The Gossip

"I know we're not really supposed to say this... but Elder Tills is quite a climber," Elder Ordoñez begins, easing in slowly to the favorite pastime of the division of God’s Army stationed in Southern California.  "They say President really likes him, maybe enough to be next assistant."  Though startled at his seeming disregard to inspiration, I am glued to every word as he pauses masterfully to adjust his glasses before resuming the stream of scandalously new information.  We all lean forward in the Corolla to hear as he lowers his voice, “Elder Prince isn’t the angel President thinks he is either” he whispers reliably, the words dripping like golden honey from the tight corners of his mouth. "A complete bucket. And the letter he sent to Sister Shaw- I bet President doesn't know about their make-out sessions in the MTC...”  The hour drive to Santa Monica is reduced to an instant as we step out with our recommends in hand along with a new opinion of nearly every one of the 250 missionaries in the LA area.  The morning sure is beautiful I think to myself, wondering how I could have missed seeing it on the drive up here.  "Fetch I almost forgot about Elder Meyers- I'll tell you in the Celestial room,” adds Elder Ordoñez, looking back at me as he passes the inscribed "Holiness to the Lord" before entering the temple.  I follow him, already edified.

How I Grew as a Bookworm

From an early age books have been a big part of my life. My earliest interactions with literature were with fiction, and later I remember learning from scriptural texts. Finally, more recently I have begun to create literature of my own, and to more fully appreciate literature’s role in our world. 

I never was able to go to bed as a kid until after my parents had read me a bedtime story. My Dad studied English in college, and has a passion for books, so it makes sense that I became a bookworm too. I can remember him reading Lord of the Rings and even Moby Dick to my siblings and me when I was as young as four years old. I don’t remember much about Moby Dick, other than that there was a really big fish involved, but I do remember the time and the feelings I had as I shared these stories with my family.

In addition to fiction, reading scripture was something that I learned from my parents. It may seem a little silly, but my parents would read the Bible or the Book of Mormon right before dinner every day, because that was the way that they could make sure their hungry teenagers would participate!

On my mission I started keeping a journal every day. At first it was tedious, but eventually it became as precious to me as the brass plates were to Lehi and Nephi. I never missed a day of journal writing my whole mission. From my journal writing, I started to see the vast importance of record, and consequently I have started to enjoy visiting historical libraries when I can, such as the Columbia library (pictured) or the Library of Congress. 

My Brown Leather Journal

On my desk, on top of my blue book of mormon, lies a small journal. Wrapped in a covering of brown leather it displays a scene of the country and people of Nicaragua and gives a feel of being carefully and personally made.   For me the pattern and image of the cover evoke a sense of remembrance and deep feelings that border on sacred experience- despite never having set foot in central america.

Perhaps the apparent disconnection between the journal and it's owner doesn't end with the outside woven fold.  Like its leather cover, the words and images of the journal itself are in a way foreign to me.  These words are not my own, yet tell my story.  This story I know so well is told through many authors, none of whom are writers. Instead in the journal men and women from many places and backgrounds leave their deep imprint.  A western samoan far from home, a small-town utah boy and an avid club goer are just a few, and even so the stories behind them seem to grow till each becomes more than a person and instead a sort of ministering spirit; pleading for me not to forget my experience in Los Angeles and reaching out to rekindle my faith when I most seem to need it.  They're still with me and follow my journey still today.

For me my brown leather journal transcends the bounds of an ordinary memory book.  It truly immortalizes my experience serving the Lord and those I love in a way that my own thoughts and words are inadequate to express.  In this way people writing a few simple words have made an impact on my persona and identity.  Their words, their lives, the things they are and represent are etched not only on the pages, but on my own heart as well.