still a teenager

Dear Family,

As I understand it, I'm still a teenager until this Thursday. After that, I imagine I'd fall into the category of a "tweenager" or "twenty-ager", which are rather unused - or perhaps nonexistent - terms, a status likely stemming from the fact that we don't upset the rest of society (or our parents) enough to merit an all-encompassing designation. One can easily sigh, place the hand (with exasperation) over the brow and mutter, "Ugh, teenagers," in an effort to place the blame on the population of teenagers as a whole, rather than solely on the individual.

I'm also noticing a different voice shining through in my vocabulary. Forgive the irregularity: it's not because I'm fulfilling another year of life and trying to show off the "one year older and wiser, too" charade, but I have, in fact, been spending a little more time than usual in the last few days reading Jesus the Christ. Those familiar with Elder Talmage's writing style will forgive the abnormality.

We celebrated Independence Day with a work visit. Elder Szekely came to my area, and we worked together and had a great day. We had a back-up plan written down so that if our appointments fell through, we'd stop by a member's home - one who had confirmed that he had some fireworks lying around and had offered to do some ceremonial burning on our behalf - and celebrate a few minutes. Nevertheless, our original plans failed to fail. A certain door that we had planned to knock revealed a very interested gentleman (named Jaime Leyva) who invited us in with very few preliminaries. We shared the Restoration message and focused on the Book of Mormon. His three-year-old daughter was somewhat restless during the lesson, but she was silent - it seemed she was trying to make the pillows from the couch stand up on end to create a wall that she could hide behind (which, as I imagine, was for the purpose of not having to meet our gaze). She had little success, because though she managed to get two standing up, the third pillow would upset the balance of the other two and send the whole pile toppling over. All in all, it was a pleasure to see a man who took such interest in his daughter and his family, and it was more than a pleasure to share with him what he needs to know so that such joy will last forever.

About three months ago, when it appeared that my journal was running low on remaining pages, I bought a notebook full of blank (that is, without lines) pages. When I decided that it just wouldn't do as a second journal, I began to wonder about what I could write in it. Few things fill me with more fascination than a blank notebook, strange as it seems. I began to reflect on a passage in my Patriarchal Blessing, which urged me to remember the traditions and blessings I was able to see in my family as I grew up. In my new notebook, I began to write freely about the memories of my childhood and as a teenager. I wrote down some traditions that happened every week, every day, or every holiday season, then jotted down some specific events that had made a difference in my life. Up till the present, I've continued to record memories that come to me during lessons that I feel inspired to share in order to give personal experience and power to the principles we teach. Those memories now include some that I've experienced on the mission, as well as stories of faith of people I've been privileged to teach. This week, we had a lesson with a less-active mother who told us about the difficulties she and her (non-member) husband have been having with their teenage son. We were hoping to find Carlos (the husband) at home, but he wasn't there and we were about to leave after sharing a few thoughts. However, at the last moment, he came in and began to talk with us. Since we hadn't talked to him before, our conversation had to do with political and economic issues, traditional meals and dances from our respective homes, and the values that our countries tended to instil in their rising generation. We got to talking about the "American Dream," and somehow came to my own personal experience about the dreams and aspirations I had as a child, and the motivation my parents had given me in seeking to fulfill them. That's when I came to a point I had written about in the afore-mentioned journal. I don't bring the notebook with me, but I remembered the important details for having written them down. I shared specifically a few things that Dad did with us kids, including the times when he would come visit us at school and give oreos to all of our friends at lunch, or the tradition we had of going to the public library just about every Sunday afternoon and hauling home a stack of books for the week. Carlos was more than impressed. I was, too. In the moment, I said that nobody's dad was more "chèvere" (that's the best translation I could give for "cool," as we teenagers might say it) than mine.

Well, after reading all those wonderful Happy Birthday e-mails and writing about memories from home, I'm feeling slightly trunky. So I want to share what I really know. I was reflecting this morning on the witness of the Spirit that we rely upon for the formation of our personal testimonies. A common thought of mine is that our Father in Heaven doesn't desire to answer our prayers through signs, visions, dreams, or outrageous circumstances for the sole reason that one can doubt the source of those responses. As missionaries, we often share the scripture in Galatians 5:22-23 to show that the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace and a list of other great sensations. I was thinking about it, trying to figure out exactly why those "fruits" are experienced and what they ought to mean. I don't want to base my testimony on something I can doubt. Good fruit comes from good trees - and it's the tree I want to evaluate. I know that the Book of Mormon is true, that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the Living God, that Joseph Smith was a prophet called by Him, and that the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints is His kingdom on the earth. And I don't base my knowledge of those things just on the feelings I received on my knees in prayer in so many moments of desperate search for truth. Those feelings I received aren't always present, and I need a knowledge I can always rely on. That knowledge is something that has been impressed and engraven on my spirit for a long time. I know it's true whether or not things work out in my personal plans. I know it's true even when I sorrow for the evil in this world. As it says in Romans 8:16, the Spirit itself bears witness to my spirit of the truth I know. The fruits of the Spirit are what follow. The feelings aren't my answer, but the obvious fruit of the answer that is fully written on my heart and mind. I know the truth and nothing can separate me from it.

Love,
Elder Withers