The Calling

This is the Life I've Lived:

     Well, this story is about my original mission call. It sort of jumps the gun based on where I left you off in my last post, but I just wanted to share this part of my life. I definitely feel that this is the part of my life that put things into perspective.

     This was the epitome of joy in a young Latter-day Saint's life. It was the moment that you are called of God to go forth into the world and proclaim His everlasting truth to all mankind. To teach about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and to watch the blessings in other people's lives as you share this joyous message. I was so excited to be getting my calling from the Prophet of God, and I knew not where I would be going.

     My dreams had always been to go French speaking, but also to go to Uganda in Eastern Africa, so I wasn't sure if I would ever get both of these wishes. I had my doubts that I would be able to do either of these if anything. I had taken five years of German throughout Middle School and High School, and so many of the kids I had taken German with were being called to head off to Germany, so I figured it was inevitable that Deutschland had my name on it.

     It was November, and my sister was about to head of to the Missionary Training Center to learn Croatian in preparation to her call to Croatia. Funny how that works, the language is close to the country's name... I wonder who thought that up... Anywho, it was a week or so before she left, and our good friend that works up in Salt Lake brought down my call so I didn't have to wait the extra few days before getting it. So he and his family, his son being one of my best friends, Bolo Branco, all were there with us as I was going to be finding out where in the world I would be going.

     At this moment my head is swirling over all the possibilities, from Louisiana to Idaho, from Berlin to Paris, from Vietnam to Hong Kong, from Ghana to South Africa I had no clue where I would be going. All my friends had their guesses as well, and so now all that was left to do was read the call. It was extremely nerve racking.

     I began to read, 

"Dear Elder Haggard,

.....You have been called to serve in the Benin Cotonou Mission...."

     At first I struggled over reading it. I read it about three times out loud, but my brain kept running those words through itself. I looked up from my call, everyone there was in silence. An unanimous bewildered look was on each of our faces, except our Missionary Department friend, he was smiling as we all tried to figure things out. Bolo Branco then said, "Isn't this the point where we are supposed to cheer?" So then followed the half-hearted cheer, then back to the question, "Where on Earth is that?!?!?"

     I felt ridiculous, I had passed my geography classes, and I felt that I knew the locations of plenty of countries around the world. I had never heard of Benin in all my life, and apparently no one else had in the room either. I looked to the friend, and he asked me, "Where did you want to serve?"

     I responded, "In Africa... Why?"

     "Well," he was leading up to telling me the obvious. "Benin is in Africa, I had asked Bolo Branco about it and was surprised that that is where you were called."

     That is when the true excitement filled the air. We all celebrated over the fact that I got my mission to Africa, and that it was right next door to where another of my friends would be serving. He was called to the Ghana Cape Coast Mission, but that has been reorganized since he has been there so he is now in the Ghana Kumasi Mission, still the next country over though. So there was a great party happening. A perpetual smile across my face as I looked into my packet and saw the map.

Mission Department friend then said, "what language is it?"

     In all my excitement I had completely forgotten to continue reading the actual letter. So I picked it back up, it got quiet again, and I read,

"You will prepare to teach in the French language...."

     

     Not only did I get Africa, but I got my French as well. This was a dream come true. There have been countless missionaries that have received calls that were not what they wanted nor what they were expecting, and for me to have gotten both, it made me feel like I was on top of the world. I just couldn't believe what had just happened, and I was so astonished by it. It was a day that I will always remember in my life.

     This was amazing, and I never think words will ever fully describe how I felt that day. I am always going to be truly grateful for that mission call, it set a lot of my life into deep contemplation.  

Still Developing

     Now that I had seen what church was like, I was able to gain some bearings as to how Provo was, and I liked it. Luckily it was the middle of summer and I was able to start playing outside and getting to know what this wee little hamlet was all about. I guess I can't qualify Provo as a hamlet, but it fits the profile. Everyone is friendly and there are those moments when everything is so peaceful and serene, that you could be fooled into believing that you are the only person alive in the still of the night. Walking up the hill near my house and perching myself on the rock there, I could just breathe in the town. Its beauty, and what I loved above all else, its quiet. 

     What more does one need than the gentle breeze across their face, a starry night to look upon and try to take in all the grandeur that the night possesses, and the soothing sound of faint crickets playing their joyous tunes for all those that would listen? Obviously people want more, but what is more important than to enjoy the apparent blessings that we have been given? It takes a lot of time to think of something as a blessing, or to see how it is beneficial to one's life, but it is that. It is something that despite it being small and simple, it brings joy and peace into your life. 

     I enjoy soap-boxing, and I don't feel as though I have a following so this feels more like a journal than anything. That is another of God's greatest gifts that He often encourages us to use, the ability to pour out our hearts to the world. Whether it be strictly for love or to preach the Gospel, He would have us know that love is there. Love is streaming from the heavens to each of us if only we would look for it in our lives, to each and every single one of God's children is love being poured each day. I don't care any there is heartache or pain and suffering in your life, the love of God is there, just open your eyes. We are often times so weighed down by the worldly things that we lose focus on the things more important in the grand plan of God.

     I would thoroughly love to talk about the love of God and of Jesus Christ, and can just read the words of the scriptures and find out how it all applies to me. It is so amazing how each word in the scriptures applies to me specifically, and it does to you too. Don't think that anything in the scriptures is out of date or obsolete, because it isn't. It is all for our benefit that we may know God and Jesus. 

Provo; A Land of Enchantment

A little Depth:

     Upon arrival into Utah Valley, I was taken back by it. I had forgotten what Utah had looked like and it had not been very long since I had moved from Salt Lake. In Salt Lake we lived in an apartment complex, so we were acquainted with our neighbors having never actually met with them face to face. Provo, was remarkably different. We were going to be living in a house. Not some shanty, not some house that had wheels slapped to the bottom of it, and not a house that had another house built onto it, this was going to be a real house. That was going to be a new experience for me, and I love new experiences.

     Well, I arrived on July third of '04. We rolled in driving our red Ford Focus, this was just my mom, my brother and I. I don't remember how I got there, like if my parents had met in the middle near St. George or if my mom picked me up from California, either way I know I pulled up in my mom's car. My sister wasn't there since she was able to go and spend the summer in Washington D.C. living with our stepmother's parents. She would arrive in the next month or so to our humble little abode.

  It was an amazing sight to see people out and about talking one with another. Everyone looking so cheerful and friendly, which let me tell you, does not exist in many parts of the world. Everywhere else is a very "my business, not yours" kind of world. So, at first I was hesitant to see if I would actually fit in, just going to watch the people for a while until I gain a confidence with them. I would watch my neighbors, and then hope to make friends at church with whatever other Mormons may exist in this town.

That was the plan I made. Avoid my neighbors and just make friends with any kids I meet at church, since in my experience there haven't always been a whole lot. Sunday then rolls around, and I pop on my Sunday's best all pumped and ready for this new ward that I would be going to. The anticipation for a bigger number of kids my age was killing me. I had heard that Provo had more Mormons than anywhere else I had lived, and that wasn't too hard to beat. Even in Salt Lake City there weren't boatloads of them around my neck of the woods.

We arrived at church, and to the defiance of all I had known before, the church was crawling with people. So many Mormons in one place was unheard of. Then, I started to recognize faces from all those that I had been watching the past few days. All of my neighbors were Mormons... It was a moment in time when I thought that I had moved into a post-apocalyptic colony where the Mormons had gathered together for safety... 

     That was a bit extreme, but in youth, we typically read ghost stories or stories of wars. Things that make us look towards the bleaker side of life. Even in the Book of Mormon, as a child my favorite stories were of the Stripling Warriors led by Helaman, and that was my favorite song too. Even to this day, one of my favorite people in the Book of Mormon is Teancum. There was just nothing about this guy that didn't appease to the imagination of a child nor of any guy that appreciates a good war story. So, back to Provo.

     There were young people, old people, quiet people, loud people. There were crying babies, there were crying women and men. There were full pews of people, and a gym full of people. It was a lot to take in, and my head was fluttering about trying to enjoy every moment. I felt as though this must have been a special meeting to have drawn in so many people, and so my head was looking about trying to prove to my mind that there are Mormons out there. I almost got whiplash from this fiasco, and people weren't really moving around a lot during sacrament. I must have looked like a dog that would pass out if it go too excited... This may be why nobody really wanted to approach me the first Sunday. I probably looked like a raving lunatic as I smiled at every person with my big awkward grin.

     That was my first Sunday in Provo, and from it I made quite a few friends. Maybe not on that specific day, but soon there after, as soon as I stopped looking like an idiot almost drooling because of smiling so much.

The Next Part

Continuation:

      Well, I left off just as I was living in Salt Lake City. This is where I was baptized in April of 2001. I don't remember much about it, it was just something that happened to me. I don't know who did it, just that it was part of the Stake baptisms that month. It is said that your baptism is supposed to be the most exciting thing in life, the moment when you are cleansed from your sins and can have the companionship of the Holy Spirit, but I must have missed it at that point in my life. I don't know if it was because I was such a sweet and innocent little child, or I just didn't know what I was looking for when receiving this gift of God.

      I think that is where I would like to draw a point for later in life. Where is it that you first start feeling the promptings of the Holy Ghost? Does it one day just walk up and say hello? How do you begin to recognize a difference between life before the Spirit and when you actually have it? (These questions are quite open to the public. I'd love to know others' opinions.) It is something that is different for everybody, but always involves the same emotional feelings, so that we know He is there.

     As a child when you get baptized, you never really see the difference because He never leaves your side. You are innocent and then you receive this Gift that has been with you all the life you have known, because children are God's most precious creations. They are perfect in His eyes and never allows them to walk blindly without the Spirit's protection. That is a beautiful thing if you look at it from the view point of a parent. Granted, I am not a parent, I can only imagine based on what I have been told or heard from those parents I've witnessed in my life. We are always those little children in our parent's eyes. We are always the ones that they will do anything for, and protect them from all harm or danger, but they can't be there at all times to lead us, guide us and walk hand in hand as we walk the paths in life. They will offer assistance anytime we ask them for help if they know we will be grateful and use it for the bettering of our lives, and that is exactly how God is for us.

     He has given so much to us and has blessed us with the ability to "call" Him up and ask Him for what will benefit our lives and strengthen our love for one another. And the Spirit is His way of "calling" us up to let us know that He is thinking about us. Though we have the same luxury as what we do with our parent's here in mortality, we can screen these "calls" and sooner or later they stop calling, but still eagerly await us to call them... I may be going off on a tangent, so let's get back to life.

     Salt Lake... Well, Salt Lake was just a few short years then we made our way back to the pleasantly run down town of Oxnard. Oxnard, though it is where I am from, has lost it's luster within my eyes as gangs and hoodlums have gone gallivanting around it with spray paint and drugs and guns. Nonetheless, we always return to it... This is in the middle of fourth grade, so I switched from Escalante to Lemonwood Elementary.

     Lemonwood wasn't too bad of a school, aside from the shootings, and the fact that I was the only white kid in the school, aside from my cousin (the one that was a bane to my existence.) So there was some animosity that was honed in on, coincidentally, my general area. I don't know what it was, and I was tired of this coincidence biting me in the rear. Therefore I got weary at this school faster than normally. Plus the constant contentions that ensued at home each day, there was just no rest for the soul in these places, which gave me a lot of perspective for the later part of my life. I learned very sincerely that I do not like confrontation in my life because I have seen how it chases happiness out of one's home.

     Well, this Oxnard was as short lived as the others. I was there for part of the fourth grade and almost all of fifth. I tested out early so that we could move to Provo, Utah. I didn't move directly there, I spent a month living with my dad in Chino, California with my sister as my mom and brother prepared our new place. My brother and father have never really been close, to say the least. I don't really know what it is, but sometimes there were things said on one side that emotionally affected the other side of the relationship. So, they have never really been communicable one to another. So there was a strain in a "typical" family life.

     I guess in comparison to a "typical" family we lack a few basic components. First, we lack a father. In my humble opinion, and much in spite of my dad's feelings, he was never around for our growing up. He was more or less an acquaintance that we were obligated to visit from time to time. Luckily I had a mother that knew how to fill the shoes of the fathering role. She may feel at times that we were ungrateful for all that she did for us, but I was and still am grateful for all the things she has done for me. I know that I have let down many people in my life, none greater than my mother for all that she has given me, and supported me through.

     Second on this list would be respect for one another. We grew up with our single mother who worked and tried her very best for us, and I think that if we abide to each of the principles that she has taught us we would have turned out normal. We all used the excuses presented to us by our "hardships" even though we really didn't have any. We lacked a father, and so we grew independent whilst mom was away at work or whatnot. Our independence made each of us feel more justified or right in certain aspects of life, that is where contentions arose. We fought because we all had our opinions, whether they be right or not, we would argue the point to the bare bones. That certainly runs within our family.

     The last point on the list would be that we were all different. Each of us "specialized" in areas of intellectualism and with those we carried long debates over pointless things. None extremely superior to the others but definitely noticeably more skilled with it. My sister has a knack for sciences and math, but also likes languages. My brother loves books and all that those entail as well as history. I like the social aspects of life, going out and just talking with the whole world, and history with a love of language and culture. When reading over those topics it sounds like I have a larger forté which is not true, I just like talking about me more, that will become apparent if it hasn't already.

     Now, we are in Provo, the place I feel is more of a home than anywhere else. This is where I truly started life, or at least the parts of life that have refined me to what I am today. This is where I will end my story this time, and I will continue it in another post. 

The Beginning, Like All Good Stories

The Beginning:

     This is the start of a story that I want to tell, and at first it may bore others or seem like a sob story, but I feel more towards the end, if any stick with it long enough, it will become a story that teaches.


     My name is Robert Haggard, and I was born in Ventura, California in late February of '93. So to lots I may seem just a baby, which is a good time to start the story. I intend to keep on writing and keeping this blog as a story of my life and of the people and places that impact me, for better or for worse.

     Back to Ventura, I was born, yaddie yaddie yaddah. I have two other siblings, Jessy who is the oldest and my only sister, and Matthew who is my brother. We were all born in the same hospital, and two of us in the same room. Not sure which two because my memory isn't as great as some, at least not in my infancy. So, this is where my story technically begins.

     My parents are Mary and Robert, so I am a junior but they decided to make me a second instead. Now, the history with my parents is short lived. I was only a few months old when they got divorced. That isn't really my story, nor do I know all of the details, therefore I can't say much besides that I have been raised by my mother since that day.

     Background on my mother. She is an excellent woman, youngest of seven children in her family. The only one to join the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when she was 16 years old. Then she served her mission in Paris, France from '86-'87. She is a professional genealogist and loves what she does. She was born to Daniel Richard and Mildred Murphy, long ago, but it may feel like yesterday to her. (You know how those blessed with ages get sentimental.) She gave birth to a wise-crack, me.

     The first few years of my life were lived in Oxnard, California where we grew up in our quaint "Mobile Home" park, "Kona Kai." There we lived with mom, Jessy, Matt and I as well as Grandma and Grandpa. It was snug with us six living there, but it was a home. Family close by, within shouting distance at all times. This was an ability to yell if needed at one time, but a few years down the road it becomes a reality that there is shouting at all times.

     When I was still young, around the age of four, we moved south to a nice little hamlet of Riverside. I thought this town was petite when I lived there, but in more recent journeys to it I now know that it is quite a large town. Memories of here were spent with our dear close friends the Helsper's playing with our lightsabers as we ran around senselessly beating upon one another. Quality bonding time was spent as we whacked each other about. Then there was a pool that we often spent time swimming in, it sounds redundant when I say that... My fondest memory is when they installed a playground within our neighborhood. We were the first to play on it after anxiously waiting those long summer days. I remember that, but in description all I remember is that it was red like unto a firetruck.

     I went to a few elementaries here, there was Freemont Elementary and then Mountain View Elementary. I don't remember why we switched schools, but I believe it was closer to my mom's work so it fit in with her schedule better and allowed us to not have to wait around until she got there. There is also the reasoning that at Freemont I was "kidnapped" by my preschool teacher. My mom was running just a wee bit late and my teacher had to catch the bank before it closed, and so without hesitation, she took me with her so that I wouldn't get kidnapped by anyone else... This ideology did not fly with my mom. I remember her being unphased by the situation, which I am hopefully wrong about... I mean, I hope she tried to bite my teacher's head off, who knows nowadays.

     After our few short years there in Riverside, we departed for Oxnard again. It was our safety net, and at those ages I don't remember why we moved around exactly. Nevertheless we did, and Oxnard was the next step on the journey. Here is began in first grade, and I didn't really enjoy being the new kid. We also moved back into the grandparent's but this time it was more "abundant" in wildlife. We had our cousins as well as our Aunt and new uncle. So we had eleven at first with another on the way. This party was held in by a four bedroom cardboard shack. I am hoping that that won't offend anyone, but that is exactly how I felt about being in a house on wheels. This is where the headache of my life began, with endless fighting.

     Here laid the dominion of my cousins, and their attention seeking attitudes, their fits and outbursts. I am saying this directly from my point of view, and to them I was probably a menace to them and their delicate lives, but I like my version better.

     There was one that always needed to be the center of attention, and always threw her temper tantrums in order to accomplish this need. The other, that was just older than I was always mean to me and my brother, belittling us with nicknames and teasing us. He was a bane to my existence in these early years of development. A splinter that began to fester and definitely played a role in emotional trauma. I mean, from a personal vantage point I think I turned out relatively normal, but I have had plenty of people in my life tell me otherwise. That is one of the main reasons that I want to write down my life and pinpoint my shortcomings. Obviously there already have been some, and probably plenty more in my writings as well.

     After this time of my life, I moved off to Salt Lake City, Utah at the latter part of my second grade year. I began school in a magical snow covered place, the school was called North Star. I went here for the second and third grades, and this school put me in the Honor Student category... Apparently that is an honor system that means you are "smart," it is either smart or socially inept. At times in my life I felt like both have applied and at others neither. I never wanted to be "smarter" than other people, I had a longing to be in a group or a clique. Throughout my life I never really had a group that was something that defined me or that I fit into. Especially in Southern California where I was the "white-kid" on the block, and I was the tail end of kids hatred and jokes. At that part in my life I definitely felt as though I was socially inept.

     Well, in between third and fourth grade and new school opened up just across the street from my church building, this was "Escalante." Escalante was named after a Spanish monk or father of some kind that walked across the land drawing maps and preaching the about church. I don't really remember which church, I am assuming Catholism because I remember hearing about him as well in studies of Spanish Missions throughout California. Growing up in Ventura County California I knew a bit about these since it was a town that was founded by these same Spanish missionaries. I have taken visited it many times to enjoy the beauty of the Mission as well as the lovely view of the palm trees and the ocean from that part of town.

     I have a fascination with beauty, history, and the chance to learn more about the world in which we live. Those are things that I am passionate about, but I do not rank them among the most important in my life. I rather enjoy relating these wonderful things with a spiritual side of it all. I feel that I am rather religious, for I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and I study the Word of God daily and pray daily, and believe in the power that is in the Holy Ghost. That Jesus Christ is the Savior and Redeemer of the world. These things have always been present in my life through all of these events that I am and will be talking about.

     This is a rather long entry and so I will end it abruptly. This covers a good chunk of my life, from birth to age ten or so. This will be continued sooner or later in a following entry. If you have read this far, thank you.