Hola Familia,
Ya pues este semana era muy
interesante. (Now because this week was
very interesting.) Well this week
was great; we were able to teach a ton of lessons and help out a bunch of
people. This week nothing too exciting
happened. But we were able to have a bunch
of fun.
This week we had an awesome
experience yesterday. So we were out
searching for people to teach and we planned earlier that day to go and visit
people with the Bishop (Spanish version). We went and we
were on the other side of our area and he called for us to go with him, but he
wanted us to go to his house first which is like a 25-minute walk so we started
on the trek and we decided to walk on the train tracks. So we were walking and then this guy walked by
and said "I wouldn't walk that way" so then we stopped and started
talking to him and he said that there are a bunch of druggies and people that have
guns and stuff. So then we started
walking with him and later we found out that he is a member and hasn’t been to
the Church for 4 years and we will be visiting him this week. It was awesome to see how everything works out
and happens.
This week we had a Zone Conference
with the Zones in Moquegua and Mollendo. They all came to Ilo to have the Conference. We had a great conference and we learned a
ton. The President is awesome and I am
so glad that we have him leading us and helping us become better. I learned that the most important thing in
this world is family (Spanish version). I love you all so
much and am so grateful for all the help and the amazing examples you all have
set for me.
I just want to say that this
life is so important. Also we need to
learn something new every single day. We
need to be the people that God wants of us.
I love you all and have a
great week.
Les amo,
Elder Cooley
This story is amazing and I just would like all of you guys to read it.
In that place between
wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features save for
the one wall covered with small index-card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list
titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to
ceiling and seemingly endlessly in either direction, had very different
headings. As I drew near the wall of
files, the first to catch my attention was one that read "Girls I Have
Liked." I opened it and began
flipping through the cards. I quickly
shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one.
And then without being told,
I knew exactly where I was. This
lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every
moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match.
A sense of wonder and
curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening
files and exploring their content. Some
brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense
that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching. A file named "Friends" was next to
one marked "Friends I Have Betrayed."
The titles ranged from the
mundane to the outright weird. "Books
I Have Read," "Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I Have
Given," "Jokes I Have Laughed At." Some were almost hilarious in their exactness:
"Things I've Yelled at My Brothers." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I
Have Done in My Anger," "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My
Parents." I never ceased to be
surprised by the contents. Often there
were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped.
I was overwhelmed by the
sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could
it be possible that I had the time in my 20 years to write each of these
thousands or even millions of cards? But
each card confirmed this truth. Each was
written in my own handwriting. Each
signed with my signature.
When I pulled out the file
marked "Songs I Have Listened To," I realized the files grew to
contain their contents. The cards were
packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the
file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of music, but more by the
vast amount of time I knew that file represented.
When I came to a file marked
"Lustful Thoughts," I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not
willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had
been recorded.
An almost animal rage broke
on me. One thought dominated my mind:
"No one must ever see these cards! No
one must ever see this room! I have to
destroy them!" In an insane frenzy
I yanked the file out. Its size didn't
matter now. I had to empty it and burn
the cards. But as I took it at one end
and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I
became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when
I tried to tear it.
Defeated and utterly
helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let
out a long, self-pitying sigh. And then
I saw it. The title bore "People I
Have Shared the Gospel With." The
handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not
more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one
hand.
And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt started in my
stomach and shook through me. I fell on
my knees and cried. I cried out of
shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my
tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever
know of this room. I must lock it up and
hide the key.
But then as I pushed away the
tears, I saw Him. No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus.
I watched helplessly as He
began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to
look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst
boxes. Why did He have to read every
one?
Finally He turned and looked
at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my
hands and began to cry again. He walked
over and put His arm around me. He could
have said so many things. But He didn't
say a word. He just cried with me.
Then He got up and walked
back to the wall of files. Starting at
one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name
over mine on each card.
"No!" I shouted
rushing to Him. All I could find to say
was "No, no," as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so
dark, so alive. The name of Jesus
covered mine. It was written with His blood.
He gently took the card back.
He smiled a sad smile and began to sign
the cards. I don't think I'll ever
understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him
close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said,
"It is finished."
I stood up, and He led me out
of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be
written.
