Inside the MTC

When KSL aired this last night, I knew immediately that it would end up here.  The MTC was an awesome experience, and I miss it.  This video represents it quite well; with the exception of the curbside drop-offs (implemented in 2009), it's just as I remember it.

Video Courtesy of KSL.com

Can't wait to see the hour-long special during Conference!

Past Blast: Munch in a bag

Late 2005 or early 2006.

When filming a hoax...

. . . make sure someone's watching your campsite.

The rest of the gallery on Brickshelf.
The set on Flickr.


Some thoughts on the build:

As soon as I obtained a gorilla suit guy from the most recently released series of collectible minifigures, I knew I had to do a Bigfoot hoax scene.  Many versions of this passed through my mind until I finally sat down to build, spurred on by a Bigfoot enthusiast friend.  The timing couldn't have been better: after a week or so of really nice weather, it snowed again this past weekend, and I began pining once more for summer and its associated outdoor adventures.

Well, as we Lego fanatics say, "Build it!"

The final concept for this scene took shape as I went through old pictures from the fifty-mile hike we used to go on every year.  I wanted to build a campsite that actually looked like a campsite, so these memories proved most valuable in the detail construction phase.  I wanted to get it just right, from the campfire setting, to the fallen logs, to the vegetation on and around the boulder.  Placement of the logs and clearing was also loosely based on the 1967 Patterson Bigfoot Footage.

While the intent of this build was to present a humorous scene, what really makes it one of my favorite creations is all the detail that reminds me of summers spent in the wilderness.  Those expeditions are among my most cherished memories, and it felt good to recreate some portion of them with Lego.  I am most proud of the campfire, the smaller trees by the rock, and the fallen, rotting tree.  For me, they are what really made this scene.

Thoughts from the Spirit World

By then it was time to get ready for our temple session. I can't even begin to describe what that visit was like; it was one of the single greatest temple experiences of my life so far. I could count on one hand how many times I had felt so very much love before as I did in that holy place with my dear friends, and it was the hardest thing to leave.

The above quote is from one of my last emails home as a missionary.  And that song that hopefully you just played (or are listening to now as you read) is what we listened to in the car as we left the temple that day.  I'll never forget what that was like: five young men, about to go home after two years away . . . and not a word came out of us as this song was playing.  I cannot describe the supreme power of that moment, as we prepared to die.

On a mission, you learn a lot about the Plan of Salvation; the experience itself is a reflection of it, because it truly is like a miniature lifespan.  You're born, you're schooled, you grow up, you work, you age . . . then you die.  It was six months ago today that I experienced death--or at least a taste of what such a transition would be like.

Over the course of my life in Texas, I learned a lot and built countless meaningful, even eternal, relationships.  I grew just as a child does into adulthood.  I had a home, an identity, a life.  It truly was an entire lifetime's worth of lessons and experiences.  And eventually my hour came.

Those around me during my last days of that "earth life" part of the Plan did their best to prepare me for the next step, much like family and caretakers would help those who are approaching the real thing.  Local members of the Church continued to make sure my companions and I had everything we needed, including food, transportation, and help with lessons.  Thanks to them, my final days were comfortable (but not in a lazy sort of way--it was facilitating).  Much spiritual preparation also came from my leaders and fellow missionaries.  They talked with me and comforted me, all the way through my final interview with the mission president, and into that last early morning when I was taken to the airport.

And that's when the separation of death really took effect: waving goodbye to the elders who dropped me off; sitting alone in the terminal, waiting for my flight; passing through the gate and into the tunnel, which would finally put me on the plane.  It was a separation that could be felt both physically and spiritually, and there's no way to adequately describe it.  But I knew it as death.

Yet it wasn't a bad experience.  Difficult, even painful at times.  But not bad.  I knew where I was going, and there were plenty of people "on the other side" to meet me there.  At the home I knew before my probationary state in Texas, there were family and friends who rejoiced at my return.  And I was able to rejoice with them.

Since then, I too have had opportunities to rejoice at the return of other friends from their mini mortality.  We had a mission reunion back in October, and even though there were tables set up, most everyone stood near the doors for much of the evening, in order to greet those who were just arriving.  It was a celebration as much as it was a reunion; once separated by death, friends were together once more!

And now we aren't limited by the bounds of our probation.  I get together sometimes with old mission companions and other friends from that life, and we just hang out.  We continue to reflect fondly on our experience as missionaries.  But we also take advantage of our current state.  We play music and video games, we watch movies, we hit the town, we talk about girls, school, employment, and girls.  We call each other by our first names.  One of us got married today, and tonight's the reception.  We're talking eternal progression, here.  That's what the Plan is.

One insight I've gained from these experiences is that, without being emo or anything, death is one of the most awesome things that will ever happen to any of us, in our own time.  Just look at what and who is waiting on the other side!  There's gonna be rejoicing.  It's gonna be a celebration, with more friends than we can even keep track of on Facebook.  There will naturally be some adjusting to do with the transition, and it will be hard to leave everyone here behind (every day I still miss everyone I left in Texas).  But eventually, they'll join us, too!

So let's do everything we can here in order to make the party as epically awesome as possible there.  It's like a mission: work hard and don't waste the time you've got, and not only will you have reason to rejoice, but so will those whom you touch.  Use the mission well, and it will last forever.

Lunch with a master

I think everyone has someone they would like to just sit down and talk with someday.  As a musician, I would love to spend an afternoon with Beethoven, or jam out with Chopin or Vivaldi.  It would be fun to visit with J.R.R. Tolkien or C.S. Lewis, then turn around and interview the Apostles Peter and Paul.

Well, I did have a similar opportunity today.

Legoland California Master Builder Gary McIntire has been in town the past couple days promoting the new Miniland Star Wars display that opens in the park this spring.




Well, Gary's kind of a big name around the Lego community, or at least here in Utah; before he landed the Dream Job, he founded the Utah Lego User Group (a club of which I am a proud member).  And so, he wanted to see the club while he was in town.  What an exciting opportunity!  Luckily a few of us were able to get together with Gary today, along with Legoland Public Relations Representative Beth and Park Security/Glorified Truck Driver Reuben. 

And we just sat down and had lunch.

Now this wasn't quite one of those sit-downs where we "picked the master's brain" and basked in his wisdom, as anyone might imagine a musician's visit with Beethoven or a fantasy writer's evening with Tolkien.  Granted, we had our questions (I finally learned that Lego Master Builders do, in fact, run out of pieces!), and it was a blast to hear about the Legoland experience from the inside.  But mostly, we all just talked about our mutual passion: the Brick.  It was as natural a conversation as it would have been with any other club member.  We talked about what we like to build, how we acquire our pieces, where we keep our collections, ideas for future builds, what we do with our creations, experiences from shows, upcoming Lego products. . . .  Stuff like that.  Naturally the subject of addiction to the drug-like collectible minifigures also came up, and our methods for finding all of them as well as adventure stories of shopping for them.  The whole time was just plain awesome.

And you know, I think that's how most visits with "the masters" would probably be: just chilling over some food and talking about stuff.  

Spread the love

When I got onto Facebook this morning, I was quickly reminded it was Valentine's Day because everyone had written one of two kinds of status updates:  There were happy couples expressing love for one another, as well as singles wishing everyone else a happy day . . . and then there were those who talked about how much they hate this holiday, some calling it "Singles Awareness Day" in jest.  All my friends were divided about half and half along this line.

I have no intention of being preachy or judgmental, because all of these are my friends and the way they feel toward something doesn't change the way I feel toward them.  I love each of them, and would never even consider forcing anything upon them.  But it really, really bothers me when people make a day like Valentine's Day all about themselves, and announce their bitterness to the world.  In a world where the concepts of love and marriage are corrupted more with each passing day, I think it's wonderful to get online and see couples saying how much they love each other.  It's great to go out and see them with each other, just spending time together.  And it breaks my heart to hear other people accusing them of "rubbing it in" or "being gross," because that's not what these couples are doing.  When did it become wrong to celebrate happiness?

I will admit that until just a few days ago, I was also one who would jokingly wish everyone a happy "Singles Awareness Day."  I figured, Hey, I'm single, so changing the name of the holiday gives me something to celebrate.  But anyone who says that has completely missed the point.  And oh, how I missed the point.  I was thinking only of myself.

My attitude changed over the weekend, thanks to an Institute devotional on Friday.  The speaker was a woman who, at 45, had never been married.  And everything she had to say immediately applied to us, the group of young also-single adults in attendance.  Many of her words involved not being bitter over being single, but instead living a full and rich life by living the Gospel and serving others.  Even though she had spent all this time not married, she was happy.  She was living the Gospel, and she was happy.

The whole message was wonderful; I wish everyone could have been there.  But what hit me the most was her position on "Singles Awareness Day."  She talked about how very selfish it is to say something like that, and how those who do are only thinking of themselves.  Very bold words.  I had never looked at it that way, but I realized that I, too, was guilty of selfishness. 

Yet in reality, no one on this entire planet is unloved, so we all have a reason to celebrate.  Why?

That's why.

I'm single, but there is still much for me to celebrate.  I can use this day to spread the love our Heavenly Father has for His children.  I can visit someone who is lonely.  I can perform kind acts of service.  Valentine's Day has never been and never will be about me.  It's about loving other people.  For many, that's a spouse, or a boyfriend, or a girlfriend.  For others, it's family and friends.  For God, it's everyone.

And so from now on, whether or not I'm in a relationship, I'll always look forward to Valentine's Day because of what it truly means. 

Great doors swinging on little hinges

I've been thinking a lot about how my decisions have impacted my life.  It's easy to wake up in the morning and just carry on with life as we know it, so in that light I've been quite fascinated with the thought of "How did I get to where I am right now?"

Take fifth grade, for example.  That was the year we started music classes in elementary school, and each of us had a choice to make: band, orchestra, or general music (for those who might not have been interested in a particular instrument).  I think, up to that point in my life, this was the biggest decision I had ever faced.  I remember thinking long and hard about it--finally narrowing my options down to flute or violin.  I was interested in both instruments, but at one point actually leaned more toward the flute.  The band teacher seemed more interesting to me, and for a little while at least it looked like I was going to sign up for the band.

What if I had?

I don't remember why now, but in the end I chose to play the violin.  And I will forever be grateful for that decision, because many of the closest friends I would make throughout junior high and high school would be made in the orchestra.  Just think of it!  Had I chosen the flute, in my life there may have been no Joey, no Amber, no Sara, or Lydia, or Noel, or Tiffany, or Amy, or Stephanie, or Ellice.  No Dave.  And if there had been, we would have met under different circumstances, and possibly missed out on a lot of good things that would have come with the friendship we have now.  Who knows?  I certainly don't want to find out.

Then there's the piano.  Where would I be without it?  A little known fact is that during my fourth year of piano lessons, I wanted to quit.  I really, really wanted to quit.  I wasn't at a level where I could just sit down and play whatever I wanted, and that was discouraging.  Practicing was a chore to me, and even though I had the greatest piano teacher in the world, back then I didn't appreciate the lessons taking half an hour out of my week. 

I guess this was more of my parents' decision than my own, but I'm grateful that they insisted on keeping me in the lessons, because within a couple more years I would fall in love with the piano.  It became my greatest outlet when I needed an escape from the world, and the talent I discovered there would become a crucial piece of my very identity.  For instance, on my mission I was the piano guy.  If you needed a hymn, Elder Cunningham was one of the people you'd call.  My sister lived in San Antonio while I was serving there, and when she'd talk to the missionaries and they didn't recognize my name, she'd just say something like "he plays the piano," and they'd remember me instantly.  That's just who I am now; I can't see myself not as a pianist.

Speaking of the mission, that's another decision that has made a lasting impact on my life.  I met so many of my current friends on my mission that it just feels like they've been around forever--that we grew up and went to high school together, and everything.  In such a short time, we've built quite a history and relationship.  And yet, as recently as three years ago, I didn't know any of them.  No President Cutler, no companions, no members, recent converts, investigators. . . .  If I didn't serve a mission, I would know none of these wonderful people.  And I wouldn't even realize what I was missing.

Where would I be if I chose not to serve a mission?

I don't know.

I would think that at least a few of the lessons I learned as a missionary could have been learned here if I stayed, but certainly not all of them.  I doubt I would have discovered my true passion for language, so I'd probably still be wondering what I wanted to do with my life.  Or maybe I would have found another passion and already earned a college degree in that field.  Perhaps someone I would have met on my mission--a companion, or leader, or whatever--would walk past me on the street one day, but we'd be such complete strangers that both of us would forget we passed each other right after it happened. 

Life would be drastically different. 

But that's another one of those things I would prefer not to find out about, because I know what I know now and I love what I have.  I wouldn't trade any of my friends or experiences for anything, because they are what have made me me.  And I like myself.  I'm not perfect, by any means.  But I like myself, and I wouldn't want to change my history and thereby alter the present and future, because I don't know if I'd like it.  And who knows?  Maybe I would.  Actually, I wouldn't know any better, because I wouldn't have experienced what I have.  So I'd rather not risk it.

Sometimes I lie awake just imagining alternate universes where my decisions are the opposite from real life.  Yet no matter what I come up with, I am constantly humbled by the massive impact one little choice can make.  If I traveled back in time, that would probably be the first piece of advice I'd give to myself.