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Surprise Symphony

Thank you, Haydn.

You ever have one of those days where everything you planned ends up falling apart?  And then your "Plan B" disappears, too, and you're left in a kind of "What do I do know?" position?  That was Friday for me.  It was just one of those days where life decided to march to its own drummer.  Not one to surrender my Friday so easily, though, before the night grew very old I remembered a concert my music teacher had mentioned.  It was something to do, at least, and figuring it was better than the alternative (not to mention the fact that I love orchestras), I convinced my brother to hop into the car with me, and we wandered into the Eisenhower Jr. High auditorium to see the Taylorsville-SLCC Symphony Orchestra.

Both being in that school and hearing the orchestra brought back a lot of memories.  I had actually played in this same orchestra for a few weeks my first semester of college after high school, but for a number of reasons I quit and never went back.  I missed being in any orchestra, though; a goal I set for after my mission was to join one again at some point.

My plan was to wait until next semester, at the very earliest, before doing this.  And even up till about 9:00 Friday night, if you had suggested to me that I would be in an orchestra before the new year, I might have stopped listening.  Regardless of time, the greatest factor keeping me back was having not even touched my violin in over two years.

Well, at this concert I ran into Daniel, an old buddy from the high school orchestra.  He mentioned that he would be joining the Taylorsville-SLCC Symphony this Tuesday, and would need a stand partner.

And all of a sudden my plans changed.  Surprise!

I figured, though, that before I jumped in too deep I ought to at least try playing my violin and see if I even could anymore.  So on Saturday I finally dug out my old friend, Enesco.  I couldn't believe what I found: that faithful violin had stayed in tune all this time, and didn't seem to have aged a day since I left!

Oh, but the bow. . . .  I guess at some point it just exploded.  But there was at least enough hair left to play!

 
I must have played for about ten minutes . . . and it sure hurt!  But other than that, it was like riding a bike.  I was rusty, of course, but thankfully I could still play, and that's what mattered to me.  I could get my body used to it again, and I could get that bow re-haired.

Tuesday came a bit too quickly, and I began having second thoughts about whether I really wanted to do this.  All the way up till rehearsal time, I debated with myself . . . but finally decided to just go and give it a shot.

In total contrast to my habits of senior year, I was one of the first to show up--a whole half-an-hour early.  I actually had to ask if I was in the right place, because no stands, chairs, or instruments were even out yet!  As I helped set up, and throughout the rest of the evening, I was asked who I was and what I played.  It was a much more positive experience from the last time I had tried this orchestra; everyone was so nice, and despite my unpracticed state they were very welcoming of another second violin (some, including the conductor, even excited to have another; I guess they've been short).  There were also some interesting reactions to my crazy bow, but Daniel's mom, one of the first violins, happened to have an extra one handy and let me borrow it for the evening.

And though I sat in the back and every song was difficult for me to play, I quickly was reminded once more of my deep love for the orchestra.  There were the chaotic sounds of instruments being tuned, and various others being practiced in the minutes before everyone was ready to start . . . the smell of rosin on my hands . . . the uniformity of bows all moving together . . . the mess of sight-reading new pieces . . . the breathtaking feeling of playing a theme just right. . . .  It was all there, and these things told me I could grow back into the violin.  They were the little things I had forgotten about, but without which the orchestra wouldn't have been so magical. 

So, here I am.  I'm in the Taylorsville-SLCC Symphony now.

Sometimes it's alright when our plans get changed.

From Where I Am

From Where I Am
Enya

How to have a good day

Have I done any good in the world today?
Have I helped anyone in need?
Have I cheered up the sad and made someone feel glad?
If not, I have failed indeed.
Has anyone's burden been lighter today
Because I was willing to share?
Have the sick and the weary been helped on their way?
When they needed my help was I there?

There are chances for work all around just now,
Opportunities right in our way.
Do not let them pass by, saying, "Sometime I'll try,"
But go and do something today.
'Tis noble of man to work and to give;
Love's labor has merit alone.
Only he who does something helps others to live.
To God each good work will be known.

Then wake up and do something more
Than dream of your mansion above.
Doing good is a pleasure, a joy beyond measure,
A blessing of duty and love.

Hymn #223, Have I Done Any Good?

In the Assassin's Eye!

For several years now I have admired the work of AFOL Histo-Sci.  Of particular interest to me is his series of vignettes chronicling the adventures of a hero of his design: The Warrior.  Here's his latest installment, entitled, "Assassin's Eye":

As The Warrior sneaks around the offices of the police department after hours in order to obtain a piece of information relevant to the case he is working on, a government assassin from the next building takes a bead on him, with intent to kill.

 Could this be the end of our hero?

. . . To be continued. . . .

. . . .

Continued!  Now it's my turn.  I call this "In the Assassin's Eye!"

 

The sniper takes aim. . . .  It would appear The Warrior's fate is sealed.  He sets his finger on the trigger. . . .

But wait!  A latecomer enters . . . and crashes the party just in the nick of time!

The surprise kick throws the assassin's rifle askew.  The gunshot is heard in the next building, but when The Warrior arrives to investigate, only the lone sniper is to be found, unconscious on the floor.  A note is tagged to his coat.

Sure got a kick out of this guy.  I think you might like him.

~The Sly Pig

The Warrior doesn't know whether to be grateful or disturbed.  Who is the Sly Pig?


The gallery from this installment can be seen here.

Previous installments of The Warrior's story can be seen here.

Credit for the sniper rifle design goes to Nelson Yrizzary.

Past Blast: hangin' with the Governor

February 2005.

Election Day is tomorrow.  I don't care who y'all are voting for--just get out there and do it!  Let's see what the American people have to say.

TSAMR4life

It's so cool how God looks out for us.  Through thick and thin, He's always right there.  And when we're in need, He knows exactly what to send.

Yesterday He sent me two missionaries.

Matthew and I took the elders to Marie Callender's last night.  I had been looking forward all week to feeding them; I love doing stuff for the missionaries, because I know what it's like to be them.  I miss being one of them, and I'll take any chance I can to be with them. 

And we had a great time!  We were all well fed and left satisfied.  But the best was still yet to come.

After dinner we came back to the house for a thought from the scriptures.  The elders brought such a wonderful spirit into our home; it was something unique, and I felt it so strongly as they spake.  It was something I had forgotten a little about what it was like to be a missionary.  I wondered if this was what the members in Texas felt when they had me in their homes; it was just such a good feeling.

My brother is a champion.  He took the initiative to ask the missionaries if he could go with them to a lesson, and next thing we knew, both of us were with the elders at the doorstep of their next appointment.  It was Matt's first time going out with the missionaries, and I was as excited for him to have the experience as I was for myself.  It just felt so good to be waiting at someone's door again, ready to teach!

Well, it wasn't the incredible lesson we thought it would be, because nobody answered.  It ended up being an average night in the life of a missionary--the kind that doesn't make it into letters home after the fiftieth time.  But I was pumped anyway, because this was still the missionary life, and I was starting to remember again.  

One of the more difficult things for me as a missionary was finding a backup plan when things didn't go the way we expected.  I have many memories of sitting in the car in some parking lot with my companion, going over all our lists of people to visit and trying to figure out where we should go.  More often than not, everyone we had in mind had already been visited too recently, so it wouldn't have been too effective to see them just then.  In the end, we knocked on a lot of doors.

And that's what was happening with our elders last night.  We tried a couple doors, and whenever no one answered, the missionaries would flip through their planners to find someone else to visit.

It was the last house we tried.  They were a family in our stake, whose daughter the missionaries had been teaching.  A young man answered the door, and we just talked with him outside for a while.  I remembered him.  He remembered me.  We had gone to Boy Scouts together, but hadn't seen each other in years.  Yet something remarkable happened when we met again.

"Did you go on your mission?" he asked me.

"Yep!"

"Where did you go?"

"I went to Texas."

"Texas?  What part of Texas?"

"San Antonio and Austin."

He got real excited then.  "You served in AUSTIN?!  I used to live in Leander!"

"No way!"  I was excited now, too.  "I spent like nine months in Cedar Park and Georgetown!"

I knew Leander; my area in Cedar Park had taken in part of that town, and Georgetown was close, as well. We had a connection, and it turned out to be a good, successful visit.

I had a companion who, up to when we were together, had only spoken English on his mission, and he was concerned because he had been called to speak Spanish.  His experience was similar to mine; I didn't get to use too much Spanish, either.  That companion took his concern to our mission president, who gave him some counsel that has encouraged me and taught me the importance of keeping an eternal perspective.  It basically went along the lines of, "Every calling comes from the Lord.  If you never get to speak Spanish on your mission, perhaps you are simply being prepared for a time after your mission when you will need it."

A similar approach can be taken with just about everything else.  I was called to serve in Texas for more reasons than those two years alone.  It would be impossible to list all the many reasons why Texas was the perfect starting point for the rest of my life, but last night was an example of one: being able to relate to those connected to Texas (and there's a lot of them--it's a big place).  For me that experience was a valuable reminder of the eternal nature of everything we do.

But just being with the missionaries helped, too.  I've made it through the hardest stuff, but I'm still in a little bit of an awkward phase right now.  It's one of those times when I'm in between stages, and a lot of things in my life are uncertain.  And to be honest, I've been really tired lately.  It can be hard to stay balanced sometimes; there are days when I don't want to be social . . . other days when I don't want to go to the gym or sit through class . . . and still other days when I really don't have much desire to be spiritual.  I know what I know, and I know what I gotta do about it.  But some days, it feels easier not to.  I'm human.

I have such a patient Heavenly Father.  He's not letting me just get out of this weird position; instead, He is constantly reminding me why I love serving Him, and where my next step is.  He keeps dropping little blessings in my path, and pouring tender mercies from Heaven.  I'm learning and growing, and I wouldn't trade it for anything.  It's not the easiest place, but I love where I am.  It's an uphill climb all the way, but the view from the top is incredible.

The time I spent with the elders last night strengthened me; it was like God was whispering, "Thanks for doing this for two years.  It's a blast, isn't it?  And with me right here next to you, you're gonna turn out alright."

That's what it means to be a TSAMer for life.