Beyond That Horizon

For quite a few years, I have held the theory that almost all men have one supreme motivator in life – that motivator makes them get up in the morning, work, fight, cuss, work overtime, get rich, famous, act tough, build, and destroy. And that motivator is woman! It is true that men do accomplish much on their own merit and do so with great accolades, but invariably, there are always women nearby who really should take some of the credit. My assumptions are based on my own experiences, observations, and discussions with others.

Consider the knights of medieval times who strapped plate steel to their bodies, took sharpened iron tools and proceeded to hack, cut, gouge, maim and kill each other – all to win the favor of some beautiful dame. You may argue that it was really property and power they were after, but I submit that the land was only the attraction that would be subsequent to getting the girl, and after they got the girl, then they really had power – especially if she was really pretty! Wasn’t it for the love of Helen of Troy that one of the greatest battles of all time was fought? I rest my case.

Turn on the tube and watch our modern-day heroes as they pound the hell out of each other with fists, crash their helmeted craniums into one another, whack and pummel each other with hockey sticks and any number of other violent measures, and then count the number of beautiful women watching with glee from the sidelines and stands, cheering them on. Think about it.

Anyway, an anthology of mission stories would not be satisfactory unless included in the list were some ditties related to my major motivators – some of the women behind the scenes, cheering me on, writing letters, sending packages, and who knows what else.

You may think, “Oh this guy is a nutjob; missionaries do not think of girls while on their missions!” Contraire! It is a moot issue that doesn’t even deserve argument. All those who have served missions, are there now, or plan to go, will tell you that females play a huge role in their success (or failure) – directly or indirectly.

This phenomenon became a reality for me shortly after entering formal training in Provo, Utah – at the MTC. Nearly every moment was spent with my assigned group, the same guys who would accompany me to the islands. The first night in the MTC, we all gathered for a getting-to-know-you meeting before heading to bed. After the preliminaries, everyone took a few moments to introduce themselves and then was supposed to enumerate things that they had left behind in order to serve a mission. There wasn’t a single one that didn’t mention something about a girl – not that everyone had left a girlfriend behind. Some said they broke up with their girls, dreamed of having one, or was just glad at least one agreed to write to them. The next most mentioned object was cars. What a stretch!

After hearing all those mushy, cry stories of loneliness, I realized I wasn’t the only one who relied on female support for my happiness. Throughout the mission, we all became enamored with the phenomenon that became known as mail day – just like a holiday. It took place three times a week on Yap – every time the plane flew in. Everyone would be huddled over letters from home, many of which were from girlfriends, and would zone off into la-la land and be completely worthless until every word was read and reread, then analyzed numerous times.

My MTC group was very lucky. On our first day of class, Tami, our gospel lessons teacher, introduced herself. She would be our instructor for the next 2 ½ weeks and was arguably the most beautiful woman in Provo, Utah. She was about 23 years old and as pretty as any magazine cover model that any of us had ever seen – probably even prettier than Farah Fawcett whose famous locker room poster we were all familiar with. Tami’s soft, pleasant voice, beautiful smile, and sparkly eyes melted all of us every morning when she entered our classroom. Each one of us knew that she secretly liked us best and we couldn’t wait to pass off our gospel lessons with her. She was, without question, our main motivator for learning and she became the object of much intense conversation at dinner and elsewhere.

Our last day in the MTC, many rolls of film were expended on Tami – those same pictures plastered the walls and bulletin boards of every island in Micronesia inhabited by my group of missionaries. One of my pictures of Tami was commandeered by my first mission companion on Yap, Pita – the Tongan Tiger, as he liked to be called. He would place Tami’s picture on his forehead, lean back in his chair with his eyes closed and say over and over, “Tami, I love you.” And he had never met the girl! She was that pretty.

I kept a few pictures of women on my bulletin board for almost my whole mission. Included was a great shot of Tami (one that hadn’t been defiled by Pita) and one of Sara.

Sara was a beautiful, brown-eyed girl that I formed a crush on in about 6th grade. She was a year behind me in school. My brother Mike moved sprinkler pipe for her dad on their acreage outside of town. Mike would talk me into going to help him move pipe but I only went because I knew there was a chance, although slim, that I might see Sara. I was a shy, timid character, but that didn’t ruin my eyesight or desire for romance.

A few years later when I had become a bit more brazen, she allowed me to call her my girlfriend and we spent the next four years or so, together. I doubt if anyone could guess the depth of emotional attachment I had for her. Like most teenaged girls, she was fickle. Some said I should dump her because of it, but that wasn't going to happen! A real bad day with her was still ten times better than most. I guess in many respects, love is just a plain ole country song. But she was every love song ever written.

Even though Sara was no longer my girlfriend when I left for Yap, she was still gracious enough to write and offer her support. I was still in love with her and thus, motivated to beat my chest and face the anxieties of living in this jungle. Due to some outrageous incidents on Yap, I had moments of extreme stress that were tempered by her encouraging letters. Some seemed to arrive at just the right moment.

I have since reflected that with life’s many interpersonal relationships, we sometimes never fully realize how our influence may deeply affect others. The plot of, It’s a Wonderful Life comes to mind. There is really no way to properly thank all those who help us along in life because life itself and social decorum seems to get in the way. I suppose it shows how delicate my situation was on Yap when mere letters from an old girlfriend could turn things around. But that’s how it was.

Ironically, toward the end of my mission, I received a greeting card from Sara. It was a nice note, but written on the back of the card was a publisher notation that the card itself had been made from recycled paper products. I was hurt! How could she send a greeting made from garbage? I refused to write her anymore. It wasn’t until I returned home that I discovered there was a huge crusade going on in the USA to save the planet and recycle! How really dumb I felt then!

Before arriving on the islands, we were told that most islanders were very gracious and giving. We would need to develop polite ways of declining things that were given to us. One day while working with Nonu on Guam, we visited a Trukese family. On a living room shelf, numerous glossy pictures of the children were displayed in large frames. As I looked at the family pictures, the mother came over and said, “You like my daughter? You come here after mission and she is yours! She make very good wife.” I thought she was joking, but her facial expression said otherwise. I said, “I am honored that you would offer, but I better not. Silently I figured there's probably something written in the Little White Bible about that, too!

After living on Yap for a few weeks, I found out some important information regarding interpersonal island rituals. If a female passed a male on the trail and she had the hots for him, it was customary for her to utter the high pitched sound, “eeeeessshh” as she passed by. He would then know that romance was imminent if he so desired and could act accordingly. My first reaction was “How efficient!” In the US, we’ve lived for centuries where men and women have played the ‘hard-to-get’ dating games and other love-life nonsense. If only we could have smartened up and taken a page from the Yapese Handbook of Love! The final results were much quicker and with a lot less fanfare!

When I first heard that high pitched mating call on a jungle trail, I turned around and repeated it to the girl who said it first. I didn't know; I thought it must be a greeting of ‘hello’ or something. She giggled, put her hand over her mouth and ran off down the trail. Pita – the Tongan Tiger told me not to say that to the girls anymore and explained why.

I thought, “How intriguing, these people really have it together!”