On December Twenty-Five. . .
This post was created today during sacrament meeting.
Sunday. Why is it that people don’t see me how I see myself? The cello has always been a beautiful instrument; it’s one of my favorites. During the Christmas season we get a musical sacrament meeting. I am currently screwed in several ways. Firstly, I am going to fail my film class, bar none. Secondly, I am basically out of money, and, since my job with Hunt Mysteries has ended I have no source of income at all. I don’t know what to do on that front. Perhaps sell some things, take out a loan, beg the folks — that sort of thing. But I really really really need a job. Money, money, money, must be funny in a rich man’s world! Now some guys are trying to outsing each other in a rendition of “Mary’s Lullaby.” Speaking of singing, later today I am to sing at the MTC with the BYU Men’s Chorus for the annual Christmas Devotional. This’ll be my first time there in nearly five years, and the first time I’ll be able to just walk in and out willy-nilly. We’ve got to obey strict guidelines whilst in there, or they may mistake us for elders and end up sending us on a mission. Well, that’s probably not true, but there could be major problems if we go off to fraternize with the elders or (especially) the sisters. It’s probably going to be a surreal experience, since the last time I was in the MTC I was a missionary on my way to Spain. What an odd thing. It’s been nearly three years since I got home. The last time I really got caught up in the Christmas spirit was the last weeks of my mission, in L’Hospitalet. I wasn’t the model missionary, or even close, but that time of my life still means a lot to me. This year in Men’s Chorus we sang the song “Fum, Fum, Fum,” which is the quintessential Catalan Christmas Carol, and as a result I was thinking of that last mission Christmas even more. It’s been three years! It seems like a lifetime ago, yet at the same time it feels like yesterday. And now I’m going back to the MTC. What a time to contemplate my mission and the effects thereof, not just in my life, but in the lives of those I served. My mind goes back to the Nadal and Sanchez families. Alfonso, hijo, is now a priest and getting ready for his own mission in a few short years. Little Angéle Nadal Guerrero should be getting baptized soon (if she hasn’t been already). Her five-year-old visage is still my computer start-up picture, to remind me every time I start my computer (which is quite often) exactly why I sacrificed two years of my life to the Lord in His service. I wish I had a way to contact them. It frightens me sometimes, though. With so many missionaries coming and going, I’m afraid they may have forgotten me, especially since my presence in that ward did not result in any baptisms or even new investigators. Plus my Spanish isn’t nearly as good as it used to be, what with my determination not to turn it into Mexican and therefore the nearly nonexistent opportunities to practice. I just hope that, on the day we meet again, perhaps on the other side, that they will feel the same love I had (and still have) toward them.
Christmas. . .