because the stories all so simple they give a black and white picture of the world.  I've heard things like:

"Sammy found a cigarette.  Do you think it would be good to smoke it?"

"Alex stole a dollar from a friends desk.  Was that an ok thing to do?"

"Terry broke a lamp. Terry's mother asked who did it.  What is the right response?"

Oh please, like there isn't a three year old on Earth that wouldn't know what answer they're supposed to give.  Then as we grow older we find the story is so much more complicated.  Maybe Sammy has cried himself to sleep each day for lack of friends.  Maybe Alex's friend stole the dollar first.  Maybe Terry lives in an abusive home.  Suddenly what used to be a simple answer is harder.

Then sometimes I find myself in a situation that sounds like it came straight out of a primary book, and I think "This really happens in real life?"  Like the time I was approached by a lady I will call Mary.

Mary was a student at SUU while I worked there in the math tutoring lab.  She was non-traditional since she was about 40 years old.  She had just recently left her abusive husband and was struggling to go to school so that she could find a better job to support her two young children.  I often saw her in the math lab and found her to be hard working, dedicated and resourceful.

One day as I came in to work I found her waiting in the lobby outside the tutoring center.  She approached me and said, "Scott, I've fallen behind in math class.  There are several assignments due this week, and I just don't the time to do them.  I'll pay you 50 bucks to finish the assignments for me.  I know this probably isn't the kind of thing you feel is right, I'm LDS too, but this class is a prerequisite to many other classes, and I won't pass without these assignments being done.  I'm guessing it'll take you about an hour to finish it.  I've got to pass, and I'm desperate and out of options.  I don't want someone to help me do it, I just want it done. Please tell me you'll do it for me."

As I try to remember my exact thought, I realize I had several all at the same time. 
"Wow - this is so classic temptation!  Even she admits this is not right."
"I so do not want to tell her I won't help her.  Why should I have to be the bad guy here?"
"Would it really be so wrong to help a lady who is struggling so hard to survive?"
"If I say no that will probably end my relationship with this student"
"She's right.  An hour tops.  Fifty bucks an hour... that's awesome!"
"I could always claim innocence.  Or maybe I'll just admit I'm not perfect"
"If I accept something that is so clearly wrong there may never be a wall of what I wouldn't do given the right circumstances"

My heart was breaking for this poor woman, but years of cheesy primary questions have been burned into my psyche.  My very first response was "Mary, there's no way I can do your homework.  That's cheating, and we both know it's wrong.  If you want to schedule extra tutoring time I'll clear my schedule tonight, for you I'll even stay here for free, no charge until it's done, but I will not do your homework for you."

My response was automatic, just saying what I probably would have said if a primary teacher had asked me.  After it was out I was a little surprised by how bold and direct it was.  In hindsight I wonder if the boldness was partly to convince myself.  She sighed, nodded, looked down, and in a low voice said, "One hundred bucks"

"No Mary, I can't."  She looked up.  "Five hundred bucks.  That's all I can offer."

Now it felt different.  She had made up her mind, and had justified it to whatever level she needed to pull out all the stops.  Maybe those primary questions are so blatent because when they hit they represent crossroads that will change our lives.  I said, "Mary, it doesn't matter how much money you offer.  I will not do your homework for me."  In my mind I'm remembering the 9th commandment from primary: Thou shalt not bear false witness (Exodus 20:16)

In anger she mumbled something about why couldn't I help when she needed it most.  I was hurt, and I started to wonder if I had made the right choice.  Then as I walked into the lab and faced the other math tutors and looked my boss in the eye I knew I done the right thing, and I would never regret it.

That evening the tutors had our weekly meeting, and I mentioned that a student had offered to pay me to complete their homework.  To our surprise we discovered that after me she had gone to each tutor and asked them privately to do her homework.  How proud I was of our group when we learned that no one had accepted her offer.  The last tutor was offered $1000 to finish the homework.  Each one of us said that we would not accept such an offer, and although not all the tutors were LDS, our testimonies of integrity were bolstered.

We checked, and her homework was never completed; she repeated the class the next semester.  I noticed she continued her schooling and graduated.  Sadly our friendship was never as strong.  Since then I have been in academia for years, and taught my own classes.  I know now how damaging it is to a student to let them believe there are short cuts to learning.  I believe we did what was best for her in the long run. 

I know for certain I did what was right.  Isaiah said "For precept must be upon precept, precept upon precept; line upon line, line upon line; here a little, and there a little:" (Isaiah 28:10).  Imagine if I had made the wrong choice - from there on my spiritual growth would have been at a lower level.  I cannot attain a higher level until I am in control of simpler temptations.

I give thanks to all my primary teachers who spent years asking silly questions that had obvious answers.  Would I have made the right choice without primary?  I like to think so, but it certainly helped.  When I had many different thoughts going through my head the morality meter installed as a young child won out. To all those who currently serve in the primary, keep going!  The things that you teach may have such a small effect today that you won't notice, but years later adults like me will write about making the right decision.

Vulcan Swearing Pinch

In elementary school I had a good friend named Shane.  We did lots of things together, but there was one problem - Shane knew how to swear and he did it a lot!  I would tell him to stop and five minutes later he'd let fly with another curse just to see me react.  I told him never to use that word again and two sentences later he'd say it twice just to emphasize it!

I told him it was a commandment: "Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain" (Exodus 20:7) but he didn't care.  I assumed he was doing it to make me mad.  So in retribution I pinched that nerve right at the base of the neck just like the Vulcans do.  It only took a little while before I was really good at it and I could send Shane into convulsions of pain.  Even still he swore!  I figured he was trying to build up an immunity to my neck pinch, so I dug in harder, especially with some of the more serious swear words.

Before long we had our own Vulcan swearing game.  Shane would swear, I'd do the neck pinch, occasionally a tussle would follow until one of us was defeated.  It annoyed me that Shane would use cursing as a game, but with my self-righteous attitude I figured I was being the hero. Eventually the game grew old, we grew up, and after elementary school we lost track of each other.  It wouldn't have even made much of a memory for me except for the rest of the story.

Fourteen years later I had returned from my mission and was reacquainting myself with old friends.  I met Shane in passing, and we congratulated each other on successful missions.  It was good to see an old friend I remembered from elementary.  Turns out he had moved away for a while and had come back to our home town.

A little while later he met my mother in the grocery store and recognized her.  They had a talk, and he apparently asked her, "Did your son ever tell you what he did for me?"  She only barely remembered him, and asked what he meant.

"I came from a family that had plenty of struggles, and there was a lot of swearing in my home.  I picked up that bad language without even realizing it.  I had no idea my words were offensive until Scott started getting upset with me.  He would tell me to stop, and I would try, but my brain didn't even think about it, the words just popped out.  He used to pinch my neck to make me stop, and it hurt!  So eventually I got better at it, and I finally learned to recognize when I said those words, and after a long time and lots of work I managed to quit my swearing habit.  I worked hard to notice things that I did which weren't right, and I went to church more often, and I kept my life on track.  I guess you might say Scott is the reason I went on a mission.  I have always looked up to him."

When my mother told me this I was stunned.

I always assumed he was doing it on purpose, after all, how could he not know he was swearing?  Oh how I wish I had been kinder to a boy who was trying to overcome influences I knew nothing about!  I wish I had been encouraging rather than cruel.  There is a difference between attacking the sin, and attacking a sinner.  When the woman who had sinned came to the Lord he didn't do a neck pinch and tell her to quit, he said, "Thy sins are forgiven" (Luke 7:48).  How grateful I am that the Lord does not teach me lessons the way I have tried to teach others!

And yet I am stunned to realize a tiny thing to me had such an impact on my friend.  When I told him to quit swearing he may have acted like it was funny, he may have acted offended, but deep inside he was making decisions to change and improve his life.  I remember someone telling me to "keep talking, for who knows but what you might say something the angels will repeat".  I made a promise to never be ashamed to say what I think is right, and to be a better friend by kindly encouraging others to do what is right.  It may cause a fight, it may hurt, but if I am loving it will never ruin a friendship.  It may just bring my friend closer to the Lord Jesus Christ.

Boys don't use curlers

I'm sure this story has played out in nearly every family, but here's when it happened to me.  To begin you must understand that I was the third of four children, and as the middle child life was horribly unfair.  My older brother, Chad, got all the privileges, my older sister, Julie, got anything she wanted, and my younger sister, Lori, was spoiled.  At age 7 I had it the worst.

When my older brother was 12 my parents would sometimes leave him in charge of us when they left (for example on a temple trip).  As the boss he would tell us what needed to be done before we could watch TV, he would order us to bed, he would grill us on whether we brushed our teeth --- basically he became the high command dictator.  Sometimes he would tell us a game was too dangerous (like riding hampers down the stairs) and sometimes he'd order us around (like no going outside) ---- basically he used his power to treat us all like miserable slaves.  Anyone who dared to oppose his Royal Pain would be banished to time out.  Defiance against the time out guaranteed trouble with Mom and Dad when they came home.

I made sure Mom and Dad knew that Chad was an abusive overlord, and they decided sometimes my older sister Julie, who was 10, could be in charge.  I thought that sounded great, until Queen Obeyme took over.  She decided we could read books instead of watch TV.  She decided if we argued about the Nintendo no one would play it.  She decided dessert would be fruit!  Never had I seen a 10 year old girl become a school marm so quickly.  It was obvious: my older siblings were unfit to rule.

I explained that I needed to show them how it was done.   The next time my parents were headed to the temple (a trip to St. George which would take several hours), I rallied for the supreme calling.  I explained how I wanted a chance to show them how it was done.  I needed them to understand what it meant to be loving, compassionate, and stay a strong leader.  I told my mom that once she let me be in charge she would decide to put me in command every time, "I just know it!"

My mother very seriously sat me down and explained the house rules.  I was coached on the eating rules, safety rules, cleaning rules, bedtime rules, emergency rules, and even a little lesson on being kind to my siblings.  I soaked it all in - I already knew all that, but a good leader still acts like he's paying attention so his mom will feel good about it.  I vowed three times that I could easily handle it.

I remember my parents leaving, I remember them saying goodbye.  I remember the door closing, and listening as the garage door went up, the car went out, and the garage door closed.  I remember turning around feeling 15 feet tall.  I had all the control and power in the world.  I walked down the hall to where my three siblings were watching TV.  Now they would be in my power.  I could have them do anything!  I could make them entertain me, work for me... I could have them satisfy my every want.  And what I wanted was to make them pay for all their cruel ordering!  I pointed at my brother and said, "Chad!  I am in charge, and I order you to.... to go curl your hair!"

D&C 121:36-38 "the rights of the priesthood are inseparably connected with the powers of heaven... the powers of heaven cannot be controlled nor handled only upon the principles of righteousness.  That they may be conferred upon us, it is true; but when we undertake to cover our sins, or to gratify our pride, our vain ambition, or to exercise control or dominion or compulsion upon the souls of the children of men, in any degree of unrighteousness, behold, the heavens withdraw themselves; the Spirit of the Lord is grieved; and when it is withdrawn, Amen to the priesthood or the authority of that man.  Behold, ere he is aware, he is left unto himself,"  Of course at age 7 I had no idea what this scripture meant.

My brother looked at me with a "What planet are you from?" look and kept watching TV.  I told him it was an order, I was in charge, and he would be sent to time out if he didn't start paying attention to me.  Chad said, "Scott, I'm not going to curl my hair.  Boys don't use curlers."  Julie said, "This is why you don't let 7 year old boys be in charge."  They completely ignored me.

For several minutes I tried to assert my dominance.  In fact I decided to rescind my hair curling command.  I even decided to forgive him for his insubordination.  I told them it was time to turn off the TV and come eat dinner.  No one even spoke to me.  Finally Chad said, "Scott, I'm a guy, I have short hair, and curling my hair isn't something you can order someone to do.  If you want to be in charge you need to learn what's important, and what's not.  We're going to watch TV for fifteen more minutes, and then we'll come in and eat dinner."

For the rest of the evening I had no control, and everyone knew it.  I felt like King Saul when Samuel the prophet told him he was losing his kingdom: "Thou hast done foolishly: thou hast not kept the commandment of the Lord thy God, which he commanded thee: for now would the Lord have established thy kingdom upon Israel for ever.   But now thy kingdom shall not continue: the Lord hath sought him a man after his own heart, and the Lord hath commanded him to be captain over his people, because thou hast not kept that which the Lord commanded thee." (1 Samuel 13:13-14)  My kingdom was lost, and the only thing I had left was a memory of how foolish I had been.

It gave me a lot to think about.  I wielded power for a total of 1 second, but instantly lost it by trying to use my authority to gratify my pride.  And once it was lost I never regained control.  For the rest of the evening Julie told us what was for dinner, Chad told us when to go to bed, and I stayed quiet.  I had no ability to defend myself, and everyone knew it.  Mom and Dad didn't put me in charge again for many years.  It was a harsh lesson on the true meaning of power.

To this day when family reunions bring us all together my siblings will recount, "Hey Scott, remember when you ordered Chad to curl his hair?!" I learned that to be in charge is to be in the service of my fellow beings.  I hope to reach the celestial kingdom with my priesthood authority in tact, and to report to my eternal father how I handled the power I had on Earth.  I will say, "Yes, I experienced the rush of power.  Once I ordered my brother to curl his hair.  But since then I have tried to use authority, power, strength and priesthood to bless others and build up thy kingdom.  True power is my ability to control myself."

Hungry Hungry Elders

Let's say two missionaries run out of food for nearly a week.  They pray and ask Heavenly Father to help them.  What do you think will happen?
Every child who has ever sat through primary will say "God will help them!  God will help them find something to eat!"  Even the adults who have a more hardened view of life will bear testimony that surely God will step in and help the missionaries find food.

I'm here to say that when a young man runs out of food his faith is sorely tested.

In Maravilha there weren't a lot of members, and the ones who were there often felt like they had to carry more than their share of the work.  We had lunch every week with the same members - Monday was Dilmar, Tuseday was Amarildo, and so on.  Two days of the week we managed our own lunch which was fine.

One week my companion and I found our weekly schedule was empty.  One family had recently moved, another had been gone on a business trip.  It was near a holiday, so one family was on vacation for the entire week, while another was visiting their friends across town.  One sister had family visiting her and asked if she could skip a week.  We told everyone it was no problem, we prayed for their safety and wished them well.

The truth was more scary - it was the end of the month, and we were out of food.

A quick note for those who are not aware of missionary finances.  A missionary is responsible to pay for their own mission.  All missionaries pay the same amount, which in my day was about ten thousand dollars.  That money goes into a pool, and each missionary gets a monthly stipend according to their needs.  Our stipend was about 160 dollars each month (Brazil is not an expensive place to live).

See, we were getting the same monthly stipend as every other pair of missionaries, but the mission office didn't realize we were paying for our own lunch twice a week.  Add the family that moved and the guy on a business trip and we were paying for four extra meals each week.  Plus in my other areas there were occasional dinners with the members as well.  But missionaries don't complain, we just bought cheaper food and made it stretch further.  This month it didn't quite stretch.

I remember Wednesday night realizing we had 5 more days until our next monthly stipend (on the first Monday of the month).  Half a bag of rice, a bag of milk, a few pieces of bread, and some crackers.  Add a few extras like jam, butter, and salt.  We had to make a choice.  We could contact the mission office, but running out of food doesn't seem like a proper emergency.  We could contact our family in the US, but that would be worse than calling the mission office.  It just didn't feel right to let food become a distraction to the work of God.  Jesus said, "Therefore take no thought, saying, What shall we eat? or, What shall we drink? or, Wherewithal shall we be clothed?  (For after all these things do the Gentiles seek:) for your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things." (Matthew 6:31-32)

We prayed, and both of us acted like we knew the Lord would take care of us.  I would be lying if I said I felt completely confident.  Maybe it's a guy thing, but when I run out of food I have trouble thinking about anything else.

The next morning presented an interesting side dilemma.  We could make that rice stretch further if we didn't eat a lot, but Brazil is hot and tiring, without a full breakfast we wouldn't be able to serve with all our might.  We ate a normal breakfast and hit the streets, trusting that something miraculous would happen.

That Thursday happened to be a day that we had lunch with a member.  The member cooked a large meal, and asked us if we wanted to take some home with us.  That was unusual, and we were thrilled.  There's no way we would have asked ourselves.  It made Thursday dinner and Friday breakfast.

Friday at noon we passed a bar where we would frequently chat with the bartender.  I suspect he would have been open to the message if he didn't own the bar.  He offered us a pop as he often did, and we polished off the last our crackers and jam.  That night the sister who asked if we could skip lunch at her house (because she had relatives visiting) brought us some food.  We told her that wasn't necessary, but that we believed she would be blessed for her thoughtfulness. When we blessed the food we made sure Heavenly Father knew we wanted her to be blessed.

That lasted for dinner and breakfast the next morning.  Saturday at noon I remember being so tired.  We moved forward in faith, but our miracles ran out.  No one gave us a free meal, no mysterious stranger.  Ironically the next day was Fast Sunday, and my companion and I joked about a 48 hour fast making us super spiritual.  About 7 o'clock in the afternoon I wasn't feeling so spiritual.  Then we passed the house of a family that had been an investigator months before, but they had decided not to pursue the church.  We stopped and knocked, a little unsure of how rude it was when they asked us not to return.

They were thrilled to see us, and said things like "We were worried you wouldn't stop by anymore!  So glad to see you again!  We were just about to eat dinner, won't you join us?"  They asked how the work was progressing, and while we ate we told them about the changes in the ward.  We shared scriptures that we had studied recently, and encouraged them to read their scriptures.  Although they didn't agree to come to church, they did agree to pray and read the Bible, and to seek ways to improve their lives.  In the end we agreed to stop by periodically.

Does fasting count if you don't eat because you have no food?  I don't know the answer, but my companion and I prayed as if we had a choice, and worked all Sunday without food.  By Sunday night I was tired and hungry.  Of course missionaries don't complain about being hungry after Fast Sunday, it's like admitting your spirituality isn't as strong as it should be, but in my mind I was thinking God had run out of tricks.  We had been blessed for days, and now everyone who could possibly give us food had already done it.  It's not like we could go to the store on Sunday even if we had any money.  It was going to hurt to be a missionary tonight.

Then my companion said, "Let's go see if the Fatima family is back from their vacation!"  It seemed like a bizarre thing to say - they wouldn't be home for another four days, but we had just enough time before going home.  Lo and behold they had come home early, and they had spent their first few hours at home baking fresh bread.  "Elders!  Perfect timing!  Would you happen to be interested in taking a loaf of fresh homemade bread home?"

I remember my companion and I sitting at home talking about the direct and blatant way that God took care of us.  We felt the spirit confirm that we were on His errand, and that he would watch over us.  I quoted the Savior in Matthew before, now let me finish it, "But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.  Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof." (Matthew 6:33-34)

I will always kick myself that I didn't write my testimony in my journal that night.  I remember going to bed with the absolute knowledge that my companion and I were not alone on our mission.

The next morning our stipend came through, we went to the store, and we called the mission president.  After explaining our financial situation, the food budget was increased for missionaries in Maravilha.  It is a truth that you must take care of yourself enough that you can serve as the Lord wishes you to.  I wanted to show the Lord that I had learned my lesson - the missionary work is too important to lose a few days.  I learned that every day on my mission I could work hard trusting that the Lord would take care of the rest.