WEEK 37: My Jesus

STARKE, FL
COMPANION:  ELDER COLLETT

Hi there.

Yesterday something peculiar happened. We asked one of our pretty standard questions,"How has Jesus Christ blessed your life?" This comes from our standard questions bag. Other occupants of this bag include, "What would it mean to you to have a prophet on the earth? Where do you believe we were before our births? How do you find peace in your life? How do you find the strength to change and improve? What do you like best about church?" Anyway, I have already gotten off my thread of thought. A thin thread I fear it is.

WEEK 36: Even Me

STARKE, FL
COMPANION:  ELDER COLLETT

THIS week. Goodness. We had some fun this week. Lots of firsts.

For the first time this week, I stood on my chair, waved the Book of Mormon over my head, and testified that it is true to an investigator.

For the first time this week,

WEEK 35: Story Time

STARKE, FL
COMPANION:  ELDER COLLETT

I think some stories are overdue.

Story Number 1: We share the ward with a set of Sister Missionaries.  This week one of their investigators, Ciera, got baptized, and asked me to perform the baptism. So that was a little amazing. It went off without a hitch, mostly because I made my companion go down to the empty font and practice with me (over his STRENUOUS objections) about a million times. Hehehee, poor Elder Collett. A thought from the baptism: it was not necessary for me to shove her down or dunk her in the water. She bent her knees and slid smoothly under the surface, with my hands and arms providing only guidance and structure to her descent and rise. This is our role as missionaries, and as children of God. We do not force, shove, or dunk. We only are guides. "Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path".

Story Number 2: Yesterday a young woman walked by us, waving hello and extending a greeting with a familiarity that indicated we ought to know who the heck she was. We had no idea who she was. In our defense, we talk to a lot of people! It seems like everyone in the 5 or 6 towns we cover knows who we are. Anyway, we stood there, puzzling, until
finally we remembered. And then we chased her. She had gotten a pretty significant head start, but we ran after her all the way to her house, pausing only to try to preach to a couple of men in their front yard, to whom we must have presented a truly ridiculous spectacle. Anyways, we caught up just as this young woman, Brittany, went inside. Dang it!
Well we knocked on her door anyway. Her friend answered and told us they were baptist. But we just ignored that comment, taught them the first lesson, and are going back with a member of the ward to teach them some more tonight. Every week needs a good chasing story. "Then ye shall be a peculiar treasure unto me..." We are certainly peculiar.

Story Number 3: We had been out walking the streets teaching people for several hours, and had wandered many many miles from where our car was parked. I was pretty exhausted from having been rather dreadfully ill earlier that morning. So there we were, in the middle of NOWHERE,
definitely going to miss our next appointment, when a less-active member pulls up out of the blue and offers us a ride. We had been working with him and he had JUST come back to church for the first time in 40 years. He bore powerful testimony of Joseph Smith while driving us to our car, and will be meeting with us Tuesday. The Lord works it out when we work our hardest!

Stories galore: I'm not sure how to pack all these in. We got kicked out of the annual Starke Strawberry festival. We were tricked by our GPS into driving into the middle of a field. As we were walking through one neighborhood a small child pointed and laughed at us so hard that he fell over and his mother had to come check on him and we set an appointment time with her. Our investigators feed us pretty consistently. We are still teaching everyone at the car wash and their
baptism dates are coming up quick! We are just happy to be alive.

As a mission, we are reading the Book of Mormon in 90 days. As I read, I mark up anything I find about the nature of the Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost, Angels, prophets, and the wicked, all in different colors. I also have little side project going on. As I study the scriptures, I look for verses that capture the essence and unique personality of their author. For example, 2 Ne. 4 and 33:6 are marvelous for exploring the soul of the prophet/historian/warrior/king Nephi. 2 Ne.1:15 is my favorite for Lehi. Moroni has a lot of excellent ones but
Ether 12:38-39 is my favorite. Poor Jacob is so melancholy, reading Jacob 7:26 nearly breaks my heart! Helaman 5: 6-12 is an exquisite insight into the bleeding heart of Helaman Jr. Oh how I wish we had more from that great teacher, father, judge, and the bane of Gadianton and Kishkumen. 
Alma 36:12-22 or 29:1-2 compete for my choice for Alma the Younger. These men are all so unique! Some, like Mormon (Mormon 6:17-22) and Nephi, actually wrote on the plates, and the insights we have into their hearts are plentiful. Others, like Benjamin or Ammon (Alma 26:35-37), are only quoted, albeit at length, and although their teachings are incredible and pure, a glimpse of the world through their eyes is harder to obtain (but well worth the effort!). Occasionally there is a third group, those who only are summarized or whose words were written down by those who knew very little about them personally. These men, like Samuel or Ether (Ether 15:34) or Abinadi, are a special sort of study for me. I feel as though Jacob or Moroni or Alma and I are quite close, but my relationship with these others is only beginning.

Oh how I love the Book of Mormon. I wish I had my scriptures or my journal here to write out the references I have searched for as I have sought for the heart and soul of the writers I cherish in the sacred pages from which I drink. I will have to be content with these few I can refer to by memory. The Book of Mormon is what it claims to be. I believe it and I know it. What a peerless gospel it is.

What do you think Abinadi was like? What was going through Samuel's mind up there on the wall? How was Ether similar to and different from Mormon and Moroni? I wonder these things. I am happy to find out. I am happy to love the authors of the Book of Mormon individually. I am thrilled at the thought that perhaps such study will allow me to love the Author of the Book of Mormon absolutely.

I love you. I love being a missionary.

-Elder Jorgensen

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WEEK 34: A Promised Land

STARKE, FL

COMPANION:  ELDER COLLETT

There is a song called "Bound for the Promised Land" that I have sung almost daily, and often much more than that, these past 8 months. Here are some of the lyrics:

On Jordan's stormy banks I stand

And cast a wishful eye

To Cannaan's fair and happy land

Where my possessions lie.

When shall I reach that happy place

And be forever blessed?
When shall I see my Father's face,

And in His bosom rest?

I am bound for the promised land

I am bound for the promised land

Oh who will come and go with me?

I am bound for the promised land.

I have referenced these lyrics before in my letters, and I pray the repetition will be forgiven. But over the months the idea of a Promised Land has sunk in. The promised land in the Book of Mormon is the Americas. The Promised Land in the Bible is Palestine. I have been telling people for weeks that the Promised Land in the Jacksonville Mission is Starke, Florida. But in some secret part of my heart, the Promised Land is my home.

My home for a long time was a little house in Chula Vista, where my childhood played out before loving parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins and friends. As I grew, home moved about from one place to another, following family and opportunity and friends. I knew it when I was there, I missed it when I was gone, and I tried to keep it in mind, whatever it was.

Home is wholeness. Home is rest. Home is where we belong. Home is flowing with milk and honey, where all sorrows rest, where our treasures are (or "our possession lie"), it is happy, it is blessed, and Father is there. I spoke of home last night after general conference to a beautiful young family, some of whom have begun to ask the questions that all must one day confront. In answer to these, I brought up on my iPad a picture of my homes; the celestial rooms of the new Fort Lauderdale Temple, and the celestial room of the San Diego Temple.

In my simple way, I told that family where my home was. I told them where I was whole, where I had found peace, where my Father's face is to be seen. I broke into tears as I said the words, "This is where you belong. This is where I belong. This is my home."

People ask me sometimes if I get homesick. The answer is absolutely yes. I have been homesick for 22 years. I am on my way home right now. I am getting there as quickly as possible. I cannot wait to be there with my whole, extended, crazy, wonderful family. With every man and woman I have ever called Brother or Sister, and felt the spirit confirm to me those words are more than perfunctory salutation. I am homesick. So are you. So is everyone. Some people just don't know it.

I am not home quite yet. On Jordan's stormy banks I stand. The storms are important. They are exciting. They, like the loads spoken of in Elder Bednar's conference address, give us the traction we need to return to our homes. There is precious little progress to be made by a becalmed ship. I am thankful for the storms, and yet, I cast a wishful eye. Not both eyes, not my whole heart. For there is a work to do! I am here on stormy shores! But one eye seems always to stray to my home, and a deep feeling of what missionaries refer to as "trunkiness" rests upon my heart. As much as I love it here, my soul seems to wander to Canaan's fair, and happy land, perhaps because it is where my treasure is! I have $0 in my bank account. If I were to move to the other end of the earth, I could fit all the wealth and property I have accumulated in 22 years into two suitcases, and carry them with ease. But oh in that fair, happy land, I am rich. There I am full. I long for it, for it is where my possessions lie.

I try not to be impatient. There are so many fun and delicious experiences here to be had. We are teaching NINE people every day at a car wash. Yes, we walk up to the car wash, split up (remaining, of course, within sight and sound) and teach either as they work, between cars, as they play, etc. Every single one of those nine people came to the church and watched General Conference with us this weekend. Every single one is different, an adventure, and a BARREL of fun. I would not give up the crazy afternoons with them for ANYTHING. But sometimes I can't help but ask when shall I see that happy place, and be forever blessed? Really what I'm asking is when shall I see my Father's face? My Father. My sweet, gentle Father. He is so powerful and wonderful and wise. He is so patient with me. He misses me more even than I miss Him. He is so SMART! He is such a good listener. I just want to be with Him, to talk to Him for hours, and in His bosom rest.

I have such a long way to go. There is such a marvelous and wondrous work to do. I am so grateful to be a part of it. I am grateful for the carwash! I am grateful for the two men, smoking and drinking and laughing as we taught a lesson to their next door neighbor, who invited us up onto their porch and asked for Book of Mormons, and to learn more. I am grateful for the authority and power of the priesthood that I was blessed to conduct this week as it blessed and changed the lives of members of my family here in Starke. I am grateful for the man who has asked to be called by the missionaries every day as he walks away from all he once clung to in life so that he can worthily participate in the sacred saving ordinance of baptism. I am grateful for the wonderful young woman that has asked me to perform her baptism this Saturday.

I am grateful for what I have, and I know where I am going. I am here not because I do not wish to be there, but because I wish EVERYONE to be there. I am here not because I am not homesick, but because everyone is. So many people do not know where they are taking their life, or, worse, where their life is taking them. But I have been blessed. I am bound for the promised land. I am bound for the PROMISED LAND. God reigns there. He is supreme. It is perfect. It is satisfaction. It is resolution. It is peace. I refuse to believe anyone does not need it. I refuse to accept from any of my family here any denial of a desperate longing for it. I reject completely any profession that to abide therein is anything other than the all-consuming craving which ravishes each immortal soul without pause or breath. So I walk up to strangers and drag myself from bed and run or walk or crawl to ask through laughter, smile, or tears "Who will come??? Who will come and go with me? I am bound for the promised land!

Jesus is the Christ! He lives! Stop! Stop what you are doing and worship Him! Fall on your knees, all ye who labor, who are heavy laden, who join in the human condition of toil and pain and sweat and praise your God, Master, Maker, and Friend. Oh that I were an angel, and could have the wish of my heart, that I might go forth and speak with the trump of God, with a voice to shake the earth, and cry repentance unto every people! Yea I would declare unto every soul, as with the voice of thunder, repentance and the plan of redemption, that they should repent and come unto our God, that there might not be more sorrow upon all the face of the earth. And perhaps in that process, my sorrows would be lifted. Perhaps in that process, I would finally fully repent. Perhaps one day my own foolishness and vice would finally be shaken, and I would be free at last. Oh how wondrous that would be. Oh how wondrous that WILL be. For He lives! President Monson speaks for Him, the Book of Mormon testifies of Him, the temples house Hum, and Joseph saw Him, standing on the right hand of God, and heard the voice bearing record that He is the only begotten of the Father. He demands obedience. He promises life. True life. Not this shadow we walk in. Not this figment which we slovenly entertain. There is life to be had, now and forever. The life that He lives.

I am not there. I am so very far away. I am uneducated, weak, penniless, and small. So many of the people I invite are, unwittingly, MILES ahead of me on this straight and narrow path. But I am not concerned by my weakness or my puny progress, neither am I intimidated by the grandeur and the beauty of the spirits which I endeavor, in some small way, to teach. For because of the Prophet I love desperately, because of the Book of Mormon, which I study hungrily, because of my Savior, whom I worship fervently, because of Father, my Father, I am bound, tied, grasped, sealed, inescapably, unalterably, eternally, for the promised land.

I love this gospel. it is true, and I had an incredible week.

With my love,

~Elder Jorgensen

WEEK 33: ... And I'm Feeling Good

STARKE, FL
COMPANION:  ELDER COLLETT

This week we worked.  We worked and then after we had worked we also worked, and when we were finished we worked some more.  And oh it was wonderful.  Oh it was fun.

After reading a bit of last week's letter, my companion laughed and said it sounded like a persuasive essay.  I suppose it is a bit.  A large part of why I write is that I desperately want everyone who is able, and particularly my younger siblings, to do whatever is necessary to serve a mission.  So there's some persuasion going on there.  I also want people to believe in Jesus Christ, in all that He is, did, and does.  That's what this next segment is going to be about.

I was reading in the Book of Mormon this week pretty aggressively.  That's a fun word to describe it.  Yes, aggressively.  I was hunting for more, hungry to learn  In King Benjamin's speech there is a phrase (I won't tell you where, you must find it!) where that noble man tells his people that they are debtors to their God for all that they have (pretty standard stuff there) and are.  

For all that they ARE.  We are thought that we have existed forever.  That we were with Father before this world was created and will continue in existence whether of happiness or misery, beyond the edge of time.  How then is it that we rely upon Him for all that we ARE?  Are we not independent?  Are we not our own?  Are there not attributes that are US, uniquely and completely?

Some of you know a bit of my story, others had the questionable opportunity to watch certain scenes play out before them.  For those of you unfamiliar, I once had a very long list of things that defined "me," and oh how they made me glow with pride when I thought of them.  I just thought I was the bee's knees, whatever that means, and strutted my way through life accordingly.

One day, after my symptoms had progressed significantly, I was lying on the carpet, utterly exhausted.  I had hung Christmas lights on the walls, and the effort of unraveling the cord and turning on the light switch had knocked me to the floor.  I could not move, I could not sleep, even blinking and breathing demanded concentrated effort.  I stared listlessly at the twinkling lights, and there it was that I received a glorious blessing.  I was given, for a moment, the capacity to think a thought that was beyond the limits of a mind which then struggled to recall even its own identity.  And the thought was this:  I am nothing. 

Not I HAVE nothing.  No no no, I had quite a bit actually.  Wonderful friends,  incredible family, books and a laptop and food and clothing and all sorts of modern conveniences.  Never has there been a moment in my life when I was not richly blessed.  But all of the things I had defined as ME, all of the things I would have described myself as, were gone.  Long gone.  No longer was I strong, or fast, or witty, or wise.  Certainly I had lost the capacity for raped and precise thought which I valued so highly in myself.  Gone was the discipline and capacity to endure that I had thought resided at the core of my being.  Lost was even my sense of humor, my personality quirks, my flavor of creativity, even my memories. All that I was, or rather all that I believed myself to have been, had been withdrawn, and I was left for a little while, to contemplate what I really am.  I am not BAD.  I do not mean to give the impression that any sort of self-loathing or disdain did or ought to have entered my wandering heart at this time.  Such feelings come from an evil and twisted source.  I am not evil, I am just nothing, without my Savior and my God.  

And so it is that I have a deep and a firm testimony of this particular Book of Mormon verse.  So it is that I know, or have begun to know, not only who I am but WHAT I am.  I am exactly what God chooses to make.  There is nothing about this idea of "me" that is independent of Him, and I submit that there is noting about ANYONE that is independent of Him!  He is at the center of every decision, of every moment, and of every soul.  all that we are cones from our loving Heavenly Father.  

Sigh.  All that we are.  I still am not much.  I know it, and I know that God knows it.  I don't mind it, and it seems that neither does He.  We do a great work here, the two of  us.  Well, He does the work, but I get to watch.  Sometimes I really do.  Sometimes I'll be taking, and my mind will stop and listen to my mouth speak the words that come through it.  They are some pretty great words.  Every once in a while there are even some new ones!  I like those.

I love the people here in Starke.  We taught scores of lessons to dozens of incredible investigators.  There simply isn't the time even to begin to relate all the miracles incident to such work as that in which we are engaged, but miracles do happen, and I love them.  I love these people.  I love to see the ways in which their spirits and souls are wrapped upon our Father.  Every single one of them is.  I pray that every single one of them will know it sooner rather than later.  That's all we do here, is push towards sooner.  Because one day every knee shall bow, even trembling knees like mine, and every tongue confess, through stutters and the shadows of old lisps and with inadequate language and perhaps even in a southern accent, that blessed Jesus is the Christ.  

--Elder Jorgensen

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