Let Summer Begin: Utah

This is where summer starts. A good playlist. A grand adventure. Family, friends, and BBQ's. But even the most scintillating smells of summer must be preceded by something far more sinister. It is devoid of sunshine. It crowds out laughter. It even makes grown men cry. Some people call it 'hell.' I call it finals.
It is a sad truth, dear people, that the week of finals, no matter how sunny or bright it may appear, is actually just a raging storm of despair. Students from freshman to super seniors are crammed into every nook and cranny of campus studying until steam trails begin to drift from their ears. It all happens so quickly. One week everyone is outside enjoying the lacy pink and white blooms of various trees and shrubs, playing Frisbee, and finding love, and the next week it's all forgotten; lost in the mire of study guides and flashcards. It's over almost as soon as it began. Perhaps, dear people, you wonder how the author faired in such grotto of melancholy madness? I am pleased to inform the masses that I passed every class, even if it wasn't with flying colors. OK, in all reality I took a nose dive and managed to escape with just a few scrapes and bruises.  Joyously, however, it is over. The blossoms are still around and love can still be found, dear reader. I am here to tell say that the Lord definitely watches over His people. Without His help I would probably be on academic probation or something, but my brain was blessed, for certain.
Oh but let us not dwell on such unhappy things as finals. Let me detail just how beautiful life is now. I work at the library on campus. It's a wonderful place to work, but what makes it even better is the walk I take to get there. As I walk I pass flowering trees with branches weighed down with the most aromatic delicate pink blossoms. Some trees are drenched in white petals that rain down when the wind blows. They spin and swirl in the breeze. There is a little quad of trees with deep brown spindly limbs that are papered in rich pink flowers. They look very much like coral. I stroll past ducks and robins and families with little kids laughing. All in all this daily experience makes me sound rather sappy, but I wouldn't trade it. I love it and I reckon that I might just get used to this school after all.

Silly Captive Words: California

Do you have moments when you are content to be in a supine position? Your back is on the floor, Norah Jones sets the ambiance, and you could simply exist in limbo for hours. I think it's a blessing to catch these moments. They contain a therapeutic element; a means of catharsis. Dive in deeper with me. Your back isn't just on the floor, it's on the sand. Norah Jones may be playing, but if she is it's only a small tune in the back of your mind. The real music comes from the gulls and the waves and the people. The gulls cry out in a weary melody. The waves are the beat. The people offer up the lyrics not so much in words as in the ever present rumble of humanity. It's a good noise.
Maybe you have your favorite novel in hand. But remember, for every word on the page there are a thousand pictures all around you and every picture is worth a thousand words. These words aren't held captive, either. No amount of cleverness could ever capture them. Not even the most skilled author could chain these words to a page, because these words are wild. They were never meant to be tamed. They are embodied in the jellyfish on the beach, the shell in the little girls hand, the sand castle the boy and his dad made from wet sand, driftwood, and seaweed. Who are you to read silly captive words in this singular moment full of the wild words?
 The waves are full of stories better than anything you brought along. Listen to them. One has a tale of sadness. The fisherman down the way lost his boat. He couldn't make the payments. But the next wave is playful. She and the breeze have become friends. The breeze picks up a sun hat lying on an empty chair. He tosses it into the waiting hands of the wave who pushes it about until the elegant lady it belongs to rescues it. She has to get wet and though she huffs about it she really enjoyed the moment of childlike innocence as the wave washed around her, the hat in tow. The wave never intended to keep it anyway. She just wanted to play.
The sun falls from the sky much faster than any of the kids would like, but he is tired. He had so many hearts to warm and souls to rescue from the darkness. All he has strength for is one last hour of pink and orange draped across white clouds and then he sinks into the sea for a much needed nap.
Each moment has a thousand pictures and each picture is worth a thousand words. Don't miss the wild words because your mind is too engrossed in the silly captive ones. There will be time for those when the sun is sleeping, I reckon.

Perfect Timing: Utah

I think it's high time for a post on gratitude. It might be wise to limit it to things that I am grateful for this week, though, because a more extensive list may have me writing 'til the wee hours of the morning.

I have never agreed with the mentality of saving the best for last. I don't really like waiting for surprises. Either I am going to be surprised now or I am going to be surprised later so why draw it out, yeah? Anyway, enough of my opinions. 

I am very grateful that my Heavenly Father knows exactly what I need. I say that with a grain of salt because I feel that trials keep stacking up. Someone keeps putting rocks in my backpack. Fortunately, our wonderful Father in Heaven sends me little shots of light that I can tuck away for later. Today's little boost was found in Alma 17 and when I say it was found there I mean it was encompassed in the entire chapter. I love it. The Lord  had me in mind when He said and did those things. I am sure of it and I say it without irony. He had just completed the Atonement and I would like to think that everything He suffered was not so soon forgotten. I am sure the pain was still very real in His mind, easily recalled but easily relieved because He had also completed the single greatest act in human history. He had created a way for our pain to find relief, our burdens to be laid aside, and our sins to be swept away in a flood of compassion. That is what I am thankful for. 

Also, I am grateful for friends who are exceedingly patient with my nonsense. It's like hanging around a moody little weasel. You never know when it'll snap, and if you're not careful you have a furry demon up in your grill. Ok, it's not that bad, but nevertheless I still have great friends who put up with a lot of junk from me. 

Lastly, I am eternally grateful for my family. They are so great. 'Nuff said. Words don't really describe my family. You really just have to be fortunate enough to know them to know what I mean. 

So in all reality this is not the most epic post or even the least bit entertaining. The good news is that it's all true. Remember to cultivate and attitude of gratitude because I reckon that, just as Elder Richard Scott said, we can find peace and comfort in our trials and pain.

My Friends Mike and Angela: Part 2: Missouri

Angela is one of the most inquisitive people I know. After we met her on that wonderfully cold night we continued to teach her and her daughter about the gospel and the Plan of Salvation. Angela read almost everything we gave her and sometimes a lot more. She would be prepared with questions. I love the quizzical look she would get on her face when she absorbed some new bit of information. Her mane of curly hair stuck out and her eyebrows would come together and then it would click and she would softly say 'Ohhh, I get it' and then she would smile. She let the Holy Ghost teach her so quickly. She, like Nathaniel, was without guile.
After some time, though not much, Angela made the fateful decision to be baptized. She honored me by asking me to baptize her, though the real credit of her baptism goes to the Holy Spirit and Elder Adamson Bryner, a dear friend of mine who helped her understand the importance of baptism.
The day of her baptism was filled with suspense. She often arrives for things just in the nick of time, and her baptism was no exception. I was dressed in white, and so was she. As we sat next to each other I couldn't help but smile as I thought of the miraculous way in which she found the church. Heavenly Father knows us, His children. He knows where to find us. He knows how to help us. He knew that Angela was ready to accept the gospel and He sent us, two young missionaries and a dear friend named Mike. I cannot express the love I feel for my Savior, my Heavenly Father, Angela, Mike, and all the others who have touched my life with their love and faith.
Do you think the Lord knows you? I reckon so.

My Friends Mike and Angela: Part 1: Missouri

I was going to wait until February to tell this story so that it would be on the one year anniversary of the blessed event, but I can't wait that long. (I am severely impatient when it comes to things like this.)This story is important to me. It strengthened my testimony beyond measure. It's also a long story so I will share it in two parts. It's not flowery or poetic, but it's simple and lovely.

Almost one year ago I was living in Blue Springs, MO. My missionary companion and I were working hard to teach people about the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ. One man that we worked with had been a member of the LDS church but had started working Sundays and eventually just stopped coming even when he could. Fortunately, he started coming back with the help of his home teachers, and he didn't just come back slowly or lazily. He came back with a fire. He wanted to spread the happiness he had with everyone. His name is Mike. This takes us to a cold night in February a month or so since he had returned to church. The three of us were driving through an apartment complex, 15 or so buildings each about 3 stories tall, when we saw a man walking alone in the dark heavy night. Mike waved at him and he waved back. Immediately, Mike shouted at me to stop the car and park. I asked him why and this dialogue followed:

Me: Why? What's wrong?
Mike: He waved back! He must be nice. We need to talk to him about the gospel. NOW!

Me: Friend, people wave at us all the time, but they usually don't want to hear about the church...

Mike: No, Elder Hayter, we need to talk to him. 

Me: OK, Friend. 

We proceeded to park and awkwardly chased down this man who had walked another 50 meters down the road. Unfortunately, I was right. He wasn't terribly interested in what we had to say. The good news is that the Lord had inspired my friend for a reason. As we were slipping over the ice headed back to the warm confines of the car we saw a lady and her daughter walking towards their apartment. I recognized her. We had talked with her a month previous and she hadn't expressed much interest. Tonight was different. We had only talked for a couple of minutes when her daughter asked if we wanted some hot chocolate. So three men working for the Lord and a single mother and her wonderful daughter started a friendship that would have eternal consequences. She was curious and open-minded. This lady was going to change my life. Her name was Angela.

Rain: Kansas

Sometimes it rains. But not all rain is the same. Sometimes dark monstrous storms gather around and the outcome seems bleak. The rain is hard and cold. It stings and bites.The lightning is jagged and lights the sky with a cruel glow. Other times a drizzle so fine it almost seems like a mist envelopes spreading a quiet melancholy until the sun banishes it with brilliant rays. My favorite rain is Kansas rain. Bright gray thunderclouds swoop in and unleash buckets of happy drops that dance in the streets, and when that happens I only have one option. I have to dance with them. The slow rumbling thunder is our music. The dance steps are light. Bare feet perform each step elated to be free. We leap about in the roads that are now rivers. I see the bright red cardinal who lives across the street and I hear him calling to me. We are old friends. He wakes me up each morning with his care-free warbling and I answer his call with a whistle of my own. Now in the rain he is a brilliant speck of red against the dove gray clouds. We whistle and dance together. Five minutes later the rain has stopped. The sun is back, and I am wet. But, I am happy.
I wonder if life is a lot like the different storms. Sometimes we are pelted with cold icy trials that gnaw at our defenses until we are left huddled and shivering. Other times they weigh upon us like the mist. It seems infinite and we can't see if the end is near let alone the end of our own noses. I figure that the way we view our storms depends on our attitude. I forget that sometimes and my trials seem pretty big and menacing or endless and gray. Tonight, however, I was able to sit down with a couple of my best friends who reminded me that my storms don't have to be that way. The Lord has a perfect plan. I know this. I testified of it for two years. I just forgot. I stopped to evaluate just how grande this storm really is and because the Lord is part of that perspective this time the clouds aren't so black. In fact, I can see the purple painted in. The grays are warmer. The drops aren't so cold and they even have an awkward little shuffle going on. I can't see my friend, the cardinal, but I can hear his song. It's not the happiest storm, but I think I can do that awkward shuffle the raindrops are teaching me and maybe tomorrow I will dance.

Best Be Mindin': Kansas and other assorted states and countries

 I love meeting new people. It's one of my favorite things to do, actually, but I was never blessed with the social capacity of easily interacting with large groups of people at once. I get sort of lost in the mire of gossip and conversation and then it just becomes background noise like the sound of sirens in Kansas City or the trains in Mulvane. Every once in while some well-meaning soul will come and interrupt my isolated reverie and bring my thoughts careening back into the present. I am grateful for these people. They tend to be good listeners. I like to listen and I love to be heard. I am not as dull and obtuse as I look, and I have discovered that most people are that way. You can gain much from listening. I am striving to be a better listener with the hope that someone will later return the favor. Do you think that big ears might not be such a bad thing? I reckon so.

"The greatest compliment that was ever paid me was when one asked me what I thought, and attended to my answer."

— Henry David Thoreau