The dark gloomy sky stood quiet above us. The rain had finally stopped leaving behind a misty aroma floating throughout the airwaves.

I stood in line as we prepared to board the V-22. A hybrid, marine aircraft, crossing between a helicopter and a plane. Only in the movies had I seen anything like it before. I was mesmerized by its size and power. The winds from the propellers could be felt a mile away; as all of us missionaries stood a ways off waiting to leave Tacloban.

News outlets from all across the world quickly scurried around for eyewitness coverage, setting what was a hectic scene. I watched on as other missionaries gave their personal accounts to reporters with cameras in their faces.  I stood there while quickly trying to think of things I would say, should I be asked. As my mind pondered these thoughts I gazed on the natives seen standing around the, then decimated, Tacloban airport.

Their tired and sad faces seemed to almost speak to me, as if they were pleading, “can we come with you?”

My heart wrenched at the thought as I looked upon these amazing and desperate people who I had been amongst and considered family. The line moved and one by one we boarded the aircraft while each missionary walked up the ramp slowly fighting the forceful winds.

“When will it end?” I thought with a smile on my face.

The line gradually moved until it was my turn, and I muscled through as if I were walking on a treadmill with ankle weights. I finally got to my seat and strapped in but not before struggling to figure out its rather complex seat buckle. I sat there confused attempting to strap the seat buckle. With help from another missionary sitting directly in front of me, I  finally synched it tight. Quickly, I then inserted the ear plugs we had been given and prepared for takeoff.  This wonderment of the sky rose vertically above the piercing blue Pacific Ocean as sunlight finally began to peer through the dark clouds.

I looked down at Tacloban from a different perspective. There were the coconut trees I’d seen climbed countless times, remains of homes I had perhaps even visited, and the airport’s now missing roof. It seemed we were fleeing from darkness when the light was below us. Though, seemingly left with nothing these wonderful people had everything. I wanted to feel of their spirit and joy all the while knowing it was actually they who were helping me. There was an emptiness in my spirit and sadness in my heart as this dream was coming to an end. We flew off into the sun set, though, it had felt like anything but a grand occasion.

I gazed below on the glossy mirage and closed my eyes to the sweet reminiscent sounds of children playing in the streets, the ringing bells of racing pedicabs, and to raucous shouts of –

“Hey Joe, where are you going!”

 

The Book of Mormon

My name is Kevin Christensen and I am a Mormon. Rather, a member of The Church Of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints as we’re formally known. Now, before you ask, no, I don’t have multiple wives. I don’t even have one wife currently so I’ll be requesting applications shortly. Just kidding, I’ll save that for later.

We are a normal people who are tied to our faith and hope of a better world. We believe that it is through Christ that we are saved and teach that in every one of our religious documents.

You may have heard of the popular Broadway show the, ‘The Book of Mormon,’ but allow me to share with you a little history about the real book. This very book I decided to leave my home in Texas to share with the amazing Filipino people.

Written by ancient civilizations in ancient America it contains recordings of prophecy, and revelations of ancient prophets similarly to the bible. While Christianity had the recordings of Christ’s origninal twelve apostles, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. Along with many others appointed of the old world in Jerusalem. It hadn’t yet known of the other prophets in the new world prior to the Bible.

This book’s pinnacle moment is when Christ appears to his people in ancient America. Where he showed them his resurrected body after he first appeared in Jerusalem. They felt his hands and saw for themselves the nail prints and humbly wept at his feet. Christ’s prophecy of which he noted, “other sheep I have which are not of this fold, them also I must bring, and they shall hear my voice,” were proven in this visitation. We believe strongly this book to be another testament of Jesus Christ.

Now, I hope you are skeptical and not so gullible as to just take my word for it right away. Who knows if this book is historically accurate or just some made up fantasy intended to deceive? Who are these other prophets who inhabited ancient America?  Why didn’t we learn about them in history class? Why would God need another book? I hope these are some of the questions floating around in your curious mind.

I invite you to read my story and maybe, if nothing else, you’ll learn more about these people who have been so endearingly coined the Mormons. This blog is a collection of personal e-mails, photos, and stories from my time in the Philippines. It’s my hope that as I take you on my journey, you in turn can embark on your very own. Truly finding your own identity and place in this world.

Abuyog

I stood there slouched, pillow in hand, almost as if on display at a zoo. The people looked up at me inquisitively. Americans aren’t an incredibly rare sight in the Philippines but certainly always a sight to behold.

The bus bumped up and down as I held on to the bar handle above me. My mind was racing.

“What have I gotten myself into?” I said to myself.

The bus sped on, as did my anxiety, all the way to Abuyog, my first assigned area.

“We’ll be there in about 45 minutes,” Elder Wilkes assured me, my trainer who I had known for just a few hours. Every new missionary is given a more experienced companion and they’re what’s know as a trainer. He was from Boise Idaho and built like a tree trunk. He stood about five-eight with stiff blonde hair and a large gorgeous nose to match.

I continued to stand as one by one people shouted,

“Para!”

Each time the bus stopped and someone got off.  I managed to put two and two together despite not knowing what that meant. A mental note was taken. The breeze swept through the uncovered windows as the bus rolled on. I could smell smoke from burning trash, see the bamboo covered buildings,  and heard a few scattered, “Hey Joes.” Which I soon realized was a common occurence from standbys outside every time the bus came to a halt. My new name was Joe, and I was okay with that. I guess I had to be. After a  good long while Elder Wilkes finally stood up and shouted that previous noted word,

“Para!”

I followed my cue, grabbed my luggage from above, and headed off anxious to see our apartment.

We walked down a bumpy, rocky road below the starry night sky for about five minutes before finally arriving. From what I could tell it was a normal enough apartment building, though tucked in and hardly noticeable from the road. I followed Elder Wilkes about 4 apartments down to ours below the flickering porch light directly above us.  He jostled with his keys for a moment and the door finally swung open. The musty and humid darkness smacked me in the face.

“This is home!” Elder Wilkes gleefully shouted.

As one could assume I was ecstatic to finally be able to relax in this dark lit, cob web infested apartment. It looked like something out of a horror movie with its teal tiled floors, walls, and murky kitchen area. The floor was covered in dirt and the smell of rat poop lingered in the air. Home sweet home indeed.

“Go ahead upstairs and unpack your stuff,” Elder Wilkes told me.

I chugged upstairs to our room to do just that.  It was even worse than the first floor. Bare red concrete floors and all.  The two bunk beds were those similar to the missionary training center, so not bad. The dull gray desks were tacky and beat up, but good enough. The electric fans were large and annoyingly in the way, but I knew they would be greatly needed. I reached for my luggage and began to unload my clothes one by one. My shirts were white, my pants were clean, and my shoes were new and polished. I was ready to take on the world.

“So, what do you think,” Elder Wilkes asked trailing me up the stairs.

“It’s not bad,” I replied not wanting to sound too whiny.

I carried my luggage into the room across the hallway.  Clothes were seen hanging on a line with buckets below to catch the dripping water. These were either where we hung our clothes or washed off the evidence. I wasn’t sure yet.

“I’ll teach you how to laba sometime,” Elder Wilkes shouted from behind.

He further explained that meant to wash clothes. Tired and ready for bed I couldn’t have imagined doing anything else.

“We need to do one more thing,” he told me.

“Of course we do,” I thought.

“We need to go down the street to get load.”

I didn’t know what the heck he was talking about and was frankly too tired to care. It sounded like a drug heist to me so I reluctantly followed him down the street until we stopped at a little shack on the side of the road.  A father and daughter appeared out of the candle light seemingly debunking this theory I had construed in my tired and misguided state. Also seen were various products along with retail signage. “Uhaw ba mo?” I read on one sign, meaning, “Are you thirsty?” These little shacks were often connected to homes where families would run these little businesses. Almost what we would consider to be convenient stores. Elder Wilkes then said some things and the man in turn had also, you guessed it,  said some things. The man took the phone for a minute and keyed something in. The phone beeped, and he gave it back.

“Salamat, Wilkes replied.

Finally, a word I understood from the MTC. I had no clue what was going on but a thank you was said, and that was enough for me at that moment.

“This is how we pay for the phone service here,” Wilkes further explained to me.

“Also”- he added,

“the people speak Waray- Waray here so you’ll need to learn that.”

I’m sure in that moment I had some sort of look of panic come across my face. “Great, I guess it’s good I mastered Cebuano,” I said.

Full disclosure: I hadn’t even come remotely close to doing so.

We arrived back at the apartment to finally settle in for the night. I grabbed my journal and wrote out in detail, to the best of my abilities, the day’s events. I sat there at my desk while Elder Wilkes went to bed.

“Goodnight Elder,” he muttered in a tired and exasperated voice.

“Goodnight,” I replied.

 

Beep! Beep!  Sunlight had begun to sneak through the windows. I checked to see if it really was six thirty or if the alarm had been set incorrectly. To my disappointment it was indeed six thirty. Elder Wilkes had crawled out of  bed to begin his morning workout. “One, two, three,” he counted out in between breaths. I looked down and couldn’t believe he had the energy to do push ups. After about 20 he started to do sit-ups.

“Do you do that everyday?” I asked above from my bunk bed.

“Yep, and you will too,” he qucikly retorted.

He was right but this wasn’t the day I would begin.

I eventually climbed myself down the ladder from my top bunk. We both took showers and got ready for my first full day in the mission field. All we had was a faucet, freezing water, and a pail with a ladle to pour with. Shouts from Elder Wilkes combined with sounds of pouring water were distnct as I ate my cereal at our plastic white table. The bathroom sat directly next to the kitchen parallel to where I sat. Soon it was my turn.  I stood there reluctantly preparing to douce myself with this freezing cold water. Finally, I tipped it over my head and began to pour. A scream may have let out and I quickly poured again. I reached with my shivering hand for my towel to dry off.  “So, how was it?” Elder Wilkes  asked smiling from the same table I had been sitting.

“It was scorching,” I said jokingly.

I finished up dressing and sat at our two facing desks in our room upstairs.

“Okay”- Elder Wilkes started – “this morning we are going to help the Primary President with their activity today at the church.” I was excited to be able to see the church and help out.

We ran through the other lessons we would be teaching and the parts I would help in. We then both concluded the days planning session with a prayer. Both of us knelt down on the hard red concrete floor with our shoes below our knees for support, and Elder Wilkes offered the prayer.

“Dear Heavenly Father- he began

we thank you for this day, and ask that you bless us with wisdom as we go out to teach today. Especially for Elder Christensen as he learns this new language that he’ll know what to say. We leave these things with thee in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.”

Both of us strided downstairs and walked outside towards the main street. There we waited for a time to flag down a pedicab. Motorcycles and cars whizzed by making it hard to see. Eventually one took notice and pulled up in front of us.

“Hain kamo!” The man on the motorcycle shouted, meaning, where are you guys going?

“Sa simbahan nga mga Mormons,” Elder Wilkes replied. Which roughly translates to, “The Mormon church.” This phrase always made me laugh for some reason. We were just telling people to go to the Mormon church. Fortunately, the community was rather small and they all knew where that was.

“Ah, sige! Sakay!” Or, “alright hop on!” The man again shouted.

We sped with reckless abandonment as we both crouched in hanging on for our lives. If you’ve never seen a pedicab there’s a small covered seated area connected to a bike or a motorcycle. We were to its right while the driver sat slightly elevated.

The wind brisked by and I was starting to enjoy the ride through the busy streets. It felt good in the heat of the day which was typically mid to high nineties. People were in the streets laughing and pointing as we sped onby the stores (tindahan) and bamboo structures.There were Jeepnis, cars, pedi-cabs, and people bunched all up together. Jeepnis are military jeeps transferred into stylish public transportation. They can be spotted with its large size and bright designs. The man had finally pulled us up in front of the church. Elder Wilkes reached into his pouch and gave him the appropriate amount of pesos for the ride. I got out and took a look at the church. It appeared to be an old home which was later turned into the meeting-house for the members. It was a large two-story building with white wood boarded siding and brown wood shutters around the windows. The inside was what you would typically expect of a Mormon church meeting- house. Brown plastic chairs were stacked on the side. The pulpit sat in front. The floor was a dark mahogany wood which made everything appear dark. We both walked upstairs to greet the sisters and Primary children.

A winding old-fashioned  staircase led us to the second floor where I then met the Primary President, Sister Lucero, and her counselors. “Ah, a new Elder!” She loudy exclaimed.

“Where are you from?” She added.

I told her I was from Texas and she seemed to get a real kick of that.

“Ah, Americano gihapon syia.”

She had said, “he’s an American too,” almost affirmingly. I had felt like I had somehow dissapointed her with that piece of information.

We eventually began the lesson. I sat and listened in as Elder Wilkes taught a short lesson on the Holy Ghost, mixed in with pictures the Sisters had provided. We then concluded with a prayer. Afterwards the sisters brought out the homemade spaghetti they made to feed us. Filipino spaghetti was different from what I was accustomed to. The sauce is more sweet than in the states and it contains dices of hot dogs mixed in. It seemed at the time like something I would make as a 10 year old.  However, it was very good and I ate it up in record time.

We thanked the sisters for the food and they in turn thanked us for helping teach the lesson. The rest of that day was nothing but a blur for me. My head was about to explode as we neared the day’s end. It felt like someone was literally cramming information into my brain and it just wouldn’t fit.

We concluded the day with an evening lesson to an investigator of ours who was an older gentleman. To put it plainly, this is how we refer to prospective members. The old man lived in a bamboo hut right off the Abuyog Ocean. It was a beautiful, sandy, and peaceful spot. The sound of crashing waves amplified as we got closer; along with the tracing shadows of the forestry tropical moutains resting on the sea line. In the distance I could see his home lit only by candle-light. We approached his door step and Elder Wilkes shouted, “Upay!” This is how the people there greet at the door instead of knocking. This was a shortened version of the word, good. I couldn’t imagine shouting good in front of someone’s house, but yet here we were.  The man opened the door and let us in. Pots and pans were seen hanging on the bamboo wall behind him. Along with what was a make shift wooden bench neatly set out for us beneath the dim light. His house was about the size of a shed.  The man was frail and was coughing in between words.

This is my new companion. Elder Christensen,” Elder Wilkes announced.

The man looked at me smiling. “Does he know Waray- Waray?”

“No, he’s brand new from America,’ replied Elder Wilkes.

The man received this information with a slight chuckle.

I then noticed the Book of Mormon in his hand as he prepared for us to teach him another lesson.

“How are you,” Elder Wilkes asked. “I’m good” – the man replied- “I just was confused as I was reading your book, I don’t know who these people were.”

Elder Wilkes further explained that they were prophets of God who had been called to instruct and teach the ways of Christ. An inpenetrable force overcame me suddenly and I felt peace. These simple truths we were teaching had invited a warmth beyond description. This force was teaching this good man and his face expressions changed from bewilderment to understading with every head nod.  It was exciting to be able to see first-hand how simple truths could bring about so much power. Elder Wilkes asked me to conclude this short lesson with my testimony. I paused for a moment collecting my thoughts as the man’s eyes shifted to me. This was what I said in my best Cebuano having had no knowledge of Waray-Waray.

“Nasayud ko nga tinuoud ang Basahon ni Mormon. Nasayud ko gihapon nga tinoud ini nga ebanghelyio. Kon mag ampo mo mag sumat pod ang Ginoo sa imoha nga tinoud syia.”

I simply testified to him that I know The Book of Mormon is true as well as this Gospel. If you read and pray you can know for yourself that it’s true as well. A simple but powerful testimony I had learned to say at the MTC.

I waited for a breif second and the man nodded. The power I felt in that moment was nothing I had felt before.  For the first time in my life I had felt an angelic affirmation. I knew then without a doubt this was the true Gospel of Christ. We finished up by commiting him to continue reading from the Book of Mormon, and to pray about its truthfullness. A simple prayer was said by the man and we left for the night. We both walked away from that lesson with a special spirit in our left stained on our hearts. The moon reflected on the ocean as we exited the man’s house. It was in that moment I knew this was where I was supposed to be.  aAll fears and doubt I had previously held were cleansed away. I was home.

Hi Kevin,

We hope all went well on getting to the Philippines. Mom is going nuts, because we have not heard from you on your arrival. I know that it is not your fault, you can only do what they let you do. I love you, and we hope to hear from you soon.

Love Dad.