Beyond That Horizon

One of the first things they gave me was a little book with a white vinyl cover. They said that I was supposed to carry the book with me everywhere I went. Inside the white vinyl cover was a bunch of pages that contained all the rules that I was supposed to keep. They were listed in, what seemed to me, a random order. That is to say, it didn’t appear that the most important rules were first and the less important ones last. I was told that all the rules were to be followed with equal and utmost strictness.

That subconscious push that I possessed since childhood, the one that dictated that I rebel against authority, suddenly kicked into action. It was like a gargoyle perched on my shoulder that whispered, “Jeff, here is a list of their rules – they represent the establishment. You must plan on breaking them; it will be fun!” On the other hand, I had agreed to this mission, and my good sense told me that part of the agreement was that I would abide by all the regulations of the establishment and would incorporate them into my everyday habits. That white vinyl book, always riding inside my front breast pocket was a strict reminder that my life was not my own for the next year-and-a-half. It became known as my ‘Little White Bible.”

At that particular point in the history of Mormonism, every worthy male member of the Church was expected to go on a mission. We had to go before our Church leaders and answer a series of questions that would prove our worthiness. There were some of us in that hot seat that felt like this was to be mission impossible. Although many of us had to take measures to get our acts together to pass the worthiness test, we were eventually given a clean bill of spiritual health and allowed to go.

My mission call came in a plain white envelope. It was written in business form and was signed by the president of the Church – a man that I and all the rest of the members revered as a prophet. His signature penned at the bottom of the letter sealed the credibility of the writ. I was to report for duty in the Micronesia/Guam Mission and was given a few months preparation before my start date. I looked up Micronesia on a world map and discovered that I would be journeying into tropical paradise with lush green islands and crystal blue ocean accented by brightly colored coral.

The next few months were a whirlwind of buying clothes, studying religious stuff, packing suitcases, spending two weeks in formal training, and saying goodbyes. Before I knew it, I was getting off the plane in beautiful Guam ready for whatever lay ahead. I was anxious and apprehensive about what would happen at this juncture in my life. I had no idea what the future held, but was determined to be successful – whatever that means.

All who serve missions are required to have a companion or partner that must shadow them for the duration – twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. As a supplement to the little white bible, this companion was to be your conscience and protector-of-virtue throughout the mission. In fact, one of the rules of the little white bible was, “NEVER go anywhere without your companion.” My first companion was a big Samoan guy named, Nonu. One look at him, you would know he had seen plenty of time in the weight room. He was a specimen of physical strength. He had that V shape that many body-builders only dream of.

Boxing Day

I took an instant liking to Nonu. He was soft-spoken and had a very likeable nature. The first thing he asked me was whether or not I knew karate. I said, “No, I don’t know that much about karate except for a few pain holds my dad used on me as a kid.” He laughed and asked if I was a boxer. Once again, the answer was no, even though I knew I could hold my own and had been in a few fights over the years. He said, “Every Tuesday, if there is time, we have Boxing Day here. If you want to box, you are welcome.” I looked at my watch and remembered it was Tuesday and thought, “What the hell, when do we go find people to teach?”

Without any announcements, a group of missionaries congregated in the living room of my new apartment. We were on the second floor of an apartment complex shared by a mixture of native islanders (Chamorros), military folks, and a sprinkling of Mormon missionaries. The few odd, unmatched pieces of furniture in the room were moved out of the way and a large space was cleared for the event. In a few moments, Nonu emerged from the back room with boxing gloves strapped to his hands and wearing a pair of gym shorts. Behind him was a guy I met earlier who introduced himself as the assistant to the mission president.

The two started bouncing around and warming up for the marquee event. I sat back, not knowing whether to laugh, cheer, or cry. This wasn’t how I expected to spend my first day in the mission field. I couldn’t remember if the little white bible said anything about pounding the crap out of each other with boxing gloves. I supposed it could have fit under the heading “staying physically fit” as some kind of alternative exercise program.

The other missionary from Samoa, Leausa, was the referee for the event. He gave the signal and the two pugilists came together in the center of the makeshift ring. Nonu was about 50 pounds heavier than the assistant to the president (AP) and within a few seconds of the bout, it was evident that he was a more experienced boxer. However, the AP had about 4 inches of height on Nonu. The fight started with the two circling and exchanging jabs. Nonu had an aggressive style and would move in hitting the AP with quick combinations and short, deadly jabs to the head and hooks to the midsection.

Within a few moments, the AP was fighting for his life. He was sucking air and circling the drain. In a desperate attempt to resurrect his manhood, he hit Nonu with a flurry of wild punches – roundhouses and hooks. Nonu brought his gloves up to protect his face, thus most of the power of the AP’s punches landed harmlessly on Nonu’s elbows and forearms.

Suddenly, Nonu wrapped up the AP, trapping the taller guy's gloves in his armpits. He pushed him off balance, stepped in with a quick right-left-hook combination and dropped the AP in a heap on the floor – out as cold as a cucumber! Leausa stepped in pushing Nonu to his makeshift corner. He stood over the AP with a sly grin and counted off ten. “That is a Knock-Out!” he yelled in his Samoan accented English.

I looked at the AP lying on the floor in a twisted heap and had my first epiphany as a new missionary. I learned that there is always a huge chasm between perception and reality in this life. Never trust that your prior notions of an event will be accurate until after "the fat lady sings." Right then, my preconceived ideas of mission life were smashed and laid in ruins right next to the sight of that KO’d Assistant to the President.