I'm still living. my p day is tuesday. Peter was in the orientation video..
28 March 2017
I just realized I think I left my pen and ink In my box. I thought that I had put it in my suitcase. Can you send that to me if you can. It's just in the box downstairs. {Yes, seriously, this is the extend of the emails from my taciturn son}
{Here's the real email from today though}
The first week at the MTC is stupid busy. I guess it's to help people with homesickness or something, but it just sucks for people that don't get homesick.
My district is alright. I'm in a trio and I'm the district leader. There is only on Elder that is 18 and two that are 19 and another that is 20 like me.
We started teaching some assigned "investigators" we are not told if they are or aren't members but there are both here in the MTC. Anyways I don't care. I'm happy to finally have people to teach. One is a BYU student named Kimberly she is fun to talk to and she comes from a Christian family but not a avid one. She wanted to learn more about the book of mormon and Joseph Smith. The second one is Sydney Young a old lady who is really into family history and she has researched a lot of churches over the years but she doesn't know much about the LDS church. She was super fun to talk to and I can't wait to go back.
I am learning a lot and I was surprised at how prepared I was to come here. I felt like I wasn't going to be but I hope it stays that way.
I don't have time for pictures.
Oh and can you send my the poem "the touch of the masters hand". I don't have it memorized anymore.
4 April 2017
Conference was good. One of the best parts of the MTC is watching talks given by General authorities so conference was awesome. Ya I liked all of them but Renlund's talk on how Shepard don't recoil from sick sheep. And Holland's talk of course.
It's only me going to Rochester. I think maybe some sisters are going.
I'm almost through the MTC. We didn't get another district before conference so since the one before us left yesterday we are the only group until Wednesday. I have basically been in stasis until I get out into the field so there isn't much to say. I'm sure there will be more to talk about after I'm out of here. I'm getting better at teaching that's all that's important.
{Here's the poem since it seemed to be very important to him}
The Touch of the Master's Hand
'Twas battered and scarred, and the auctioneer
Thought it scarcely worth his while
To waste much time on the old violin,
But held it up with a smile.
"What am I bidden, good folks," he cried,
"Who'll start the bidding for me?"
"A dollar, a dollar. Then two! Only two?
Two dollars, and who'll make it three?"
"Three dollars, once; three dollars, twice;
Going for three…" But no,
From the room, far back, a grey-haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow;
Then wiping the dust from the old violin,
And tightening the loosened strings,
He played a melody pure and sweet,
As a caroling angel sings.
The music ceased, and the auctioneer,
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said: "What am I bid for the old violin?"
And he held it up with the bow.
"A thousand dollars, and who'll make it two?
Two thousand! And who'll make it three?
Three thousand, once; three thousand, twice,
And going and gone," said he.
The people cheered, but some of them cried,
"We do not quite understand.
What changed its worth?" Swift came the reply:
"The touch of the Master's hand."
And many a man with life out of tune,
And battered and scarred with sin,
Is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd
Much like the old violin.
A "mess of pottage," a glass of wine,
A game — and he travels on.
He is "going" once, and "going" twice,
He's "going" and almost "gone."
But the Master comes, and the foolish crowd
Never can quite understand
The worth of a soul and the change that is wrought
By the touch of the Master's hand.
Thought it scarcely worth his while
To waste much time on the old violin,
But held it up with a smile.
"What am I bidden, good folks," he cried,
"Who'll start the bidding for me?"
"A dollar, a dollar. Then two! Only two?
Two dollars, and who'll make it three?"
"Three dollars, once; three dollars, twice;
Going for three…" But no,
From the room, far back, a grey-haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow;
Then wiping the dust from the old violin,
And tightening the loosened strings,
He played a melody pure and sweet,
As a caroling angel sings.
The music ceased, and the auctioneer,
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said: "What am I bid for the old violin?"
And he held it up with the bow.
"A thousand dollars, and who'll make it two?
Two thousand! And who'll make it three?
Three thousand, once; three thousand, twice,
And going and gone," said he.
The people cheered, but some of them cried,
"We do not quite understand.
What changed its worth?" Swift came the reply:
"The touch of the Master's hand."
And many a man with life out of tune,
And battered and scarred with sin,
Is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd
Much like the old violin.
A "mess of pottage," a glass of wine,
A game — and he travels on.
He is "going" once, and "going" twice,
He's "going" and almost "gone."
But the Master comes, and the foolish crowd
Never can quite understand
The worth of a soul and the change that is wrought
By the touch of the Master's hand.
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