Memories Of the People Who Care If I Live Or Die...

In keeping with this blog's traditional spirit of vagueness, I doubt any reader of this blog follows anything I say in this post. But the most remarkable thing happened to me tonight at the missionary reunion.

But don't feel insulted as if I were withholding anything from you. I appreciate it that you do, in fact, read this, and I try to make it as entertaining as possible. At least consider that I've set this blog to be unsearchable in any web search engine, and I've removed any site tracker, so feel free to know that I don't know reads this, unless you comment, and I feel confident that only people who know me actually read it.

But back to the vague issue... This post is about Munich, Germany, among other things.

A year or more ago, I was leading some old friends down a tunnel underneath the Altes Rathaus in Munich, which I believe is one of the few Munich buildings left standing during the carpet-bombings of WWII. As we were walking down the tunnel, I attempted to tell my friends just what I did as a missionary in that tunnel back in December '02. But I didn't get so far in my attempts to visualize the experience for them. My initial efforts failed to resonate within them, and I quickly eased my efforts to explain and decided that some things are maybe too complicated or whatever, and are at the least better kept to myself. So I keep it vague--pearls casting and so on.

So tonight, the most remarkable thing happened to me.

I typically hate my mission reunions, but I'm always required to go as somehow, once upon a time, I was chosen to be the guy who invites everyone to the reunion, and with that I'm responsible to be there myself, or whatever. I hate reunions because it's always full of people that I, and my ego, never cared to get to know while I served. Here's a big secret that aboslutely nobody knows about me, and you'll probably be really surprised: I'm not a very charismatic person. Thus, being social is like forcing a square peg into a round hole, or whatever they call it.

So, my time at the reunion involved my playing chess on my iphone until my former companion, Brett, and my former district leader, Jake, arrived. The three of us are like molasses and honey on glue. I just made that up... it means, we stick together really well.

Anyway, LeRoy is doing his thing, and giving his talk, when I see Spencer walk into the house. Spencer was one of those, whom we called "Harker Missionaries". That description usually has a negative conotation, but nothing negative would apply to him in particular. He was one of the older missionaries, who didn't spend much time under Praesident Wirthlin's reign, and was my district leader as I served as a junior companion in, you guessed it, Munich.

I avoided making any eye contact with Spencer, as I doubted he remembered me at all, and while I remember him, in particular, as one of the best missionaries I knew on the mission. Soft-spoken, yet significantly selfless, Spencer served a mission when others were often only on a mission. Spencer had always held a deserved spot in my mind as one of the best missionaries I ever knew. Thus, I recognized him as he walked into the house.

* * * * *

Back to Munich, early December 2002: Praesident happened to be in the city on one of those days, to notice that there was a huge amount of tourists and Germans alike visiting the Christkindlmarkt in the central square, called Marienplatz. Immediately, word was delivered to our district via the assistants that we needed to shift focus from door-to-door contacting only to strictly street contacting for the month of December. Street contacting (in Germany) usually results in one or two things: it's either very awkward and depressing, or it could be fun and exciting. I would generally find that street work would be cyclical... that I would at times have no luck and feel awkward interrupting people (see charisma comment above), or at times I'd still have no luck, but I would manage to be bold and daring and do my best to get a Book of Mormon in front of people's eyes.

We, being our district, chose the tunnel between Marienplatz and the street leading towards the Isar Tor, as the volume of traffic was high. I also like to think, that a tunnel seemed warmer during that frigid weather. With the number of tourists that there were, I'd keep two Book of Mormons (yes, you pluralize "Mormons" because the whole title is an object, not just "the Book") in my suit jacket pockets. One would be in German, the other in English. So when I'd approach, say, that one Irish guy on one occasion and he'd respond to my introduction with a, "sorry, I don't speak German", I'd whip out my English copy and say, "neither do I". I figured I was really a cowboy, and the books were really my pair of 6-shooters.

There would be two of us doing the contacting, while the remaining four would sing Christmas carols (always being careful not to sing "Stille Nacht" until Christmas Eve).

* * * * *

So, I'm at the reunion. I joke that LeRoy was once Africa's most notorious big game poacher, and Brett believes me for a moment once seeing all of the animal skins in the Wirthlin home. We're having a good time with the elephant hoof stools in the basement when Spencer walks into the room.

He walks up to me and says, "I just wanted to say 'hi' before leaving for the night. You were, afterall, one of my biggest inspirations on my mission". No one heard him say that, but me, him, and his wife, thankfully... What do you say to that? "uh, you're welcome?"

Surprised, but having his words re-surface an old memory of him saying the same in a church basement back in the Rueckert Strasse in '02, I responded agilely to say, "that's a surprise that you say so... considering the fact that I only remember myself at the time as an unwillingly submissive missionary to the iron fist of Elder Schluchter dominance, and having a belligerent attitude toward missions, considering the unwarranted cold in Munich". I then made my shivering motions with a miserable look on my face. It was a little tongue-in-cheek, but true. What else would you say, anyway?

He smiled, as if he remembered, and then said, "do you remember when we used to sing carols and hand out the Book of Mormon?"

He might've asked a general question, but it was apparent to me that, despite not being vocalized, he was refering to a specific incident. He might as well have said, "do you remember that one woman?"

"Of course, how could I've forgotten", would've been my unvocalized response.

I don't think I inspired Spencer in any way. I honestly feel like it was just an overwhelmed reaction to a very unexpected stimulus. The inspiration laid in the situation, and not in any one person.

Spencer then excused himself after we wished eachother well and luck, and I turned to Brett and Brittany, his wife, who had continued their own conversation as Spencer and I had spoken. I stood there dumbfounded for a moment, and then joined Brett and Brittany's conversation.

For the remainder of the reunion, I found myself enjoying the reminiscing of old memories of former companions and friends, just a little bit more. I enjoyed talking to Pete and Jake and Brett and Brandon and LeRoy and Mary so much more, because I respect and care for them so much.

When driving home to Muse, I learned that memories of Munich might just be very meaningful (see title).

There was our companionship prayer in the middle of the Treffauer Strasse...

A thin and 3rd-generation overcoat in the Zillertal Strasse...

An oil-man turned Seventy in the Hofbrunn Strasse...

And, of course, that satisfying and faith-gratifying miracle in the Aidenbach Strasse, as I was 22...

All of which, in Munich alone, lead me to declare, it was,

"joy unspeakable, and full of glory"