Week 1B: How Lucky We Are

I've always hated reboots. Little did I realize 

I’ve spent a lot of time at home now. 7 straight months of one headache after another, one doctor appointment after another. I was in a car accident 2 years ago and due to its effects I have been diagnosed with Post-Concussive syndrome which, in effect, prevents me being myself a perpetual headache and boiling migraines. From my perspective, it seems as though I will never return to the mission field again, let alone to Chile. It’s sad.

But I’m not writing this out of self-pity. This isn’t a missionary blog anymore, though I do still intend to give messages that are generally centered around the gospel from time to time because though I can’t function as I used to, I’m still blessed beyond measure. I have a family who loves me and parents whose willingness to help me is something to behold. I have plenty to eat and sleep in a warm bed each night. I’m in frequent contact with medical professionals who are helping me recover. 

My life isn’t going the way I wanted it to, yet it continues to keep going. Sometimes I think of myself as unlucky. Then I remember where I am and who God has made me to be and that, through no merits of my own, he has made me one of the luckiest people on the planet. Of 7.7 billion people, I’m one of 330 million American. Of 330 million americans, I am one of the estimated (and this is a rather liberal estimate, I think) 247 million lucky enough to be able to afford (on my parent’s dime) to not delay my medical visits due their cost. Of 330 million americans, I’m in the 52% to be part of the middle class. Of 330 million americans, I am one of 6.7 million members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (including inactive and less active members). And of 128.6 million households in the United States, I’m part of the best one.

Let’s do the math shall we? (Or I’ll do it because this isn’t exactly a dialogue prone format) If convert all those numbers into fractions and then multiply them together (ignoring the last one because… I want a realistic number) I really must be the luckiest man in the world. 

.064%. That’s how lucky I am and, having a vague idea of who will read this, I’d imagine you’re all in the same range. But it occurs to me that I’m far luckier than that as it does not account for a thousand other variables: high school graduate, associate’s degree holder, former missionary, male (whether that one’s a blessing or not is up to you), white, and many many more.

It’s no secret that the world is hard, but Heavenly Father didn’t create us to fail, the world is not all doom and gloom. Despite of the dark cloud that seems to loom over America these days, despite a pandemic that has killed 100 times the number of people who died in 9-11 and slaughtered 6.1 times the number of people who died in car crashes in 2018, it’s not all doom and gloom. In fact, I’d say we’re pretty darn lucky to be where we are. That doesn’t make the trials we face inadmissible, however. We chose to come here and fight for freedom; both our own and the freedom of our friends and family. I’m no Prophet- though President Ballard said something along these lines in late March- but when I look to the future, it’s a future of light and hope and joy and love, where we can run through the streets and greet our brother’s with both open arms and hearts. And that future is coming, the darkness will come to an end, as these things do.

It is, however, my personal feeling that there is a far greater danger facing humanity than Covid-19, one whose fruit has born itself time and time in recent years and whose seeds are starting to spread up and down every corner of our democracy. Even as humanity succeeds in fending off some of the worst things that the world has to offer, we frequently fail to grasp the import of the decisions ahead of us. Often times we ignore national and world problems which, I think, is understandable. Try as we might, none of us are Bill Gates, Susan B. Anthony, or Thomas Jefferson. But when the world is in freefall and our brains and cracking with stress, there is one way in which Americans really were created equal.

This is the only time I'll talk about politics on this blog, but whether or not facts and pointed questions are political is up to you- I don't think this is political as it's something that should concern all of us regardless of our preferences or agendas. I wouldn't be talking about this so directly if it weren't important; if it didn't genuinely scare me.

We all have the right to vote (as of June 4th, 1919, at least). We have the duty to vote. America is in our hands whether we like it or not. Do we approve of the Government’s response to Covid-19? Are we okay with the effect Climate Change has, and will have, on the world? Is it okay to gas peaceful protestors and use the soldiers and federal police to turn entirely peaceful protests into chaos for photo ops? Religious liberty shattered by specifically keeping Muslims from crossing the border? What about the way that the law has been abused and battered and blatantly ignored by those whose responsibility it was to uphold it these past 4 years? This is not normal behavior. It is not dismissible. He may care about order, but he clearly sees the law as something to be stepped upon.

I’m not going to say anymore about politics. Suffice it to say that if you’re not planning on voting, I’d urge you to live up to your privilege and do it anyways. And I’ll urge you to take the time to learn the facts without writing them off as excusable or merely biased journalism. Facts are facts. There’s a reason this is thought to be one of the most important election seasons in history, because the past 4 years have been bad and it’s possible that they’ll only get worse because most of these events are drawn from the past 12 months. The more you honestly look, the scarier it becomes.

        I hope I never feel the need to write about politics on this blog again, but this is important, we can't ignore the truth just because we want to, especially when someone's proposed ideology doesn't line up with their actions in the slightest.

    Wear a mask, stay safe. You have the power to pierce the darkness ahead, both the immediate and the seemingly distant. Things are hard, but most of us are lucky to be watching things unfold from a distance. And I feel very blessed to live in a land of general prosperity where my voice matters.

This message was brought to you by: My wonderful parents! My incredibly blind (but still adorable) dog! My brothers and sisters! My good friend you-can't-prounounce-her-name Ximena Franco who puts up with me... most of the time!

Here are some photos:

Look it's a dog!

I'm pretty sure this pic has been up on the blog before, but this is me at the Mexico City Temple!

   A beautiful view from when my dad and I went camping

 

Have a great week all of you! You're luckier than you think.

-Brayden Monson

Intermission Mission Week 4

“In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since. 'Whenever you feel like criticizing anyone,' he told me, 'just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantages that you've had.”- The Great Gatsby

This quote isn’t particularly relevant, but it’s quite good regardless.

Matthew 7: 2-3 “For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.  And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother’s eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?”

There's a phrase that I've found to be especially philosophically applicable throughout my short lifetime. It's one I'm sure that everyone knows and, hopefully, has found somewhat applicable. "The grass is always greener on the other side." With springtime joining us in full force, and with how much life has changed, that phrase is particularly meaningful at this moment in time.

Nearly everyone I've met who is blessed enough to have a lawn takes great pride in it. As humans we define good grass as being grass that is lush green and thick. We value uniformity and love to unleash our inner dictator on the barren soil outside of our house. Many Saturdays of my life have been spent fighting this war: mowing lawns, watering them, mowing again because it was too long today and left clumps all over, removing any rebel grass who had the audacity to grow outside of its designated spot. Like the machines we operate, this process is repeated each week until the rain threatens to rust our joints and the seasons thwart our tiny, personal plans.

It's an ironically fruitless process, I find. The rewards reaped are minimal at best and hardly worth the effort. Yet we do it anyway, because humans love having projects to work on. Also, much like our Heavenly Father, we love plants, and we love to create a crude approximation of beauty through the resources provided to us. It's a project, and one which we both love and hate, our growing grass often a direct reflection of the time and effort we put into it. That is, I think, why we find the plain, greenish hues of our domains to be so pleasing. Because we have created something where once there was nothing; it's more about the feeling of accomplishment, than anything else.

But sometimes our lawns don't look so nice. Sometimes our ambitions are impossible to fulfill and, like Icarus, grow just to burn under heat. Our water is insufficient to sustain the symbol of our internal pride. Sometimes the grass on the other side of the fence is just too green to bear and, as a response, we grow green ourselves. And that's when our ambition becomes a problem.

This event- that of human jealousy- is hardly a phenomenon. Jealousy are wild olive branches growing in our soul's garden that we plant ourselves, and one that Heavenly Father tries so hard to eliminate. He is even willing to burn them, burn us, if it will stop the spread (Jacob 5:9) Jealousy is a disease in ourselves which destroys us on the inside, as well as on the outside should we let it spread. It is what happens when we realize that our ambitions, small though they are, cannot be fulfilled by our merits alone. It is as swift as an arrow speeding towards us and strikes where and when we are not guarded by God’s armor. The adversary would have this arrow strike us and our friends to our cores and leave us lying dead in our gardens, too busy brooding about how insufficient our efforts were to notice the spiritual peril surrounding us.

There is, however, more than one form that jealousy’s stain can take. Not only is it the adversary's weapon, but it too can be a weapon that we launch at ourselves when we fail to see reality as it really is. It is a type of jealousy that I can’t stand to see, yet so frequently do in myself. For it is one thing to be jealous of what we can see, it is one thing to compare ourselves to friends and family- a tool which, when used with precautions, can inspire to dig in roots and grow up towards the Savior’s brilliant light in the sky- yet it is completely different when we begin to compare ourselves to the romanticized memories in our minds, the daily trials and pains of life cut out and forgotten. It is one thing to be jealous of that which is visible and real. It is another entirely to compare ourselves to that which is both fictitious and unattainable, to be like Jay Gatsby reaching out towards a green light, in love with a universe that was never there.

So frequently in life we have cause to shout to the heavens and ask, “why is this so hard? What changed? Why is my life so terrible all of a sudden?” What we so often ignore is that life was never easy. Sometimes I forget that. I forget that, though life is hard right now, though it’s never-ending slaughter of hope continues onwards, life was always like that. We look back at childhood days, carefree and lovely, but forget how many times we hated the limitations of being a child. We jealously look forward towards the future, hopeful of what’s to come, unaware of how much hope and potential there still is and will always be. Because hope is the thing with feathers, and it sings the tune without the words, and it never stops at all.

In the Harry Potter books, the Dursley’s are invited to an ‘All England Best Kept Lawn Competition.’ They leave in their brand new motor car, excited for the opportunity to bolster their own pomp and pride through the flattering words they expect to soon receive. They worked hard on their lawn. They watered it every day- even when water bans were in place. I wonder what happened when they arrived at the meeting place only to find that, no, there was no “All England Best Kept Lawn Competition.” I wonder how they reacted upon discovering that the world cared about their lawn precisely as much as they cared about young Harry Potter, locked in the house.

The truth of it is, it doesn’t matter to God how green our grass is, proverbially or literally. He does not care about who we’ve been or how many wild olive branches litter our lives. Rather, He cares that we’re doing everything in our power to remove their stain from our lives through our humble service. When the hour has grown too late for the work to continue, and the final branches are being grafted into God’s vineyard, we will look around at our neighbor. Maybe their grass is, or was, or will be greener on the other side. But that’s okay. Not everyone has the time or money for a big suburban lawn anyways. 

They’re a luxury, more than anything else.

Week 21.5: A Small Sort of Independence

D&C 88:124 "Cease to be idle; cease to be unclean; cease to find fault one with another; cease to sleep longer than is needful; retire to thy bed early, that ye may not be weary; arise early, that your bodies and your minds may be invigorated."

- There's not a specific reason I'm including this scripture, the "anti-teenager-scripture," as my friend Jakon always called it. I suppose it's relevant.

Dear Fellow Captives,

Before arriving back in the states- before even knowing whether or not we would be returning home- I was in quite the state of mind, as one might have expected. I wasted away the days, cooking food, cleaning up, intending to do my studies but never really getting around to them. I don't mean to complain about having some downtime during the mission- some "paid-leave" as I liked to call it, but it was just downright frustrating- especially because our last week of work in Chile had been the most productive and fulfilling week of my mission by quite a ways. Whereas that week had been spent pushing mental and spiritual capacities; the final days had a distinctive air of slothful regression about them. During that time, as one might expect, our success was incredibly limited. Losing contact with many of our investigators so suddenly didn’t leave a lot of time for lessons. And, for that, I all but stopped my studies. 

Perhaps this is just me, but the fact that I couldn't even bring myself to do my studies during time is somewhat embarrassing. Yet it is the same pattern that I've seen myself fall into my entire life. Summers have always been the slowest moving part of my years to the point where I would start to go crazy when I realized that there was still a month left until my life could be scheduled again. It's a strange sort of phenomenon that I've experienced many-a-time: where getting exactly what we want, this being time to relax and enjoy ourselves leads to an inevitable collapse of normality in our lives. It's the sort of world that we live in when there is no clear path ahead, and no goal to work towards; unless, of course, we set that goal ourselves. It's a world of slow-moving purpose, without stress or urgency. It's the world I find myself in right now, as I sit here writing a letter that I've restarted 3 times already since the last Monday (it was originally going to be about marine biology and it’s comparisons to the Plan of Salvation… until I realized that Marine Biology is well above my paygrade). 

Already I've started to give up on doing my daily language study and last night's scripture study was done at 10:30 at night because I decided earlier in the day that playing the new Animal Crossing was of far more pressing concern to me at that moment- and, to be fair, it is a fantastic video game.  I did do my scripture reading. But I did it out of a slightly guilty conscience and obligation than anything else. "Missing one day doesn't mean anything, does it?" I asked myself, knowing full well that such a question was as meaningless as the crushed up, forgotten leaves trapped somewhere in my suit's pocket. For this question was not one that I was willing to give an honest answer.

From a worldly perspective, missing one day of studying is all but meaningless. But I knew, knew, better. For it is by small and simple things that great things are brought to pass. And it was for a small thing that Joseph Smith prevented from removing the gold plates. And, as we are reminded in Alma 37:41, “miracles were worked by small means (God) did show unto them marvelous works. They were slothful and forgot to exercise their faith and diligence and then those marvelous works ceased, and they did not progress in their journey.”

This scriptural warning is very clear: Should we forget to do the small and simple things, then miracles in our life will cease. Should we forget to worship and respect the Lord our God, then the Lord our God will not help us on the final day. But should we do those small and simple things continually, prayerfully, then we can expect those miracles in our life necessary to bring us closer to the Savior and to relieve us from the frightening trials of the world that we so frequently find ourselves in.

Such is my life right now- small and simple. There is unfortunately little I feel I can personally do to further the Lord’s work; at least in comparison to what I was doing mere weeks ago. But with the knowledge of my eventual return to the field, I still have work to do. I still have a reason to study beyond personal growth, because I know that there are still people waiting to be found. I’m not a missionary right now, I’m just a teenager sitting at a computer. But though I no longer bear Christ’s name on my suit coat pocket, though I no longer carry a spare Book of Mormon around, and though my days are spent without speaking a word of Spanish, there is still some work to do. And, thinking of all the people in Chile, whose progress I can no longer visibly see, I find myself immeasurably comforted by the Lord’s promise that His work shall go forth, “ boldly, nobly, and independent, till it has penetrated every continent, visited every clime, swept every country, and sounded in every ear, till the purposes of God shall be accomplished, and the Great Jehovah shall say the work is done.”

The Lord's work will go on with or without me, and all the other missionaries, present. I expect that our return will be met with more miracles and more hope than we had ever had previously. Because that's what it means to be the hands of the Lord: to trust Him, and His plan. To work hard, despite the circumstances. And to be humble and faithful enough to understand the honor it is to act in the name of Jesus Christ. Because things haven't changed as much as we think they have. A missionary's job, a member's job, is to invite everyone to come unto Christ and to be an example of the believers at all times and in all places.

I don’t know what’s happening to those I was teaching- Paz, Ruben, Juana, Carlos, Carlos, and Carlos, among others- but I can only hope that they continue to pray each night, continue to study the scriptures, and continue to feel the changing nature of Christ’s Atonement in their lives; even though some of them don’t yet understand what that is. I can only trust in Alma’s profound thought to his son Helaman found in Alma 37:6-7, my favorite verses of scripture (They mentioned that chapter a lot in Conference. I was very happy about it, especially since I wrote the majority of this letter beforehand).

“Now ye may suppose that this is ^afoolishness in me; but behold I say unto you, that by ^bsmall and simple things are great things brought to pass; and small means in many instances doth confound the wise. And the Lord God doth work by ^ameans to bring about his great and eternal purposes; and by very ^bsmall means the Lord doth ^cconfound the wise and bringeth about the salvation of many souls.”

I can only hope that they, like me, continue to progress. Not through lessons, or visits, or concentrated and consecrated Missionary efforts, but through the small and simple things. The miracles in their lives. It's more than hope, actually. It's knowledge. Because God loves His children, and He won't let something so eternally trivial as all of the non-natives in South America slow Him down, not for long anyways.

Elder Monson

airport pickup

airport pickup

  

the day after he returned

back to playing with his best friend, Mia

8 days later... the lego rocket is built

Week 20: That's just how things are in Chile

I'm not going to bother starting this letter with an account of everything that's happening right now, because it seems very likely that everyone already knows- I'm coming home. Probably just for a few weeks, possibly for longer. I don't really have any strong feelings about the event, only that I prefer house arrest in the United States over the same in Chile. At least in the States I will have people to talk to other than my companion (that's the hope anyway).

Walking to the church Monday morning early

Instead I'd like to write a letter detailing just how weird everything is here in Chile. I find it fairly unlikely that I'm going to be returning here any time soon, and I'm genuinely comfortable with that fact. I really am. Missionary work, at its essence, is the same no matter where you are. I'm still going to miss Chile though, I felt like I was just starting to feel comfortable here.

Chile is not what I expected it to be. My primary experiences with foreign countries come from the letters and pictures that my brothers sent while they were on their missions and even those memories have grown hazy in my mind. I remember Jaymes commenting about how yellow and brown his white shirts had become and speaking of large areas with hills where the populace lived spaced apart. His mission, Tuxtla Gutierrez Mexico, was a poor place when compared with the rest of the country. My brother Tyler served in Guatemala City and, though I don't remember much of his mission experiences, I do know that he worked in the city with some fair frequency.

My personal expectations of Chile were that it would be very similar to Jaymes' mission, with rugged towns and dirty roads and- indeed- I have found some of that here. I expected to be filtering everything I drank, to be sick frequently, and to have to take care of whatever thing I did. My assumptions came, not only from my brothers, but from what little knowledge I have and had of South America.

But, really, my experience here in Concepción Chile has reminded me, as so many things do, of the danger of stereotypes. Because Chile is not just one country found somewhere south of the United States. It's not just full of people already to be baptized, nor did I have to take any significant amount of care as to what I ate and drank here. Because Chile, like all countries, is unique. It has problems which are unique, a diverse population of ideas, and a different perspective of who God is.

My first meaningful exposure to Chile came at 3:00 in the morning on December 17th 2019. We were almost done with our long, sleepless journey from the MTC, though we still had around an hour until we landed. And that hour was when Chile first surprised me. They gave us a long video about all the things that the Government of Chile was trying to do in order to keep their country clean and ecofriendly, and then listed the things that they asked visitors to do in order to help in that cause. The actual details of the video presentation are unimportant, but I- shamefully- was surprised that this country, where 1 US dollar equals 800 of theirs, would have a sophisticated program in place in order to reduce their carbon emissions.

On the way to the mission home we- that is to say 'those who were driving'- bought 20 boxes of Domino's Pizza. I was a little bit shocked for I had thought that Pizza was something long lost to me. My mistake.

That night all of the new missionaries stayed at the houses of some members who lived close by. The living space was small, but not unreasonable. The shower was all but nonfunctional- working more as a low-pressure hose than anything with a proper head screwed into it. I was annoyed but not all together surprised. "That's just how things must be, here in Chile," I told to myself. And, indeed I was to find that the shower head in my apartment was just as frustratingly dysfunctional as the one in the member's home.

When I got to Chile, I was told that my Spanish was shockingly good for a 'gringo.' I rarely had any trouble communicating what it was that I wanted to say, if the person listening chose to be patient with me. But, even now, I can't fully understand Chilean speech. Their Spanish is slurred and mumbled, with some syllables and letters being cut from the word completely. They speak fast, like many Spanish speaking countries, but they don't speak clearly. Even Latino Elders can't understand what they're saying, I've been told. "That’s just how things are in Chile."

We ate lunch with the members, chicken and rice. Chicken and rice almost every day. "That's just how thing's must be here in Chile," I told myself. There are little convenience stores called 'tiendas' scattered all over Chile. None of the food there is of American brand, so I tended to avoid it- horror stories of sick missionaries ringing in my ears. There was however, a lot of bread. Chile loves its bread. So much, in fact, that "stop eating bread" is a literal diagnosis that doctors give when patients feel sick. So I, trying to follow along with the culture a little bit, bought said bread. It was average and tasteless, like everything I had eaten there. "That's just how things must be here in Chile, bland and tasteless." Their version of salad is nothing more than tomato’s with salt, their ice cream melts faster than the ice cream from the States. They eat rice and potato’s covered in mayonnaise. Their signature dish is the 'humita' which is like a tamale but... without anything inside. Just corn mush, sometimes with tomato’s or sugar.

This trend continued onwards for 6 weeks. Up to that point I felt that Chile was nothing more than a worse version of the United States. Honestly, I hated Chile. I really did. I found it so... uncultured in the sense that there didn't seem to be anything particularly special there. It wasn't until I received my second companion that my perspective of the place started to change.

The man from Stansbury Utah, Elder Turpin, loves Chile. He loves it with all of his heart. When we received the news that we were being sent back home I called him and he told me, "they're taking me away from my country." Elder Turpin showed me how beautiful Chile really is. For one thing, he replaced the showerhead in our apartment and, much to my surprise, showers in Chile AREN'T terrible. They're perfectly normal, actually. The Elders who lived in the apartment were just too lazy to change the showerhead for who knows how long.

Instead of buying bland bread, he showed me which convenience store items were worth buying. Sereanitas, lemon oreo type cookies, quickly became a favorite of mine (especially because a pack of them costs no mroe than 20 cents). Manjar, a caramel type topping that they use here in place of peanut butter, is actually really good. In fact, most of the food here in Chile is pretty good. Most of it is bland, sure. But HandRolls (The deep fat fried sushi that I keep taking pictures of)? My goodness, they are incredible. Mayonnaise with potato’s? Still weird, but not that bad. (I will, however, never defend humitas. They're awful and an insult to cooking.)

Chilean Spanish- though I would never say it is grammatically correct- is deep and rich. They use words and saying that you'll never hear anyone else say. A personal favorite of mine is "the toasted ducks are falling" which means, "it's hot outside."

Slowly, throughout my time with Elder Turpin, I learned to love Chile. It's richer than any other country in South America, any other country in the world. It's not just America .5 edition, as I once thought. It's beautiful and rich in history. Its people are complex, but all together agreeable. They all love God, though they know not where to find Him. They love the Gospel, though they know not where to find it.

I had a lot of assumptions, unfounded assumptions, about Chile before arriving. It's likely that I still do, tucked away in my subconscious. But Chile is not what I thought it was. Chile is wonderful and I'm truly going to miss it. Someday I'll return, I think. I've only scratched the surface of how passionately-calm, how shallowly deep, how wonderfully-and-apathetically-aggressive, and how absolutely whack things are here. But, even if I do come back, I sincerely doubt that I'll come to understand the place. Because, despite what I once unwittingly thought, the people here are not simple, they just think differently, and I love that. And I love them all.

Who wants to get Chick-Fil-A and Sushi with me?
Elder Brayden Hunter Monson

Elder McCrary on the computer at the church

Mid-Week Check-in

We heard from Elder Monson early Friday morning. There is a lot going on in his country with the spread of COVID-19. He is worried about being sent home or reassigned. It was good to chat with him and hear what he and his companion are doing to be prepared. Their Mission President asked them to buy food for one month, they bought what they could find. Brayden asked what meals he could cook with only a few ingredients like flour, sugar, hamburger, a couple eggs, pasta, powdered milk and salami. I shared what I could think of and have since sent a few others. They are not to leave their apartment unless to exercise and go to the church to write, read, watch church movies. Communicating with ward members and teaching is only done over the phone. They hope to receive a smartphone soon so they can connect much easier with family as well as look at the churches webpage from home.
There are a lot of unknowns right now and I'm sure he wishes he could know the future just like we would like that too.
Later in the day we received a letter from the Pres and Hermana Richter which gave us a lot of peace and a few answers. They are wonderful people doing all they can to keep the missionaries safe and well.

March 19, 2020

Dear Missionaries of the Chile Concepción Mission:

Until further notice we will adopt the following guidance:

1. Please remain in your apartments/houses to minimize risk of infection.  Do not visit members or those you are teaching.  To the extent possible, all contacts will be by phone.
2. You may leave your homes to shop, use the computers in your assigned chapel or for other critical needs (e.g., doctor appointments).  When using the computer, only one companionship at a time will be in the chapel.
3. When leaving the house, please dress in casual attire without your missionary plaque.
4. Members may continue to provide you lunch in containers if they are able.  Please do not enter members' homes to eat.
5. You may visit another companionship of missionaries to help and minister to them as needed.  No more than four missionaries may gather.
6. We will postpone District Councils until further notice.  District Leaders will stay in close contact with the missionaries in their districts by telephone.
7. Coordinating with the Bishop, you can continue with baptismal services in very small groups.
8. Coordinating with the Bishop, Elders may administer the sacrament in their own home.  We ask members to administer the sacrament to our sister missionaries.

Please know that these measures have been carefully and prayerfully considered.  As you faithfully comply with these guidelines, you will not only contribute to the slowing of the virus in Chile, you will continue to feel the power and Spirit of this work.  As you pass through this trial, you will experience many miracles as you continue to see the hand of the Lord in this work.   

Last evening the church sent out more info about missionaries. We are not sure how this will affect the Elders and Sisters in Chile Concepción Mission, we will wait and see what happens. I know all missionaries around the world need our love, support, encouragement and prayers. Each of these dear people have sacrificed because they KNOW God has called them to spread the gospel of Jesus Christ. So you can imagine how hard it is to feel homebound and unsure of the future as a missionary.

Elder Monson uploaded a few pictures he took the last few days. He looks happy and is doing all he can to be positive. He was being creative to share to tell us that they are stuck inside now, picking up his drawing skills (that high school art class is paying off). Love it all!

Week 19: A Frugal Chariot

There is no Frigate like a Book

To take us Lands away,

Nor any Coursers like a Page

Of prancing Poetry – 

This Traverse may the poorest take

Without oppress of Toll – 

How frugal is the Chariot

That bears a Human soul.

--Emily Dickinson

He called just minutes after taking this picture. He was so happy to have ice cream.

Dear People,

Can I just express how much I love Emily Dickinson? I've talked about her here, on the great wide interwebs, before, but there's just something so magical about her words. And this little known poem is one of my personal favorites. I've planned on writing this particular letter for a while because of the way the words call to me in a manner that is both gratifyingly sweet and suspiciously subtle. There are few things that bring me more simple pleasure than a good, well written book. Than pages of "prancing poetry.'' I spent much of my childhood reading, though in retrospect I realize that my youthful mind could hardly grasp the depth and emotion that goes into each and every written word. In fact, at that time I could barely even understand the book's plot line. It wasn't for a lack of intelligence, but rather for a lack of patience. The only reason I could read Harry Potter was because I had watched the movies. The movies inspired me to read the book, the book required my impatient mind the watch the movies again just go gain even the smallest grain of comprehension.

No, I didn't understand literature back then and nor do I understand it now. Language is a complex and powerful thing- able to move nations and change worlds with far more urgency and prudency than any sort of weaponry. I've always found the scripture found in Alma 31:5 to be very expresatory of the power that language has to connect with people's hearts.  "And now, as the ^apreaching of the ^bword had a great tendency to ^clead the people to do that which was just—yea, it had had more powerful effect upon the minds of the people than the sword, or anything else, which had happened unto them—therefore Alma thought it was expedient that they should try the virtue of the word of God." More powerful than the sword, more powerful than anything else that had happened to the people. The words of the Prophets, the wisdom of God, has done more and will continue to do more for the children of men than any other influencer. So long as we read and study it, anyways.

But there's something interesting about the philosophies found in the holy scriptures, something that my cynical mind has trouble wrapping itself around. You see the Book of Mormon is, as the name would imply, is a book written in the language of men. Now, language, when understood at a personal level, is something so intrinsically beautiful (that's something I'm only just discovering now that my own language has been taken away from me). But language is also an incredibly limited thing. Any author knows that there are some things that just can't be explained within the confines of a while and black page. I've often heard it said that "the hardest thing to write is someone walking from one point to another-" a sentiment which I have found to be eerily profound throughout my own experiences with language craft. Language can't explain what it's like to long for another, to look up at a morning sun, to leave everything behind for a cause that you hardly understand. The only thing that these palaces of paragraphs can do is simulate those emotions, remind us of them. Because words are just that, reminders. Connections in our brain.

I wrote a book before I left on my mission. I don't know how many people know that. I spent a year writing every single day- often for hours at a time. And, no matter how hard I tried, no matter how many ways I twisted a phrase, everything I wrote falls flat when compared to the emotions are stirred up when I read the Holy Scriptures. The emotions that are created on their part. For though the words of man may contain all the wisdom of the generations, though they may send men and women to war, comfort them in times of strive, cause that strive themselves, they are just that: the words of man. They are as Emily Dickinson describes, a frugal Chariot. A chariot that breaks the moment the covers close in on themselves.

I wrote a book. The title of that book is A Fractured Silence. And it was my pride and my joy for a very long time. But, now and days, it's a reminder. It's a reminder of just how insufficient human efforts are, and how much greater the works of God are than the works of men. I would love it if the whole world read the book I wrote because it's something I worked very hard on. It'd love it even more if the whole world read the Book of Mormon. Because those feelings of the Spirit are what's going to save this world, not me.

Elder Brayden Hunter Monson

New companion Elder McCrary

Serving in the city of Coelemu

great missionaries

Good-bye pictures before he left 1st area.

beautiful flower

just waiting for the bus

waiting for the sushi rolls

He loves his fried sushi rolls

Ward Mission leader

A family he absolutely loves