Fall of the Walking Dead -- August 24, 2015

Hello, everyone! It's a good day to be in God's service. Missionaries are dropping like flies and leaving me behind to pack and unpack like a Mormon in a charity peach cannery, but to quote the soon-to-die Elder Brockbank's translation of the Book of Mormon when in the Book of Ether, Coriantumr strikes down the leader of the rebel Jaredite army, "And it came to pass that Shiz went down." And so it has.

In business news, I'm no longer in La Isabelita! One whole week after getting transferred out of Los Mameyes, I've been transferred to- get this- Los Mameyes! Yup. I'm back. It's odd. I usually feel like I learned a lot in every area, and even with just one week, La Isabelita was no exception. I learned important lessons such as the fact that ironing your clothes while you're wearing them is a horrible idea. Also, sunblock makes a really lousy burn salve. And when you want to make sure that having your toes snapped in a mousetrap doesn't hurt too much to use as a friendly prank, you should probably design an experiment that doesn't involve actually snapping your own toes in a mousetrap. Let that be a warning to you. If something looks stupid, it probably is.

So this week, as I was walking through the street with Elder Martinez, some dipnickel threw an avocado at me. I turned around, ready to punch me some face, when I realized that it was a four year old and goshdangit, it's still not appropriate for a twenty-year-old missionary to punch a child in the face. Welp. Joke's on him. I love avocados.

In career news, I got to be a military translator for a day! Twice! Exciting stuff. A gigantic American hospital ship loaded with Navy doctors/personnel and some civvie volunteers came to town and all week, they gave free medical care to anyone who needed it. If this sounds like an unimaginably expensive government photo op, don't worry- it is. But we did some good! I started out on the deworming station. This would probably have been much more painful work had I not just spent the last year dealing with small children doing things like, you know, throwing avocados at me. As it was, it was an extremely fulfilling job that involved lying to children in order to convince them to take grotesquely bitter pills that are going to destroy them with diarrhea for the next few days. I can't tell you how much satisfaction it brought me to know that my efforts are going to help the future generation of this country rest easy. In five to seven days. Nyahaha. Also, after I got over the vaguely uncomfortable sensation of my eternal soul being cast down to Tartarus, talking with the American girl nurse who-was-definitely-not-a-missionary was actually quite pleasant. After deworming, I was sent over to pediatrics, which was less fun, since we actually helped children, and from thence to physical therapy, where I translated for a beet-red sociopath who got angry at me for not knowing how to say "jacked-up rotator cuff." They tried to give us MREs for lunch, but having lived here for a year, I decided it was probably better to just have Pica Pollo since my intestines were going to get wrecked either way. All in all, it was an awesome experience, and who knows? Maybe I'll volunteer for Project Hope when I go home. 

Fun times as a military translator

So anyway, after all the hullaballoo with the military settled down, I had some time to reflect on my experience. For all the jokes, I don't mind having avocados thrown at me and I really do like kids. Even after a year living among my brothers and sisters here and seeing so much suffering, it was very sobering work. A lot of the people who came through were people who had been dealing with horrifying debilities and injuries for years, just waiting for something like this to pass through. If they hadn't come, no one would have. I helped one girl who had her entire heel burned off in a motorcycle accident. Four years ago. This was the first medical treatment she'd been able to seek, but after so long, the doctors told her the foot couldn't be saved. I had to tell another child's mother that her son, who had a developmental deficiency that could have been solved but went untreated for ten years, would never be able to walk as long as he lived. Still others I had to turn away because the line was simply too long. It was heartbreaking on a level I can't begin to describe. 

This experience brought me to two things. First, that I still, after a year, do not and can not fully appreciate the blessings we enjoy in the United States. When I broke my arm, I got treated the same day. I got a cut that only required three stitches taken care of within hours. On both occasions, it was expensive, but we never had to wonder where our next meal would come from while we paid for it. I sat and debated with people for hours about healthcare and the politics of it and all that, but I never once comprehended just how lucky we all are to be able to receive treatment when we need it. It is a blessing that many people do not and will not ever know, which brings me to the second thing.

When we see someone suffering, we must help them. We must. For all the political and societal and other demographical lines we draw, we are not in this life to contend against one another. We have exactly one enemy, and that is Satan. As humans and as God's children, we have to take the initiative and help one another. It is not something that would be nice to do or even something that we simply ought to do. It is something we MUST do. No, we can't all travel to foreign countries and perform surgery on random strangers for free. But in the world we live in, there is always suffering in one form or another around us all the time, and there is always something we can do. I believe it. I know it. And I go out and work every single day because of it. We have one enemy. Just one. Even in the midst of all his angels, Satan is alone. And so there is only one way we can fight him- together.

Good weeks and happy memories all around,

Dallin Johnson

Little Isabel -- August 17, 2015

As my old history teacher, Mr. Bruce Crane would say, "Hello, ladies and gentlemen! How are you all today? How was school?" Now, whether or not you are in school at this moment in time is beside the point, because all of you that had Mr. Crane read that in his voice and those of you who didn't got through this paragraph are just fine anyway. This week, I packed and moved, said bye to too many people, and ate some rice. Folks, we're almost to a year.

On Tuesday night, I was sitting at home waiting for Elder Velasquez, one of the office guys, to call and tell me who my new companion is. At ten twenty, a whopping ten minutes before lights out, he called at told me that I would be receiving..... Literally no one. I got transferred. Five minutes away. After less than a month. Naturally. So, as the subject line sort of kinda suggested, I'm no longer in Los Mameyes! After Elder Barlow went home, the people-with-luck gods decided that I'd burned up all my luck points and after less than a month in Mameyes with two of my best friends in the mission, I've been transferred out to La Isabelita (that's Little Isabel in English) with Elder Martinez, 

My companion, Elder Martinez, whose English
consists of the phrase, "What's goin' on, man?" 

a Honduranian with seven months and no sanity. I'm also living with Elder Turketo, the mission's lone New Zealander, and an old familiar face.

Elder Zetina, my first companion back in old Los Solares, is in my house. I'm not sure if that was inspired by God or Satan, but either way, we should not be housemates. Ever. When I got home at the end of the first night, I found a plate of banana peels and Marshmallow Mateys hid in my suitcase. I responded by stealing Elder Zetina's recorder flute and sticking it on a ledge just beyond his hopping range. Later that same night, he threw a football at me while I was writing in my journal, but being Zetina, he  missed and ripped the curtain rod out of the wall behind me. I threw it back, but being me, I went for broke and hurled it into Elder Turketo's crotch. It was an accident, but  suffice it to say, first impressions could've gone a bit better.

I'm actually enjoying myself in the area quite a bit! Although there aren't as many certifiably insane people, there are still plenty of idiots, so I stay entertained. We met a gentleman this week who informed me that the Hawaiian Islands, which belong to France, are actually within Venezuelan territory. This may escalate into war with the United States, since they shot their earthquake gun at Cuba but accidentally hit Haiti. Also, Japan, which was largely uninhabited after its nuclear war with China fifty years ago but was ironically repopulated by the Chinese who shipped their dead and dying over there, is finally about to gain its independence from South Korea. Reminded me what a rock I live under. You people gotta let me know when this stuff happens more often.

So this isn't so much of a spiritual thought as a Holy Cow! I

Wellington, his fiancee, and me.

was walking through the street yesterday when who should I run into but my boy Wellington. I don't know if you folks remember Wellington, but he was my first baptism way back in Espaillat with Elder Miller. And I cannot tell you how happy I was to see him. See, not only are we quite the pals, but I found out he is still roaringly active and has a calling. Also. He was walking with a girl. Who is his fiancee. They're planning on getting married legally in December and in January, they're going to the temple to be sealed for time and all eternity.

Holy. Smokes.

That, my friends, is a prepared son of God. Miller and I did good work with him, but he was ready when we found him. And now, I realize that not only did Wellington's baptism bring him to the gospel, but he and his future wife are gonna be able to enjoy the blessings of eternal marriage and all their children will grow up in a gospel home. It was a moment of pure joy.

I hope you all get to feel some of the same.

Much love, 

Dallin Johnson

Never Set the Bar-low -- August 10, 2015

Hello! Happy P-Day. I hope the world is as beautiful wherever you are as it is here. These last two weeks, we've felt the spirit, drunk juice, and done more contacting than you can shake a stick at. I may have to get some worn-out cartilage insurance with how much we're walking. If any of you are willing to donate a hip to me in about five years, submit applications at your convenience.

By the way, I've seen Elder Barlow live,
and he is actually quite a handsome lad,
in spite of the many less than flattering
photos and statements on this blog.-- JAJ

 So. Ah. Ugh. Blast. Okay. I'll say it. The time has come. Two years are up. And Elder Barlow is going home. NOOOOOO!!!!! Ah. Elder Barlow entered my house (and life) last December about a week before Christmas. I was not happy about it. Elder Osorio, whose place he took, was a charming lad who made one heck of a pot of beans and rice. All I heard about Elder Barlow was that he was some skinny white kid who played the piano. But then, I saw him for the first time, and sure enough- he was a skinny white kid who played the piano. But! There are some things you should know about Elder Barlow.

First, he does not speak English. The poor lad tries, but he just doesn't get some of the finer points of English. For instance, words like "madurred" do not exist, even and especially when referring to ripe bananas. Also, sentences like, "I'm sick of Evangelicals molesting me!" are not appropriate in the English-speaking world. (FYI, in Spanish, "molestar," not to be confused with "violar," means "to annoy," a pretty important difference, although it makes for very funny jokes when you have a Latino companion.) He is also completely incapable of saying the word snickelfritz.

Also, I have been mooned by Elder Barlow from time to time while we have lived together. I think it's fair to say that I've seen his butt more times than I've seen my own, although it is in fact a great debate in our house whether or not the man really has a backside or if someone just drew a black line down the middle of his fleshless pelvis. And no, I don't feel bad making that joke. Haha, he hopes his wife makes fun of his buttlessness.

I should also probably mention that Elder Barlow in a way grabbed my soul by the nostrils and dragged it out of the very jaws of Hell. He once posed a question to me after I insisted that there was no way I could ever be a missionary as diligent and motivated as the Lord wanted me to be. "Johnson," he said, "the Lord does not care who you are. Who  could you be?" That question, combined with his example (getting repeatedly and viciously shafted by companions for about the first year of his mission, especially his trainer, and still turning out very well despite garbage that would have destroyed any lesser missionary) was a powerful motivator for me in some very dark times. I thank God for sending him to my house, and although he is leaving me now, I am eternally grateful for the time we had to serve together. We've had some of the funnest, funniest, most building time there was to be had.

My District

With all that sappy Jaredite villain out of the way, he and I crunched some numbers. In the last four weeks, we have knocked on nearly fifteen hundred doors. Of those doors, we've gotten in for one hundred and seven lessons. In case you didn't just whip out a calculator and break that down, we got rejected from thirteen of fourteen houses we tried to get into. Which is to say, we got lessons with just over 7.1% of the doors we knocked on, a number that is also about on par with the number of times people were too busy to listen to how to obtain eternal happiness because they had to eat a mango (although you could argue that that's kinda the same thing), the number of times bilingual Minecraft addicts said the words "skin toolkit" to us, and how often the door was answered by a dog. Yeah, it's fair to say that this work is not easy. Some might get discouraged. But we don't. No, sir, we do not. Why?

Because this work was never supposed to be easy. We aren't here to sit on the beach and sip piña coladas. We aren't here to slide our iPads under the seats of our air conditioned car as we go from golden investigator to golden investigator. We are here to do the work of salvation. To bring the world His truth. And what a truth it is.

This church is true. The church is so true that it's obvious. You cannot look at the Book of Mormon and suppose that it was written by Joseph Smith or any of his translators or associates back in the day. It is a book so rife with lingual and doctrinal complexity, from the stories down to individual words, that it would be ludicrous to even suppose this book could be a fabrication. If that isn't obvious, you're not reading it closely enough. 

As for Joseph Smith, his blunders are as telling as his successes. God took a man who was so imperfect and ignorant and yet so prepared and with him, He chose to do this work. How lost and confused Joseph Smith must have been, trying to fulfill his role as a prophet in this dispensation with no guide, no example of a modern prophet who had gone before. He could only trust in the Lord and keep moving forward, and his determination, the Spirit that accompanied him, and the very life he sacrificed in this cause are a testament to his divine calling as a prophet.

But the most important, compelling, and impossible-to-deny evidence there is for me is the hand of the Lord that I have seen in my own life. Looking back, it's so clear how the path of my life had brought me to this point. Specific people in specific places at the right time were prepared so that I would be able to finally come to this knowledge. It's so simple it's brilliant, and it's so crazy to see how even Satan's moves, sly as they were, only served to help the purposes of God. And this, after all, really is His work.

Elders Rodriguez and Johnson

So we are here and so we work. This work is a work of love and it is the most important kind of love. We are in the business of the salvation of the human family. I'm here, I'm happy here, and here I will stay. If any of you are wondering if you should serve a mission, allow me to answer that question with a loud, clear, and humble YES. Yes you should. It is the greatest thing that could happen to you. If God can take someone as messed up and imperfect as me and make anything useful out of it, He can do the same with you. I have seen it. I know it. I testify of it.

Pressing forward in the faith,

Dallin Johnson

Mother's thoughts -- August 6, 2015

I want to bear witness of a very important truth. This quote has power, and blessings that we are not taking advantage of.

I have seen it manifest in the lives of my children. I have seen miracles occur. I know those unseen angels are there waiting to help us, we just need to ask for it. I hope to be mindful of taking full advantage of the opportunity to attend the temple far more than I have in the past.

In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
Janell A. Johnson

Wise---Well, Words from Los Mameyes July 27, 2015

Hello! It's a Monday.

So in lieu of a mostly story-based epistle this week, I thought I would just share just a small portion of the things that get said in our house. Some names have been changed to protect identities.

Barlow was translating for Sister Corbitt at the Trainee-Trainer meeting. It went a little something like this:

Sister Corbitt: If you get bit by a dog, you'll have to keep an eye on it for at least ten days to check for irregular behavior. If you see anything, you may have to get some shots.

Elder Barlow: Yeah, if you get bit by a dog, you're getting shots.

Sister Corbitt: Also, don't draw on your apartment walls. The landlords frown upon that.

Elder Barlow: Graffiti pisses the owners off.

Haha that's our Elder Barlow- de-euphemizing things since 1995.

Other out-of-context quotes:

Barlow: All the members we were gonna go out with left us planted.

Lopez: What does that mean?

Brockbank: You know what that is? We's been shafted.

Mayonnaise Face: Don't even think about it.

Rugged Rogue: Don't even think about what?

Mayonnaise Face: Buying a bra.

Rugged Rogue: What? What would I do with a bra?

Mayonnaise Face:.....put it in the freezer....

Johnson: Life is like a banana. On the outside, it looks like a tough, bitter place, but once you peel that layer back, someone comes along and eats you.

Mayonnaise Face: What?! Why am I Mayonnaise Face??!?!

Johnson: I was always a fan of ramen noodling, myself. I'm a cheap sort of vandal.

Brockbank: Then you have Palmyra, Utah, where when your neighbors are mad at you, they weld your gate shut.

Iron Rod: Every time me and [name redacted] do something in this building, we end up with women in skimpy clothing.

Barlow: Can you hand me the area book?

Brockbank: Here in Ozama, we only use that to cut pineapple.

Johnson: I don't mean to ask stupid questions, but, uh, who put oil in the toilet?

Brockbank: We had to figure out which one of like twenty tanks was ours. Luckily, someone had spraypainted it green and written "Mormones" on it.

Barlow: I hate this. My talks have good doctrine, but you

always have the good stories.

Johnson: I know. It's like you're Dallin H. Oaks and I'm Last-Conference-Thomas-S.-Monson.

Barlow: Don't compare yourself with the prophet..... Why are you wiggling your ears like that?

Brockbank: As you can plainly see, before the mission, I was black.  

Johnson: Yeah, 'cause Eagle Scouts always know what they're doing.

Barlow: Hey, that's how I got this far in the mission.

Brockbank: By tying a heck of a lot of bowlines.

Broke Guy at an otter pop vendor: Hey, can you buy me one of these?

Johnson: No. Sorry. We're out of money.

Broke Guy: But I have a family to feed. I need money.

Barlow: You know what you need? Y'all need Jesus.

Johnson: Yes, come to church. And really, we're out of money.

Barlow (as we're walking away): Johnson, you're such a jerk. Although to be fair, he was trying to feed his family by bumming an otter pop.

Lopez: They might skip us in line.

Brockbank: Yeah, and we could pay with passalong cards and Monopoly money. Whaddya think about that?

Johnson: Yeah, me and Elder Rodriguez were up until about 4 AM.

Rodriguez: Please. It was only like...3:30.

Barlow: I always cuddled with Tanner's dog. See, I didn't have a girlfriend, and frankly I didn't have a dog.

Johnson: I think we can all agree that Kola Real is the worst soda in our solar system.

Brockbank: Then there's Country Club, which takes like cough syrup and gives you weirdly-colored poo.

Barlow (from out of the room): Are you guys talking about Country Club?

Johnson: Huh. We have a quote wall. We're practically women.

Barlow: Why?

Johnson: Quote walls are feminine.

Barlow: What? I don't know any girls who keep a quote wall. They're all guys. Wait..... Are we talking like a Pinterest quote wall?

Johnson: That's going on the quote wall.

So there you have it! We're contacting like animals and having a good time. I love you all and hope you all have a good week. 

In the wise words of Elder Rodriguez (one last quote), 

"Two men can do anything, as long as one of them is the Lord."

Love,

Elder Dallin Johnson

P.S. The attached photos are Elders Barlow, Brockbank, and me in varying levels of dignity. I would've taken one of Elder Lopez, but he's apparently not about that life.

Contacting in the Caribbean July 21, 2015

Happy Tuesday! It's P-DAY!!....? Yeah, so for P-Day, Barlow wanted to go to the zoo. Only problem was that the zoo is in the West mission. And it's closed on P-Day. Yeah, asking to not only leave the mission (I split my infinitives if I want, ye grammar Nazis), but to change your P-Day just for fun is sort of like going to DI and asking for a discount. It's simply not done. So what did Elder Barlow do? He asked. For permission. AND GOT IT. This is my life in Los Mameyes.

My ever-fluent and most excellent Aunt Tonya tells me that a "Mamey" in Mexico is a dude with a hot bod. Since it doesn't mean anything here, we'll use that translation. I don't know if anyone has been using a translator, but that means that the last few areas I've been working in (Los Mameyes, La Toronja, and Los Solares) in English are "The Dudes with Hot Bods", "The Grapefruit", and "The Plots of Dirt." They better give the guy in charge of naming these things a raise- he's a special sort of creative. 

Yeah, so Los Mameyes is basically the shiz. I tell you what, when I got the call that I was being transferred to Ozama with Elder Barlow, it was like I'd been sent to the Celestial Kingdom and was rooming with Jesus. The area is beautiful. The streets are calm. The houses are fit for human life. The apartment buildings have the most inefficient design ever, but I reckon it makes sense- they were built by the government. But the best part is that Los Mameyes lies right along the ocean, making it a wonderful place for a morning run if we ever wake up feeling particularly masochistic. It's also a great place for a bored Evangelical to work out while her bleeding laryx recovers from her morning spiritual thought (I'll send that picture next week when we're in a slightly nicer cyber cafe). I really can't complain, although we do have a slight cockroach problem and my fan sucks more than it blows.

In the house, we have four American missionaries and are redefining the term "whitewashing." Elder Lopez, despite having a Latino name, is whiter than white and fresh out of the MTC last week. Although he doesn't know very much about Spanish, he's pretty dang handy with a skillet and a quart of frying oil. If my heart gives out this transfer, just know I died happy. Elder Barlow and Brockbank are our resident geezers, which is actually good, although I may have to start wearing earplugs while we contact on account of Elder Barlow's creaking joints.

So today in the zoo, we were walking past the bison exhibit and we had a conversation that went more or less like this:

Me: Hey, look at the bison.

Brockbank: Yeah, it's crazy how many people mix up buffalo and bison.

Barlow: Wait, those aren't buffalo?

Me: Naw, the buffalo is actually an Asian animal. What did you think the difference was?

Barlow: I dunno. I kinda always thought bison was the plural of buffalo. Like, 'Oh, look, there's a buffalo. Oh look, there are some bison.' "

Brockbank:.....

Johnson:.....

Barlow:......What?

Haha we also passed Sambil, which had a huge display in front of a well-tanned lass in a skimpy bathing suit. I caught Elder Barlow staring at it and was about to reprend him when I suddenly realized he was actually staring down the giant poster with the Samsung Galaxy S6 Edge beside it. In the words of a questionably wise man, "there's regular porn, and then there's mobile programmer porn." Haha Elder Barlow, I have missed your cachetes.

As we're whitewashing (Just so you all know, whitewashing is when neither of the elders have been in an area before. The comment a paragraph or two ago may or may not have had racial implications, but it's all good.) we're contacting a lot. Like. A lot. Like. We've been spending seven to nine hours a day walking along hot streets knocking on doors and getting rejected. We had moments in which we tried to contact a mute, a dog nearly made us pee our pants because it scared us so bad, Barlow got hit on by a 65-year-old with a neck like a Confederate flag, and a guy told us our church was false because a meteor hit Russia and destroyed the Alps. Well, we finally decided to go down along the houses by the ocean to contact. These houses are rich. There was little hope of getting let in. This community was gated. Walled. But one of the walls was like two feet tall, so we figured what the heck and did what any bored missionaries would do. We jumped it. We went in. Predictably enough, these people were entirely too good for us, so after getting rejected five more times (and discovering that all of them have very big dogs. I'm starting to see an unfortunate trend) we walked out the front gate. The security there called us over and furiously demanded to know how we got in. And we were like. "That wall. Yeah. That one over there. It's two feet tall. And it says 'Bienvenidos' on it. What?" And then we contacted them. Yeah. It's been that sort of week.

That's all for this week. Things are going smooth and we're working hard. Hope all's well and stand by for pictures next week.

Hot dogs and hot dang,

Dallin Johnson

Ode to Los Solares July 13, 2015

It's transfer time and after six months, I'm OUT OF HERE!! With ELDER FLIPPIN' BARLOW!!! 

Johnson and Barlow

In commemoration of the event, I did what any sane soul would do; I wrote a poem about it. Enjoy :)

Ode to Los Solares (a poem)

by Elder Dallin Johnson

O Los Solares! My foxy, fickle friend!

With mixed emotions, we reach our long-awaited end.

You wanna know how I got this haircut?

You took my hair, my dignity,

But still I'll say, "Not you, it's me."

That much is obvious; you can't go.

You're an inanimate location, you curmudgeonly dope!

Don't. Say. A word.

Although we weathered much, you and me

We passed through things together, the perfect team.

Through thick and thin, through song and dance,

And on one occasion, nearly soiled pants.

We frolicked and baptized drinkers of Scotch.

We laughed and we cried. Well, you cried--I watched.

With friends and small children, and roaches besides,

The last, I assure you, was fully despised. 

But now I'm off to Los Mameyes,

A grassy land where calm bachata plays.

A land where dreams and leprechauns

Can don their kilts and dance 'til dawn.

What? What was that, eh?

Kilts are for Scots, you say?

The nether breeze is not for the Emerald Isle?

You wanna bet? You make me smile!

Who cares about kilts or leprechauns?

The point is, Los Mameyes is the bomb.

So off I go, it's time at last, 

As always,

Elder Dallin Johnson

Shorn, but undefeated