Ready, Aim, Go!

Despite the title of this post, it is not about me getting a Daisy BB gun and shooting my eye out.  Not to say that I haven't felt the sting of a few BBs in my life.  I did grow up in the middle of 3 brothers, and we did have several BB guns around, and...well, another time.  And I don't want my grandchildren engaging in some of the dumber activities my brothers and I did on occasion.

This is about a change of trajectory (ask your parents to point you in the right direction to find out what this big word means) and my first Christmas away from home.  So it isn't from my early childhood, more from my middle childhood.

When I was 19 years old, I was a sophomore (good word to look up, parents) at the University of Utah.  I went to the U to study, play football and not get too far away from home.  My first year, as a freshman, went really well.  My freshman class was not allowed to play varsity ball, so we were the "Papooses", not the "Utes".  We only got to play four games, traveling as far a Mesa, Colorado!  We won all of the games, including the last one against BYU.  I was a team captain, one of the leading tacklers, and had a grand old time.  I played linebacker, was about 6'2 and 220 lbs.  I mention this, not to impress anyone with my physical prowess, but to try to pain a picture of a young man in, what he considered at the time, a very good fit with great potential.  I was going to end up playing in the NFL.  For the Green Bay Packers.  And make tons of money-linebackers made 30 or 40K back then.  A Wonderful Life ahead (not the movie-mine!).

After a very rigorous off season of sweat box, re-teaching us how to run, weights, weights, and more weight training, psycho intense handball and basketball games-oh, yes, and school, the defensive coordinator called me in to tell me that I would be switched from linebacker to defensive line for the next year.  I had put on a whopping 10 pounds or so of muscle, scored 2nd on the team in overall strength in the weight room, and had worked very hard.  Very hard.

My response was typical for me (middle child-pleaser of authority types).  I said, "sure coach, whatever I can do to help the team".  Inside, however, my response was "Stink!".  I love playing linebacker.  I get to run around, fill holes, stunt, defend passes and let the defensive linesmen take care of the heavy lifting up front.  My second thought was "Stink!"  Now I was going to be doing the heavy lifting up front.  I didn't mention that my position was going to be nose tackle.  No, that is not what you grandkids do with your fingers and your schnoz several times a day.  It meant that I would now be lined up in the middle of the line every down.  And-I would have at least 2 Big Uglies (offensive linsemen) hitting me in the head  every  stinkin  play.  Oh joy!  Also, I would have to learn a new position.  I thought, no big deal, I can bulk up, learn the job and do it.

Well, I did work hard in spring ball and over the summer.  Bulked up clear to 232 pounds!  Whoo-hoo!  But then I realized the gentlemen I would be playing against were all going to out size me by about 40-60 pounds (think a couple sacks of flour worth of muscle and meanness).  All was good-I would do fine.

And I did.  I won the starting job from a senior.  I started the first 4 or 5 games of the season.  But it wasn't nearly as fun for me as my freshman year.  And I was not as good in this new position as I was as a linebacker. I ended up second string mid season.  That meant that I played a lot on special teams, and I would play about a third of the game as nose tackle (get that finger out of  there!) as well.  I was on the field for the second half of the Arizona game-in which we (the Utes) made the biggest comeback in NCAA history at the time (another story).  But, as I said, I had to learn a new position, practice playing it, work to get bigger, faster, stronger, and so on.

At this time, I had several good friends on missions for the LDS church.  We had not yet had the instruction that "every worthy young man should serve a mission", my parents were not members/active in the church, and I had all but promised my freshman coach that I would not be going on a mission.  My mission was to finish school and play football.  For the Green Bay Packers.
Imagine my confusion when my brand-new home-ward bishop asked me to come in and talk.  He asked me when I was going on a mission.  Didn't he know that I had Other Plans?!   Of course he did.  the whole ward knew that I indeed played Division 1 football (first athlete from Brighton High to do so) for the University of Utah.

My best friend, Ken R, also was asking in his regular letters to me about my mission plans.  I knew that Ken knew better! No mission in this boy's plans.  Even though it sounded like Ken was working hard, growing and even having some fun.  Well, Ken always finds a way to be amused.

I had no family push, encouragement, instruction, or expectation that I would serve a mission.  My 20th year (when I was 19-ask your parents to explain this to you-again-and listen this time) was quickly waning.  Then I thought about it.  And asked about it.  And decided that I should go.

I called bishop Stan, met with him, and got the process in motion.  I will relate another time, perhaps, of the the discussions with parents, friends and coaches about leaving my schooling and football to serve a mission.  Suffice it to know for now that I did get a call and left in May of my sophomore year to the Sweden mission.

My first months in the mission field were Difficult.  It was good that I was as far away as as was, because I was still in pretty good shape and thought about playing again as fall came around.
When December came, I was transferred to an area in Goteborg.  I didn't know anyone, having been up North most of my first 5 months, had no member relationships, and was a newly assigned Senior Companion (yes, I had worked hard-I knew how to do that) with a Junior Companion who needed a bit of work.  And it was dark almost all of the time (Sweden, remember?-way up north).

I had not been away from home ever at Christmas time.  Some Christmases were good, some not so much, but there was always family and comfort foods and home.  I was a bit lonely, and we worked very hard so we could not think about Christmases past (no spooky ghost visits for us).

Then we got invited to Christmas Eve at some members' home a 45 minute train ride outside the city.
Once we got on the train, the magic began.  We traveled through picture-postcard scenes of snow and small farms and woods until we got to a small train station.  We were met by Brother W, who put us in his car and drove us to their large rustic home.  It was filled with wonderful aromas, laughter, light and love.  And there were a bunch of kids there!  Christmas!

I think this was the turning point for my mission, as I felt the warmth and love that comes from good people being together celebrating the birth of the Savior.  I had worked very hard up to this time, but now I think I started to smile much more as I continued to serve.

Now, the trajectory.  Sometimes things that we don't understand or agree with happen to us.  Sometimes we get put in positions that we think aren't the best for us.  That happened when I was told that my football position was changing.  I think, at the size I was and with my work ethic, that could/would have continued playing through my 4 years at the U, at least, had this change not happened.  I may not have considered serving a mission.  My mission still serves as a significant piece of my life's foundation.  I may well have had a wonderful life.  But I don't know that it would have been a Wonderful Life (again, mine, not the movie).  Also, I played ball at a time when the U (and BYU, as well) did not know how to handle players leaving on missions.  When I got home, I got a call the first week from the new coach at the U asking if I planned to return and play.  I told him that I was going to get married and work on school.  Yes, that was a quick decision, and it merits its own story another time.

I know that the things that "happened" during that time in my life helped push me in a direction that I should continue to travel.  And I have been greatly blessed for it.  No, no Packer's jersey in my past, but a life and blessings for which I am very grateful.

The "Christmas" part of this post?  Well, it was that first Christmas on my mission when my heart softened and I knew I was were I was supposed to be, doing the work I was supposed to do.

And-I did get to eat Lutefisk for the first time!