¡Holá Mormónes! (and
other assorted nice people)
It's another lovely day in Santo Domingo, and hey hey, we're halfway done with
the MTC experience. Time is really starting to pick up. It seems like only
yesterday I was here typing up last week's email. I shan't complain though; I
don't mind the time flying. It means that more and more, this is becoming life.
And hey, although we have eaten dog here, we also get pineapple and mango with
almost every lunch, and let me tell you something- Dominican pineapple is some
good stuff. Every bite results in an explosion of ambrosianic juiciness
that simply does not exist in American pineapple. And yes, to my knowledge, the
word "ambrosianic" is not actually a real word. I made it up because
there is a lexical gap in the English language where some chump forgot to make
a word capable of accurately describing the sensational scrumptiosity of
home-grown Carribean fruit.
The third paragraph seems like a good place to thank my lovely,
charming, never-praised-enough mother for a couple of things on a musical note.
Firstly, for forcing me to learn how to play the piano. I eventually picked up
the desire to improve, but if it wasn't for her initial encouragement, (e.g.
threats of grounding, severe bodily harm, and removal of all things good and
pleasant in life. Oh, and occasionally bribery. Nyahaha. :) Love you, mom)
I never would have learned. And the ability to play the piano has vastly
blessed my life and experience here. Also, I will never forget the sacrament
meeting when my mother pointed at the bottom row of notes in the hymn book and
said, "Hey, Dallin, let's sing this." She then proceeded to sing the
bass line until I learned how to do it without help. And yes, she did sing
the bass line an octave up. She's an alto, not a circus animal. And
although my singing voice isn't exceptional in any way, being able to sing
parts has enabled me to participate in many swell renditions of hymns as
well as some tomfoolery. We sang a lyrical rearrangement of the hymn
Nearer, My God, to Thee in which we replaced all the lyrics with the
words "Holá Mormónes." Repetitive, but we actually sounded
really good and we had the whole room cracking up at the sheer inanity of it
all. Also, my mom sent me sheet music, which is kind of the shortcut to my
heart. Mom, you are a Saint and I love you. Moving on.
Life in the MTC has been funny as always. One of my roommates, Elder Empey
(he's the one in the front of the attached picture) is quite the character. We
were talking the other night and the conversation went about like this:
Me: When did you turn
18, Empey?
Empey: Like, two months
ago.
Me: Oh, you have an
August birthday?
Empey: Okay, like three
months ago.
Me: You were born in
July?
Empey: ..... Okay, like
five months ago.
Me: Wha-?
Empey: I was born in
May, okay?? Gosh!
Maybe it was more of a you-had-to-be-there-moment, but I was down for the
count. Cracked me right up. And then, ten minutes later, he comes in with a
gold-framed picture of Jesus and yells, "Hey guys, we got another Jesus
picture!" Every room has one, including ours. I was like, "Dude.
Where'd you get that?" and he said, "I don't even know, man, but this
is awesome." Then he tried to hang it on the curtain rod over the window
and accidentally ripped the rod out of the wall. The picture of Jesus went
plummeting to the ground and the frame cracked. Elder Blount quipped, "Now
you've done it, Empey. You stole a picture of Jesus and broke it. Now you're
going to Hell and you still won't know Spanish." Again. I was out. Now, to
be clear, Empey is a smart kid and I love the man to death. He just says silly
things sometimes. Speaking of silly things, tune in next week to hear the tale
of the creation of the No Pull-Out Squad.
So on Sunday, we watched a devotional given at the Provo MTC by Jeffrey R.
Holland. We watch Provo devotionals at least two or three times a week. The
crowd is always huge there, and I find myself grateful that I am in an MTC
where there are only fifty other missionaries. Everyone knows everyone and the
cohesiveness of the group extends beyond districts or missions to encompass the
entire MTC. There's always a feeling of friendship and family here to a degree
that I can't imagine being replicated among any other randomly
selected group of young adults who've spent only three weeks together
after having never met once beforehand. But I digress.
The devotional was essentially an hour-long testimony. By Jeffrey R. Holland.
On missionary work. That man spoke with a tongue of flame and cold steel. By
the time he finished, I would have been more than happy to dive head-first into
the fires of Mount Doom had he been so inclined to ask me to. He spoke of his
own mission experience and how although there are times to have fun, this work
is serious. He also said that every time he sees a missionary who isn't taking
his calling seriously, he wants to knee him in the throat. His words, not mine.
He said even after he died, if the Lord permitted him, he would haunt us, tap
on our windows, and let the air out of our bike tires- whatever it takes to get
our attention.
All joking aside though, the magnitude of what he was saying really hit home,
and I felt the Spirit testifying to me, and it finally sank in that this is my
life now. Not only for the next two years, either. The things that I do here
will stick with me and shape me for the rest of my life. People here always
talk about going back to the real world, back to real life. This is the closest
thing to real life that ANY of us will EVER get. That old life we once lived,
that person we used to be, those things are gone. They do not exist anymore.
And it's beautiful. Because from the ashes of the past emerges a better future.
We've only been here for three weeks, and already I've felt the gospel shaping
my life in ways I never imagined. I'm still Dallin. I still hate mint, love the
Chargers, and enjoy nothing more than having a good laugh and cracking a stupid
joke. But more and more, I make better choices, I feel more confident in
myself, and my testimony grows daily.
As many of you remember, I know a thing or two about making stupid mistakes.
Senseless, moronic, thoughtless mistakes, whether it was struggling with church
attendance, letting both my body and my mind go soft through unimaginable
neglect, or my nocturnal escapades of a year ago. Even little things. In my
three weeks here, I have experienced no small quantity of shame. Bar none,
there is nothing in my life that I regret more than the unkind things I said or
did in the name of a joke. So believe me when I say that I KNOW that this was
not a mistake. This was the right choice. In fact, the decision to come serve
the Lord out here is the best decision I have ever made in my entire life. If
any of you are unsure whether or not a mission is right for you, stop
wondering. Stop sitting around thinking about going. Do it. Just get up
and do it. Whatever reservations you may have will take care of themselves.
Have faith, trust in the Lord, and never allow yourself to sit idle when you
could be taking action.
So! I love you all. Send me word from the Riddemark (I probably butchered that
spelling. Someone correct me, please.) I also wouldn't be opposed to pictures
from the States. It's nice to see as well as read what's going on. I miss you
all more than I can say, and I'll write again next week.
Much love,
Dallin
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