WEEK 53: First, a Story

ST. JOHNS, FLORIDA

COMPANION:  ELDER BORE

DISTRICT LEADER

Usually I talk very much in these letters! Let's shake it up today
with a story from Richard Thurman as quoted by Vaughn J Featherstone.

“No one in our Utah town knew where the Countess had come from; her
carefully precise English indicated that she was not a native
American. From the size of her house and staff we knew that she must
be wealthy, but she never entertained and she made it clear that when
she was at home she was completely inaccessible. Only when she stepped
outdoors did she become at all a public figure--and then chiefly to
the small fry of the town, who lived in awe of her.

“The countess always carried a cane, not only for support, but as a
means of chastising any youngster she thought needed disciplining. And
at one time or another most of the kids in our neighborhood seemed to
display that need. By running fast and staying alert, I had managed to
keep out of her reach. But one day when I was about thirteen, as I was
short-cutting through her hedge, she got close enough to rap my head
with her stick.

“‘Ouch!’ I yelled, jumping a couple of feet.

“‘Young man, I want to talk to you,’ she said. I was expecting a
lecture on the evils of trespassing, but as she looked at me, half
smiling, she seemed to change her mind.

“‘Don’t you live in that green house with the willow trees in the next block?’

“‘Yes, ma’am.’ …

“‘Good. I’ve lost my gardener. Be at my house Thursday morning at
seven, and don’t tell me you have something else to do; I’ve seen you
slouching around on Thursdays.’

“When the Countess gave an order, it was carried out. I didn’t dare
not come on that next Thursday. I went over the whole lawn three times
with a mower before she was satisfied, and then she had me down on all
fours looking for weeds until my knees were as green as the grass. She
finally called me up to the porch.

“‘Well, young man, how much do you want for your day’s work?’

“‘I don’t know. Fifty cents, maybe.’

“‘Is that what you figure you’re worth?”

“‘Yes’m. About that.’

“‘Very well. Here’s the fifty cents you say you’re worth, and here’s
the dollar and a half more that I’ve earned for you by pushing you.
Now I’m going to tell you something about how you and I are going to
work together. There are as many ways of mowing a lawn as there are
people, and they may be worth anywhere from a penny to five dollars.
Let’s say that a three-dollar job would be just what you have done
today, except that you’d have to be something of a fool to spend that
much time on a lawn. A five-dollar lawn is--well, it’s impossible, so
we’ll forget about that. Now then, each week I’m going to pay you
according to your own evaluation of your work.’

“I left with my two dollars, richer than I remembered being in my
whole life, and determined that I would get four dollars out of her
the next week. But I failed to reach even the three dollar mark. My
will began to falter the second time around her yard.

“‘Two dollars again,’ eh? That kind of job puts you right on the edge
of being dismissed, young man.’

“‘Yes’m. But I’ll do better next week.’

“And somehow I did. The last time around the lawn I was exhausted, but
I found I could spur myself on. In the exhilaration of that new
feeling, I had no hesitation in asking the Countess for three dollars.

“Each Thursday for the next four or five weeks, I varied between a
three-and a three-and-a-half dollar job. The more I became more
acquainted with her lawn, places where the ground was a little high or
a little low, places where it needed to be clipped short or left long
on the edges to make a more satisfying curve along the garden, the
more I became aware of just what a four-dollar lawn would consist of.
And each week I would resolve to do just that kind of a job. But by
the time I had made my three dollar or three and-a-half dollar mark I
was too tired to remember even having had the ambition to go beyond
that.

“‘You look like a good consistent $3.50 man,’ she would say as she
handed me the money.

“‘I guess so’ I would say, too happy at the sight of the money to
remember that I had shot for something higher.

“‘Well, don’t feel too bad,’ she would comfort me. ‘After all, there
are only a handful of people in the world who could do a four-dollar
job.’

“And her words were a comfort at first, but then, without my noticing
what was happening, her comfort became an irritant that made me
resolve to do that four-dollar job, even if it killed me. In the fever
of my resolve, I could see myself expiring on her lawn, with the
Countess leaning over me, handing me the four dollars with a tear in
her eye, begging my forgiveness for having thought I couldn’t do it.

“It was in the middle of such a fever, one Thursday night when I was
trying to forget the day’s defeat and get some sleep, that the truth
hit me so hard that I sat upright, half choking in my excitement. It
was the five-dollar job I had to do, not the four-dollar one! I had to
do the job that no one could do because it was impossible.

“I was well acquainted with the difficulties ahead. I had the problem,
for example, of doing something about the worm mounds in the lawn. The
Countess might not even have noticed them yet, they were so small; but
in my bare feet I knew about them and I had to do something about
them. And I could go on trimming the garden edges with shears, but I
knew that a five-dollar lawn demanded that I line up each edge exactly
with a yard stick and then trim it precisely with the edger. And there
were other problems that only I and my bare feet knew about.

“I started the next Thursday by ironing out the worm mounds with a
heavy roller. After two hours of that I was ready to give up for the
day. Nine o’clock in the morning, and my will was already gone! It was
only by accident that I discovered how to regain it. Sitting under a
walnut tree for a few minutes after finishing the rolling, I fell
asleep. When I woke up minutes later, the lawn looked so good and felt
so good under my feet, I was anxious to get on with the job.

“I followed this secret for the rest of the day, dozing for a few
minutes every hour to regain my perspective and replenish my strength.
Between naps, I mowed four times, two times lengthwise, two times
across, until the lawn looked like a green velvet checkerboard. Then I
dug around every tree, crumbling the big clods and smoothing the soil
with my hands, then finished with the edger, meticulously lining up
each stroke so that the effect would be perfectly symmetrical. And I
carefully trimmed the grass between the flagstones of the front walk.
The shears wore my fingers raw, but the walk never looked better.

“Finally about eight o’clock that evening … it was all completed. I
was so proud I didn’t even feel tired when I went up to her door.

“‘Well, what is it today?’ she asked.

“‘Five dollars,’ I said, trying for a little calm and sophistication.

“‘Five dollars? You mean four dollars, don’t you? I told you that a
five-dollar lawn job isn’t possible.’

“‘Yes it is. I just did it.’

“‘Well, young man, the first five-dollar lawn in history certainly
deserves some looking around.’

“We walked about the lawn together in the light of evening, and even I
was quite overcome by the impossibility of what I had done.

“‘Young man,’ she said, putting her hand on my shoulder, ‘what on
earth made you do such a crazy, wonderful thing?’

“I didn’t know why, but even if I had, I could not have explained it
in the excitement of hearing that I had done it.

“‘I think I know,’ she continued, ‘how you felt when this idea first
came to you of caring for a lawn that I told you was impossible. It
made you very happy when it first came, then a little frightened. Am I
right?’

“She could see she was right by the startled look on my face.

“‘I know how you felt, because the same thing happens to almost
everyone. They feel this sudden burst in them of wanting to do some
great thing. They feel a wonderful happiness, but then it passes
because they have said, “No, I can’t do that. It’s impossible.”
Whenever something in you says, “It’s impossible,” remember to take a
careful look and see if it isn’t really God asking you to grow an
inch, or a foot, or a mile, that you may come to a fuller life.’ …

“Since that time, some 25 years ago, when I have felt myself at an end
with nothing before me, suddenly, with the appearance of that word,
‘impossible,’ I have experienced the unexpected lift, the leap inside
me, and known that the only possible way lay through the very middle
of impossible.” (Richard Thurman, “The Countess and the Impossible,”
Reader’s Digest, June, 1958.)
“The Gospel of Jesus Christ Is the Golden Door”
http://www.lds.org/general-conference/1973/10/the-gospel-of-jesus-christ-is-the-golden-door?lang=eng

What a marvelous story!!! I enjoyed it. I hope you did as well.

There is another story. This one I will not quote at length. It is the
story of the man born blind, who was healed by Jesus Christ. Not
knowing anything of His Lord, he was questioned by the leaders of the
Jews. They accused his Healer of being corrupt, of being a sinner.
This was his response:

"Whether He be a sinner or no, I know not, one thing I know, that
whereas I was blind, now I see."

That was his testimony, as was the testimony of the man who penned
that timeless verse, "I once was lost, but now I'm found. Was blind,
but now I see..."

Is that not enough?? Later, when the council continued to reject the
righteousness of Jesus, this once-blind man went on... (Emphasis
added)

"Why herein is a marvelous thing, that ye know not from whence He is.
And yet he hath OPENED my EYES! Now we knoweth that God heareth not
sinners, but if any man be a worshiper of God and doeth His will him
He heareth! Since the world began was it not heard that any man opened
the eyes of one that was born blind. If this Man were not of God He
could do nothing."

Come now, and hear the words of one who was blind. The Book of Mormon:
Another Testament of Jesus Christ, gives sight to the souls of men. It
has opened my heart! It hath opened my eyes. If it were not of God it
would be nothing. For it claims to be nothing but of God! And it is
not nothing. It is nectar to the soul, it is the power of illumination
somehow channeled into prose. It is of our Holy God. And whether I
shall be found, at His marvelous judgement day, to be a sinner or no,
I know not. One thing I know. That whereas I was blind, now I see.

And oh what a marvelous destiny I see! I see temple sealings and
thrones on high. I see mansions prepared in the kingdom of my Father.
I see joy, and peace, and gladness. I see multitudes clothed in white,
wrapped in light. I see it! Not millions, but billions. Come and see!
Behold, with me, a royal army!

Is it not enough for we who, like sheep, have gone astray, and turned
every one to his own way? Is much circumstance and speech necessary?
One thing need we know, does it make us, now, to see?

My testimony is that it does. The Book of Mormon, the words of Thomas
S. Monson and of Joseph Smith, the ministry of Jesus Christ and,
ultimately, the love of my Heavenly Father, are the light by which
mankind seeth. There is but one other way, which is that of the blind.
So come. Come, and see.

Such is our invitation to the world. We extend it in the name of Jesus Christ.

Amen.

WEEK 52: RISE!!!

Life is pretty great! The ward is INTENSELY involved in the work,
every day ward members are calling us and new families are popping up
on our radar to get more involved and to work through to fellowship
investigators. The ward council is a powerful tool for good here. The
auxiliaries reach past Sunday into the week and are changing the
nature of the work! It is an incredible thing to be a part of! It is
an incredible area to serve in.

And we are seeing the results! Three baptism dates on for this month,
with twice that many solid potentials for September. The work is
exploding! The work is hastening. We love these people. We love this
work.

And this week, I made mistakes! Shoot! Some were little and already
forgotten. Some were not little. The not little ones make you want to
judge yourself. The not little ones make you want to give up! Everyone
feels this, it's almost so common as to be mundane. But it's not
mundane. It's terrifying. Which is why we have prophets to say things
like this:

Letters Home

WEEK 51: What's In a Name?

Sometimes I wonder what I really do as a missionary. I was walking
down the street the other day, and it was pouring rain, for about the
7th time that day (the storm blew over us and then the wind changed
direction and brought it back... All day. And we were tracting. For
five hours) just wandering around, knocking on doors, saying whatever
I felt like saying to whomever I felt like talking to. And apparently
it was incredibly successful, but I wondered, what was I doing? Just
trying to give away happiness.

“Earth gets its price from what Earth gives us;
The beggar is taxed for a corner to die in. …
We bargain for the graves we lie in;
At the devil’s booth are all things sold,
Each ounce of dross costs its ounce of gold;
For a cap and bells our lives we pay,
Bubbles we buy with a whole soul’s tasking.
For ’tis heaven alone that is given away,
’Tis only God may be had for the asking. …”
(“The Vision of Sir Launfal,” Stanza 3.)

Nothing is free, except for everything that matters. Nothing matters,
except for that which makes us free.

One thing I AM doing is learning. Yearning and learning.

“Four things a man must learn to do,
If he would make a record true,
To think without confusion clearly,
To love his fellowmen sincerely,
To act from honest motives purely,
To trust in God and heaven securely.”
~Henry Van Dyke

My thinking is confused, for sure. But I do sincerely love. I love
these people! They are smart and successful and hard-working and
fast-paced. They feel deeply, they are raw, they are generous and
kind. They are demanding. They are powerful. They are clear-eyed and
creative and passionately engaged. They are exciting. And every single
one of them belongs in his Church.

"I bear you my witness that there isn’t a man or a woman in this world
who really loves the Lord with all their heart who wouldn’t join this
church if they would just take time to find out what it is, for I know
that it is God’s eternal truth."
~LeGrand Richards

And that's why I'm here. That's why I came. Because I know it isn't a
church for Americans or Utahns or the middle class or people who like
reading. One thing people say to us a lot when we knock on their door
is, "Oh, we're not Mormons." And we say, "We know. That's why we're
here!"

Sometimes people don't like that very much. Occasionally people yell
and chase and whatnot. One man this week called the police on us. He
was riding his golf cart down the road, saw us, and took most of the
rest of his afternoon to threaten, complain, and harass. The officer
who came liked us quite a bit, let the golf cart man know that we were
not, in fact, soliciting, and the golf cart man went on his merry way.

It was a little frightening, honestly, having this man threaten and
rail, and having the police come. It was a little frightening to keep
right on knocking. But that's how we do it. We do not doubt, and we do
not fear.

"The standard of truth has been erected; no unhallowed hand can stop
the work from progressing, persecutions may rage, mobs may combine,
armies may assemble, calumny may defame, but the truth of God will go
forth boldly, nobly, and independent, till it has penetrated every
continent, visited every clime, swept every country, and sounded in
every ear, till the purposes of God shall be accomplished and the
great Jehovah shall say the work is done”
~Joseph Smith

Sometimes, in spite of everything, in spite of all my ridiculous
weaknesses, I find pride lurking in my heart. PRIDE! In ME! In all my
absurdity, in all my weakness, in the miracles I am engulfed by every
day, still I find a moment to be proud. Still I make the time for
arrogance. How can it be?? Perhaps I grow lax in my awareness of the
magnificence of my calling, and begin to slip into attributing some of
that glory to myself.

Pride is enmity between men. When we attribute our glory to God,
enmity between men ceases. When our object is the Kingdom, suddenly
all mankind is our partner. We are teammates with EVERYONE, and every
success is a joy to us! What a wonder that would be! Freedom from
pride is happiness indeed. Every advance, every success, every
achievement and progression and love and light and laugh is your own.

It should be so easy, particularly for me. If only humility was in any
way connected to destitution. I'd be guaranteed! Oh remember, Helaman
says. Remember remember

Far-called, our navies melt away;
On dune and headland sinks the fire--
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet
Lest we forget--lest we forget!
~Rudyard Kipling

We worked very hard. Tommy came to church. Our ward is piloting a new
fellowship program for the mission, which puts us into contact with
the stake presidency and the high council... a lot. President has
expressed concern that I'm up for it! Which is fair. Sometimes I'm
concerned I'm up for even putting my pants on straight! So, you know,
I pray. But can I tell you the secret to happiness? Can I tell you the
secret to strength?

All strength is a gift. None of it is ours. The Lord lends it to us to
accomplish His purposes. What a wonderful Lord He is. What a merciful
Father. And so the secret to strength is to devote oneself to the
accomplishment of His purposes.

Happiness, it turns out, is a choice, and a commandment. We are
instructed to choose to be happy. Sometimes it is hard to make that
choice. Sometimes it is hard to follow through. Sometimes I would
rather be lazy, or entertained, or excited, or asleep, than happy. But
we are commanded to be happy! It's important to live life in such a
way that that commandment is simple for us, but no coercion of
circumstance can replace the power of choice. Only wickedness makes it
impossible to choose happiness.

Happy, and strong, that's what I pray for. Prayer is important. Prayer
can be grand.

O God, our Eternal Father, Thou great Judge of the Nations, Thou who
art the governor of the universe, Thou who art our Father and our God,
whose children we are, we look to Thee in faith in this dark and
solemn time. Please, dear Father, bless us with faith. Bless us with
love. Bless us with charity in our hearts. Bless us with a spirit of
perseverance to root out the terrible evils that are in this world.
Give protection and guidance to those who are engaged actively in
carrying forth the things of battle. Bless them; preserve their lives;
save them from harm and evil. Hear the prayers of their loved ones for
their safety. We pray for the great democracies of the earth which
Thou hast overseen in creating their governments, where peace and
liberty and democratic processes obtain. O Father, look with mercy
upon this, our own nation, and its friends in this time of need. Spare
us and help us to walk with faith ever in Thee and ever in Thy Beloved
Son, on whose mercy we count and to whom we look as our Savior and our
Lord. Bless the cause of peace and bring it quickly to us again, we
humbly plead with Thee, asking that Thou wilt forgive our arrogance,
pass by our sins, be kind and gracious to us, and cause our hearts to
turn with love toward Thee. We humbly pray in the name of Him who
loves us all, even the Lord Jesus Christ, our Redeemer and our Savior,
amen.
~President Gordon B. Hinckley, closing remarks in the first conference
after the 9/11 attacks.

I will be here. I will be praying. I met some wonderful people this
week. And I got some good advice. We found and messaged (via Facebook)
an Elder who had been extremely successful in this area a couple of
years ago. We asked him for the secret. His advice was: "Make certain
the people know how much you love them."

I love you. I love you because we are Brothers and Sisters. I love you
enough to leave for a little while so that we can be together forever.
I love you because you are bright and evolving and beautiful and
glorious and grand. I love you because you listen, and because you
love me. I love your weakness, just as I love my master's scars. I
love your imperfections, exactly as much as I love my Savior's grace.
I love your letters, I love your thoughts. I love you. And I love Him.

I testify of my Savior, and bear my meager witness of His name. I am
not an Apostle, but I am an apostle, and I have a witness to share. He
is indeed Wonderful. He is the Counselor. Omega and Alpha. A Fortress.
A Solace. He is the Light, the Resurrection, the Life. He is Prince of
Peace and Lord of Lords. He is the Father of my Spirit. He is God. He
is the Son. He is the Creator. Mediator. Advocate. Friend. He is the
Messiah, the Christ, the Hope of Israel and the Mighty One. Jehovah.
Only Begotten. Rabboni. Beloved. Everlasting. Master. To know His name
is to know Him. I am learning. I will try.

For now my name is Elder. I like my name. I worked HARD for my name.
My name is Elder Jorgensen, and I have a witness, borne to my eternal
soul by the incomparable power of the Holy Spirit of God, that Jesus
is the Christ, that the Book of Mormon is true and divine, and that
the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the Lord's kingdom
once again established upon the earth, preparatory to the second
coming of the Messiah. In the name, the cherished, sacred name, of
Jesus Christ, Amen.

~Elder Jorgensen

WEEK 50 : "WILL" not "can"

Bless me, for I have sinned. It has been about 12 seconds since my last confession...

One goal of my mission is to change every day. I want to be different out of a love of Jesus Christ and a more perfect brightness of hope in the future, and not from a place of self-loathing or contempt. The way I changed this week is to choose WILL, not can.

I have changed in a lot of ways. I am intensely positive and
enthusiastic. I am fanatically smiley. I am stamping out the vestiges of my argumentative nature and endless criticisms. I talk and think about different things. But this week, I changed in my favorite way.

It is easy to believe God CAN do something. God CAN work a miracle, He CAN answer a prayer, He CAN help us to baptize x number of people, He CAN redeem me, He CAN heal this person, etc. That is was I thought faith was! That was my understanding of my relationship with God. But I was corrected this week. I believe my Father WILL. He WILL work miracles and answer prayers and redeem and heal and enable me to achieve my goals. He WILL. I choose to believe it before I understand it, before I know it, before I see it. He WILL. These people that I work with and love WILL receive the saving ordinances, they WILL be baptized, and that is just how it WILL be! Will, not can.

Vicki continues to progress. We have her either in a lesson with us or at a church activity or studying the gospel online every single day. Her husband Nelson has caught the fire and they are both committed to be baptized on August 21! They have been to church twice and met half the ward and when we taught them the word of wisdom Nelson walked into the other room, spat out his tobacco, and came back in moments later beaming.

Tommy is an adventure! He has been taught by missionaries for over a year. Turns out, no one ever mentioned the word of wisdom or the law of Chastity! So we taught them both right there on the spot, in about 20 minutes standing in his kitchen! His huge family is looking to him, and he needs your prayers! Please pray for Tommy. Pray that he will gain a conviction of the truthfulness of the restored gospel by successfully living the laws that that gospel has established.

He will. They will!   Will, not can.

One day his week while we were finding, we were walking a little aimlessly. It had been 120ish degrees on the heat index, I had been sick all night, we were out of miles and neither of us had bikes, our appointments had fallen through, it was the middle of the day, and we were a little adrift. As we walked, a man pulled over, and called out, "Hey! We just moved here from Seattle a few months ago. My wife is a member of the Church (he and their two teenage kids are not... Yet.), will you come by and see us tonight?

We met with them that night. Two days later we were back with the ward mission leader. In a matter of a few days, they had invites to half a dozen activities, visiting teachers, the sister missionaries and young women's presidency and relief society presidency were calling and visiting and we had their records moved in and corrected. That's what happens when you talk to the missionaries! What a fabulous ward. What incredible member missionaries we are blessed with here.

So yes. Changes, developments, stories, excitements. But here begins my thought for the week.  My thought is not of missionary work or leadership or investigators. It is of love. There is only one kind of love that matters: love that shows.  Jesus Christ says, "if ye love me, keep my commandments." Prove it. Show it. Evidence it. Work it.  If faith is worthless without works, why would love be able to live on without that blessed breath of vitalizations action? 

So a story, from a general conference talk entitled "Now Abideth Faith, Hope, and Charity", by Vaughn J. Featherstone. The story is lengthy. It is well worth the read:

“But ‘as for me and my house,’ the welfare program began in the Old Field west of Lehi on the Saratoga Road in the autumn of 1918, that terribly climactic year of World War I during which more than 14 million people died of that awful scourge ‘the black plague,’ or Spanish influenza. 

“Winter came early that year and froze much of the sugar beet crop in the ground. My dad and brother Francis were desperately trying to get out of the frosty ground one load of beets each day which they would plow out of the ground, cut off the tops, and toss the beets, one at a time, into the huge red beet wagon and then haul the load off to the sugar factory. It was slow and tedious work due to the frost and the lack of farm help, since my brother Floyd and I were in the army and Francis, or Franz, as everybody called him, was too young for the military service.

“While they were thusly engaged in harvesting the family’s only cash crop and were having their evening meal one day, a phone call came through from our eldest brother, George Albert, superintendent of the State Industrial School in Ogden, bearing the tragic news that Kenneth, nine-year-old son of our brother Charles, the school farm manager, had been stricken with the dread ‘flu,’ and after only a few hours of violent sickness, had died on his father’s lap; and would dad please come to Ogden and bring the boy home and lay him away in the family plot in the Lehi Cemetery.

“My father cranked up his old flap-curtained Chevrolet and headed for Five Points in Ogden to bring his little grandson home for burial. When he arrived at the home he found ‘Charl’ sprawled across the cold form of his dear one, the ugly brown discharge of the black plague oozing from his ears and nose and virtually burning up with fever. 

“‘Take my boy home,’ muttered the stricken young father, ‘and lay him away in the family lot and come back for me tomorrow.’ 

“Father brought Kenneth home, made a coffin in his carpenter shop, and mother and our sisters, Jennie, Emma, and Hazel, placed a cushion and a lining in it, and then dad went with Franz and two kind neighbors to dig the grave. So many were dying the families had to do the grave digging. A brief graveside service was all that was permitted. 

“The folks had scarcely returned from the cemetery when the telephone rang again and George Albert (Bert) was on the line with another terrifying message: Charl had died and two of his beautiful little girls--Vesta, 7, and Elaine, 5--were critically ill, and two babies--Raeldon, 4, and Pauline, 3--had been stricken. 

“Our good cousins, the Larkin undertaking people, were able to get a casket for Charl and they sent him home in a railroad baggage car. Father and young Franz brought the body from the railroad station and placed it on the front porch of our old country home for an impromptu neighborhood viewing but folks were afraid to come near the body of a black plague victim. Father and Francis meanwhile had gone with neighbors to get the grave ready and arrange a short service in which the great, noble spirit of Charles Hyrum Goates was commended into the keeping of his Maker. 

“Next day my sturdy, unconquerable old dad was called on still another of his grim missions--this time to bring home Vesta, the smiling one with the raven hair and big blue eyes. 

“When he arrived at the home he found Juliett, the grief-crazed mother, kneeling at the crib of darling little Elaine, the blue-eyed baby angel with the golden curls. Juliett was sobbing wearily and praying: ‘Oh, Father in heaven, not this one, please! Let me keep my baby! Do not take any more of my darlings from me!’ 

“Before father arrived home with Vesta the dread word had come again. Elaine had gone to join her daddy, brother Kenneth, and Sister Vesta. And so it was that father made another heartbreaking journey to bring home and lay away a fourth member of his family, all within the week. 

“The telephone did not ring the evening of the day they laid away Elaine nor were there any more sad tidings of death the next morning.  It was assumed that George A. and his courageous companion Della, although afflicted, had been able to save the little ones Raeldon and Pauline; and it was such a relief that Cousin Reba Munns, a nurse, had been able to come in and help. 

“After breakfast dad said to Franz, ‘Well, son, we had better get down to the field and see if we can get another load of beets out of the ground before they get frozen in any tighter. Hitch up and let’s be on our way.’ 

“Francis drove the four-horse outfit down the driveway and dad climbed aboard. As they drove along the Saratoga Road, they passed wagon after wagon-load of beets being hauled to the factory and driven by neighborhood farmers. As they passed by, each driver would wave a greeting: ‘Hi ya, Uncle George,’ ‘Sure sorry, George,’ ‘Tough break,George,’ ‘You’ve got a lot of friends, George.’ 

“On the last wagon was the town comedian, freckled-faced Jasper Rolfe. He waved a cheery greeting and called out: ‘That’s all of ‘em, Uncle George.’ 

“My dad turned to Francis and said: ‘I wish it was all of ours.’   

“When they arrived at the farm gate, Francis jumped down off the big red beet wagon and opened the gate as we drove onto the field. He pulled up, stopped the team, paused a moment and scanned the field, from left to right and back and forth--and lo and behold, there wasn’t a sugar beet on the whole field. Then it dawned upon him what Jasper Rolfe meant when he called out: ‘That’s all of ‘em, Uncle George!’ 

“Then dad got down off the wagon, picked up a handful of the rich, brown soil he loved so much, and then in his thumbless left hand a beet top, and he looked for a moment at these symbols of his labor, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. 

“Then father sat down on a pile of beet tops--this man who brought four of his loved ones home for burial in the course of only six days; made caskets, dug graves, and even helped with the burial clothing--this amazing man who never faltered, nor finched, nor wavered throughout this agonizing ordeal--sat down on a pile of beet tops and sobbed like a little child. 

“Then he arose, wiped his eyes with his big, red bandanna handkerchief, looked up at the sky, and said: ‘Thanks, Father, for the elders of our ward.’”

Perhaps there has been enough of oration. Perhaps a different sort of preaching is in order. Perhaps there has been enough criticism.

Perhaps a different sort of leadership demands its time. Perhaps there has been enough of assertion. Perhaps a more tangible evidence is needed.

Whom do we love?

Oh such a beggar am I. That blessed King Benjamin certainly had my face in his mind as he discoursed on the unprofitable servant, on the wretched natural man. But I have him in my mind as well, and I dearly love that Master, that hope that we share. Perhaps He will make me more.





“ ’Twas battered and scarred, and the auctioneer

Thought it scarcely worth his while

To waste much time on the old violin,

But held it up with a smile:‘

What am I bidden, good folks,’ he cried,

‘Who’ll start the bidding for me?’

‘A dollar, a dollar’; then, ‘Two!’ ‘Only two?

Two dollars, and who’ll make it three?

Three dollars, once; three dollars, twice;

Going for three--’ But no,

From the room, far back, a gray-haired man

Came forward and picked up the bow;

Then, wiping the dust from the old violin,

And tightening the loose strings,

He played a melody pure and sweet

As sweet as a caroling angel sings.

“The music ceased, and the auctioneer,

With a voice that was quiet and low,

Said, ‘What am I bid for the old violin?’

And he held it up with the bow.

‘A thousand dollars, and who’ll make it two?

Two thousand! And who’ll make it three?

Three thousand, once, three thousand, twice,

And going, and gone!’ said he.

The people cheered, but some of them cried,

‘We do not quite understand

What changed its worth.’ 

Swift came the reply:

‘The touch of a master’s hand.’

“And many a man with life out of tune,

And battered and scarred with sin,

Is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd,

Much like the old violin.

A ‘mess of pottage,’ a glass of wine;

A game--and he travels on.

He’s ‘going’ once, and ‘going’ twice,

He’s ‘going’ and almost ‘gone.’

But the Master comes, and the foolish crowd

Never can quite understand

The worth of a soul and the change that’s wrought

By the touch of the Master’s hand.”
(Myra Brooks Welch: "The Touch of the Master's Hand")

Let is be so for me. Let it be done through me. Let me love, in the
only way that matters: the way my Savior did, and does.

It WILL be.

~Elder Jorgensen

WEEK 49: Miracle of Miracles

ST JOHNS, FLORIDA
COMPANION:  ELDER BORE
DISTRICT LEADER
Jacksonville South Zone

There's no time for randomness today! Too many miracles to tell!

Miracle #1 is named Vicki. Vicki met with missionaries 17 years ago but circumstances combined to separate her from the Elders. When missionaries tracked into her daughter-in-law, she took it as a sign. She got out number, called us out of the clear blue sky, and asked for a Book of Mormon. Now, less than a week letter, she has read all of 1st Nephi, has met with us twice, come to church and brought her husband, and set a baptism date for August 21st!!!!!!!!

Hundreds of hours of tracting, thousands of doors knocked on, opened, and slammed (it's almost invariably slammed. The people of St. John's must have uncontrollable forearm strength. It's the only explanation. Poor people. What a terrible burden. Pray for them.) and then THIS. Wonder of wonders. Miracle of miracles.

Miracle #2 is Tommy! Tommy has been meeting with missionaries for a long time. Over a year. He knows the doctrine so well sometimes he texts us and requests which lesson he wants us to teach. We brought a member, we sat down, and we read 2 Nephi 31, and then the Holy Ghost said to do something CRAZY. We looked him in the eye, we said, "Tommy, if you will pray about this chapter, you will feel and be able to recognize the Holy Ghost. From that experience, you will know that everyone we say and have been saying is true. Also, Tommy, a day of the month will come into and then stick in your mind. That is the day you will be baptized. We'll be back in two days, and we will ask you what day you're going to take the leap." and then we left! So, you know, pray for him! But he said yes. Oh you should have seen the look on his face! But we are ambassadors for the Savior. We speak with His authority, His love, and His promises. And Tommy said yes. And his family of NINE is looking to him as an example, waiting and watching.

So important what example we set. So incredible to ponder the impact every thoughtful, or thoughtless, action makes.

Something troubling has been happening rather consistently lately. We knock, people with light in their eyes answer. We teach, right there on the doorstep. We present the doctrine clearly, quickly, simply, and by the power of the spirit. Then we invite. And they decline. That part is fine. That's missionary work. But here's the troubling part: they COMPLIMENT. They talk about how well we did, how bold and powerful we were. They tell us how much they respect our confidence and delivery and technique and remind their children to learn from and emulate us. Then they close the door, and are gone.

And I am at least a little bit humbled to realize that even if I were FANTASTIC, even if I made a slam dunk in every point of doctrine and every Preach my Gospel teaching skill and even if I managed to be excellent in every way, it wouldn't be enough. Even if I employed every mission focus and tactic and strategy and technique it would still not be sufficient! No amount of personal merit will ever be satisfactory in this work. Only reliance, wholly, upon the merits of He who is mighty to save.

I wish I could do it on my own! I wish I could convince people! I wish I could save them! I wish I could convert them. But I cannot. I can only love, I can only invite, and I can only try (and fail, but try) to emulate my Master.

I do love Him very much. I am thrilled to be here. Every splendid moment is precious to me. Each new day is a delight. They are wonderful. They are long. I share them with Him. I love them.

Have a great week. They come and they go, whether we want them to or not. There are no fast-forward or slow-motion buttons. Every moment of time is equal, every second inert. We make them whatever else they become. What a miracle THAT is.

I love you,

~Elder Jorgensen

WEEK 48: I Have Seen

ST JOHNS, FLORIDA
COMPANION:  ELDER BORE
DISTRICT LEADER
Jacksonville South Zone 

I have seen a ball of fire
Hanging in an endless sky
Sink behind a mountain side
A sight a billion cannot buy

I have seen an energy
Unrestrained and unrefined
Challenge all that sat so still
Clear and steady and defined

I have seen a giant moon
Pull an ocean over me
I have seen the purest light
Shattered into shades of glee

Sunsets, lightening, rainbows tide,
The glory of this world is sure
But one sight that I have seen
Brought me joy more sweet and pure

I have seen my brothers here
Embryonic Gods below
Shift and struggle and renew
Seeds of glory start to sow

Oh ye fair ones now arise
Awake, arouse, abstain anew
I have seen the God of Might
Distill upon their souls like dew.

I have seen, and I will see
All the glories that might be
Sweet is sight that sets men free
Wonderful it is to me

Couldn't help myself you know. All the places that I go. Little things jump out to you, when there's nothing else to do. So a rhyme to pass the time. So a stanza to compose. Just a little wisp of whimsy. Just a little piece of prose. I had a pretty pleasant week. Nothing grand of which to speak. I'm here now at a member's home. Where I wrote my little poem.

Lots of knocking door to door. No one here is very poor. And we knock on in the rain! Missionaries feel no pain. I like the days when we are wet. People cannot be upset, with little boys out in the storm. "Invite us in and be reborn!" So we go on day to day. Working always feels like play. Oh and there were stories too! I will write a few for you.

I did my first interview! Shaughn was baptized right on que. Incredible how much we love; fantastic gift from up above. I enjoyed the storms we saw. Lightning and full moon and awe. So much light filled up my sky, darkness fled from heart and eye. Spanish lessons this week too! Fun to get to teach a few. Tommy will get baptized soon! Only SPIRIT puts a heart in tune.

Too much noise to rhyme much more. I love this work down to my core. I hope I get to stay a while. I hope to walk the second mile. I love my brothers, sisters too. I especially love you. And I love Him most of all. He answers every cry and call.

Love,

~Elder Jorgensen

WEEK 47: Peeking In

ST JOHNS, FLORIDA
COMPANION:  ELDER BORE
DISTRICT LEADER
Jacksonville South Zone

First a story.

This week there were some ADVENTURES! We went biking in a tropical storm. A fantastic Samoan man invited us over on the 4th and we lit of HUGE fireworks and ate delicious Mexican food and the police showed up and lots of intoxicated people asked about what we were doing there and we got to bear our testimonies over the salsa music blasting in the background. It was easily, EASILY the best 4th of July experience of my entire life. Goodness I loved that. What else? Oh! We found oodles and gobs of new investigators from tracting for many, many, many hours and two investigators came to church and asked us to bear our testimonies in sacrament meeting and we did and they liked it so much they hugged us afterwards! Grown men hugging in the back of the chapel during sacrament meeting. That is how you know it was a good Sunday!

I taught a first lesson on the doorstep while standing underneath a swarm of hornets. I rode a bike with a flat tire (punctured, so flat as flat can be) for 30 miles in one day. I was humbled by the AMAZING stories and progress and work of the missionaries in my district. I had some good times and made some wonderful memories. BUT, my favorite is the story of kneeling in the driveway.

We were riding our bikes past a house and noticed their garage door was partially open, and we could hear them talking inside. We walked up the driveway, and I knelt on the pavement and looked in. They were
a bit taken aback. We chatted. We testified. We coaxed one of them out into the yard and taught a lesson. She thanked us and went back inside. I knelt down and offered one more time to share our message the rest of the group. In the moments before they declined, I had an experience which was dear to me. I thought of how I must have looked.

Absolutely RIDICULOUS, right? Some pudgy California boy with a self-given buzz cut kneeling in a driveway in Florida, begging a group of grown men to hear a message about Jesus Christ. I was entrusting,
inviting, almost pleading for them to hear it. My love for these strangers drove me to my knees a continent away from home to beg.

Sigh.

And that is what I learned this week. I learned a lot about fun and hard work and how not to get struck by lightening and how to steer a bike without handlebars or a back tire. But mostly I learned how to love. I caught another glimpse of what real love is and how to show it. I do so dearly love to love.

I'm not sure anyone really reads these. I'm not sure anyone ever will. I know I was never terribly interested in the less-than-captivating routine of missionary life going on thousands of miles away. But just in case, I want to testify.

I know that God lives. I know that He loves me. I know that He knows how imperfect I am. That is terrifying. I know He loves me anyway. I know I am safe. I know what I want and how to get it. I know that Jesus is the Christ. I know I know nothing. I know the Book of Mormon is the best book available to the human family. I know that it is true. I know that Joseph Smith and Thomas S. Monson are Apostles, Prophets, Seers, and Revelators. I know that my mission president speaks for Jesus Christ. I know I am here by His will.

A funny story. I loudly proclaimed that I would NEVER buy a bike less than a month ago. The Lord demands every ounce of our will. If we hold something back, He will ask for that, and we will suffer the cessation of progression that is damnation until we relinquish our willfulness. I have been compelled to buy a bike! I'm on my way to do it. Never say never!

I love love. Love that others has for each other do not lessen their's for me. Love that I have for Father does not lessen mind for them. Love is self-propagating. As we add slices to the pie, the existing pieces grow, and deliciousness flourishes. Clearly I need a snack. No more pie metaphors. 

I love you. Thank you for reading. Please pray for me. I have a testimony of prayer. It works. With our faith, we can use prayer to implement change in this world. Faith isn't just accepting what happens. It is changing our world. Change mine please. Pray for me.

I love you. I pray for you.

~Elder Jorgensen