My father served as a bishop over a university ward for three years, and some of his stories have affected me. One young woman (he never says names) came into his office, and they began to discuss her plans and hopes for the future. She had not been attending church regularly, and she explained it was because her various boyfriends usually disapproved of her church attendance. She had been through several relationships because her boyfriends often turned out to have standards that are not in line with church teachings.
She told my father that she yearned for a good returned missionary who would keep the standards of the Lord. She wanted to get married in the temple, and she wanted to have a family that attended church and kept the commandments. Unfortunately those kinds of boys weren't interested in her. She didn't get asked out by the good church guys. Instead she was being courted by a different crowd, the kind that didn't want to be tied to a church. If only she could meet a good guy that would show interest in her she wouldn't find herself in these troubling relationships.
Then my dad felt inspired to ask a simple question, "Where do you go to meet guys?"
To various bars. She would hang out, but not drink, of course! She knew the Lord had asked her to not drink alcohol. She only went to bars because there was always something fun going on, and the parties were full of excitement. The guys were more relaxed and easier to talk with.
You can imagine what my father had to say. The truth is, good returned missionaries don't hang out in bars. They are easier to find at firesides, or ward choir. Maybe service projects, and study groups. She wasn't too interested in those kinds of activities. The Savior once said, "Cast the net on the right side of the ship, and ye shall find. They cast therefore, and now they were not able to draw it for the multitude of fishes" (John 21:6). I have learned if I fish in the right area I have a better chance of catching what I'm after.
The right area for a young woman to meet young men is places where the Lord has asked those young men to be. "Wherefore, stand ye in holy places, and be not moved, until the day of the Lord come" (D&C 87:8). There is power in being in the right place even when it isn't as much fun as somewhere else. I met my wife at a ward choir service project singing to the Old Folk's home. She is beautiful, musically talented, and she was trying to organize a service project just for fun. It was a very attractive combination. When I plan to be in places the Lord wants me to be I am often surprised by the blessings I receive.
5/17/11
Blowing up a Gas Stove
Most of us like to think we're too smart to fall for evil, but Satan has a few tricks that can fool us. Today many people lose it when they lose their cool, and Nephi saw this coming, "For behold, at that day shall he rage in the hearts of the children of men, and stir them up to anger against that which is good." (2 Nephi 28:20). One flash of anger can explode into a huge problem.
On my mission in Curitibanos one of the missionaries in our group, Elder Maciel had just started his breakfast when my rice finished cooking. As I had done a hundred times each morning I turned off the stove, put my rice in a bowl, and poured in milk and azucar mascavo (molasses and brown sugar). Elder Maciel got up, and turned the stove on high. Then he sat down. I couldn't believe he was so unsafe and irresponsible, but as a kind companion I didn't say anything. I just got up and turned the oven off.
Elder Maciel got up and turned the oven on high. Now this is a little annoying, but I am the kind loving companion, so I got back up (again) and turned it off. My companion hopped up and turned it on high. I got back up (again!)
"ELDER CRAWFORD! What are you doing?!"
"ELDER MACIEL! You didn't light the stove, you don't have a pot or anything! Unless you're going to use the pot I cooked my rice in, but then you would need to put water in it. That's how you cook."
"DUH! That's why I turned it off when you forgot after cooking your rice!"
"I didn't forget! I turned it off and you turned it on! I'm going to turn the stove off so you don't kill us!"
"No! I turned it off! You forgot to turn it off, and now you keep turning it on. We're going to blow up!"
"Oh no. I know how to work the stove. I make rice every morning. Right now it's on high, and you should be grateful that I'm going to keep us from getting killed!"
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm from Brazil, and you Americans think you know everything. I grew up with these kinds of stoves. I telling you it's off right now!"
"IT'S ON! And right now you're leaking gas fumes into the room! If you don't let me fix this there's going to be a problem!"
"THERE'S A PROBLEM ALL RIGHT! I can't let you do something dangerous. We're in an apartment after all, I have to think of the other innocent people you are endangering!"
"DANGER!? Not only is this an explosion threat, but the fumes aren't exactly good for you!! They're odorless! Which by the way in America we put perfume in the gas so we can smell it! Do you want to pass out before we explode?"
"OH RIGHT! I forgot how everything is always better in America! Well at least in Brazil we don't let our Americans blow themselves up over a stupid bowl of rice!"
"I cooked that rice with the stove on! That right there is on HIGH! You little thick headed.... HERE!"
When I teach a class and rehearse this story, I usually ask the students to guess what happens next. Oddly, the guys seem to know that I put a match to the stove, while the girls have this "please tell me you aren't serious" look. You see, the Savior said, "For verily, verily I say unto you, he that hath the spirit of contention is not of me, but is of the devil, who is the father of contention, and he stirreth up the hearts of men to contend with anger, one with another" (3 Nephi 11:29). So as shocking as the next paragraph may be, when you are not connected to the spirit of the Lord you lose your sense of good and bad.
The explosion threw me against the shelves behind me and knocked a pile of cans down on me. My companion was blown back against the kitchen table spilling my rice. The entire top of the stove came off and landed diagonally on the oven. The pot I had cooked in went flying. While flames spewed from the detached burner tube my companion dove for the propane tank and turned it off. My eyebrows were gone, and the wall had a pretty black cloud design.
"Elder Crawford. You ok?"
"Yeah, I think so. Quick thinking on the propane tank. That was a good move."
"Um, I think the stove was on. You were right."
"Maybe, but I'm no so smart that I avoided lighting it, am I?"
"Let's make a deal, I'll see if I can fix the stove while you scrub the wall."
Turns out Brazilian stoves are so clever that you can fix them when they blow up. Turns out black smoke just needs water and work to get cleaned. Also turns out that eyebrows take forever to grow back. But maybe that's ok, because it gave me longer to remember the lesson. Christ said, "Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you" (John 14:27). When arguing starts, the peace leaves, and that should be a big clue that we have lost the spirit. When that happens kill the contention, and focus on finding a peaceful solution before your anger explodes.
On my mission in Curitibanos one of the missionaries in our group, Elder Maciel had just started his breakfast when my rice finished cooking. As I had done a hundred times each morning I turned off the stove, put my rice in a bowl, and poured in milk and azucar mascavo (molasses and brown sugar). Elder Maciel got up, and turned the stove on high. Then he sat down. I couldn't believe he was so unsafe and irresponsible, but as a kind companion I didn't say anything. I just got up and turned the oven off.
Elder Maciel got up and turned the oven on high. Now this is a little annoying, but I am the kind loving companion, so I got back up (again) and turned it off. My companion hopped up and turned it on high. I got back up (again!)
"ELDER CRAWFORD! What are you doing?!"
"ELDER MACIEL! You didn't light the stove, you don't have a pot or anything! Unless you're going to use the pot I cooked my rice in, but then you would need to put water in it. That's how you cook."
"DUH! That's why I turned it off when you forgot after cooking your rice!"
"I didn't forget! I turned it off and you turned it on! I'm going to turn the stove off so you don't kill us!"
"No! I turned it off! You forgot to turn it off, and now you keep turning it on. We're going to blow up!"
"Oh no. I know how to work the stove. I make rice every morning. Right now it's on high, and you should be grateful that I'm going to keep us from getting killed!"
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm from Brazil, and you Americans think you know everything. I grew up with these kinds of stoves. I telling you it's off right now!"
"IT'S ON! And right now you're leaking gas fumes into the room! If you don't let me fix this there's going to be a problem!"
"THERE'S A PROBLEM ALL RIGHT! I can't let you do something dangerous. We're in an apartment after all, I have to think of the other innocent people you are endangering!"
"DANGER!? Not only is this an explosion threat, but the fumes aren't exactly good for you!! They're odorless! Which by the way in America we put perfume in the gas so we can smell it! Do you want to pass out before we explode?"
"OH RIGHT! I forgot how everything is always better in America! Well at least in Brazil we don't let our Americans blow themselves up over a stupid bowl of rice!"
"I cooked that rice with the stove on! That right there is on HIGH! You little thick headed.... HERE!"
When I teach a class and rehearse this story, I usually ask the students to guess what happens next. Oddly, the guys seem to know that I put a match to the stove, while the girls have this "please tell me you aren't serious" look. You see, the Savior said, "For verily, verily I say unto you, he that hath the spirit of contention is not of me, but is of the devil, who is the father of contention, and he stirreth up the hearts of men to contend with anger, one with another" (3 Nephi 11:29). So as shocking as the next paragraph may be, when you are not connected to the spirit of the Lord you lose your sense of good and bad.
The explosion threw me against the shelves behind me and knocked a pile of cans down on me. My companion was blown back against the kitchen table spilling my rice. The entire top of the stove came off and landed diagonally on the oven. The pot I had cooked in went flying. While flames spewed from the detached burner tube my companion dove for the propane tank and turned it off. My eyebrows were gone, and the wall had a pretty black cloud design.
"Yeah, I think so. Quick thinking on the propane tank. That was a good move."
"Um, I think the stove was on. You were right."
"Maybe, but I'm no so smart that I avoided lighting it, am I?"
"Let's make a deal, I'll see if I can fix the stove while you scrub the wall."
Turns out Brazilian stoves are so clever that you can fix them when they blow up. Turns out black smoke just needs water and work to get cleaned. Also turns out that eyebrows take forever to grow back. But maybe that's ok, because it gave me longer to remember the lesson. Christ said, "Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you" (John 14:27). When arguing starts, the peace leaves, and that should be a big clue that we have lost the spirit. When that happens kill the contention, and focus on finding a peaceful solution before your anger explodes.
5/16/11
Bug vs. Semi
When my wife Teasha was just 17 years old she was driving her beloved Volkswagen Beetle with her mother as the passenger. As she approached Main Street she was stopped by a red light. She remembers talking with her mother while they waited for the light to change. When the light turned green she put her foot to the gas, but suddenly felt like that would be the wrong thing to do.
She hesitated, but realized how silly it was. When the light turns green you don't sit there. She inched the Bug forward, but then she distinctly felt like she should stop. It was as if an invisible voice had told her to stop. Her mother asked her why she wasn't going. Then a Semi truck going down main street ran the red light and zoomed through her intersection. Had Teasha gone her little Bug would most certainly have been demolished. It turned out the Semi had brake problems and was not able to stop in time.
Inspiration like this makes for a great story, but it's rare for a prompting to be this profound. I remember one day I was Home Teaching a family, and after giving a lesson in their living room we asked the same question every home teacher always asks, "Is there anything we can do to help your family in any way?" To our surprise the father said, "Yes!"
He had taught a Sunday School class that week, and one of his students asked him "How do you know if you are feeling the spirit or if it's just your own thoughts and emotions?"
He asked us as home teachers to answer the question.
I thought of Teasha's story of the Bug and the Semi. Certainly there are times when the spirit is very clear, and there is no mistaking it. There are other times when it is not so clear. What I have learned is this:
1) It takes experience, and it's not fair to think you can become an expert in the workings of the spirit without taking time and effort to learn. To often we look at prophets like Enos who received a tremendous spiritual experience overnight, and we think we can get that with a focused 24 hours of prayer. But remember Enos "had often heard my father speak concerning eternal life, and the joy of the saints, sunk deep into my heart". (Enos 1:3). He put in that effort for a long time before his memorable prayer.
2) The effort you must put in is this: To always act on good promptings, especially when you are most tired. The spirit likes to give promptings when we are tired. I'm not sure if this is because the spirit finds it funny or if it's some sort of test, but I can tell you it's true. If you fail to act you will find yourself in the situation of Laman and Lemuel, "Ye have seen an angel, and he spake unto you; yea, ye have heard his voice from time to time; and he hath spoken unto you in a still small voice, but ye were past feeling, that ye could not feel his words;" (1 Nephi 17:45)
She hesitated, but realized how silly it was. When the light turns green you don't sit there. She inched the Bug forward, but then she distinctly felt like she should stop. It was as if an invisible voice had told her to stop. Her mother asked her why she wasn't going. Then a Semi truck going down main street ran the red light and zoomed through her intersection. Had Teasha gone her little Bug would most certainly have been demolished. It turned out the Semi had brake problems and was not able to stop in time.
Inspiration like this makes for a great story, but it's rare for a prompting to be this profound. I remember one day I was Home Teaching a family, and after giving a lesson in their living room we asked the same question every home teacher always asks, "Is there anything we can do to help your family in any way?" To our surprise the father said, "Yes!"
He had taught a Sunday School class that week, and one of his students asked him "How do you know if you are feeling the spirit or if it's just your own thoughts and emotions?"
He asked us as home teachers to answer the question.
I thought of Teasha's story of the Bug and the Semi. Certainly there are times when the spirit is very clear, and there is no mistaking it. There are other times when it is not so clear. What I have learned is this:
1) It takes experience, and it's not fair to think you can become an expert in the workings of the spirit without taking time and effort to learn. To often we look at prophets like Enos who received a tremendous spiritual experience overnight, and we think we can get that with a focused 24 hours of prayer. But remember Enos "had often heard my father speak concerning eternal life, and the joy of the saints, sunk deep into my heart". (Enos 1:3). He put in that effort for a long time before his memorable prayer.
2) The effort you must put in is this: To always act on good promptings, especially when you are most tired. The spirit likes to give promptings when we are tired. I'm not sure if this is because the spirit finds it funny or if it's some sort of test, but I can tell you it's true. If you fail to act you will find yourself in the situation of Laman and Lemuel, "Ye have seen an angel, and he spake unto you; yea, ye have heard his voice from time to time; and he hath spoken unto you in a still small voice, but ye were past feeling, that ye could not feel his words;" (1 Nephi 17:45)
3) Taking time to learn the spirit is hard because we tend to be impatient, but the spirit will work in your life. Just as it did with Teasha, there will be times when you will know God was directing you. Remember those times, write the stories in your journal, and they will help you to use those times to grow. The Savior said, "Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings, and not one of them is forgotten before God? But even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not therefore: ye are of more value than many sparrows." (Luke 12:6-7). The Lord will be there for you when you need Him the most, and He has promised that you will come to know Him if you seek Him and do His will.
5/15/11
Pao Amargo
Some stories are hard to tell because they seemed so logical at the time, but when I look back on them I can't believe how it happened. Evil usually works so subtly that I don't notice what's being done. It was said of Satan that "he leadeth them by the neck with a flaxen cord, until he bindeth them with his strong cords forever." (2 Nephi 26:22) Everyone has warning systems to guard against this, but it's easy to hit the spiritual snooze button and silence them.
I served my mission in Florianopolis Brazil, and after about a year I was in a little town called Irani. One morning we got ready for our usual routine, rice with molasses, work, lunch, work harder, dinner. But that morning I had a cramp in my stomach. I tried to think of what I might have eaten, but we had been in a poor area of town, and who knows what it could have been. I worked anyway, with a painful stomach. My companion suggested I could see a doctor.
The next day the pain was sharper, and I figured it was some sort of food poisoning. It wasn't bad enough to stop a missionary. Besides for food poisoning it will eventually get better, you just have to make it long enough. I would walk slightly doubled over, but when we met someone I would straighten up and grit my teeth. Whenever there was a chance to rest I would clutch my gut and pray. My companion suggested I could call the Mission President.
The third day I was wondering if I had been poisoned deliberately. The lord said specifically of missionaries, "And the poison of a serpent shall not have power to harm them." (D&C 84:72) So I figured I would survive, but I wasn't sure if my patience could wait long enough for my body to deal with the venom. I stumbled to our lunch appointment, but there was no way I would be able to work in the afternoon. I explained my pain to the Sister who was kind enough to give us lunch, Sonizete. She went to her cupboard and pulled out an old bottle of medicine. The beat up label said, "Pao Amargo" (bitter wood).
She gave me a little spoonful and my tongue thought it was going to die. Take the oldest moldiest piece of nasty bark and soak it in pure bitter. It drilled into my tongue and I thought I would puke. If it was that horrid to my tongue I couldn't imagine what it would do to my stomach. Yet by the time lunch was served I was feeling better. That afternoon I was fine, although I could feel that my stomach was sore from the cramping. I figured a solid 24 hours without cramps would give my stomach the time to repair. My companion was relieved that I was feeling better.
The next day I was doubled over with pain again. My companion suggested I call the mission president. Since our plan that morning would take us past Sonizete's house I had a better idea. I asked her if I could have just one more spoonful of Pao Amargo, another day for my stomach to heal. She said there wasn't a lot of it left, so I could just take the bottle. The nasty stuff tortured my tongue, but that day we got a lot of work done.
The next day I started with a spoonful of the horridly bitter Pao Amargo and rice with molasses. Work, lunch, work harder, dinner. By night my stomach would be hurting, but I knew in the morning I had the Pao Amargo. My companion suggested I call the Mission President's wife. The fourth day of using Pao Amargo it wasn't so bad. That bitter taste isn't so bad. The fifth day I didn't mind it at all. I looked forward to the quick relief and figured if I just kept it up long enough my stomach would finally heal up.
Day six of the good ol' Pao Amargo, and I realized it was almost gone. That's ok, my stomach should be healing soon. My companion asked me when I planned on calling the Mission President. After a week of the good medicine it was gone. I kept the empty bottle with me. I was hoping that would be enough time to be better, but that morning I could hardly walk. We headed towards downtown, but eventually I had to sit on the curb and groan in pain. My companion suggested I talk to ... then I saw the pharmacist. It was perfect - I walked in and gave him the empty bottle. "I need another one of these". And there was a beautiful full bottle of shiny new Pao Amargo.
A quick swig and the delicious medicine made me whole again. The next day I had the routine, Pao Amargo with rice and molasses, work, lunch, work harder, dinner, and bed. By the end of the day I could feel my stomach cramping, but now I knew how to deal with that. By day nine I loved that Pao Amargo. Better than a juicy pickle, better than a fruity grapefruit. The tenth day of the medicine my companion caught me taking my morning spoonful.
"Do you take some of that every morning?"
"Yeah, so?"
"I just worry about whether that's a good idea. Do you even know what it is?"
"It's Pao Amargo. And it's the blessing that is keeping me in the service of the Lord. It heals my stomach for a while, but then it comes back. I just need to keep my stomach strong long enough to heal. It must be good, are you sure you don't want to try some? You'll like if you give it a try."
"I'm just thinking it's better to know what's wrong than to take a strange medicine every day."
On day eleven I woke up eager for that "Bitter wood". What a blessing that in the bounty of the Lord's earth he had provided some tree to provide relief from stomach cramps. Day twelve I wished there were other foods that tasted like the Pao Amargo. It's so delicious I think if people just tried it they would like it. In fact, with my stomach cramping in the evenings I might need a second spoonful at night. Day thirteen I had a spoonful in the morning, and then I needed a second spoonful with dinner to sleep. My companion suggested I call... "you know what just do what you want. You don't even know what it is you're taking."
Day fourteen. Two weeks of wonderful Pao Amargo. As we headed out for our work, I couldn't help but thinking. There were warning bells, but I wasn't hearing them anymore. My macho manhood wouldn't let me go to a doctor, my pride wouldn't let me worry about a strange medicine, and now that it had been two weeks there was no way I would call the Mission President or his wife. There was still one warning system left, the spirit. The more I thought about it the more something felt off. Then I realized with the bottle of Pao Amargo was in my pocket. At least I could read the label.
In case you're wondering, Pao Amargo is commonly called Lidocaine. You may have heard of it's brothers, Novacaine (used by dentists to numb your mouth) or maybe Cocaine (illegal for how it numbs your brain). Basically I was pouring anesthetic into my stomach, and then I was amazed to feel better! I remember the sudden realization that I had never been healing anything, I was only numbing how sick I really was. There was something seriously wrong with me and I had delayed two weeks without listening to my body. Even worse, I had been dumping chemicals into my body that only did harm.
To read the story quickly it's amazing that it could happen, but spiritually this is an old story. Paul said some people end up "Speaking lies in hypocrisy; having their conscience seared with a hot iron" (1 Timothy 4:2) To sear your conscience with a hot iron is to dull your ability to sense the spirit. It is so easy to do slowly, but the Lord gave us help. Friends, family, and mission companions can sometimes see dangers that we cannot. The Lord commanded us to "set watchmen upon the walls thereof—built the tower also, and set a watchman upon the tower" (D&C 101:53). How often in the scriptures have friends helped someone realizing they were slowly missing blessings? When Naaman came to be healed of leprosy by Elisha he was offended by the task given to him to wash in the river Jordan. Unlike me, he listened to his friends, who said "if the prophet had bid thee do some great thing, wouldest thou not have done it? how much rather then, when he saith to thee, Wash, and be clean?". (2 Kings 5:13).
"I think you should call the mission president." Finally I listened. I called President Wallace and explained that I had stomach cramps and had been taking Pao Amargo, but after two weeks I discovered it was anesthetic. His reply was short,
"Have you gotten the next set of deworming pills?"
"Uh, yeah, I think we've got them, we're not supposed to take them until..."
"Take the pills. Call me back in two days."
In two days I was cured - for real this time. How very symbolic! All this time I was numbing myself allowing an evil parasite to grow inside. The Mission President said, "Good. Now get to work." The spirit had something bigger to say. There are times in my life when an evil grows within me, and I don't realize it because I numb myself to it's effects, and turn off the warning systems. At what point had I made the mistake? Getting a bit of medicine seems harmless. If once is harmless, so is twice. What's the big deal about getting more medicine when I've already taken it for a week? Each step was tiny, but in the end I dumped the bottle of Pao Amargo. This type of thing happens in so many ways.
For example, Paul said, "But shun profane and vain babblings: or they will increase unto more ungodliness. And their word will eat as doth a canker:" (2 Timothy 2:16-17) There are so many profane or vain movies, games, and forms of entertainment. The violence and sin build inside, but we numb it with Pao Amargo called, "Really awesome special effects!" or "The plot was so clever!" I try to listen when people tell me something has foul language, or immorality. I was fooled once, but I hope it has given me the skill to avoid it the next time.
I served my mission in Florianopolis Brazil, and after about a year I was in a little town called Irani. One morning we got ready for our usual routine, rice with molasses, work, lunch, work harder, dinner. But that morning I had a cramp in my stomach. I tried to think of what I might have eaten, but we had been in a poor area of town, and who knows what it could have been. I worked anyway, with a painful stomach. My companion suggested I could see a doctor.The next day the pain was sharper, and I figured it was some sort of food poisoning. It wasn't bad enough to stop a missionary. Besides for food poisoning it will eventually get better, you just have to make it long enough. I would walk slightly doubled over, but when we met someone I would straighten up and grit my teeth. Whenever there was a chance to rest I would clutch my gut and pray. My companion suggested I could call the Mission President.
The third day I was wondering if I had been poisoned deliberately. The lord said specifically of missionaries, "And the poison of a serpent shall not have power to harm them." (D&C 84:72) So I figured I would survive, but I wasn't sure if my patience could wait long enough for my body to deal with the venom. I stumbled to our lunch appointment, but there was no way I would be able to work in the afternoon. I explained my pain to the Sister who was kind enough to give us lunch, Sonizete. She went to her cupboard and pulled out an old bottle of medicine. The beat up label said, "Pao Amargo" (bitter wood).
She gave me a little spoonful and my tongue thought it was going to die. Take the oldest moldiest piece of nasty bark and soak it in pure bitter. It drilled into my tongue and I thought I would puke. If it was that horrid to my tongue I couldn't imagine what it would do to my stomach. Yet by the time lunch was served I was feeling better. That afternoon I was fine, although I could feel that my stomach was sore from the cramping. I figured a solid 24 hours without cramps would give my stomach the time to repair. My companion was relieved that I was feeling better.
The next day I was doubled over with pain again. My companion suggested I call the mission president. Since our plan that morning would take us past Sonizete's house I had a better idea. I asked her if I could have just one more spoonful of Pao Amargo, another day for my stomach to heal. She said there wasn't a lot of it left, so I could just take the bottle. The nasty stuff tortured my tongue, but that day we got a lot of work done.
The next day I started with a spoonful of the horridly bitter Pao Amargo and rice with molasses. Work, lunch, work harder, dinner. By night my stomach would be hurting, but I knew in the morning I had the Pao Amargo. My companion suggested I call the Mission President's wife. The fourth day of using Pao Amargo it wasn't so bad. That bitter taste isn't so bad. The fifth day I didn't mind it at all. I looked forward to the quick relief and figured if I just kept it up long enough my stomach would finally heal up.
Day six of the good ol' Pao Amargo, and I realized it was almost gone. That's ok, my stomach should be healing soon. My companion asked me when I planned on calling the Mission President. After a week of the good medicine it was gone. I kept the empty bottle with me. I was hoping that would be enough time to be better, but that morning I could hardly walk. We headed towards downtown, but eventually I had to sit on the curb and groan in pain. My companion suggested I talk to ... then I saw the pharmacist. It was perfect - I walked in and gave him the empty bottle. "I need another one of these". And there was a beautiful full bottle of shiny new Pao Amargo.
A quick swig and the delicious medicine made me whole again. The next day I had the routine, Pao Amargo with rice and molasses, work, lunch, work harder, dinner, and bed. By the end of the day I could feel my stomach cramping, but now I knew how to deal with that. By day nine I loved that Pao Amargo. Better than a juicy pickle, better than a fruity grapefruit. The tenth day of the medicine my companion caught me taking my morning spoonful.
"Do you take some of that every morning?"
"Yeah, so?"
"I just worry about whether that's a good idea. Do you even know what it is?"
"It's Pao Amargo. And it's the blessing that is keeping me in the service of the Lord. It heals my stomach for a while, but then it comes back. I just need to keep my stomach strong long enough to heal. It must be good, are you sure you don't want to try some? You'll like if you give it a try."
"I'm just thinking it's better to know what's wrong than to take a strange medicine every day."
On day eleven I woke up eager for that "Bitter wood". What a blessing that in the bounty of the Lord's earth he had provided some tree to provide relief from stomach cramps. Day twelve I wished there were other foods that tasted like the Pao Amargo. It's so delicious I think if people just tried it they would like it. In fact, with my stomach cramping in the evenings I might need a second spoonful at night. Day thirteen I had a spoonful in the morning, and then I needed a second spoonful with dinner to sleep. My companion suggested I call... "you know what just do what you want. You don't even know what it is you're taking."
Day fourteen. Two weeks of wonderful Pao Amargo. As we headed out for our work, I couldn't help but thinking. There were warning bells, but I wasn't hearing them anymore. My macho manhood wouldn't let me go to a doctor, my pride wouldn't let me worry about a strange medicine, and now that it had been two weeks there was no way I would call the Mission President or his wife. There was still one warning system left, the spirit. The more I thought about it the more something felt off. Then I realized with the bottle of Pao Amargo was in my pocket. At least I could read the label.
In case you're wondering, Pao Amargo is commonly called Lidocaine. You may have heard of it's brothers, Novacaine (used by dentists to numb your mouth) or maybe Cocaine (illegal for how it numbs your brain). Basically I was pouring anesthetic into my stomach, and then I was amazed to feel better! I remember the sudden realization that I had never been healing anything, I was only numbing how sick I really was. There was something seriously wrong with me and I had delayed two weeks without listening to my body. Even worse, I had been dumping chemicals into my body that only did harm.
To read the story quickly it's amazing that it could happen, but spiritually this is an old story. Paul said some people end up "Speaking lies in hypocrisy; having their conscience seared with a hot iron" (1 Timothy 4:2) To sear your conscience with a hot iron is to dull your ability to sense the spirit. It is so easy to do slowly, but the Lord gave us help. Friends, family, and mission companions can sometimes see dangers that we cannot. The Lord commanded us to "set watchmen upon the walls thereof—built the tower also, and set a watchman upon the tower" (D&C 101:53). How often in the scriptures have friends helped someone realizing they were slowly missing blessings? When Naaman came to be healed of leprosy by Elisha he was offended by the task given to him to wash in the river Jordan. Unlike me, he listened to his friends, who said "if the prophet had bid thee do some great thing, wouldest thou not have done it? how much rather then, when he saith to thee, Wash, and be clean?". (2 Kings 5:13).
"I think you should call the mission president." Finally I listened. I called President Wallace and explained that I had stomach cramps and had been taking Pao Amargo, but after two weeks I discovered it was anesthetic. His reply was short,
"Have you gotten the next set of deworming pills?"
"Uh, yeah, I think we've got them, we're not supposed to take them until..."
"Take the pills. Call me back in two days."
In two days I was cured - for real this time. How very symbolic! All this time I was numbing myself allowing an evil parasite to grow inside. The Mission President said, "Good. Now get to work." The spirit had something bigger to say. There are times in my life when an evil grows within me, and I don't realize it because I numb myself to it's effects, and turn off the warning systems. At what point had I made the mistake? Getting a bit of medicine seems harmless. If once is harmless, so is twice. What's the big deal about getting more medicine when I've already taken it for a week? Each step was tiny, but in the end I dumped the bottle of Pao Amargo. This type of thing happens in so many ways.
For example, Paul said, "But shun profane and vain babblings: or they will increase unto more ungodliness. And their word will eat as doth a canker:" (2 Timothy 2:16-17) There are so many profane or vain movies, games, and forms of entertainment. The violence and sin build inside, but we numb it with Pao Amargo called, "Really awesome special effects!" or "The plot was so clever!" I try to listen when people tell me something has foul language, or immorality. I was fooled once, but I hope it has given me the skill to avoid it the next time.
5/14/11
Spamghetti
After two years of marriage Teasha and I decided to have a baby. One day my wife came home from being a vet tech and with a rounding belly laid on the couch. As the kind and loving husband I decided to play the superhero and make dinner. Teasha tried to sit up and give me tips on how to make spaghetti, but I said, "Dear! Lay down and relax, I don't need instructions or help. You're going to find out what an awesome husband you have when you eat my dinner." She was quite pleased.
At this time we still lived in our home town of Cedar City, Utah, and as frequently happened her mother called. She explained how her wonderful sweet husband was making dinner. Then she said, "Honey, can you make enough that my family can come over and eat too?" I thought no, and said yes.
The problem is that's 4 extra people, and there wasn't much meat. Spaghetti without meat isn't that great, and suddenly my macho manhood is on the line. There may not be any more hamburger (all right, there's probably some in the back of the freezer, but that would take forever to cook) but I will McGyver this dinner into a culinary masterpiece. The in-laws will see that I can handle anything. I just need a quick and easy meat, like Spam.
I realize this sentence will not be popular, but I happen to like Spam. The first time I had Spam was on a scout trip where our food got lost and I hadn't eaten all day and I was given one can of Spam. Let's be honest, a can of Spam mixed in with beef in a spicy spaghetti sauce and no one will even know it's there. I added a few spices, and then did the Brazilian thing. See, Brazilians put all sorts of veggies in their food. Peas and corn go well on pizza in Brazil, surely they'll be fine in Spaghetti in the US. I am the man! I've got a dinner that puts my wife's simple spaghetti to shame. I dumped it all in, added sauce and more noodles, and stirred it all together. Voila.
By the way, if you're wondering, when you stir canned peas they mush up. My green Spamghetti looked a little sick, but I thought it tasted just fine. The next part of the story is controversial. See, I claim that everybody ate the spaghetti and said it was great until they found out what was in it. They claim they were trying to be nice without gagging. Either way that night my wife told me my dinner was not quite as awsome as I had hoped. I wondered why I didn't get praised for my work and sacrifice.
Here's the real reason behind the problem. "thou shalt not be as the hypocrites are: for they love to make spaghetti standing in the kitchen and in front of the family, that they may be seen as a hero. Verily I say unto you, They have their reward." (my version of Matthew 6:5). My heart was on being praised, and on showing how macho I could be. A tough guy eats spam just as easily as rattlesnake. A guy who offers to help his wife in order to score points will lose because "if he offereth a gift, or prayeth unto God, except he shall do it with real intent it profiteth him nothing." (Moroni 7:6).
If I had truly been thinking of Teasha I would have remembered that she does not like the taste of Spam. I would have swallowed my pride and asked if canned corn needs to be drained before going into the pot. I would have taken the time to brown the frozen hamburger from the freezer. The only reason I didn't make a fantastic dinner was that my pride got in the way. It's hard to change the motivation behind why I do things. I have to make a focused effort to say, 'I am doing this for the Lord, and because I love Teasha'. When that is what I concentrate on the blessings increase, the disappointments lessen, and the service improves. I will not say I am always motivated for the right reason, but when I find myself stirring a pot of service hoping for praise I remember Spamghetti and I bend my thoughts to look for what is best for the other person.
At this time we still lived in our home town of Cedar City, Utah, and as frequently happened her mother called. She explained how her wonderful sweet husband was making dinner. Then she said, "Honey, can you make enough that my family can come over and eat too?" I thought no, and said yes.
The problem is that's 4 extra people, and there wasn't much meat. Spaghetti without meat isn't that great, and suddenly my macho manhood is on the line. There may not be any more hamburger (all right, there's probably some in the back of the freezer, but that would take forever to cook) but I will McGyver this dinner into a culinary masterpiece. The in-laws will see that I can handle anything. I just need a quick and easy meat, like Spam.
I realize this sentence will not be popular, but I happen to like Spam. The first time I had Spam was on a scout trip where our food got lost and I hadn't eaten all day and I was given one can of Spam. Let's be honest, a can of Spam mixed in with beef in a spicy spaghetti sauce and no one will even know it's there. I added a few spices, and then did the Brazilian thing. See, Brazilians put all sorts of veggies in their food. Peas and corn go well on pizza in Brazil, surely they'll be fine in Spaghetti in the US. I am the man! I've got a dinner that puts my wife's simple spaghetti to shame. I dumped it all in, added sauce and more noodles, and stirred it all together. Voila.
By the way, if you're wondering, when you stir canned peas they mush up. My green Spamghetti looked a little sick, but I thought it tasted just fine. The next part of the story is controversial. See, I claim that everybody ate the spaghetti and said it was great until they found out what was in it. They claim they were trying to be nice without gagging. Either way that night my wife told me my dinner was not quite as awsome as I had hoped. I wondered why I didn't get praised for my work and sacrifice.
Here's the real reason behind the problem. "thou shalt not be as the hypocrites are: for they love to make spaghetti standing in the kitchen and in front of the family, that they may be seen as a hero. Verily I say unto you, They have their reward." (my version of Matthew 6:5). My heart was on being praised, and on showing how macho I could be. A tough guy eats spam just as easily as rattlesnake. A guy who offers to help his wife in order to score points will lose because "if he offereth a gift, or prayeth unto God, except he shall do it with real intent it profiteth him nothing." (Moroni 7:6).
If I had truly been thinking of Teasha I would have remembered that she does not like the taste of Spam. I would have swallowed my pride and asked if canned corn needs to be drained before going into the pot. I would have taken the time to brown the frozen hamburger from the freezer. The only reason I didn't make a fantastic dinner was that my pride got in the way. It's hard to change the motivation behind why I do things. I have to make a focused effort to say, 'I am doing this for the Lord, and because I love Teasha'. When that is what I concentrate on the blessings increase, the disappointments lessen, and the service improves. I will not say I am always motivated for the right reason, but when I find myself stirring a pot of service hoping for praise I remember Spamghetti and I bend my thoughts to look for what is best for the other person.
3 Year Old Scare
I was too little to remember, but my mother tells me a story from when I was camping at age three. Having barely turned three I was still a little unsteady on my feet and not particularly safe. Keep in mind that Crawfords usually go camping with a generator, so it should be no surprise that my brother, father, and a cousin were in the tent playing Atari. My mother decided to take my sister and cousin for a walk. I was in the tent watching the video game, but then I wandered out after my mother. My dad saw me leave after my mom. My mom saw me in the tent with my dad. And thus I disappeared.
A hour or so later my mother looks in the tent and asks, "Where's Scott?" The next ten seconds of "I thought he was with you" made everyone's heart drop. We were camped next to a rushing river, and I had been missing for an hour. Games and hikes were done, and the whole family began searching and calling. The obvious question was "Where would a 3 year old boy go?" The answer was a rushing river. My mother says she ran down river expecting to see my red coat floating in the water. My father has a hard time talking about the episode.
Since I am writing this story you probably have figured out I didn't die. That wasn't a luxury my parents had that day, and to them this was the start of something terrible and sad. This story is important to me because of what my parents did when they were maxed out emotionally in every way. When Alma was at the point of being killed by Amlici he "being a man of God, being exercised with much faith, cried, saying: O Lord, have mercy" (Alma 2:30). When Elijah was so worn out that he "requested for himself that he might die" he still prayed, "O Lord" (1 Kings 18:4). Even the Savior, on the night of agony in the Garden of Gethsemane "he prayed more earnestly" (Luke 22:44). Each one turned to the Lord and received the help they needed.
My family offered several prayers, from the sincere honesty of a child's prayer to a clear plea from a parent. This story could have gone the other way, maybe the answer to prayer would have been helping a family to move forward after a horrible tragedy. Maybe there could have been lessons on life after death, or on accepting trials. In this case, the Lord had a different path for me, and as my mother stood calm and still trying to receive inspiration she heard crying.
Any 3 year old will naturally gravitate towards a gurgling brook. Then why had I gone the exact opposite direction, away from where my mother had gone on her hike, and why had I tried to climb an impossibly steep hill? I had gotten half way up where the incline was very steep, and for an hour had not been able to scale higher nor drop back down. Scared and trapped I had been crying. I assume I did not know my predicament had saved my life.
I would not be surprised to find out when I die that I have been led to that spot by angelic guidance. Both my parents felt that the chance of a happy ending was small, yet their joy and relief was immense. My mother recalls this story with a serious look and then she tells me I must have something good to do in my life. I think it is true for all of us, we are given our life by God and He will watch over us to fulfill His righteous plans.
A hour or so later my mother looks in the tent and asks, "Where's Scott?" The next ten seconds of "I thought he was with you" made everyone's heart drop. We were camped next to a rushing river, and I had been missing for an hour. Games and hikes were done, and the whole family began searching and calling. The obvious question was "Where would a 3 year old boy go?" The answer was a rushing river. My mother says she ran down river expecting to see my red coat floating in the water. My father has a hard time talking about the episode.
Since I am writing this story you probably have figured out I didn't die. That wasn't a luxury my parents had that day, and to them this was the start of something terrible and sad. This story is important to me because of what my parents did when they were maxed out emotionally in every way. When Alma was at the point of being killed by Amlici he "being a man of God, being exercised with much faith, cried, saying: O Lord, have mercy" (Alma 2:30). When Elijah was so worn out that he "requested for himself that he might die" he still prayed, "O Lord" (1 Kings 18:4). Even the Savior, on the night of agony in the Garden of Gethsemane "he prayed more earnestly" (Luke 22:44). Each one turned to the Lord and received the help they needed.
My family offered several prayers, from the sincere honesty of a child's prayer to a clear plea from a parent. This story could have gone the other way, maybe the answer to prayer would have been helping a family to move forward after a horrible tragedy. Maybe there could have been lessons on life after death, or on accepting trials. In this case, the Lord had a different path for me, and as my mother stood calm and still trying to receive inspiration she heard crying.
Any 3 year old will naturally gravitate towards a gurgling brook. Then why had I gone the exact opposite direction, away from where my mother had gone on her hike, and why had I tried to climb an impossibly steep hill? I had gotten half way up where the incline was very steep, and for an hour had not been able to scale higher nor drop back down. Scared and trapped I had been crying. I assume I did not know my predicament had saved my life.
I would not be surprised to find out when I die that I have been led to that spot by angelic guidance. Both my parents felt that the chance of a happy ending was small, yet their joy and relief was immense. My mother recalls this story with a serious look and then she tells me I must have something good to do in my life. I think it is true for all of us, we are given our life by God and He will watch over us to fulfill His righteous plans.
5/11/11
Crazy Old Lady
Of all the physical trials I think losing my mind worries me the most. How can I be useful to society if my brain doesn't function? Before we were married my wife worked for a retirement home. Many of the old people there were missing a few cards upstairs, and Rosie was no exception. Rosie would wander the halls of the old folks home asking where her cats had gone. Often she would comment that they were here a second ago, now where did that cat get to?
I think everyone has shortcomings. Moses "slow of speech and of a slow tongue" (Exodus 4:10). Mormon was "not mighty in writing" (Ether 12:24). And yet the Lord has promised he will give all of us an opportunity to serve in our own way. It is a commandment, and "the Lord God giveth no commandment unto the children of men save he shall prepare a way that they may accomplish the thing which he has commanded them." (1 Nephi 3:7). The Lord gave Rosie the power to help one last time.
As Teasha passed the hall, Rosie stopped her, held her face and said, "Dearie, you must get married in the temple. Don't ever let anyone tell you it's not important. My husband and I decided to get married in court first, and go to the temple later. It took us several years to do it. When we finally recieved the blessings of the Lord's house we felt connected in purpose and love. I almost don't count the years before we went to the temple as years we were really married. I wish I had been married in the temple first. Promise me you will make the temple your goal and let nothing stop you from going there."
Teasha promised, and Rosie said, "My cat was here a second ago, have you seen where he went?" The light had gone dim again, and a week later Rosie died. The spirit testified through the old lady to a young woman, and Teasha felt its power. When we met she was certain of her goal, and knew what we needed to do to go to the temple. Rosie's testimony burned through my wife, and I was attracted to her desire to follow the Lord's pattern. When I meet Rosie this is one story I want her to hear.
When my wife and I were married in the St. George Temple I could understand why it meant so much to Rosie. The purpose of a temple marriage is to consecrate your family to the Lord. Not "until death do us part", but "for time and for all eternity" (D&C 132:18). We know our potential, and we know it is only through Jesus Christ we can achieve our goal. There is no talk about divorce, there is no question as to whether we will follow the commandments. We do have trials, and sometimes we even disagree, but we work through our tough times because we know that in 10,000 years we will still be married and working together to fulfill our promises made in the temple. Rosie was right, don't let anything stop you from getting to the temple.
I think everyone has shortcomings. Moses "slow of speech and of a slow tongue" (Exodus 4:10). Mormon was "not mighty in writing" (Ether 12:24). And yet the Lord has promised he will give all of us an opportunity to serve in our own way. It is a commandment, and "the Lord God giveth no commandment unto the children of men save he shall prepare a way that they may accomplish the thing which he has commanded them." (1 Nephi 3:7). The Lord gave Rosie the power to help one last time.
As Teasha passed the hall, Rosie stopped her, held her face and said, "Dearie, you must get married in the temple. Don't ever let anyone tell you it's not important. My husband and I decided to get married in court first, and go to the temple later. It took us several years to do it. When we finally recieved the blessings of the Lord's house we felt connected in purpose and love. I almost don't count the years before we went to the temple as years we were really married. I wish I had been married in the temple first. Promise me you will make the temple your goal and let nothing stop you from going there."
Teasha promised, and Rosie said, "My cat was here a second ago, have you seen where he went?" The light had gone dim again, and a week later Rosie died. The spirit testified through the old lady to a young woman, and Teasha felt its power. When we met she was certain of her goal, and knew what we needed to do to go to the temple. Rosie's testimony burned through my wife, and I was attracted to her desire to follow the Lord's pattern. When I meet Rosie this is one story I want her to hear.
When my wife and I were married in the St. George Temple I could understand why it meant so much to Rosie. The purpose of a temple marriage is to consecrate your family to the Lord. Not "until death do us part", but "for time and for all eternity" (D&C 132:18). We know our potential, and we know it is only through Jesus Christ we can achieve our goal. There is no talk about divorce, there is no question as to whether we will follow the commandments. We do have trials, and sometimes we even disagree, but we work through our tough times because we know that in 10,000 years we will still be married and working together to fulfill our promises made in the temple. Rosie was right, don't let anything stop you from getting to the temple.
5/10/11
Dig a Pit for Thy Neighbor
This story was from when my Dad was a young man. He took the scripture "dig a pit for thy neighbor; there is no harm in this" (2 Nephi 28:8) literally, and learned what Nephi was trying to teach: this logic doesn't hold before God. When he was growing up his back yard connected with the back yard of old mean Mrs. Paxman. She was the type to watch what those meddlesome boys were up to and report it to their mother. What my father and his brothers were up to was digging a pit. Between the back yards (in the day when people didn't build so many fences around their property) there was a path, and my dad knew the neighbor kid took that path to get to school in the morning.
Why dig a pit for him to fall into? Because it's funny, because it's there. Because when we are young it seems like teasing others is harmless. Only later do we learn that teasing will always cost us something in the end. I wish I could tell a younger version of myself to not tease. You cannot aim at another person without hitting yourself.
My father and his brothers dig a wonderful hole, several feet deep, and covered it over. Unfortunately it made the smooth path look unusual. Someone (my father claims it was his brother. My brother blames my father) had the genius idea to build a second pit next to the first. That way when the neighbor kid went around the obvious pit he would fall into the second. When twilight began to fall they retired to their home. Mrs. Paxman came out to see what those boys had been up to all afternoon. She saw the first pit and moved around it. She didn't see the second until she had fallen in.
She broke her leg. Apparently the crawl home was painful, and the recovery long. The boys were sent out to fill in their pits. The interesting thing is that I believe my father still feels bad about the incident. He and his brothers had no intention of harming the lady, and once it was done there was no way to magically fix the leg. To hear my father talk about something that happened 40 years earlier, and see that he still feels sad makes me think twice about what I am doing. 40 years later will I want to look back on today and feel shame? What do I want to say at the end of my life? I hope to echo Paul, "I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith" (2 Timothy 4:7). My father made a mistake, but perhaps the lesson can help me prevent a few of my own.
Why dig a pit for him to fall into? Because it's funny, because it's there. Because when we are young it seems like teasing others is harmless. Only later do we learn that teasing will always cost us something in the end. I wish I could tell a younger version of myself to not tease. You cannot aim at another person without hitting yourself.
My father and his brothers dig a wonderful hole, several feet deep, and covered it over. Unfortunately it made the smooth path look unusual. Someone (my father claims it was his brother. My brother blames my father) had the genius idea to build a second pit next to the first. That way when the neighbor kid went around the obvious pit he would fall into the second. When twilight began to fall they retired to their home. Mrs. Paxman came out to see what those boys had been up to all afternoon. She saw the first pit and moved around it. She didn't see the second until she had fallen in.
She broke her leg. Apparently the crawl home was painful, and the recovery long. The boys were sent out to fill in their pits. The interesting thing is that I believe my father still feels bad about the incident. He and his brothers had no intention of harming the lady, and once it was done there was no way to magically fix the leg. To hear my father talk about something that happened 40 years earlier, and see that he still feels sad makes me think twice about what I am doing. 40 years later will I want to look back on today and feel shame? What do I want to say at the end of my life? I hope to echo Paul, "I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith" (2 Timothy 4:7). My father made a mistake, but perhaps the lesson can help me prevent a few of my own.
The Mission Call
I was born with a double cleft palette. That's where the nose and mouth are all connected, and it messes up my teeth and jaw development. I've had multiple surgeries and braces for 15 years, but my parents comforted me by explaining how they would help socially, and to prepare me to serve a mission. Every young LDS boy is encouraged to serve a 2-year mission, and I always looked forward to my chance to serve the Lord.
When I turned 18 I had the biggest and last surgery. They cut out my jaw, moved it to the proper position, and packed in bone from the top of my head to hold it's position. I looked horrid for a few months, but then I was ready to fill out my mission papers.
It's about that age when everyone asks you where you want to go. Since you don't get to choose the response is always, "I'll go wherever the Lord asks me to serve", but secretly you can't help but imagine. I thought to myself, "I'm hoping for an English speaking mission, US, Canada, or England because I speak it, and it I would be frustrated if I wanted to share my testimony with someone and couldn't because of the language barrier. But if I don't go English speaking I'll still be ok, although I really don't want to go 3rd world. Maybe France or Italy. I'm not what you would call a 'camping out' type of person. But even 3rd world countries might be fun because I'd have some fun stories about some bizarre place like Uganda or Kazakhstan. Unless I went to South America. A lot of missionaries go there, so it wouldn't be very new or exciting. But I'll still accept a call to South America, because then I would learn Spanish, and that's a very useful language to know."
The mission call came: "Elder Crawford, you have been called to serve in the Florianopolis Brazil mission, and you will speak the language Portuguese". I was so disappointed. That would be the one spot in the whole world I didn't want to go. It would hard to find somewhere worse to send me. But when the Lord calls you don't reject it, even though everyone asked an hundred times "Do you want to go? Do you accept the call? Is this what you choose?" The problem was I knew the right answer, and there was no way to deny the call without defying the Lord.
That night I prayed, and I told the Lord I was unhappy with the call. I told him I didn't want to go to Brazil, but I knew there wasn't any way for me to reject the call. I just wish I had a valid excuse.
Oh be careful what you pray for! The Lord said "ask and it shall be given you." The orthodontist needed to take off my braces and make a retainer, so he took an x-ray. One look at the x-ray and called the orthodontic surgeon and scheduled an appointment that afternoon. The orthodontic surgeon scheduled us to visit and renowned oral surgeon the next day. Finally they explained what the problem was. The bone that had been grafted into my mouth when I turned 18 was being rejected. The pattern was clear and irreversible. I would be losing my upper jaw in about 3 months without emergency surgery. The oral surgeon found a slot where I would go in for surgery in a month.
"In a month I'll be at the Missionary Training Center, and three months from now I'll be in Brazil!"
"Ummm. That's probably not a good idea. I don't think the Brazilian surgeons have the expertise you will need, and the time it will take to fly you back to the US when your jaw is loose is too dangerous. I can't recommend you go on this mission. You need to take care of your health before you can serve others."
My parents were wise, and they said it was my decision, but they didn't feel comfortable having me go to Brazil with my jaw rapidly eroding. I found a quiet place and prayed.
The answer was clear. This was my excuse. No one serves a mission unless they want to, and if I didn't want to the Lord would open a way out. I asked if the Lord cared what I choose. I felt quite clearly that I was not called to Brazil by accident. I was called by God to serve the Brazilian people and bring them the message of Jesus Christ. I could choose to not go, but I could not change the fact that God wanted me to be in Brazil.
I chose to go on the mission. The oral surgeon shook his head and said, "I'll see you in 3 or 4 months."
Two years later he was shaking his head again. "The x-rays were very clear that the bone was being rejected. Once that starts it doesn't suddenly reverse, but in your case the bone has all grown back and looks strong enough to last the rest of your life. Normally I would say it was impossible, but I guess we know what really happened here."
I knew. He said, "I am a God of miracles" (2 Nephi 27:23). The miracle wasn't that the bone grew back. It was that God offered me a real choice. The mission was amazing, the people, the love, the spirit that transformed the lives of the people I taught. But there were hard times too. Some rude people, the hard work, the long endless days of rejections. It meant a lot for me to remember that I chose to serve that mission. God loved me enough to make sure I made the decision I truly wanted. I now commit myself to doing what the Lord asks without deciding whether I like the call or not.
When I turned 18 I had the biggest and last surgery. They cut out my jaw, moved it to the proper position, and packed in bone from the top of my head to hold it's position. I looked horrid for a few months, but then I was ready to fill out my mission papers.
It's about that age when everyone asks you where you want to go. Since you don't get to choose the response is always, "I'll go wherever the Lord asks me to serve", but secretly you can't help but imagine. I thought to myself, "I'm hoping for an English speaking mission, US, Canada, or England because I speak it, and it I would be frustrated if I wanted to share my testimony with someone and couldn't because of the language barrier. But if I don't go English speaking I'll still be ok, although I really don't want to go 3rd world. Maybe France or Italy. I'm not what you would call a 'camping out' type of person. But even 3rd world countries might be fun because I'd have some fun stories about some bizarre place like Uganda or Kazakhstan. Unless I went to South America. A lot of missionaries go there, so it wouldn't be very new or exciting. But I'll still accept a call to South America, because then I would learn Spanish, and that's a very useful language to know."
The mission call came: "Elder Crawford, you have been called to serve in the Florianopolis Brazil mission, and you will speak the language Portuguese". I was so disappointed. That would be the one spot in the whole world I didn't want to go. It would hard to find somewhere worse to send me. But when the Lord calls you don't reject it, even though everyone asked an hundred times "Do you want to go? Do you accept the call? Is this what you choose?" The problem was I knew the right answer, and there was no way to deny the call without defying the Lord.
That night I prayed, and I told the Lord I was unhappy with the call. I told him I didn't want to go to Brazil, but I knew there wasn't any way for me to reject the call. I just wish I had a valid excuse.
Oh be careful what you pray for! The Lord said "ask and it shall be given you." The orthodontist needed to take off my braces and make a retainer, so he took an x-ray. One look at the x-ray and called the orthodontic surgeon and scheduled an appointment that afternoon. The orthodontic surgeon scheduled us to visit and renowned oral surgeon the next day. Finally they explained what the problem was. The bone that had been grafted into my mouth when I turned 18 was being rejected. The pattern was clear and irreversible. I would be losing my upper jaw in about 3 months without emergency surgery. The oral surgeon found a slot where I would go in for surgery in a month.
"In a month I'll be at the Missionary Training Center, and three months from now I'll be in Brazil!"
"Ummm. That's probably not a good idea. I don't think the Brazilian surgeons have the expertise you will need, and the time it will take to fly you back to the US when your jaw is loose is too dangerous. I can't recommend you go on this mission. You need to take care of your health before you can serve others."
My parents were wise, and they said it was my decision, but they didn't feel comfortable having me go to Brazil with my jaw rapidly eroding. I found a quiet place and prayed.
The answer was clear. This was my excuse. No one serves a mission unless they want to, and if I didn't want to the Lord would open a way out. I asked if the Lord cared what I choose. I felt quite clearly that I was not called to Brazil by accident. I was called by God to serve the Brazilian people and bring them the message of Jesus Christ. I could choose to not go, but I could not change the fact that God wanted me to be in Brazil.
I chose to go on the mission. The oral surgeon shook his head and said, "I'll see you in 3 or 4 months."
Two years later he was shaking his head again. "The x-rays were very clear that the bone was being rejected. Once that starts it doesn't suddenly reverse, but in your case the bone has all grown back and looks strong enough to last the rest of your life. Normally I would say it was impossible, but I guess we know what really happened here."
I knew. He said, "I am a God of miracles" (2 Nephi 27:23). The miracle wasn't that the bone grew back. It was that God offered me a real choice. The mission was amazing, the people, the love, the spirit that transformed the lives of the people I taught. But there were hard times too. Some rude people, the hard work, the long endless days of rejections. It meant a lot for me to remember that I chose to serve that mission. God loved me enough to make sure I made the decision I truly wanted. I now commit myself to doing what the Lord asks without deciding whether I like the call or not.
5/9/11
Stealing a Candy Bar
Most of my embarrasing stories start with the words, "I thought it would be funny...". This time the sentance finished with "to tease my 5th grade teacher." You see, Mr. Sherratt was a big stern guy, the kind you would expect to see coaching a football team. But his fun loving side was great if you could get him to laugh. So during lunch my friends Court, Joe, and I were surprised to see his office door was left unlocked and open. Everyone else was on the playground for lunch, and the classroom was totally empty. On his desk was a king size Snickers.
It me 30 seconds to devise the worlds most cunning plan for maximum laughter. It was Thursday, and on Thursday afternoons we always got the American History books from the back shelf. Court would take the candy bar, Joe would hide it behind the books, and later that afternoon it would be discovered to our teachers shock, amazement, and chocolatey joy. Court could say, "I didn't hide the candybar." Joe could say, "I never went in your office" and I could say "I never touched the candbar". It was flawless and we laughed ourselves out to the playground.
Fast forward to the next day. Mr. Sherratt says, "Class, there's something important we need to talk about. Yesterday someone entered my office and stole a candy bar from my desk. This is a serious violation, frankly it's a crime. This has me very upset."
Shock. Horror. Oh no! I look back, the books are untouched, we didn't use them yesterday. Is the candybar still there? If someone found it and took it then I'm cooked. My face floods beat red, I scoot lower in my seat and try to hold my breath. Mr. Sherratt says, "Scott, Court, and Joe, do you guys know anything about it?" I look at my conspirators - Court is about to pass out and Joe looks like he might throw up.
"I never went in your office"
"I didn't touch any candybar"
"I didn't hide your Snickers"
I could tell Court felt like he got stuck with the lame excuse. He was whiter than a sheet of paper. Mr. Sherratt stood there glaring at us for a minute until he finally said, "I'm going to leave my office open during lunch again today, and when I come back I expect to see my Snickers back where it was before."
There comes a point in every story where I know my life will be different. For a second I saw my life as a criminal, forever marred by that first theft. Then to be offered a way out. It's a beautiful thing to realize you have just made a huge mistake but you also have a way to fix it. Each of us has messed up in life, "for all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God." (Romans 3:23) We discover too late that our excuses sound lame. "Do you imagine to yourselves that ye can lie unto the eternal 5th grade teacher and say - Lord, our works have been righteous?" (my Alma 5:17). What relief we must feel when the Savior puts his healing hands on us and tells us to return the candybar and he will "remember our sin no more" (D&C 58:42).
All during lunch it was "Shhh! Shhh! Not yet! Wait! Hurry, eat quick, and follow me!" Lunch was barely touched, but a candybar was returned. We ran to the far side of the playground and gasped as only escaped convicts can. To this day I feel horror at the idea that I might steal something even to be funny. No one ever mentioned the candybar again, and I wonder if my 5th grade teacher remembers the incident. Perhaps it doesn't matter since I remember the lesson.
It me 30 seconds to devise the worlds most cunning plan for maximum laughter. It was Thursday, and on Thursday afternoons we always got the American History books from the back shelf. Court would take the candy bar, Joe would hide it behind the books, and later that afternoon it would be discovered to our teachers shock, amazement, and chocolatey joy. Court could say, "I didn't hide the candybar." Joe could say, "I never went in your office" and I could say "I never touched the candbar". It was flawless and we laughed ourselves out to the playground.
Fast forward to the next day. Mr. Sherratt says, "Class, there's something important we need to talk about. Yesterday someone entered my office and stole a candy bar from my desk. This is a serious violation, frankly it's a crime. This has me very upset."
Shock. Horror. Oh no! I look back, the books are untouched, we didn't use them yesterday. Is the candybar still there? If someone found it and took it then I'm cooked. My face floods beat red, I scoot lower in my seat and try to hold my breath. Mr. Sherratt says, "Scott, Court, and Joe, do you guys know anything about it?" I look at my conspirators - Court is about to pass out and Joe looks like he might throw up.
"I never went in your office"
"I didn't touch any candybar"
"I didn't hide your Snickers"
I could tell Court felt like he got stuck with the lame excuse. He was whiter than a sheet of paper. Mr. Sherratt stood there glaring at us for a minute until he finally said, "I'm going to leave my office open during lunch again today, and when I come back I expect to see my Snickers back where it was before."
There comes a point in every story where I know my life will be different. For a second I saw my life as a criminal, forever marred by that first theft. Then to be offered a way out. It's a beautiful thing to realize you have just made a huge mistake but you also have a way to fix it. Each of us has messed up in life, "for all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God." (Romans 3:23) We discover too late that our excuses sound lame. "Do you imagine to yourselves that ye can lie unto the eternal 5th grade teacher and say - Lord, our works have been righteous?" (my Alma 5:17). What relief we must feel when the Savior puts his healing hands on us and tells us to return the candybar and he will "remember our sin no more" (D&C 58:42).
All during lunch it was "Shhh! Shhh! Not yet! Wait! Hurry, eat quick, and follow me!" Lunch was barely touched, but a candybar was returned. We ran to the far side of the playground and gasped as only escaped convicts can. To this day I feel horror at the idea that I might steal something even to be funny. No one ever mentioned the candybar again, and I wonder if my 5th grade teacher remembers the incident. Perhaps it doesn't matter since I remember the lesson.
5/8/11
Spray Paint Can
The beautiful thing about anger is how powerful it makes you feel. Unfortunately that power just begs to be used, and in my experience that tends to lead to regret. Take the time I was 17 years old, and working at my father's used car lot. My job that day was to clean and prep a beautiful silver truck so that it could go on the lot to be sold. I had finished washing the truck, and the towels were draped around the stall to dry. We had some special black spray paint for cars that shined up the undercarriage near the wheels. The old can ran out, and I grabbed a new one out of the back. I stood in my little stall of the car shop and examined the lid.
Now there's a little notch where you can pop the lid off with a screwdriver, but that's not the macho way of doing it. I wrestled it with my bare hands, but darned if that lid refused to budge! I'll show it. I banged the lid on the edge of the tool bench. Banged again. That was one tough lid! But I was tougher. I wound up, and banged the lid as hard as I could. Now it was a man thing. This lid was calling me a wuss, and no one gets away with that. The screwdriver was hanging on the wall with the other tools, and as I grabbed the sharp instrument I realized popping the lid was too good for this defiant insubordinate lid. Full of anger and power I decided to poke the screwdriver through lid and fling the stubborn thing away Rambo style.
I missed the lid by a mere millimeter and punctured the can.
I remember a black monster jumping at my face and I tossed the can instinctively clenching my eyes shut.
FWSSSSH tink tink FWWwwwwsssssSSSSHHHHWWwwwwSSSHHHH ping bang bang
Now I kept my eyes closed in shock and despair as the rocket soared around my stall
SSsSSSSSHSsSsssssssSSSHSHH ping ping bang FWWWWwwwwsssssssss.
As the hissing missile fizzled to a stop I decided I would brave a peek. Turns out car paint is fast drying and quite strong. My eyes were sealed shut, and I had to pry the open with my fingers. If there was any anger left in me the sight I saw sapped the last of it. Swaths of black across all the white towels. Black smeared across the truck, on both sides. Each tool on the wall speckled with black dots. A mirror confirmed my suspicion, I had changed ethnicity. As I stood there feeling all shades of stupid I realized there was one more lesson on anger I was about to learn. There was no way to hide this from my Dad.
While my body started to stiffen I stumbled to the main office. The paint had begun to sting my eyes, and I knew that was the least of my problems. My Dad heard me coming as he wrote something in a report,
"Come in Scott, what's up?"
Where to start?
He glanced up for a second and then did a double take. His eyes widened and all he could say was
"Oooooo my."
He jumped up and rushed me to the bathroom pulling a hose and setting the water to run on my eyes. He ran to the car fix-it shop next door and got their tube of paint skin solvent. He scrubbed the paint from around my eyes and face and found a clean towel for me to wash with. He asked me a dozen times how my eyes were, where it hurt, and how I was doing. Finally he sent me home to change and shower.
Now I have seen my father angry. I highly doubt he didn't feel the emotion, but he understood something I needed to learn, control and timing. Eventually I had to face the question: "What were you thinking?" but not when I stood in his office lacquered in black. There was a painful cleaning to do, but that wasn't what my father said when my eyes were stinging. There have been times when I would have said my dad wasn't exactly patient, but that day he showed me what a real man does when he is angry. The righteous may be stirred up to anger (2 Nephi 28:20), but one of the things we must learn in life is to control our appetites and passions (Alma 38:12). Losing my temper always leads to a bad story. My father's patience not only helped me when I needed it most, it taught me a lesson I have never forgotten.
Now there's a little notch where you can pop the lid off with a screwdriver, but that's not the macho way of doing it. I wrestled it with my bare hands, but darned if that lid refused to budge! I'll show it. I banged the lid on the edge of the tool bench. Banged again. That was one tough lid! But I was tougher. I wound up, and banged the lid as hard as I could. Now it was a man thing. This lid was calling me a wuss, and no one gets away with that. The screwdriver was hanging on the wall with the other tools, and as I grabbed the sharp instrument I realized popping the lid was too good for this defiant insubordinate lid. Full of anger and power I decided to poke the screwdriver through lid and fling the stubborn thing away Rambo style.
I missed the lid by a mere millimeter and punctured the can.
I remember a black monster jumping at my face and I tossed the can instinctively clenching my eyes shut.
FWSSSSH tink tink FWWwwwwsssssSSSSHHHHWWwwwwSSSHHHH ping bang bang
Now I kept my eyes closed in shock and despair as the rocket soared around my stall
SSsSSSSSHSsSsssssssSSSHSHH ping ping bang FWWWWwwwwsssssssss.
As the hissing missile fizzled to a stop I decided I would brave a peek. Turns out car paint is fast drying and quite strong. My eyes were sealed shut, and I had to pry the open with my fingers. If there was any anger left in me the sight I saw sapped the last of it. Swaths of black across all the white towels. Black smeared across the truck, on both sides. Each tool on the wall speckled with black dots. A mirror confirmed my suspicion, I had changed ethnicity. As I stood there feeling all shades of stupid I realized there was one more lesson on anger I was about to learn. There was no way to hide this from my Dad.
While my body started to stiffen I stumbled to the main office. The paint had begun to sting my eyes, and I knew that was the least of my problems. My Dad heard me coming as he wrote something in a report,
"Come in Scott, what's up?"
Where to start?
He glanced up for a second and then did a double take. His eyes widened and all he could say was
"Oooooo my."
He jumped up and rushed me to the bathroom pulling a hose and setting the water to run on my eyes. He ran to the car fix-it shop next door and got their tube of paint skin solvent. He scrubbed the paint from around my eyes and face and found a clean towel for me to wash with. He asked me a dozen times how my eyes were, where it hurt, and how I was doing. Finally he sent me home to change and shower.
Now I have seen my father angry. I highly doubt he didn't feel the emotion, but he understood something I needed to learn, control and timing. Eventually I had to face the question: "What were you thinking?" but not when I stood in his office lacquered in black. There was a painful cleaning to do, but that wasn't what my father said when my eyes were stinging. There have been times when I would have said my dad wasn't exactly patient, but that day he showed me what a real man does when he is angry. The righteous may be stirred up to anger (2 Nephi 28:20), but one of the things we must learn in life is to control our appetites and passions (Alma 38:12). Losing my temper always leads to a bad story. My father's patience not only helped me when I needed it most, it taught me a lesson I have never forgotten.
5/7/11
Lord I Would Follow Thee
When I was 11 my older brother Chad got the coolest ever computer game. I loved to watch him play the game, even when it was past my bedtime. Chad had a later bedtime because he was older. The computer was downstairs where our bedrooms were, so when my Mom told me to go to bed I simply waited until she went back upstairs and then went back into to watch the game.
A few minutes later my mother called down, "Chad, did Scott go to bed?"
I pled with my brother, "Say yes! I should be able to stay up as late as you! I did go to bed, so you wouldn't be lying! Please! I just want to see how this part of the game turns out, back me up brother!"
Chad said, "NO! He snuck back in and is watching me play."
Mother: "Well make sure he goes to bed!"
Oooo! I gave him the death glare. That treacherous traitor! "Thanks a lot man. You almost got me busted. Now let's find out what happens on this island..."
To my surprise Chad said, "Scott. Go. To. Bed."
"Who made you Dad? C'mon, if it was me you know I'd let you hang out with me. Remember when I let you change the channel? Remember how I stayed out of your way when your friends were here? I'm not bugging you I'll just sit here quietly."
Next thing I knew I had been pushed outside, the door was locked. I yelled through the door to make sure Chad knew how horrible he was, and sulked off to my room.
Ooo! I was mad! I had done so much for my brother and at the first chance he gets he betrays me? What makes it ok for him to be on the computer and not me? There would be no forgiveness for him in this world or the next. I would officially hate my brother and I could make his life miserable! What rotten luck that the circuit breaker is in the computer room. My other ideas involved ruining the computer room door in some way, and I knew then I'd be in trouble.
Before I go to bed I always say a prayer, so out of pure obligation and habit I started my nightly prayer. I told the Lord what an awful brother I had just in case He was planning on blessing that jerk anytime soon. I made sure heaven knew how unfair it was, and how unfair my life was in general. At the end I even prayed, "in fact Chad doesn't deserve to be on the computer. Please bless that computer to break or explode so that my brother can't use it anymore!" Then I ended my prayer in the name of the Lord.
As soon as I said "amen" I listened.....
I guess I wasn't really expecting anything to happen, I mean what was the chance? To my shock and horror....
Nothing happened. Still nothing happened. Ooo! Even heaven is against me! I saw my scriptures sitting there, and my parents encouraged me to read them every night. As if. The Lord is too busy to bother with me, do you think I'm going to read that boring book? I lay in bed angry and hurt. The thought occurred to me that hymns were like scriptures, but not quite as boring. I could see my hymn book there... maybe I could find something to comfort a victim like me.
"There is sunshine in my soul today!"
No, that's definitely not the right hymn. I tried randomly opening it a second time, hymn 220
"Savior may I learn to love thee
Walk the path that thou hast shown
Pause to help and lift another
Finding strength beyond my own
Savior, may I learn to love thee
Lord, I would follow thee"
Well, I certainly knew about walking the Lord's path, after all he was betrayed and hated, persecuted and beaten. We had a lot in common that way. The very fact that I had survived my own family was a testament to finding strength beyond my own. I hate that brother. I should go sing this to him. Did he pause to help and lift me? Well, when judgment day comes I bet he's going to regret this. I'll try not to say "I told you so." I've sung this song an hundred times. I skimmed to the last verse,
"Savior may I love my brother"
WHAT! Give me one good reason why I should!
"As I know thou lovest me"
Oh.
This gave me pause. Have you ever been smacked by the spirit? It's a life changing experience. As I sat there thought after thought came hammering into my head. What had the Savior done for me? Lived, taught, suffered, died... I'd had prayers answered, I'd felt the power of God. The Lord blessed me with a family, they were blessed with the money to have a computer, and how did I thank the Lord? By praying for that computer to explode so it could hurt my brother. My thoughts landed on times when I had done something wrong while thinking about how wrong it was. The Savior had been kind and loving to me, but I had pushed him out of my room and locked the door. He had every reason to hate me
And what had he said? "Father forgive Scott, for he knows not what he does" (my Luke 23:34). Even now my punishment was a lecture which was designed to make me feel better. "Neither do I condemn you, now go and sin no more" (John 8:11) The Savior was betrayed, but never mean. What would the Savior have really done? I realized the issue wasn't about Chad at all, it was about me obeying my mother. Was Chad helping me to be obedient? It was almost too much to handle at once.
"Savior may I love my brother
As I know thou lovest me
Find in thee my strength my beacon
For thy servant I would be
Savior may I love my brother
Lord, I would follow thee."
I was the worlds greatest hypocrite. Why was I so worked up over a stupid computer game? Was I going to risk my spiritual tie to the Lord for a chance to disobey my Mom? First thing I did was to promise myself I would never tell anyone this story. Then I said a second prayer. This one was very different from the first.
"Please forgive me, I have been prideful and I missed the point. I thank thee for getting things back on track."
When I crawled into bed the anger and pain were gone. It was a calm happy feeling that I just figured out what life was really about. The last thing I remember before falling asleep was my brother going to bed.
A few minutes later my mother called down, "Chad, did Scott go to bed?"
I pled with my brother, "Say yes! I should be able to stay up as late as you! I did go to bed, so you wouldn't be lying! Please! I just want to see how this part of the game turns out, back me up brother!"
Chad said, "NO! He snuck back in and is watching me play."
Mother: "Well make sure he goes to bed!"
Oooo! I gave him the death glare. That treacherous traitor! "Thanks a lot man. You almost got me busted. Now let's find out what happens on this island..."
To my surprise Chad said, "Scott. Go. To. Bed."
"Who made you Dad? C'mon, if it was me you know I'd let you hang out with me. Remember when I let you change the channel? Remember how I stayed out of your way when your friends were here? I'm not bugging you I'll just sit here quietly."
Next thing I knew I had been pushed outside, the door was locked. I yelled through the door to make sure Chad knew how horrible he was, and sulked off to my room.
Ooo! I was mad! I had done so much for my brother and at the first chance he gets he betrays me? What makes it ok for him to be on the computer and not me? There would be no forgiveness for him in this world or the next. I would officially hate my brother and I could make his life miserable! What rotten luck that the circuit breaker is in the computer room. My other ideas involved ruining the computer room door in some way, and I knew then I'd be in trouble.
Before I go to bed I always say a prayer, so out of pure obligation and habit I started my nightly prayer. I told the Lord what an awful brother I had just in case He was planning on blessing that jerk anytime soon. I made sure heaven knew how unfair it was, and how unfair my life was in general. At the end I even prayed, "in fact Chad doesn't deserve to be on the computer. Please bless that computer to break or explode so that my brother can't use it anymore!" Then I ended my prayer in the name of the Lord.
As soon as I said "amen" I listened.....
I guess I wasn't really expecting anything to happen, I mean what was the chance? To my shock and horror....
Nothing happened. Still nothing happened. Ooo! Even heaven is against me! I saw my scriptures sitting there, and my parents encouraged me to read them every night. As if. The Lord is too busy to bother with me, do you think I'm going to read that boring book? I lay in bed angry and hurt. The thought occurred to me that hymns were like scriptures, but not quite as boring. I could see my hymn book there... maybe I could find something to comfort a victim like me.
"There is sunshine in my soul today!"
No, that's definitely not the right hymn. I tried randomly opening it a second time, hymn 220
"Savior may I learn to love thee
Walk the path that thou hast shown
Pause to help and lift another
Finding strength beyond my own
Savior, may I learn to love thee
Lord, I would follow thee"
Well, I certainly knew about walking the Lord's path, after all he was betrayed and hated, persecuted and beaten. We had a lot in common that way. The very fact that I had survived my own family was a testament to finding strength beyond my own. I hate that brother. I should go sing this to him. Did he pause to help and lift me? Well, when judgment day comes I bet he's going to regret this. I'll try not to say "I told you so." I've sung this song an hundred times. I skimmed to the last verse,
"Savior may I love my brother"
WHAT! Give me one good reason why I should!
"As I know thou lovest me"
Oh.
This gave me pause. Have you ever been smacked by the spirit? It's a life changing experience. As I sat there thought after thought came hammering into my head. What had the Savior done for me? Lived, taught, suffered, died... I'd had prayers answered, I'd felt the power of God. The Lord blessed me with a family, they were blessed with the money to have a computer, and how did I thank the Lord? By praying for that computer to explode so it could hurt my brother. My thoughts landed on times when I had done something wrong while thinking about how wrong it was. The Savior had been kind and loving to me, but I had pushed him out of my room and locked the door. He had every reason to hate me
And what had he said? "Father forgive Scott, for he knows not what he does" (my Luke 23:34). Even now my punishment was a lecture which was designed to make me feel better. "Neither do I condemn you, now go and sin no more" (John 8:11) The Savior was betrayed, but never mean. What would the Savior have really done? I realized the issue wasn't about Chad at all, it was about me obeying my mother. Was Chad helping me to be obedient? It was almost too much to handle at once.
"Savior may I love my brother
As I know thou lovest me
Find in thee my strength my beacon
For thy servant I would be
Savior may I love my brother
Lord, I would follow thee."
I was the worlds greatest hypocrite. Why was I so worked up over a stupid computer game? Was I going to risk my spiritual tie to the Lord for a chance to disobey my Mom? First thing I did was to promise myself I would never tell anyone this story. Then I said a second prayer. This one was very different from the first.
"Please forgive me, I have been prideful and I missed the point. I thank thee for getting things back on track."
When I crawled into bed the anger and pain were gone. It was a calm happy feeling that I just figured out what life was really about. The last thing I remember before falling asleep was my brother going to bed.
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