"I can't wait to get off the mission and grow out a sick beard," he said, stroking his chin.
"But you don't really have any, you know, facial hair."
"No no, you just can't see it cause it's blonde," he argued, as I stared at his black, slicked, wavy hair. "Have you ever heard of a blonde beard?" he shared, with a tone of voice suggesting I was painfully ignorant on this long blonde journey known as life.
"No, I can see it alright, and I can probably count the hairs on your face on two hands."
"Whatever. You don't have nearly as much facial hair as other elders, you know. Elder Kent has way more than you."
"Cool."
This was typical car ride dialogue. Along with the time he ate a foot-long Subway sandwich in a minute. Or the time he picked the big security lock to his high school with only a credit card. Or when he benched 380. Or how he hates to write but he's had like 5 teachers tell him he's an amazing writer--a conversation usually started after I state my own intention to be a writer someday.
For this elder, the chance to go on a mission wasn't just the opportunity to forget yourself and serve others, but also the chance to forget your prior self and replace it with something better. With manufactured humility, he pulls out his Preach My Gospel, turns it to the front page where his list of baptisms are, and shares it with our investigators, showing that they too can join the list if they merely keep commitments. Inspired.
Yes, inspired. So inspired. Much like my mission president and his wife. And the mission president and wife of my Elders Quorum President. And the mission president and wife of our Elders Quorum Instructor. In fact, I'd wager that every mission president and their wife of every proudly proud returned missionary was so inspired, and so humble, and so amazing.
We love our mission presidents. We all do. It's why we collectively, internally "guffaw" whenever someone tells us their mission president was so amazing. We subconsciously arm ourselves with ammo to defend our own president, at the ready in case someone like, brings it up. Much like my missionary companion described above, they display their accomplishments for all to see--and when I say "their" accomplishments, I mean their mission president's.
"He knew so much about the scriptures."
"He just threw it down in meetings."
"He was a GA before he was mission president. So, you know."
"He was worth, like, 5 million dollars."
"He could read minds. Seriously."
To all mission presidents, everywhere:
"But you don't really have any, you know, facial hair."
"No no, you just can't see it cause it's blonde," he argued, as I stared at his black, slicked, wavy hair. "Have you ever heard of a blonde beard?" he shared, with a tone of voice suggesting I was painfully ignorant on this long blonde journey known as life.
"No, I can see it alright, and I can probably count the hairs on your face on two hands."
"Whatever. You don't have nearly as much facial hair as other elders, you know. Elder Kent has way more than you."
"Cool."
This was typical car ride dialogue. Along with the time he ate a foot-long Subway sandwich in a minute. Or the time he picked the big security lock to his high school with only a credit card. Or when he benched 380. Or how he hates to write but he's had like 5 teachers tell him he's an amazing writer--a conversation usually started after I state my own intention to be a writer someday.
For this elder, the chance to go on a mission wasn't just the opportunity to forget yourself and serve others, but also the chance to forget your prior self and replace it with something better. With manufactured humility, he pulls out his Preach My Gospel, turns it to the front page where his list of baptisms are, and shares it with our investigators, showing that they too can join the list if they merely keep commitments. Inspired.
Yes, inspired. So inspired. Much like my mission president and his wife. And the mission president and wife of my Elders Quorum President. And the mission president and wife of our Elders Quorum Instructor. In fact, I'd wager that every mission president and their wife of every proudly proud returned missionary was so inspired, and so humble, and so amazing.
We love our mission presidents. We all do. It's why we collectively, internally "guffaw" whenever someone tells us their mission president was so amazing. We subconsciously arm ourselves with ammo to defend our own president, at the ready in case someone like, brings it up. Much like my missionary companion described above, they display their accomplishments for all to see--and when I say "their" accomplishments, I mean their mission president's.
"He knew so much about the scriptures."
"He just threw it down in meetings."
"He was a GA before he was mission president. So, you know."
"He was worth, like, 5 million dollars."
"He could read minds. Seriously."
To all mission presidents, everywhere:
"So inspired..."
I love the segment about your companion's manufactured humility and how he would open his PMG to show investigators all the baptisms he had and that they too could join this list. I think that paragraph describes him the best. Were you connecting that he felt he was Mission President worthy, or just people like him brag about their Mission Presidents all the time and try to one-up each other?
ReplyDeleteSounds like the classic "me monster" syndrome. I had a similar companion that honestly thought the atonement literally changed his past so now his has done everything that was cool and was destined for future fame. The dialogue you posed made me feel like I was in the car with you, and remind me of the many car rides I also has with my "me monster" companion.
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