Rough Stone Rolling

Much to my frustration, I find that I am perceived differently by different people. Based on my presence, mood or behavior, people have decided that I’m a clown, a friendly guy, a stand-offish guy, a spiritual man, an irreverent dolt, comfortable to be around, uncomfortable to be around, intelligent, immature, engaged, apathetic, smug and humble. Also, I’m the kind of person that people can’t sit on the fence about– either they like me or they really, really don’t. This is incredibly frustrating because I can’t gauge what I do to evoke such reactions. And, come on… how could anyone not like me?

I think about my mission from time to time. An old companion emailed me yesterday, so that’s why I’m thinking about it now. I had a fairly successful mission, meaning to say I baptized in all my areas in a mission where baptisms don’t fall from trees. I was a pretty good Elder, I guess. I went in a stupid kid, and came back a slightly-less stupid kid. The sweet moments stick out as well as the bonehead ones. I still have dreams that I get sent back there to do it all over again. But this time the idea of 2 years away from my family– at age 47– leaves me with a feeling of nauseous vertigo.

I had three mission presidents, and if you asked them what kind of elder I was you’d get three completely different answers. My first was a religion professor with only a few months left when I arrived. He was built like a linebacker, flaunted his Dr. Pepper and addressed us like Patton. A favorite theme in zone conferences was how much he hated Georgia (a neighboring mission) and how we were going to beat the tar out of them the next month. When we flew in and first met with him, we were expressly instructed not to tract the black neighborhoods (this was about 6 months after Pres. Kimball’s revelation). One of my comps expressed naive, righteous indignation and asked, “Why not? They’re Heavenly Father’s children, too.” I wanted to throw myself behind the sofa lest I got hit with a stray rebuke or suffer bonehead blood sprayed on my new Swedish knit suit. You could tell the MP mentally earmarked the kid with his glare. He leaned into the greenie’s face and spat, “Elder, do you want to destroy the Church faster than it was built?!!” (think of Animal House’s Niedermeyer blurting, “A pledge pin?!!”) I didn’t have a lot to do with this president, but most of the elders were here longer and were as devoted to him as Chocolate Labs. Most of the time when I talked to him, I just stammered like a dweeb asking his crush to the prom. Luckily my numbers were good, so they did most of the talking for me.

The MP replacing him, a Canadian millionaire, came with an entirely different approach. “Sure love you, Elder!” “Sure love ya!” He and his wife jumped in with zeal. They chose “Love One Another” as our mission theme song, and changed one of the lines: “This is our mission…in North Carolina… love one another…sister and brother…” The mission mother suggested we eat gorp during the day so we didn’t have to go home for lunch. There was something curiously evangelical about them. The MP instructed the APs to be bad cops to his good cop. They told us if we weren’t baptizing it was because of our lack of faith– the Lord was ready–“…see in the picture how He’s knocking at the door, His head is cocked just a little, listening, waiting for you to just come and open it?” Bottom line: If you didn’t baptize, it’s your fault.

I was a DL at this point and my district was having a rough month. I started getting strange pains in my stomach. I went to the doctor who said it was muscle spasms of the diaphragm– nerves (I’ve never had anything like that before or since). The mission president had his APs tell me it was because of my lack of faith. “If you had the brain of a cow (direct quote), you’d get out there and tract and not go back to your apartment until you found the elect. They’re out there!” The nerves finally left, but my disillusionment remained a while longer. I was subsequently busted to junior companion to a greenie.

During zone conference the MP would record his lectures and sell us the cassette tapes afterward. In one of his lectures he said, “While you’re praying, after you’re done talking to Heavenly Father, say ‘Excuse me, Father. I’d like to talk to Mother now.” This was before McConkie’s “7 Deadly Heresies.” Another time, while discoursing the celestial stones we would receive in the next life, he loudly cried, “I WANT MY STONE!” (I couldn’t make this stuff up.) When the MP called you, whether you were being praised, informed, busted, etc., he’d always end the call with “Sure love ya, Elder!” Like the snap of a whip.

Halfway through my tour, the mission grew large enough to split into two, each taking half of the state. The MP strategically transferred missionaries so when the separate missions were officially established, he’d have his picks on his side. It came as no surprise– and much relief– that I was numbered among those to work with the new MP.

My third and last mission president was a friendly, approachable man who loved sports, jokes and stories. When he first came on board I was senior companion to one of the mission’s “problem” elders. Before our first mission conference, the new president called every companionship to get acquainted, and when I got on the horn, he told me how excited he and his wife were, how they were looking forward to great things, etc. Then, just before he hung up he said, “Oh, and Elder… SURE LOVE YA!!” and burst out laughing.

I was his right then and there.

Every time I talked to this MP, he’d say how much he enjoyed my reports and good work. I moved from senior to DL again, to Jr. ZL and then ZL. I somehow changed from “screw-up” to “dedicated elder.” To this day I couldn’t tell you if it was me who really changed between presidencies. I felt like I was doing the same work I did with the previous president– in fact, I had beaten myself up harder to get stuff done under the prior administration. Was it a matter of perception, I wonder, or did personalities just not mesh? One thing I will say, my last MP really did love me, and he never had to say it. Like some friggin’ motto.

Wow, I hadn’t thought about some of those things for years…

Granted, I probably need to be more mindful of how I present myself, and consider what others are hearing or seeing. If I did that, perhaps the range of perceptions wouldn’t be quite so wide.

On a final note: My second MP once told us (in one of his famous wholesale-priced discourses) that if we weren’t offending anyone, we weren’t doing anything. Well, at least I’ve got that going for me.