Otherwise while on my mission I saw a picture of my young men’s advisor plastered on the front page of the papers. I guess he had started an affair with a young man, got frustrated, beat the young man and his parents to death with a cricket bat, and then climbed up a tree with a rope around his neck and threaten to jump if anyone came near him. Not really scary to me, but I can remember the times I got a ride home from him.

He said he had killed her in a fit of rage, and then that he had tried to kill himself when he realized what he had done. He raised his shirt to show us three jagged scars across his belly.

I looked at him, at the children, and realized that we were in the same room with a killer, whom the Japanese authorities had released (either finding him not guilty, or insane–we couldn’t figure it out). I just wanted to get out.

Long before there were computers or television, before movies or records, long before the Olympic Games, modern or ancient, there was story-telling around the campfire or over the communal stewpot. For every day that Beowulf and his brothers spent running monsters through with their bright swords, they spent 364 days telling stories about facing those monsters and their mothers in the dark, scary mere. And of course each storyteller shaped her or his tale to be more chilling than the last. That was part of the game.

There was also a special genre of the sport called the flyting, involving an exchange of personal abuse in verse form.

Many thanks to all the BCC story-tellers! What good reading on a rainy Saturday morning!

This continued until they arrived at the mission home and found that they’d lost one. The mission president was notifying the Area Presidency while everyone went back out to the subway to look for the missionary. They ultimately found him at another stop — turns out that he was engaged in conversation with a rider and missed the stop.

I can only imagine the terror the MP felt…

(There was an affair and they had left their spouses and were now married. I’d rather not get into a discussion of why the woman was exed and the Church leader only disfellowshipped. Not germane to the discussion. Move on.)

Anyway, this couple were to be assigned to speak on Repentance and the Atonement. On Easter Sunday! Excellent! We couldn’t wait to bring our golden family.

It started well. The songs were good. The branch president, with whom we openly feuded, was on his best behavior. The wife gave a magnificent talk and testimony. Then it was the husband’s term. I had my head down, my arms resting on my legs, and I heard the familiar words, “I am the Resurrection and the Life. No man cometh unto the Father except by me” (in Spanish). I thought to myself, interesting that he’s opening his talk by quoting the Lord.

Then I looked up. And found that Brother X was standing with his head gazing up, his arms fully extended to the sides, with dark spots drawn onto his hands.

I instantly felt a chill and felt as if my hair were standing on end. I really felt that if I let this continue, we would all be struck down. I glanced at my companion, a college football hero with a national championship ring that he’d use to knock doors, and he was immobile with fear. We sat there as the talk continued and left with our investigator family the moment the prayer was over.

(It was a very quiet walk all the way to their home. No one said a word for several blocks. Then I ventured, “So, what did you think of Church?” The wife looked at me with tears in her eyes and said, “That was the most wonderful experience of my life!” Oh, fine.)

http://www.mormonmommywars.com/?p=659

Your comment reminded me of two similar experiences.

When I was a deacon, we had completed the passing of the bread and were standing at the sacrament table with heads bowed, listening to the prayer on the water. Suddenly the priest who was praying made some odd noises in his throat and sprawled backwards, knocking over chairs and falling to the floor. It was the first (and only) time I’ve seen an epileptic seizure. But at the time, I thought he was dying.

I took what seemed to be a great new job three states away from our home. We fully anticipated moving, and were eagerly making plans. My job started on a Monday, and on the Thursday of that week, they announced that they had been acquired by a competitor and most of our jobs would become “redundant” within 90 days. Yikes.

Being left high and dry by the church leadership while my son was dying of leukemia. He was scared and wanted me to be with him. My councilors (I was bishop) told me that they were not going to take any extra responsibility. The SP told me that I was bishop and that it was my job to figure out what to do.

After being released as bishop, I was called by a mentally ill sister and told that she felt that the world would be better off with out her. I called the sheriff and had them check on her. She moved from the ward after that.

Being the new hire and hearing the announcement that there will be layoffs.

Help, I can’t stop!