Week 3: Glass Tools

Hello all you lovely people,

Moroni 7:47 "But charity is the pure love of Christ, and it endureth forever; and whoso is found possessed of it at the last day, it shall be well with him."

We've got a lot to be thankful for. I know that's a pretty generic way to start out an email being written the day before the holiday of thanks (or the holiday of gluttony, depending on what type of a person you are), but the idea of charity has been parading through my mind the past few days. Perhaps 'parading' is the wrong word, the word has been sticking out at me, using it's big bold meanings to subtly work it's way into my subconscious. The four people in my dormitory made a goal to try and find examples of charity in our lives and it's something that I've really taken to heart. 

Elder Monson

Charity is everywhere. Yet it is also nowhere. Charity can be like a diamond perched in the dirt: an object prized above all others, reserved for those with eyes to see and ears to hear. It all depends on your perspective. Some people just see the diamond- those charitous actions so blatant and obvious they can't help but make you feel a little bit inadequate or jealous for not having noticed it before. Some see charity like a blacksmith sees metal- the resources needed to make a tool, a means to an end. Whether that end be personal glory, glory for God, or glory for a cause, it is always a tool. Others don't see either. Others (I don't know who, precisely) go through life without an understanding of what it means to have the pure love of Christ in your life, to be blessed by miracles small and simple. Simple, yet bold. In a way that's how we all are at times; it's impossible for our human minds to comprehend just how much we've been given.

But I'm coming to understand something for each time I see charity's hands reaching out towards me I learn to understand it just a little bit better. Charity isn't a diamond, nor is it a tool, and it certainly isn't something to be ignored. It's stone. Firm, unchanging, powerful. Unbreakable. Below is a picture of Jesus Christ, a statue of stone, hands of stone. Charity truly is the pure love of Christ.

It's just a shame that human souls can be as fragile as glass.

Two and a half years ago, I went on a humanitarian trip through the HEFY organization. We went to help construct buildings for the elderly and disabled who had been abandoned by their family. We finished the roof. We put up thick granite crossbeams, laid down the roof's foundation by putting bricks on the top, and mixed concrete to finish it off. Overall the process took 2 weeks.

That trip was a first for me in more ways than one: it was the first time that my body couldn't cope with the pressure I put on it, the first time that I could glimpse how blessed my life is, the first time I realized that it's okay to cry- to weep. The first time for many many other things that may or may not come up in future emails. But, relevant to this email, it was the first time that I understood the meaning of three words, 'friend,' 'tool,' and 'miracle'. That trip was quite possibly the hardest thing I've ever done in my life- for reasons too complicated and too personal for me to get into now. The entire time I felt as though I were treading water in the midst of a stormy sea, each wave threatening to push me under. Sometimes those waves succeeded. 

But when they did, there was someone there. Someone with hands- not of stone-  but of glass, slowly cracking under the strain and pressure, glowing brilliantly under the light of the sun, true nature obscured to my eyes.

Her name was Brynn. And she has been through some seriously terrible things in her life- ones that are again too personal for me to talk about here. But though serious and terrible I felt my struggles were at the time, her's were beyond my comprehension. And every time I was ready to give everything up, she was there, reaching through the veil of water down towards me. I don't even think she knew she was doing it. I love her for that. Not in any sort of romantic way, but in a way that's far more powerful. The same way we all ought to love our Redeemer, whose hands are always stretched down to us, should we have eyes to see and ears to hear.

 I haven't had much contact with Brynn in the past two and a half years. I can only hope that she is well. But she was a miracle from our Heavenly Father, a miracle meant just for me.Though I can only imagine that the pieces of her soul were cracked and falling apart, the Lord used her as a tool anyways.

Charity is the pure love of Christ. But Christ will almost always use others to do his work. So have a little more charity in your lives. Look for it. Have it. Be it.Because no matter how broken or whole you are, no matter how poor of a tool you think you are, let yourself be used by the Lord to help bless the lives of others. Someone, someday, will need your help. Yours, personally.

How much power one tool- when used with omnipotent precision- can have is staggering; broken and fragile though it may be.

Elder Brayden Hunter Monson

Elders in District B

1st branch and District B

Week 2: To Sing the Tune Without the Words

Dear Humans of Earth- or at least a select few of you,

It's been a hard week, but then they all are, that's just how it goes when you've got 14 hours of Spanish seminary each day. I wake up, I work, I get confused when I realize it's already time to head back to our dorms, I rinse, I repeat. It's a good thing the days have started going by faster because, well, the first week felt as long as month. Longer, even. There are good times, there are successes, there are goals made, and goals that have yet to be achieved. A mission, in my experience, is life just lived on a different level and, like life, it's hard. It's hard because it was never meant to be easy, because the Lord wants Elder Brayden Hunter Monson to change and get better. Sometimes I get discouraged, sometimes I literally want nothing more than to give up and head home. I say this not out of a desire to receive pity or comfort- most of the time I'm perfectly happy and content with what I'm doing. But sometimes things get rough, sometimes I close myself off from the rest of the world because I just can't stand it anymore. I can't stand the way my back aches or the way that I hear sirens all night. Can't stand having the English language slowly taken away from me, can't stand the way my head feels at the end of the day: tense and pained.

But then I remember sometiming: the words of Emily Dickinson- one of my personal heroes.





“Hope” is the thing with feathers -


That perches in the soul -


And sings the tune without the words -


And never stops - at all -




And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -


And sore must be the storm -


That could abash the little Bird


That kept so many warm -




I’ve heard it in the chillest land -


And on the strangest Sea -


Yet - never - in Extremity,


It asked a crumb - of me.


---------------------------------------------

We have CCM wide devotionals every Sunday and Tuesday and, at the end, something beautiful happens. The talks end, the closing hymn is sung, the prayer is given, everyone stands up. The piano keeps playing. The Elders stand and wait for the Sister missionaries to leave first (sometimes quietly, sometimes not). the piano keeps playing. And the Elders, all of them, hum the tune, joining their flawed, off key, perpetually shifting voices to the melody. Most of them would never be able to sing the hymn aloud- not when Spanish is their second language, not without a Hymn book, anyways- but they sing anyways. They sing the tune without the words because, though the words are lost to them, though they've been placed in a life that they never genuinely thought they'd be living, though they're living day by day, rinsing and repeating, they all carry the Spirit with them. Though they don't know the words, the tune and message of the hymn has been engraved into them through years and years.

Though they don't know the words, they still give what they can. Though I can't speak the Spanish language, when I teach a lesson or share a scripture or give a thought in class I give what I can. Because I don't know how to speak Spanish, not well anyways. But I know the gospel and its doctrines are the same no matter what language your speaking. We know that the Gospel is true because those doctrines are baked into our souls so, even if we can't quite understand what it is we're being taught, the tune resonates with us anways.

God is our Heavenly Father and we are His children, and He loves us despite how often we fail to live up to our full potential. Jesus Christ is our Savior and Redeemer and because of Him, we can fix the cracks in our hearts and minds. Because the Gospel is Hope, and Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without the words, and never stops, not at all, not unless we tell it to. Sometimes I have hard days, but so does everyone. Sometimes we don't have the right words or right ideas for the situation. But we all try and sing anyways, and there's something beautiful about that.

Hope is the thing with feathers. I'll probably revisit this poem in the future, it's really incredible.

Here's hoping some of that made sense.

-Elder Brayden Hunter Monson

Week 1: Who the Lord Wants

Dear Whomever Reads this,

It's been a very emotionally taxing week.  A very emotionally taxing month and year. I would even go so far as to say it has been a very emotionally taxing life, but that's the story of everyone, isn't it? But my story is changing in ways that are somehow both predictable and unimaginable at the same time. I'm here now, at the CCM, watching as the world changes around me (was that a properly pretentious way to start this email off? I think so). The story of everyone is one of change. We're never the same person for more than a few seconds and- no matter how much we want the hands of time to stop and smell the flowers- life goes on. The day before I left on my mission all I wanted was the promise of time. I tried to stretch out every  moment and push back against time's hands, telling myself that I had more time than I did. I got my mission call over 120 days ago, 120 days to prepare, to convince myself that this was what I wanted to do, then to change my mind, then to change it back. But no matter what I did, I could never stop time's movement. And now I'm here, looking at a screen for the first time in what feels like a month, writing down whatever it is that comes to my mind. And it's good. Better than I expected, at least.

Life is change. It's what Heavenly Father wants for us- to change. The plan is far more complicated than that, of course, but it all boils down to change. Why do we need to repent? Because we need to change our habits and behaviors. Why do we need to learn the Gospel? So that we can know what it is that we need to change about ourselves to become more Christlike. Heavenly Father has asked me to change, and I can only hope that I'm up to the task. Even now my mission doesn't feel real to me. The CCM is like having Seminary 14 hours a day, then spending the rest of your night studying and fitfully trying to fall asleep while you stare up at the ceiling above, trying to find even a hint of silence in the chaos outside. Police sirens never seem to stop, dogs howl at the moon, I stay silent. Unable to fall asleep. Unable to remember what the heck I'm doing here.

Then I wake up. And the world is quiet, or as quiet as a house full of boys can be. Then I go to lessons. 14 hours of them. I remember why I'm here- to serve the Lord- and I'm

And- despite living in a world content with change- every day feels the same as the last. Every day I'm reminded why I'm here- to serve the Lord as best I can. I write in my journal. I study.

Rinse and repeat.

So I have this keychain. A 1-UP mushroom from the Super Mario series that my sister made for me. And it broke off on Sunday and rolled onto the floor. It's on my bed now, but it's not something I can carry with me.

The Lord wants something from me, and It's not just to serve a mission. The Lord wants me to change, though every day feels the same. And I lay in bed, fitfully holding on to what I can of my old life. And every day I'm reminded that my old life isn't something I can keep, not if I'm going to serve the Lord. My mission is- put simply- to baptize people into the church, and baptism is change. Baptism represents us leaving our old life behind to become disciples of Christ, to live worthily as best as we are able, to move onwards with determination and courage and faith in Jesus Christ so that we may become better, holier people. We don't always like the changes that we're asked to make, but we try anyway. We try because we love God and- more importantly- because He loves us.

The Lord wants me to change, to become a tool in His hands. And I'm still desperately holding onto the things that I've been because that's what I'm comfortable with. The natural man within me wants to take the Elder off of my name tag and replace it with something I understand: "Student," "Writer," "Friend," "Brother," "Flawed." and things along those lines. And it was hard, I hate the feeling of my personality being stripped away so I fight against it. And that was how the first few days of my mission went, a tug of war against the demands of the Universe's creator. And I was miserable. But then I read something by my dear brother Tyler, written in that characteristically chaotic handwriting of his. "Be yourself, the Lord wants YOU!" That was when I realized, Heavenly Father doesn't want to take me away from what I love, he wants to add to it. In the same way that I could be both a friend and a student at the same time, I can be an Elder and a flawed, imperfect human being.  That's who the Lord wants. He doesn't want Elder Monson, he wants Elder BRAYDEN Monson. Elder BRAYDEN HUNTER Monson, everything I've been, everything my family has been, and everything I've yet to become. Not a soldier who can't think for themselves, but a human being. Just like everyone else.

The first few days were hard, but things are looking up. That keychain I mentioned? It may not be on my backpack anymore, but I still have it. And, just like everything else that makes me me, it's waiting on my bed each night when the work is done. I didn't lose it, it wasn't taken away from me, it's just not something I need to worry about anymore.

Here's hoping that any of that made sense.

No pictures this week. I've been kind of busy.

Elder Brayden Hunter Monson

Elder Winn (not his companion), Elder Monson with Elder John Pingree
Tuesday November 12, 2019

Goodbye's are bittersweet

Goodbye's are Bittersweet

Salt Lake International Airport Departure 7:37am

Send offs are the worst! They are hard and very emotional and yet... you know they are doing just what the Lord wants them to do. Saying goodbye to Mia was tough, she is Brayden's sidekick and he is the whole reason we have our sweet dog. A very special relationship they have. 

Such a happy Elder!

Love this son of ours!

The whole fam, up early and wouldn't miss it.

Monson kids!

The only pic of just mom and son... imagine that!

Set Apart as a Full-Time Missionary

Monday, November 4th at 8:30pm Brayden became 

Elder Brayden Monson

It was a special experience to have his Dad set him apart. President Monson asked Jaymes, Tyler and Megan to share a scripture and then had Mom, Melissa, Grandma and Grandpa share something as well. Then Bishop Talbot and President Royall shared a few thoughts. We took good notes to help remember what everyone said. Brayden was then set apart as a full-time missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The spirit was so strong and after that we all enjoyed a special family hug, "all circle in" as we say. It could not have been a better evening. 

Thanks to President (Dad) Monson, President Royall, Bishop Talbot, Jaymes, Tyler and Grandpa Payne

Mom and Dad

Monson Family

Four Monson Missionaries

PS Brayden "loves" pictures... so a no smile does not mean he isn't happy. :)