I had a great day today. I spent the day in Yuma, Colorado, a small town two hours east of Greeley. I had a great exchange review with a missionary in which I expressed to him my assessment of what I believed he was struggling with and he said it was spot on. We talked about it. The only way I could have known is if it was what I had gone through and struggled with myself —and still do. I spent the day admiring the strange wonders that scatter the various corners and cracks of this peculiar town. My companion looked very strangely at me as I put my phone up to the glass of a sketchy Asian cuisine fish tank, the bottom of a poorly painted door, a beat up mailbox, a rock outside the church, a mask sign, a wrench on a barbecue, or a sunset on a drive. However, these objects, when framed, can be made magnificent. One simply must organize them. He even said, "you have an insanely creative mind." I appreciated that. Anyway, I think I've still been struggling with depression. Not horrible, but I'm in my head a little. Today, I felt pretty down on myself. In leadership meeting, I made a few zany comments and got a few laughs. I really was just expressing my thoughts, but there came a point, as always, that I felt a disconnect between how I felt and how people perceived my words -- and that is such a lonely and hopeless feeling. As I had my hands in my head, I could tell, as Pops Staples says, "somebody was a watchin’." President Palmer gave a wonderful Zone Conference training. But first...I'm going to rewind to yesterday. We are rolling out "T3AM," which is an effort to create high-quality videos of converts and get every missionary companionship to get three families in their ward to share it. I've interviewed Truk, Tom, and now get to interview Elder Cibart. In an effort to get a clean background, I put Elder Cibart’s chair on a table, which required me to put the tripods on a table, which then required me to sit on a table so he wasn’t looking down. It was quite the Jerry-rigged production. The lighting was really nice; I can get behind those muted church windows. Over the course of the interview, we were predictably skimming stories and events in his life or just talking about his coming to know very simple doctrine. Both were good, but it lacked him—it lacked his emotion. As I sat there, this idea had been stewing in my mind. There was a reconciliation of opposites. One being Elder Cibart's conviction for the gospel and two, his family not joining the church with him. As he learns more, I wondered if it deeply saddens him to experience this joy without them. I waited. Then, there was a pause. Everything felt right and I did not hesitate. I asked, "how do you reconcile the doctrine of eternal families with your family not joining the gospel?" It came out with such fluidity. His answer was powerful and full of sincerity. Along with some other beautiful words, his answer went something like "I trust in God. I know if I do my part, God will take care of the rest. And I have seen my family change and grow closer together since I've joined the church. I've seen my mom change. I know that God will take care of them as I do my part." He then said, "it's so important to share the gospel; it’s vital. We can't just sit stagnant on this good news!" The room flooded with the spirit. He closed, "When I found the gospel, it was as if I went from seeing black and white to color." His interview changed me. Now, back to Zone Conference. Elder Cibart stands. He says, "yesterday, Elder Whiteley asked me a poignant question in an interview. I'm sure a lot of you also struggle with this, so that's why I'll share it. He asked me how I teach about families while my family are not members of this church. I didn't know I knew the answer. The answer that came out of me reassured me. It helped me sleep more at peace knowing that those souls I hold close are going to be alright." I then stood. I thanked Elder Cibart for his words. I told of how I used to hate missionaries. I despised the aesthetic. But as I grew and served with them, I learned to love them. I told how I saw the Lord work through me to bless others and that I learned that God works through the people He's chosen to be around us, even though they may be imperfect. I then stated how much I've come to love these people. I closed saying, "if you want to know an artist, look at their art. If you want to know a photographer, look at their photos. If you want to know God, look at His children." President Palmer got up and said, "thank you all for your testimonies. He talked for a little and then said, "isn’t Elder Whiteley wonderful? He sure is unique and strange, but that's the beauty of life. He has some amazing qualities." That meant so much to me. It calmed a sea of doubt. Diversity beautifies the culture. While taking photos at the temple and lining up the shot, President took the brief moment when I handed him his phone back to say, "you're a good man, Elder Whiteley. Really. You know that?" I said "thank you, that means a lot." As I contemplated that statement, I realized I had ignored the question. Do I know that? Later, I sat down for personal study amidst some lingering anxieties. Having a lot of anxiety about certain expectations, I shifted my focus to something I could do: the plan I'd set to read Joseph Smith History. Joseph describes unwarranted persecution much like mental health challenges...ever-persistent and often merciless. He describes how these challenges came to him from the outset, being only "an obscure boy." As I jumped from footnote to footnote, stories of David and the Philistine, Paul testifying before King Aggripa, Nephi killing Laban, and many others, I saw the hand of the Lord work. It gave me peace and hope. God works through our trials. He is our Father. Redeemer means that which brings redemption to our trials, replacing sorrow for joy. Hold out faithful and fear not, for God is with us.
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