It was thirty years ago...


I was going to write this post to comment on returning from Spain 30 years ago this month.  But while remembering that event, I do not want to go with out commenting on a great loss in Scouting.

Roger Thom, Chief Swimming Rock.  The Tribe of Mic-O-Say is not an actual indian tribe, rather it is the honor camping program of the Pony Express Council of the Boy Scouts of America.  The Heart of America Council also has the program on a much larger scale.  The ideals are the same.  I will never forget 1978, the year that I was introduced to the Tribe in St. Joseph.  I was tapped out and spent 24 hours silently working for the betterment of the scout camp.  I will never forget receiving my name, Golden Words, under the hands of then Medicine Man Swimming Rock, and the pride I felt at that time.  I have never forgotten the way the Scout Oath was taught by him.  He taught it in a practical way that truly emphasized the points of Duty to God, Country, Other People, and Family.

While his presence will be missed, he lives on in the ceremonies and traditions of the Tribe of Mic-O-Say.  He will not be forgotten.

Now back to regular programming.

30 years ago my parents had picked me up in Spain, and with my grandmother were able to tour some parts of Spain.  The reason we were there?  I had completed my time as a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.  I served in the Spain Seville Mission. (that hurt, I can't even say Seville)  The mission no longer exists, after the 500th anniversary of the sailing of Columbus, the Mission was renamed the Malaga mission, and was moved to Fuengirola in Malaga.  I was ending my mission in the province, and city of Jaen.  It was the mid December transfer, otherwise known as the "they're going home in January anyway, might as well spend Christmas with family" transfer.

It was an eighteen month mission.  At the beginning of December, the Church changed the length of missions for young men to 24 months.  For those serving, they were allowed to work with their parents to determine if they would or could stay for 24 or a portion of that time.  I was originally told that I had no choice, but the week before leaving at a Zone Conference, the President told me that I actually did have a choice.  My parents were already in Madrid, so that was my choice.  I have such fond memories of that month.  Of testifying knowing that my life was possibly at risk, of reaching out to many people of different faiths.  Of singing in a branch choir, caroling in the street, of conjugating incorrectly the verb requerer in a talk.  ( I think only one person that I am a friend with on Facebook would remember, if she thought about it.)  Well maybe one other.

I knew then, and know now of the truthfulness of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.  I know that He lived, and that He took upon Himself my sins, and suffering.  He died, and was resurrected on the third day.  He has received the glory of His Father.  His authority was restored to the earth in these the Latter Days, I don't have to worry about the hypothetical of testifying in the face of danger.  I have, and am prepared to do so again.  Now is the hard part, or repenting, and enduring to the end.

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